ZiWrites

As an author I am (obviously) ✨omnipresent✨ and (obviously) ✨omniscient✨

I write. I read. I watch (and judge………… harshly) movies/shows. And I play video games, ski, dance yadayada and by this point you’ve probably either clicked off my page or scrolled to see what’s going on.

So some more random statements to whatever oddballs are still reading.

I lie alone on a black and white floor. My tears flow. There are so many of them that I wonder why I don’t see a puddle on the floor.

Today should have been a good day. A beautiful day.

And it was. So achingly beautiful.

To others it will remain that way.

Those royals and courtsmen walking through the gardens. Those loyal subjects celebrating the day, giving it life.

I will lie alone on this floor. Sobbing so that I can scarcely breathe.

My mother is dead. People will say passed, people will say gone but they sugar coat the truth, only to make themselves feel better. She isn’t gone, her body is still here. She is dead.

I will never speak with her again. I will never be hugged by her again.

One day we must all go through this loss, unless we die first, in which it can be argued a greater loss shall occur.

But pay that no mind, because that is not the loss that is occurring now.

My sobs will richoett off the walls until someone finds me.

Part of me prays no one will find me and part of me wants someone to be here, to be with me every step of the way. But that won’t happen. That will never happen.

When the sobbing is done I shall pick up my own pieces. I shall place them crooked back together and I will walk and walk and walk until people wonder where I am.

I do not feel for those arrogant brats who care nothing for the people they hurt. But there are those that are turned against the world. Those that feed their hatred, they let it grow.

Fueled by their delusions they shall tear the world to pieces. And their sanity shall die with it.

They’re vindictive.

They’re hateful.

But there’s a reason. A tired, overdone, reason.

A reason no one cares to hear anymore. It’s too overplayed. We’ve heard this story before, shut up.

But the reason remains,

and if anything…

the reason morphs, it is given new wings.

The man behind the monster will burn with his knew wings until there is only a monster left. And he will be shrieking,

“this is your doing”

It had been ten long years since the Artemis had circled the Earth. The copious amounts of asteroid dust and debris that coated the ship's hull became visible as it came under the sun's rays.

Captain Cara Alamay gave the ship a pat, “We did it, girl,” she sighed, relaxing her shoulders, “We made it.”

As the Orion Station glided into view, the Artemis gently dipped, coming out of the Earth’s orbit. The ship didn’t creak or whine despite her long travels and the quiet hum of the engine was the only background noise as it slid into the Orion’s long shadow. The tall, bustling tower was aglow with the orange lights of its 1.5 million citizens and a docking bay encircled the middle of the Orion. It looked calm from inside of the ship, even though Cara knew it wasn’t. It was incredible to think that it housed an entire city.

The Artemis plodded along and Cara watched out the window, happy for the silence after the chaotic ride home. She turned off her personal comms device, if her officers needed her, they could call her from the intercom and if they couldn’t dock a ship without her instruction then they wouldn’t be on the Artemis at all. In the meantime she watched the bright sun. It was so far, it was crazy to think she had travelled further. She felt a slight lurch as the ship docked and she heard the thrum of a tractor beam as the ship was pulled inside the station.

She knew her momentary peace was about to end, but she stared out the window for a while longer. The sun flared, the stars glowed, and the Earth looked tranquil against the darkness of space. She looked down the hall behind her to see if anyone had found her yet, there was no one, but when she looked back the slate gray of the space station docking center was waiting for her.

Remade:

He twists his fate between his fingers.

Oh dear…

Which

path do you think he’ll choose?

The prophets stare him in the face.

The past weeps behind him.

The future beckons him forward.

He is pulled

pulled

pulled

apart by fate. The seams of his flesh shall stretch

Until he is

Remade

So many paths but which to Choose?

The dark road to his right?

The rocky path to his left?

Which way shall he go to find his lover?

Which way shall he go to find his purpose?