My.writing - Blog Posts
A Golden Apple
This battle has stretched on longer than they were familiar with. Perhaps it's because they persisted longer; defended the tower the hardest they could. They were wise in their experience, but not wise enough when fields of wheat were replaced by the pit of lava before them, with hot armor being all they had for a soft bed, while the rough hands that loosely held on the enchanted blade had forgotten the warmth and texture of fresh bread.
They plod over to the chest hidden behind a pillar, pulling its lid up to see weapons and armors of the highest quality... and no food.
"Ah, seriously, what kind of army doesn't stockpile food?"
"I don't know." A couple lava pops pass as the soldier took a second to realize that wasn't their voice; it was younger, softer, and confident. "I do have food, though."
The soldier leisurely turned their head to see the sharp end of a sword pointed at them, and behind it was a young mercenary. The young mercenary stood tall with a hardened gaze, their grip on their sword carrying more power than the weapon itself.
The soldier, however, only sat comfortably on the warm stone floor, their back against the chest, without even bothering to pick up their weapon. The young mercenary blinked in confusion, much more when the soldier casually commented "nice".
"What.. aren't you going to fight?"
"And be killed by you? No thanks, starvation is already doing that."
The soldier's immediate, straightforward response caused the young mercenary's grip on their sword to lessen. The young mercenary looked down on the soldier, seeing their slacked form equipped in diamond while an enchanted diamond sword lies beside them, but the soldier's hands were thin, their face gaunt and pale from lack of nutrition and sunlight.
And the soldier observes the young mercenary's actions in reciprocation, their tired face smoothly covering the plan forming in their head. The soldier has a splash potion of poison in their inventory, while the lava pit is just on their right. Though the soldier's hunger bar is low and their health halved, they can push the young mercenary into the pit once they've thrown the potion and-
Their thoughts halted when about a dozen golden apples were shoved in their face, and the young mercenary's sword was once again properly aimed on them.
"Hey, hey." The soldier carefully stood up with the golden apples in their arms while one is already being munched on in their mouth. The soldier spoke with apple bits in their mouth -- probably saying "let me eat first" -- swallowed-
"Then I'll die," the soldier said, picking up another apple to munch on.
"No," the young mercenary said, "let's have a fight."
The soldier stared at the young mercenary for a good two seconds while eating, then their eyes wandered to the pit of lava.
"Have you ever heard of military poverty?" The soldier asked after swallowing their second apple; their hunger bar full. The young mercenary's brows slowly rose; a beat of pause before the soldier continues. "It's not even a term, so of course you wouldn't."
Then the soldier picked up their sword, and the young mercenary took a few steps back and righted their stance.
"But it might as well be." The soldier threw their sword into the lava pit, and the young mercenary's eyes went wide at their action.
The soldier made one large leap to the lava pit, a smile on their face while they held a half-eaten golden apple. The young mercenary chases after the soldier in a vain attempt to save them, but the flames devoured the soldier before they could have the duel they wanted.
"Live well," the soldier smiled, "kid."
"Noooooo-"
the heart
i want to write poetry but there’s no words in my mouth
saliva foams to the surface and there’s no sink to spit it out
clogged with frustration and rage,
i tell you:
i stopped trusting myself a long time ago
the heart is not the guarantor of interest.
i go back, again and again
find solace in the cage,
my present moment unsatisfying, and yet
more concievable than a future where i changed
the heart beats and tells me to listen.
mortal hand, electric flow, i tell it no.
action potential, depolarization
numb limbs, itching skin, proof, here;
that my body mattered, in a way, in the end
when they pressed an ear to my chest
still warm with fading beat,
ready to rest,
it told them, whispered secret;
she tried to escape me, separate me, deflect
and when the soul goes unnourished, body suffers
the energy pervades, more spent on the physical
on mental toil, means none for the rest
when she hated herself, she knew it was wrong
but she couldn’t convince herself of the best
good was not worth it, and she sunk, and i beat
until she finished me, too, inevitably, like the rest
‘now bury me quietly’ it said happily, contract and release salted life
the heart was right, in the end, as it is
neglect mind, neglect body, neglect soul
i tried to love you, it was supposed to be you
but you were never the goal
Inspiration
I felt inspired one day and this is what came to mind...
Inspiration is not earned, given or granted.
Inspiration is not babbled by brooks.
It is not whispered by the wind or gifted by a falling leaf.
Inspiration is not found on a mountain top.
Nor peaceful meadows or beside the sea.
Inspiration is the light found in the darkest of darks...