Wheel of Time Fanfic

Rand gritted his teeth, sighed, then ran his fingers through his hair. "Blood and ashes, Mat! You know I have to make sure I get pa's sheep back before nightfall. If I lose another ewe, he'll have kittens!" Rand grimaced and absently put his hand to his back, "Besides, I don't think I could stand one of Nynaeve's poultices after he takes another strip off me. We can't just go anywhere we want whenever we fancy. It's not right."

It took a couple of minutes of Mat looking pleading, then indignant, then finally resigned. "Bloody buttered onions, I know you're right. I just can't take every day milking pa's cows and taking guff from Bode and nearly every girl with her hair in braids. I want something fun, Rand, I want to see Ogiers and Trollocks and Warders and sleep in a hay bale outside the Shining Walls of Tar Valon. No, inside Tar Valon!"

"You pretty much already sleep in a hay bale, you smell like it anyway. And all that sounds like a good way to end up in a sick bed for a fort night. Trollocks, Mat? You might as well want to meet the Dark One himself for how you sound right now. Look, the sun is already starting to go down, let's head back. At least if we get all these sheep back early, maybe my pa will give us a night cap."

Mat sighed and looked up at the crest this side of the Misty Mountains the sun was setting over. "Sure, Rand. Let's get these sheep put in."

Otter Story

A story about an otter and his friends, written for a friend.  Composed April, 2013.

Dropbox Link

Puma

Interrogation

A man is taken in for possession, potentially trafficking.  In the typical Hollywood interrogation trope, two button-up shirted policemen face the suspect across a short metal table.

Of the two policemen, the one sitting at the table says, "We caught you with two whole pounds.  That's a lot of time, but I'm sure you can answer some questions for us to help change that."

The suspect begins unbuttoning the top of his polo shirt, and the officer left standing begins, "You're facing maximum time behind bars and we want to know where you got it, no ifs, ands, or.. what the hell are you doing?"

The suspect has stood up from the plain metal folding chair so often associated with the time honoured scene. Harsh light reflects off a bare back and ribs.  The suspect bends over pulling off his shoes, then trou and unders.  He folds them neatly before retaking his position at the table.

"I'm sorry, officers, I prefer to be nude while I'm being interrogated."

Sand

I stand in a sun scoured desert.  All around me is unending sand, filled with yellow, brown and gold.  Nothing lives, yet there is life.  Life hidden, and ghosts flowing on the parched air.  Like the sun seeing all looking down at me, I see across leagues or dune and flat.  I feel so small, for both the land and sky seem to big, and I am both alone and one with the land.  I stretch my arm out and feel the weight of centuries these sands have blown across, of winds that have come and gone.  I am at peace, my heart is calm deep in my chest and deep in the earth.  I feel as if I had never been born but always have just been.  Breathe, and the winds breathe with me.  Stand, and the hills stand for hundreds of years more.

Loss

We are afraid of endings, and we are afraid of loss.  When something ends, do we have any more sight of what we once observed?  A song which sounds sweet years by feels as though it may disappear forever if we do not have some means to capture it, to hold it and never let go.

I download a television show and watch it, exulting in the joy it brings from nostalgic memory and discovery lived anew.  Once I am done, I do not delete it, I want to keep it. I never want to have it lost, whether it is ever played again, I keep the knowledge that it is something I possess and cannot be taken away from me.  Over time, how much can I keep, and does the hoarding ever stop?

Does it even need to stop, while we march forward with so much baggage and an ever growing capacity.  What happens when this capacity fails, and we fall into the back bit of loss and ending.  Time heals all wounds, but how long will it take to heal the opened wounds of lost loved thing?

From a Journal

...dated on 'Dec 27 ---- ( 2010 or 2011 )

I am an electric sea.  Waves of crackling blue energy heave like waves, my arms, my legs, my heart.  The beat throbs over the sea, pitching, yawing, it rises in peaks and slides through troughs.  It jumps with candy frequencies.  We dance to the spectrum of sound.  Never will the freedom this energy gives will be lost.  Only look to the sky and we will live the dream.

...needs work. Heh.