There is a moment, between sleep and awakening, where dreams are real and life a dream. A moment where the wild fancies of dreamland feel so tangible, so vibrant, that you question the world you know as reality. Some days, the dreams are dark, the monsters under the bed creeping from dark shadows, and you run to the light of morning, relieved to find it all a dream. Other days, you bask in the dream-state, in a place of magic and whimsy, and upon waking, fight the bitter bite of tears for the lost possibilities. Until the dreams come again.

© The Lightning Tower, 2020

The two cosmic beings circled each other, stars seeping from their open wounds. Theirs was an eternal battle, a dance filling the universe, changing the course of fate. Neither had won, nor lost, but their moments of ascension or defeat altered the flow of time, destroyed galaxies, and birthed new worlds.

They hissed and writhed, swirling in a nebulous web before solidifying to land another blow. They knew not why they fought, only that it had always been. They lunged, moving in harmony, synchrony, antipathy.

Their battle cries echoed across the cosmos,

Until one cut short,

Trailing a hollow echo in its wake.

The victor released its opponent, stunned, lost. It had won, but what to do with the victory? It had never known anything beyond this, this immutable, sacrosanct conflict. They had been older than time, the creators of the universe. They had been duality, and they had been unity. They had been life and death, hope and despair, the both of them. What would happen without them, together?

—

She felt a shiver run up her spine, like an icy claw slid its way across her skin. She looked over at him, seeing her own shock in his wide eyes, in the tremor in his hand.

“Did you feel it?”

He nodded. “It happened.”

“The real question,” she whispered, grasping for his hand, “is what happens now?”

Inspired by a writing prompt from Writing Prompt Generator.

© The Lightning Tower, 2020

She lay across her bed, a book dangling from her hand as she watched the rain dance outside her window. She could feel a slight breeze from the cracked open window, the familiar fresh smell of rain soothing her mind. She rolled up, reaching for her mug on the side table. She smiled at the pun on its side, and took a deep sip of rich, earthy tea, just the right temperature. She put the mug down and flopped back on the bed, closing her eyes and listening to the patter of rain. The rest of the world seemed so very far away in that moment.

She took a deep breath, peace washing over her for the first time in a very long time. This was her happy place, the stolen moments that made everything worth it. She shivered as a small gust blew through her window, the cool air delicious against her skin. She sighed, a slight smile on her face. Yes, she thought, this is paradise.

© The Lightning Tower, 2020

She watched her prey, as she had been for weeks. She knew every movement, every gesture. She knew habits, routines, the perfect place to strike. She could feel the anticipation grow; soon, very soon, and she would have her prize. But it took patience, planning, things she had in abundance. She could wait, until the right moment. That was part of the joy of the hunt, after all. Having the perfect moment, seeing the look of fear, feeling the rush of adrenaline. It would be all the sweeter, to do it right.

The house cat stood against the window, watching the rabbit hop closer through the grass outside. Soon, she thought. Soon.

© The Lightning Tower, 2020

Her rage left her almost as quickly as it had appeared. She slumped against the kitchen wall, panting, a deep ache settling into her bones. She had lost control again. She had lashed out, fighting an enemy she would probably never defeat.

She stared, dazed, at the shards of broken plates spread across the floor like flower petals. She almost laughed. Flower petals? When was the last time there was any beauty in this place?

She closed her eyes, leaning back until her head bumped against the wall. Just a few minutes, a few minutes to wallow in this feeling of total despair. Then she would get up, clean the floor, and move on with her life with a smile plastered on her face. That was a healthy way to deal with stress, right?

© The Lightning Tower, 2020

“What the hell is going on?!” Logan shouted above the clatter of gunfire, pressing himself against the alley wall.

“Well,” Mika said, rolling her eyes and peeking around the corner where they hid. “Those people are shooting at us.” She pulled her head back quickly, barely missing a bullet.

“But why?” This was really not Logan’s day. The first date with his cute new coworker, and somehow they ended up being chased by scary dudes with guns? Wait, why wasn’t he more scared? Is this what shock is like?

Sometimes, she felt a yearning for something she didn’t quite understand. It was the feeling of floating in a lake, eyes closed to the blazing sun. It was the feeling of standing outside on the longest night of winter, watching the stars through her misted breath. It was the sound of laughter and the sound of tears, the peace of understanding and the pain of conflict. It was in the music around her, the joyous and the melancholy, the soaring heights and perilous lows. It was in her wildest dreams and even stranger reality. It was something she knew, and something she didn’t; she felt it deeply, this yearning for something, something, something.

© The Lightning Tower, 2020

She squinted up at the obscured sky, watching as the sunlight seemed to strobe through the leaves on the trees. Flashes of brightness were followed almost immediately by darkness, then back to glaring light. Her eyes couldn’t keep up, couldn’t adjust. She was always on edge, always blinded by the light or the dark.

How poetic, she mused. Almost as if the light and dark were about the battles in ourselves.

© The Lightning Tower, 2020

“I don’t believe in fate,” Dalia said, crossing her arms and glaring.

“It doesn’t matter if you believe in fate; fate believes in you,” Charlton sighed, pointing at the tarot cards spread out in the bench between them. “Fate says you are going to meet your soulmate this week. Or die, I sometimes can’t tell.”

“Thanks, Char, that’s helpful,” Dalia said, shooting him her trademark you’re-being-an-idiot look.

He just shrugged. “The cards are mysterious, that’s all.”

“How can you tell me ‘the cards are mysterious’ and that fate is real and you know what it is? At the same time? It’s all crap, and you know it.”

“How was I supposed to know it was haunted?” Jacob asked, watching as the shadows started swirling ominously, and the temperature plummeted.

“I don’t know,” Jade replied, glaring at him. “Maybe it was the obscure dialect written in blood, on an ancient artifact you stole from an unmarked grave at an archeological dig?”

Echoing laughter filled the air, and Jade felt something pull at her hair. She batted at the air around her head, but connected with nothing.

“Well, besides that!” Jacob said, his eyes flicking around the room, knowing something was there, just out of sight.