There are pills under my nightstand.
The same ones tearing holes all over the house.
They’re tucked away in darkness and dust, forgotten caverns that only I can enter.
The same ones that wake us at night.

I hear the souls,
They never leave,
When I close my eyes,
They are in my dreams,
I see them watching over me,
Every night,
Waiting for me,
To take my final flight.

Peaceful lazy flakes
Silently land on my cheek
Cold. Then, cold again

It should have been a pleasant sunset before the eve of the Forefathers. The young Trev had become a man now, bringing to the village a large boar. They were to celebrate the escape from the horrible Eledin, The Blacklights. A hundred years had passed since that day, during which the tribe had battled greenskins, monsters and even other tribes to survive.

When I am gone, weep not for my soul
My goal was never to live forever
Instead, I make way for other days
Days when I shall be at peace

Timmy woke up that January morning to find the neighborhood blanketed in snow. He heard his dad griping to himself in the shower about his bus being delayed. Grabbing his backpack, Timmy stampeded down the stairs, hauling his bag to the front door.

I dream of the lone mulberry tree again, the green hue of its leaves strikingly bright against the same desolate landscape, alive in the barren and cold arctic atmosphere, domed-sky tinted grey.