This was posted as part of a Word Prompts challenge on Reddit.

The words stared back from the page, haunting Derek like a broken promise. He often found himself here lately, hidden well back from the store front, lost amongst these dusty, forgotton tomes. Late afternoon sunlight bounced off the windows across the street, stirring up bizarre tableaus amongst the shelves and shapes in the darkened bookstore.

He had started and stopped so many times, each more disappointing than the last. He had somehow misplaced his drive, his motivation. The wind had opted for an extended vacation from his sails.

Amanda tip-toed down the stairs from their tiny apartment above the shop. Various candles lit with a poof as she walked by. At six, she was already in full control of her abilities, and her golden eyes had the same mesmerizing effect as her mothers. How he had ever come to earn the love of a woman such as Serena, he would never understand. But love him, she did. And he loved her too, just as desperately.

His daughter crept up beside him and gave him a warm kiss on his cheek. He turned and snuggled her, this most precious of lifes gifts. He put aside his still mostly empty diary, and reached for a larger, colourful book on the shelf beside him.

Opening it to the bookmarked page, he read, as Amanda cuddled up against his chest, one rebelious leg swinging in an imaginary rhythm. They often sat like this for hours, him reading, her listening. She would steal kisses, wrapping her tiny hands around his neck and holding on tight. She loved her father, strange as he was to this world, even though he was not, to her. Serena watched them quietly from the top of the stairs, smiling.

Their existence was simple. A loving family of three, purveyors of ancient books and imaginary worlds, relics from an age too far gone for anyone alive to remember otherwise. Serena, a woman of intense beauty, and consumate rage, should harm or ill will come to her family, or other innocents. Amanda, a smaller version of her mother, capable of reducing any thing to ash and cinder in the blink of an eye, yet delightful in her gentle way. And Derek, the only person since Transformation to have been born with no ability.

The light outside dimmed, as the Sun began to slide past the horizon.

Amanda yawned, slipping down from her fathers knee. He patted her head, and shooed her off to bed. Rising to lock the door and blow out the flickering candles, Derek paused to look out at the street. Soon, warm, lithe fingers skated across his back, as Serena edged closer to him, catching him off guard.

Sharing a tender kiss, Serena motioned with her head towards the stairs, and he nodded, sadness touching the edges of his smile. They walked upstairs, arm in arm, to tuck their daughter in.

I really want to do more with this space.

So in the absence of my own motivation, I’m going to post some things I’ve written at other times.

Some are complete thoughts. Others, sketches in type and set yet to be fully realized.

Please enjoy. These are the breadcrumbs of my frustration.

K.

It’s getting dark outside, here where i am, and heavy, gray clouds are rolling from the East.

The air is thick and wet, and at any moment the sky could tear itself open and wash down upon the ground.

I’m safely inside. Out of the storm. At least in a physical sense.

Thousands of kilometres away, life trudges forward. Shit happens. All of which is outside my control, and beyond my understanding.

After all the chaos of the day dies down, the quiet moments in between each deep sigh remind us of how deeply we can feel the words said in haste and from anger.

The ups, and downs, and sides to sides that occupy this gauntlet we live through, seeks to bruise us, batter us, and leave us exhausted and worn. And then we get up and do it all over again.

We have to really live with the consequences of our actions. Not just pay them lip service. Not just say “we have to live with this”, but take it in, embrace it, and be willing to accept it for all of the heartache it will mean.

There is a difference between knowing the path, and walking the path, and either way is a test for our collective soul.

But i can’t pretend to know what any of you are thinking, or feeling, or knowing, or living through, if you don’t say anything until it’s too late.

I am only a drop, in an infinite ocean of drops. I am a leaf on the wind. I am myself, at the best of times, and the worst of times, still just myself.

And i am sorry if that just isn’t good enough. Because it is all I have to offer.