Saturday, December 15, 2007


There was never a night so black as the night of the invasion.

I was a soldier then, convinced that my country could do no wrong. I was young, almost in love. Almost, not quite. Not enough to keep me from enlisting at any rate. I knew that I would have to fight, that men would die. That was what happened in war. I knew that I might die. It didn't seem to matter so much, somehow. I don't think I knew what death was. I don't think any of us did. Death is something that resents being pinned down.

There was never a night so black. Trust me.

I was a soldier, in the prince's own squadron. I'd shown exceptional skill with a sword, they told me, and so I received this honor. I would be on the front lines, taking no prisoners, with glory ripe and ready for the taking. I knew that I would kill someone. I knew that I would kill a lot of people. But they were the enemy. They were more beasts then men. At least, that's what they told us.

Stars haven't seen a night so black as that. Even they hid their faces.

I was a soldier. I was a good guy. I was a hero.

I never realized I was an enemy as well.

Black. Only black. No moon, no stars, just black.

He was a soldier. He was the enemy. I should have killed him. I knocked his sword to the ground, held my sword to his throat, smiled. Why did I smile?

Why did he?

Black skies, black smoke from the oily torches. Black swords, black smiles.

I was a soldier. I had to do it. He was a soldier. He was the enemy. I could kill him, I would kill him!

So why did he smile?

Black hearts.

I was a soldier. Soldiers kill people. He was a soldier. He killed people. He would kill me. I could kill him. I should kill him. I was a soldier. I smiled to kill people.

He smiled to be killed.

I killed him.

There was never a night so black as the night of the invasion.

I don't smile anymore. I know what death is. It resents being pinned down, but you can pin it down regardless. And it smiles at you. It smiles because as you pin it down, it takes something from you. It takes something you can never take back.

I was a solder. I killed again. I became a hero, a good guy, with glory beyond what I could dream. But it doesn't mean anything. I don't smile anymore.

But he smiles. He smiled as he died. I don't know his name, I don't know his past.

All I know is he smiled. And I killed him. He still smiles as I suffer.

When I die, I shall smile.

There was never a night so black.

A bit darker than usual, I'm afraid. I started typing and this is what came out this time. Enjoy.

Sunday, December 02, 2007

Phantom Club

November gets no posts. Feel sorry for it. Anyway, here's some writings by me.

Blind could feel the last rays of sunlight on his back as he crouched on the edge of the building, listening to the sounds of the twilight city below. He was quite sure that the sunset behind him was beautiful, everyone would certainly tell him it was. He didn't really know, though. He'd never seen one.

He knew how the sun warmed his skin, and how the shadows of the buildings cast patches of coolness through the city. He knew the cold feeling of the metal beneath his fingertips as the warmth of the day dissipated into the chill air. He knew how the birds called among themselves that the day was gone, he knew how traffic dwindled from it's great roar of the daytime to near-silent whispers of the lone car heading home, he knew how the city itself seemed to sigh as it celebrated the release of sleep.

All this he knew.

He was just frustrated that he couldn't see the stupid thing, that's all.

Everyone had told him about it, and he was certain that they'd done a wonderful job, but it really didn't help to tell him about the way that the brilliant orange melted into the midnight blue of the sky when he didn't know what orange was. And really, how could he expect them to describe orange? It was... Well, orange. Not much help.

Of course, this shortcoming hadn't stopped him from writing about sunsets. Some of his best lyrics had been about sunsets. He'd written about the clouds that billowed around the dying sun, about the first dance of the silver stars in the inky twilight. He wrote about things he didn't know, he sang about things he'd never seen.

But he wouldn't be singing tonight. Tonight was not a night for Jay Kilsinger, but rather a night for DJ Sightless. And DJ Sightless never sang. Too bad.

Yeah, it's shorter than usual. And I didn't number it. But since I'm pretty sure nobody reads this, you'll live.