Memory

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Our sense of smell is a very fickle, funny thing. They say it is the sense related the closest to memory and I've always believed that. My perfume "Lovely" by Sarah Jessica Parker always takes me back to the fall of 2007 where I was in a production of Night of the Living Dead. Rose makes me think of my Memoo (my mom's mom). And just over the summer, I found one of my brother's stuffed Stitch toys that was in a tote under his bed--it smelled just like his room did before he got sick; immediately, I was taken back to a simpler time and a happy time (cue the infamous Woomer Water Works).

 

Today, I was suddenly reminded just how powerful the sense of smell is once again.

 

As I was washing my teacup at work, I got a whiff of the dish soap--lemon scented.

 

I was instantly transported back to my gramma's (dad's mom) house. Even though she loved lavender and whenever I think of my gramma, I think of the flower, the smell of lemon dish soap threw me back fifteen years and I loved it.

 

I stood at the sink just smiling like a weirdo as I thought back to the weekends I'd spend with my Gramma Aw at her house. She has always been an inspiration to me in the creative world with my art and writing so it was nice to have a little visit even if it was just in my memories as I was surrounded by my coworkers and a bunch of little kids chattering away in Russian.

 

Over the years, I've learned that a visit is so much more than seeing someone's face or hearing their voice.  A visit can be a dream, a smell, a sudden memory that brings a tear to your eye or a smile to your face. And how much more magical is that?

 

a.r.w.

 

PS: I read online that one of my favorite authors growing up, Lemony Snicket (the creator of A Series of Unfortunate Events), just donated $1 Million to Planned Parenthood... Seems fitting I drew a lemon today! 

Strength

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

I've been playing the with watercolors I bought myself a bit and this was my favorite doodle I came up with today.

 

I absolutely adore owls. There is just something about them. I think that they are adorable but at the same time there is something mysterious and spooky about hearing them in the middle of the forest in the darkness of the night.

 

This is a quote that was originally in French: Quand le hibou chante, La nuit est silence. And to me, I think that is so true. There is something powerful in the owl. It is one of the guardians of the forest. They silently watch the trees and the stars, usually silent. But when they call out in a screech, the entire forest freezes in silence, waiting to see what the owl will do.

 

So unsuspecting yet so strong.

 

Because true strength doesn't need to be announced with thrashing arms and trumpets, I find myself wishing I had that silent strength hidden inside the owl.

 

a.r.w.

Bewilder

"Hello?" A voice called out through the house, shattering the silence of the night. "Is there anyone here?"

Verona's eyes widened at the sound of the voice. It had been years since her parents left her all alone in this house and she had not seen or heard a soul since. The voices did not frighten her as they might have when she was a child--voices meant visitors and visitors meant that she would not spend the night alone again.

Leaping up from where she was laying on her bed, Verona ran down the hall and peered down into the darkness.

There were three young men, all dressed in black, wandering around the house, calling out... calling out to her.

"Verona, we know you're here!" the one standing in the middle--clearly the leader of the group--called out, his voice booming off the old walls.

"Who are you?" Verona asked curiously as she made her way down the stairs.

"Shh!" one of them hissed. "Did you hear something?"

"No," the other two shook their heads.

Verona let out a confused laugh as she paused in her march down the stairs.

She continued to watch the men; they seemed to be unaware of her presence.

"Hello?" she tried again.

"Okay, now I know I heard something!" the one who had heard her before shouted again as they pointed something her way. She had never seen such a contraption before.

"Verona," the leader turned towards the stairs again, his hands clasped together as if he was begging her to do something, "is that you on the stairs?"

"Yes," she grumbled; she was starting to get frustrated with these men.

"If you are here, show yourself to us."

"I'm right here!" she called out as she ran down the stairs, ignoring their outbursts of, "Did you hear that?" "It sounded like someone was walking down the stairs!"

They continued to watch the place where she had just been standing on the stairs, the black boxes and contraptions in their hands.

"What's going on?" she whispered to herself, suddenly feeling panic rise up in her chest.

She looked around her, searching for something that made sense when her eyes fell upon the mirror hanging in the entryway of her home. She gasped as her eyes locked on the face of the mirror and saw nothing of her own reflection.

Looking down at her lacy, long white dress and brown boots, she spun around to look at the three men in their black pants and shirts with sleeves that showed their arms and strange shoes on their feet that didn't resemble the black boots the other men in her town would wear.

"What--?" she let out a scream as her legs gave out from under her and she collapsed to the floor.

Behind her closed eyes she could hear the sound of the men panicking and shouting to one another. Glancing up, she spotted another one of the strange boxes in their hands lighting up as it pointed towards her. After a moment, she realized that one of the men--the one who had continued to hear her--stood before her. He didn't exactly look down at her, but she knew deep down that he knew she was there.

"Verona?" his voice was soft and smooth as he said her name. It wasn't the harsh commanding tone his friend had; he spoke to her almost as if he knew her. "I know you must be confused," he continued as he moved to kneel before her, his hands outstretched just slightly.

"It's cold around you, Jake!" one of the men behind him said. "A twenty degree difference."

The man named Jake lifted his hand just slightly as he called out to his friend, "I can feel it." Lowering his voice once more, he turned to look back at Verona. "I know you've been here, alone, for a very long time."

Tears began to blur her vision of the man in front of her. She was scared and beginning to panic. Not thinking of manners or propriety, she reached out and grabbed the man's hand, clinging to it.

"Jake, what's going on?"

But he ignored his friend's shouts of panic as he felt the cold, tingling sensation of someone--Verona--taking his hand.

"Help me," she whispered, her voice trembling. "Please..."

"She's scared," he said, his eyes lowered as his grip tightened on hers.

As he lifted his gaze back up, he nearly jumped as the sight of a young girl with flowing blonde hair held back with a ribbon flickered before him before she vanished behind the veil once more.

"Verona?" he whispered her name.

"Yes!" she shouted, for that seemed to be the only way to get their attention. "Yes it's me! Verona Macintosh!"

"Dude, the EMF is going crazy right now!"

She ignored the other two men and looked directly into Jake's eyes. Somehow, he seemed to find her gaze though he could no longer see her. He continued to watch her as she begged one last time, "What's going on?"

A silence continued on through the house and she began to believe that he had not heard her when suddenly his voice called out in the darkness, "We want to help you, Verona. You've been trapped here for over a hundred years--you died 115 years ago..." His voice trailed off as if he could sense her confusion and terror. "You're dead... and we want to help you move on."

Verona shivered, her eyes jumping from one young man to another. DEAD. The word had not crossed her mind as she had sat alone in her house for so many years waiting for someone--anyone--to come walking through her door.

It was almost too much to bear. Throwing her head back, Verona let out a scream of anguish, fear, and confusion. The lights flickered in the house, the mirror shattered, and the three men jumped back in fear.

After a moment when the silence returned to the house, the three men exchanged a glance before the leader muttered, "This is going to be a long night."

Verona rubbed her eyes, suddenly exhausted. "You said it," she sighed as she looked back up at Jake... he was still looking down at her, a small smile on his face. Whether he heard her or not, she didn't know, but there was something about him that told her that he was not a liar--they were here to help her through this nightmare and she hoped that she would be able to make it through the night.

After a minute she paused and almost laughed at her thought. Of course she would survive the night. After all, she was a ghost.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

This is based off of a fun writing prompt called "a bewildering experience." To me, there is nothing more bewildering than the afterlife, ghosts, and the paranormal... especially if you are unknowingly caught in it!

 

I loved the idea of worlds colliding--modern day ghost hunters find a Victorian era ghost. I'm not sure if I'll continue this story... I am a sucker for ill-fated love stories so perhaps Jake and Verona will be able to see each other more throughout their night together and learn that love can cross barriers of time and existence.

 

October is only a few days away! That means two things:

 

1. Almost all of my posts will probably be spooky, Halloween related (what else is new?)

 

2. Work is about to get cuh-razy. They warned us that October is very busy and hectic where we'll be working most Sundays (that's one of my two days off and my other day off is usually taken up with teacher meetings... Boo....). It is my hope that I can still create and post something every day but if I miss a day here or there, please forgive me.

 

a.r.w.

Come In

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

I grew up reading the poems of Shel Silverstein. I have vivid memories of sitting in my school's library in the third grade, reading his books of poetry. This poem called, "Invitation" is in the book Where the Sidewalk Ends and it is my favorite of all of Shel Silverstein's poems (yes, even "The Unicorn").

 

I remember the first time I read this poem, I wanted it hanging in my house someday. It has a whimsical side to it but also a very candid side. Dreamers are welcome, magic bean buyers are welcome... but pray-ers and liars are also welcome. Even as a child, I loved that idea. Everyone is welcome to come in, share, and spend time together... Just as long as they bring a story to share.

 

The more I think about it, the more I think that Shel Silverstein is my favorite poet. I do love Walt Whitman and Sylvia Plath, and W.B. Yeats but there is something special about Shel Silverstein. It could be that he was such a big part of my childhood--so many teachers and librarians shared his poems and drawings with me. It could also be that slightly tilted, whimsical, silly style he has; poetry doesn't have to be refined or wordy to touch you in a special way. I hope that someday my scribbles and doodles can touch other people's hearts and minds just as much as Shel's work touched mine.

 

I hope to practice my watercolors more in the future. I love drawing girl's faces but I want to try little doodles on the more minimalist side like this pineapple. If you have any requests, let me know! I think a pumpkin, an acorn, and a cat are up next on my list of little watercolor doodles. In my head, I'm calling it Scrap Paper Art because I am incapable of finding blank pieces of paper so I'm practicing on the small pieces of paper I can find (mostly with my student's classwork on the back).

 

This little doodle is also a welcome to you. Welcome to this blog. If you are a reader, come in. If you are an artist, come in. If you are a friend, family, or stranger, come in. All are welcome to join the Accord of Dreamers.

 

a.r.w.

 



Lower

the sky’s lower here

i feel i can touch the clouds

let them kiss my hand

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

A quick haiku for you today!

 

I just got home now (9:30 at night) so I didn't have time to doodle or scribble anything for you.

 

This is based off of a conversation I had with a coworker who said that the sky in Europe and America looks so much deeper than here in Novosibirsk. I agree with him. It isn't the deep, inky blue you sometimes see back at home... But in a way I like that. It doesn't seem so far away, so unattainable. It makes you feel a bit closer to the universe.

 

a.r.w.

Fireflies

It was a long time ago. I don't remember exactly how old we were. I was maybe ten or eleven? My brother was still alive... he was probably five or six.

Back then, summers didn't last too long--those hot, humid nights were a rarity; the sun still kissing the horizon at ten o'clock at night. "Be back before it's dark," that was our dad's only rule in the summer and we always followed that rule... well, almost always.

It was one of those magically long days--as if the world was holding its breath, frozen, holding off the night as long as possible.

As we began to slowly make our way back home, little specks of light began to wink at us.

"Lightning bugs!" my brother shouted in excitement, jumping up and down as he broke away from me and ran after them.

I knew I should have shouted after him, called him back so we would make it back home before the sun set. I should have. But I didn't. And I am so thankful for that.

"Wait for me!" I called out instead as I leapt into the field and ran after him.

We leapt through the air, gently cupping our hands together as we tried to catch the fireflies. We made a game out of it.

"I got one!"

"That's six for me!"

"Ha! Eight! I'm winning again!"

We let the little bugs crawl along our arms and fingers, their green light illuminating our faces and smiles.

A whistle cut through the silence of the night--our dad was standing on the porch, calling out to us.

"We should go," I sighed begrudgingly. "Dad's going to be pretty mad."

"Wait, sisso!" He grabbed my arm and pulled me down. I watched him as he picked something out of my hair. "He was stuck," he said softly as his hands gently cupped the blue glow of the firefly.

"Blue?" I was just as confused as he was as our eyes locked on the strange glow coming from between his fingers.

Slowly, he opened his hands and we stood in awe of what he held.

It was no firefly, I can tell you that. I don't know what you would call it... but it was no bug. It was far too extraordinary to be just a bug. I couldn't see past the blinding blue glow... all I could make out was a pair of wings like a dragonfly's and a pair of eyes that locked with mine for just a moment before it leapt from my brother's palm and disappeared into the darkness of the night.

"A faerie!" my brother gasped, his eyes searching the sky.

The very idea made me smile.

We never told our parents why we were late--what we were doing and what we had seen. And I'll never know if my brother truly believed that he held a faerie in his hands. But I can never shake the feeling of magic at that one moment in my life.

The few people I've told have laughed at me and either called me crazy or imaginative. But their laughter means nothing to me--it can't even compare to the vision in my mind of my brother's face illuminated by a blue glow, wonderment shining in his eyes.

Whether what we saw that night was a faerie, I may never know for sure. But a night of chasing fireflies with your little brother is just as real and just as magical... and just as precious to me.

http://quit007.deviantart.com/art/The-Fast-And-Furious-Fairy-109395698

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

It's been a while since I've written anything (and NaNoWriMo is getting closer and closer)! I found a new website that has some great writing prompts--especially for fantasy writers--and this one jumped out at me right away: Out catching fireflies on their family's farm on a hot summer evening, two little girls accidentally capture a faerie instead.

 

I changed it up a bit to make it more "me" replacing two girls with a brother and a sister (shock shock).

 

I've always had a fascination with faeries. I put them in the same category as ghosts and paranormal occurrences. Paranormal just means something is beyond our realm of understanding--it's not normal. Just because we can't understand it, explain it, or always see it, doesn't mean it isn't real. I am a firm believer in faeries because... WHY NOT?!?!?

 

When I was a little girl, I did have a strange experience down by the creek at the end of our street behind the playground. I was playing down by the water (which I admit I was not allowed to do) with my neighbor and best friend at the time when I slipped and fell into the water. I sat there for a minute, stunned and embarrassed when something caught my eye. It was a fish swimming around by my feet and as I continued to watch it, it jumped out of the water and hovered in front of my face for a moment before flying away. I've never seen anything like that before or since but, to me, that was the only proof I needed to know that faeries are very much real... we just don't always know where to look for them.

 

I think that there is magic in our everyday lives. It all depends on how you look at the world. It's like that Roald Dahl quote, "Those who don't believe in magic will never find it." If you look at the world knowing it's just brimming with magic, you will see it everywhere you look whether its the profile of a sleeping mountain, sunlight hitting the wings of flying bugs just right, or a summer night long ago when you don't know if you were holding a bug in your hand... or a faerie.

 

I choose magic and I hope that your life is touched by it too.

 

a.r.w.

Imagine II

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Ta-da!!

 

Yes, you were right... My sneak peek from yesterday was the top of a table.

 

For our two year (dating) anniversary, Adam bought me a new writing desk and it is the biggest one I have ever had in my life (I think he was just sick and tired of me taking over the kitchen table)!!

 

It was a plain, untreated wooden table and you know I just can't live with plain, blank, and empty... So I turned it into a colorful obnoxious cacophony of colors (with almost as many colored circles as Inside Out)!

 

I loved having such a big canvas to work with... but I have never painted detail into wood... it's tough! The grains definitely made it hard to make straight lines, so if anyone has any advice, I'd love to hear it! I'm hoping to be able to paint and work with bigger projects more in the future.

 

This was a two day project and my thumb is still shaking from holding the paint brushes! But I do love how it came out. It's loud. It's colorful. It's full of imagination. Just like me.

 

a.r.w.



Imagine

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Here is a little sneak peek at my biggest project yet for An Accord of Dreamers! It's not quite done yet... Can you imagine what this might be?

 

a.r.w.

Shine

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

*GASP!*

 

What do you mean Amanda didn't draw the face of a girl? What is this world coming to? What's that outside your window? Did a pig just fly by? It must be the end of days!

 

I drew a picture of me and Adam (yes, this is supposed to be my husband) but I thought he looked way better than I did, so you only get to see his side of the doodle.

 

This is one of my favorite quotes from Roald Dahl from my favorite of his books The Twits. At the very beginning of his book he says, "A person who has good thoughts cannot ever be ugly. You can have a wonky nose or a crooked mouth and a double chin and stick-out teeth, but if you have good thoughts, they will shine out of your face like sunbeams and you will always look lovely."

 

I remember reading that line as a child and wanting desperately to attain that shine that Mr. Dahl spoke of. For most of my life I made it my mission to be happy, kind to others, and always look on the bright side.

 

Since Jed's passing from Here to There, it's been a lot harder to have good thoughts. I fear that my shine slowly began to fade, shrouded by the sadness and depression I was (and, let's be honest, still am) feeling.

 

It's been up to Adam to keep the good thoughts going. He has been the one to pick me up each time I slip into the darkness, whether he brings home flowers, cooks dinner, makes me laugh, or buys me a new writing desk (EEEEE!!!!!). He's definitely picked up the slack in thinking good thoughts and being happy... because he's doing it for two of us right now.

 

Luckily, sometimes, his good thoughts are so strong and he shines so bright, it makes me smile and shine too. It's been slow, but I am trying to think good thoughts more and more and maybe one day (not so far away), I will shine again.

 

a.r.w.

 

PS: It's now officially fall! Pumpkin spice EVERYTHING.

 

PPS: The only thing better than a beard is a beard made of flowers.

PPPS: I like to throw coffee at my paper. I call it freckled paper! Because nothing in life is perfect--not even white paper. 

Abandon

complete abandon

find yourself in another

ah... so this is love

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

It's been two years... two years since I said, "Sure, why not?" and followed him on this crazy ride. It's been two years of laughter and tears, adventures and wrong turns, new food, new friends, and new experiences. The fact that it's only been two years of knowing him blows me away. I found my partner in crime, my travel buddy, my other half, my best friend, my Viking... and all because I went out on a crazy limb and moved to China.

 

I actually drew something to post today but made the mistake of spending twelve hours at work so I never got a chance to color it... So here is a little haiku for my beer chuggin, chicken wing munchin', Disney pin collectin' Viking ♥️

 

a.r.w.

Mom & Dad

 

you ask, "what is love?"

search high and low to find it

I say, "mom and dad."

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~* 

 

A simple haiku in honor of my parent's 29th wedding anniversary.

 

I stand in awe of their love and strength and hope that one day I will come close to having the same as what they have built for themselves.

 

♥️ Happy Anniversary!! ♥️

 

a.r.w.

Smile

*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Alright, this might just be the creepiest thing I have ever drawn.

 

To get into the Halloween mood (not that I need help), I have been listening to the soundtrack to my favorite computer game, American McGee's Alice. It's super twisted, dark, and creepy and I highly recommend it to anyone who loves the story of Alice in Wonderland or just freaky things. The soundtrack is equally spooky with old antique toys being played throughout the whole thing. I don't recommend listening to it while walking home, alone, in the dark. Just saying...

 

As I was walking to work today, I imagined this sight in my head. Alice--perfectly normal Alice--hides her wild thoughts that others might see as mad with a smile... a twisted grin that she learned from a very dear friend.

 

I think sometimes we have this same smile we learned from the Cheshire Cat. When life gets too hard, smile. When people call you crazy, smile. When you want to scream or cry, smile.

 

I'm trying to follow in Mr. Cheshire's footsteps and, when in doubt, smile... it confuses everyone else!

 

a.r.w.

Birthplace

“This is madness!"

The fae continued to lean back against the tree, watching his queen pace back and forth, oblivious to the fact that the hem of her white skirt was now covered in mud.

They called her the Bastard Beauty in this small, godforsaken town and they were right—she was indeed beautiful with her curly chestnut brown hair, bright green eyes, and dark skin. Her beauty was not of this world—he knew that and it was high time she had accepted it too.

“I do believe that is the ninth time you have said that word in the last hour.”

She stopped in her marching to turn and glare at the dark man before her—his skin was as pale as the moonlight and his hair as dark as the night.

“What did you say your name was, again?”

He just smiled at her ferocity. She was indeed the lost queen—no one else could speak to him in such a way and live to tell the tale. “Korzaeleous.”

“Odd name,” she muttered under her breath.

“Not where I’m from,” he declared as he pushed away from the tree and sauntered over to stand before the girl.

She eyed him suspiciously as she took a step back. “And where is that exactly?”

A lazy smile appeared on his perfectly handsome face… a smile that sent a shiver up her spine. “The same place that you came from…” His voice trailed off as he held his hand out to her. “Would you like to see?”

There was something about him. How she wanted to trust him, but every inch of her body told her to pick up her skirts and flee—get as far away from him as she could… for there was something wrong with him.

“Evelyn.”

The sound of her name on his lips made her take another step back, her eyes wide in fright. “How do you—“

“I know much more than just your name, my lady.” He bowed his head ever so slightly, his eyes begging her to take his hand and listen to what he had to say.

She did not doubt his words. She had caught glimpses of him throughout her life—always hidden in the shadows, always present, always unchanging.

As she thought back to his face throughout her life, she shivered, remembering her less than happy childhood. It had been filled with snide remarks, glares, rumors, and sadness. She was the Bastard Beauty. But that had been the kind name for her. In the darkness of the night, she would hear her father utter the cursed word “changeling.” And from the fear she spotted in the other villager’s eyes, that was what they really thought of her—not a bastard child but a monster from another world.

Another world.

Ever so slowly, she placed her hand in his and waited until his fingers wrapped tightly around hers. His smile widened as he turned to lead her deeper into the forest.

“Where exactly are we going?” she wondered curiously after a few minutes of silence.

“The place of your birth,” he said simply without turning around to look at her as if it was the most
obvious answer. He continued on before she could ask another question, “I was sent here eighteen years ago to watch over you and make sure that nothing happened to you.”

She bit her tongue. She had grown so tired of fighting with everyone in her life—she was no changeling; faeries were nothing more than old stories from a time before reason and logic. But the things this Korzaeleous knew about her, the fact that she knew she had seen him time and time again throughout her life, made her think that maybe—just maybe—there was some truth to the stories of the Old Ways.

Korzaeleous stopped in his determined march at the edge of a small clearing. The sun shone through the canopy of the forest, illuminating the grass of the forest floor. Evelyn gasped at the sight. At the center of the pool of sunlight was a perfect circle of mushrooms.

Tales from her childhood came back to her in an instant. “A faerie ring.”

Korzaeleous smiled at her.

Taking a step forward, he pulled her along behind him. “Are you ready?”

She wasn’t entirely sure what it was she was ready for, but looking back and forth between the fae and the ring, she slowly nodded her head.

Ushering her with his hand on the small of her back, he whispered smoothly, his eyes still locked on her face as if he was waiting for her to turn and run, “Ladies first.”

All her life she had been told to stay away from the rings—they were dangerous, portals to another world… the World of the Fae. But for the first time in her life, she did not fear the ring of mushrooms.

Looking back to the man one final time, she took a breath and stepped forward.

“Stop!”

Evelyn stumbled, caught around the waist by a man dressed all in white, a hood hiding his face.

“Let go of me!” she screamed, kicking her legs wildly like an animal caught in a trap.

As she looked around, she could see the forms of six other men dressed in white and Korzaeleous donned in black in the middle of the hoard.

With a swing of the sword tied to his waist, two of the men were down on the ground—their white garb suddenly covered in crimson blood. And within the blinking of her eyes, Evelyn was free of the man’s grip and running behind Korzaeleous through the forest, traveling deeper and deeper into the darkness.

“Who were those men?” she screamed out, her mind catching up with the moment and suddenly entering into a panic.

“Men from the Darren,” Korzaeleous growled as he paused to find his way. “They work for the Church and hunt down and destroy anything that has to do with our world.”

“What do you mean?” Evelyn was thankful for the chance to catch her breath.

Glancing over his shoulder, he looked down at her. “Magic.”

Evelyn lowered her eyes.

This morning she had been Evelyn Osmond. A normal girl living in a normal world, preparing to wed her normal fiancé. But the moment Korzaeleous kicked in her bedroom door and dragged her out to the forest, she realized that her life was now anything but normal. She knew that. He knew that. And it looked like these men—the Darren—knew it too.

Korzaeleous sighed, his hand still holding tightly to Evelyn’s in fear of losing her. “This might be a bit trickier than I thought.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Today's writing prompt was "place of birth." I've found that I've been drawing a lot more than writing here on this blog so I wanted to force myself to write something today (after all, there's only 43 days until NaNoWriMo!!).

This is a story that has been hidden in my head for about two years now. A young girl from the turn of the 20th century. A young fae who is ordered to protect her. A secret order whose only purpose is to destroy magic. Meet Evelyn and Korzaeleous.

I'm hoping to one day write this story out and explain why we no longer believe in magic in today's day and age. But for now, here is their first encounter with one another, the truth of Evelyn's identity, and the mysterious Darren.

a.r.w.

Faces

*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Do you ever feel like you have to bury your true feelings and wear a mask? Don't lie. All of us have had those days... We just want to burst into tears or scream at the top of our lungs but instead we smile and say, "I'm fine," because it's just easier. We never really want to have to explain ourselves... Sometimes we just want someone to accept our insanity, our bitterness, and darkness... So in those precious moments, they are also there to experience our joy.

 

I've felt like I am wearing a mask for a long time now. Some days I can take it off for a bit but most days I put a smile on my face, put my head down, and march my way through the day just hoping that I can make it back to my bed safe and sound where I can forget about feelings and faces and reality for a few hours. I've never really felt this way before and, in all honesty, it does scare me a little bit. My smile never used to be a façade, my positivity and optimism was not forced... but lately, it has been. Where life used to bring me happiness, I now tend to feel only bitterness.

 

I hope to one day wear that smile again and not force it to be there. Don't get me wrong! There are moments when I am genuinely happy and the smile is not a farce, but more often than not, that smile is hiding a tear or a scream... and sometimes it's hiding even nothingness.

 

a.r.w.

Nevermore

I've never met your love, Lenor

But I have my own lost soul I search for

And when I ask the raven for more

He looks at me and says the same as before

Nothing less and nothing more

Than just, "Nevermore."

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

I admit, I only just recently read Edgar Allan Poe's The Raven and I found that I really and truly loved it. There is that great gothic, creepy, old world feel to his stories and poetry and The Raven I think is the epitome of his creepy, gothic work.

 

As I was looking at my upcoming writing prompts, I saw "nevermore" weeks in advance and I was so excited. But the closer the day got, the less I was inspired to write something to do with "nevermore" and more inspired to draw (yet again, the face of a girl). I think I tend to have a very distinct style (stained glass hair, big, bushy eye-lashed eyes) and I tried to break away from that at least for today. I've learned that profiles are hard and I desperately need to learn how to draw hair not purple, pink, or blue. However, I still love my doodle girl wearing her raven crown. Perhaps she grew tired of hearing the word "Nevermore" repeated over and over again and this was her revenge against the raven.

 

The Raven is a very interesting story about loss and coping with the death of a loved one. In the poem (spoiler alert), our narrator descends into madness after his lover, Lenor, dies. Having experienced a great loss, I can see just how easy it is to lose yourself to madness... because sometimes that seems easier to cope with than reality.

 

I feel like you have a choice to make when faced with death and grief--you can go down one of two roads. You can either choose to protect yourself: you place your memories, your heartache, and that painful loss in a box and you place in on your shelf and force yourself to forget. You're able to continue on, painlessly, pretending that nothing is wrong, and you are able to heal more fully. Or, you continue to feel, you continue to mourn, and you live in constant pain. You choose to remember and, in a way, through your suffering, your loved one is able to continue on existing in your life and mind.

 

At first, I thought you had to make this decision and you could never go back, you could never change, and the two choices could not connect with one another. But I was wrong.

 

Some days--some moments--you are able to bottle up your thoughts and feelings; there are a few moments throughout the day where I am actually able to forget just how messed up my life is, forget about the gaping hole in my life and my heart, forget that I am grieving. But then, I recall... and it makes the pain all the more unbearable. And you decide, it's better to live in constant numbing pain than to force yourself to pretend that nothing ever happened.

 

I choose to grieve because grief is very much real and is the result of a deep love.

 

And, in a way, we are all walking down the same road--we all experience loss, pain, and grief at some point in our lives--and together, we can help carry each other's burdens, wipe away tears, and make the journey down this road a bit brighter.

 

And remember: we are not alone in our grief... We are surrounded by loss, life, and above all, love... Forevermore.

 

a.r.w. 

One Day

everything dies

winds die down and stars burn out

one day i'll join you

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Apologies for having such a short post and one that wasn't written today (but after the super long post from a few days ago, I'm sure you're all thrilled for this shortie!). My schedule was a bit hectic today and I'm only just getting home now. So I opened up my book of collected haikus and found this one that I wrote while on a plane (probably flying to Disney).

 

I never used to be afraid of flying... but now, things that once brought me so much joy, bring such fear. Suddenly, I am painfully aware of just how mortal I am. In some ways I'm more fearless because I no longer fear death (for what a wonderful reunion with my baby bro-bro that will be!) but in other ways I am more fearful because I see just how quickly life can end. And I love life. I don't want it to end. At least not yet.

 

But as I criticized myself for this sudden fear of death, this idea came into my mind. Literally, everything on this planet dies--the wind, the stars, trees, bumble bees, everything. And yet, humans are the only thing that actually, actively thinks about death and dying. We mourn the loss of a loved one, we try to protect ourselves from diseases, accidents, and untimely deaths. We are so focused on worrying about our deaths that sometimes we forget to live our lives... and I am just as guilty.

 

If you actually stop to think how connected everything is in this universe--connected through birth, life, and death--then perhaps death won't be quite as scary... it connects us to the universe's past, present, and future... and I think that's pretty wonderful.

 

a.r.w.

Kisses

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

It's the most wonderful time of the year! Those long, exhausting, sluggish days of summer have vanished (at least here in Siberia) and we are fully immersed in the crispness of Autumn... Of course, it could be snowing next week for all we know!

 

I love everything about Autumn. Even the air is electrified--you feel so much more aware of your body. The cold air bites at your cheeks and just makes it feel so much more alive.

 

I was walking to work today in 45 degree weather and I found that I had missed the cold, crispness of Fall. In China, there was no Fall... You went from humid, hot summer, to cold rain in winter. There was no transition, no changing colors, and no crisp kisses. Here, we have it all. The cold, the colorful leaves, that smell of rotting leaves... Everything is dying around you and yet you have never felt more alive!

 

Today's writing prompt was "nevermore" and my imagination went wild with different ideas... But they were all wiped away this morning on my walk to work as this image appeared in my mind. So here is (yet another) doodle (of a girl's face [my husband likes to point out]). I feel like you all deserved a break from the spookiness for today. I'm sure it'll return tomorrow.

 

a.r.w.

The Change

No one knew where it came from, how it started, or who was to blame. The older generation said it had to be the Russians (“Damn Commies,” they would mutter). The younger generation that was so focused on the safety of social and human rights, always holding their protests blamed it on nuclear testing… the radiation had to have leaked out, like Chernobyl all over again but so much worse this time. Maybe it was a sunburst or a disease that passed from rabid animals. People had their wild theories—it was the government or aliens, it is the end of days that the Mayans predicted thousands of years ago, it was the first stage of the rapture… or perhaps it was just Mother Nature sick and tired of the human race messing with her and she finally decided to fight back. Whatever it was, where kids used to go to school and teenagers used to go shopping, where people would sit in church or watch a football game, where the humans once lived life, the zombies now roamed, like an infestation that could not be exterminated.

Tess could not shake that thought from her mind—an infestation of vermin—as she waited for Brett to come back with the blankets they needed to bring back to the camp. They had already run into six or seven zombies but they were all too busy eating to notice the two teenagers on their bikes and even if they did, they were far too slow to catch them. But there was something about standing in the darkness of the abandoned city street—a place that had once been brimming with life and noise—that set Tess on edge. She kept her back against the truck, standing by the wheel to feel completely protected while Brett rummaged through the truck, looking for the blankets the other camp had sent them. Winter was coming and their camp had no way to heat the rooms of the tenants so these blankets were their only ticket to surviving until the spring.

And not everyone would make it, she had to remind herself. So many of her friends had died last winter… How many more would she lose?

A bump shook the truck back and forth, knocking Tess back to the present—how could she have been so careless as to let her mind wander while she was out in the open? She could have been killed.

Or worse, she reminded herself of why she was alone in the middle of an abandoned city—practically an abandoned world—risking her life for a couple of blankets.

She pushed herself away from the cold metal of the truck’s side and called out, “What is it?” as she turned toward the back of the truck. “Brett?” she called out, looking around to find her best friend. “What the—“

She leapt back in a panic as she bumped into someone, or rather—she realized almost too late—something. She should have smelled the rot and decay before she even walked to the back of the truck; she hated herself in that moment for being so stupid.

“Jesus Christ!” she screamed as the milky eyed ghoul reached out and grabbed a hold of the nearest thing—her arm. Tess tried to reach for her gun tucked into her jeans as the zombie continued to squeeze her arm; she had heard stories of just how strong these things were but as its strength tried to break her arm, she found herself less impressed and more terrified.

It felt for an instant as though time slowed down. Tess always heard stories from zombie attack survivors—the moment one of them opens their mouths and bites down on human flesh, it feels as if the world has stopped to show you the exact moment that your life was ruined—but she never really listened to them… that was, until this very moment. She watched in horror as the zombie’s yellow, rotten teeth broke through the skin of her left arm. Layer after layer of skin was torn apart until it hit the bone.

A gunshot filled the deafening silence in her head as the zombie’s head exploded, some of its blood spitting down on her cheek. She looked up at Brett who stood in the truck, his pistol still held in his hands as he looked back and forth between the ghoul and the girl.

“Brett,” she whispered in a panic as the pain suddenly swept through her, causing her legs to trembling and fall out from beneath her.

It was in that instant from when the gunshot sounded to when she was sitting on the freezing cold ground that the moment seemed to catch up with her—like time was speeding up extra fast to try and catch up from when it had slowed down. The pain in her arm was unimaginable; Tess hit her head against the truck to try and make her forget about the pain in her arm.

Tess tried to silence her scream… she tried so hard. She didn’t want any more of those things to find them. One was more than enough and more than she could handle it would seem.

“Where the hell did it come from?” Brett ripped his scarf from his neck and began to wrap it tight around her arm. The blood was already soaking through. “We did a complete perimeter search.”

It's been over two years since the zombies first attacked. Two years since my life had changed. Now it seems to be changing again, and, once more, it was changing for the worse.

“Can you feel your arm?” Brett placed his hands on her cheeks and looked into her eyes, searchingly. But searching for what? An answer? The truth? Any signs of the Change?

“It tingles a bit but I’m fine,” Tess pushed him away, trying to blink away the dark spots from her vision. “We’ve got to get the blankets back to camp.”

“Always the soldier.” He patted her on the back but Tess couldn’t help but notice how he kept his distance. A zombie had just bit her… They both knew what that meant.

“We should try to get back as quickly as we can,” Brett said as they both climbed back onto their bikes.

And try to beat the infection. Maybe if we get back sooner rather than later, the elders might be able to do something other than point a gun at me. Or at least that’s what he’s thinking.

“We should get back before the ghouls and feds find us.”

Tess shivered. If there was anything in this god-forsaken world more terrifying than hordes of zombies, it was the feds—the soldiers sent in to fight the infected…. And right now, that included her.

“You can ride, right?”

“Yeah, of course,” she sighed kicking off and speeding down the road.

The world had changed greatly in the two years since the zombie apocalypse, and that changed world was eerie the moment the sun went down. The big city was silent; the avenues empty. The solar powered street lights were the only illumination left in the city, guiding them along.

The silence is what frightened her most. Having always lived in the city, Tess didn’t really know what to do with herself in the silence. Her thoughts always got the best of her and right now those thoughts revolved around the doomed sequence of events just after a bite.

She glanced down at her left arm as she continued to pedal. Blood had already soaked through the bandage in the perfect outline of teeth marks.

How long does it take? An hour?

Her brother had been bitten about six months ago and he had changed pretty quickly. Less than twelve hours later, he was completely gone. Her older sister had killed herself from the grief. Just Tess and her Uncle remained of their once happy family.

A blinding light pulled Tess out from her morbid thoughts from the past. She pulled back on her brake and swerved to the side just grazing the side of the big white van that had appeared out of nowhere. Thrown off balance, she toppled over onto the cement just as two feds jumped out of the car, armed from head to toe.

“Tess!”

She could hear the panic in Brett’s voice. If the feds saw her bite mark, she would disappear into their van for good.

“I am so sorry!” the younger of the two men called out, the driver. “I didn’t even see you!”

“He’s new—first night out,” the older one explained, pushing his dark hair out of his face. “Are you hurt?”

He knelt down and helped to pull Tess back up to her feet.

“I’m fine.” She tried to shake the man off her arm.

“We’re just trying to get back to our family,” Brett was suddenly by her side to help explain.

“It’s dangerous to be out past curfew,” the fed said before he glanced down at the blankets strapped to the back of Brett’s bike. “Pretty big family if you ask me.”

Well if you ask me, survivor camps shouldn't be illegal.

Brett tried to smile as Tess climbed back up onto her bike. He tried desperately to keep up the façade. “Tell me about it.”

The two men stared at each other for a moment, tense, before the fed looked down at his hand… sticky with blood.

His eyes narrowed. “I thought you said that you weren’t hurt.” His gaze came to rest on the loosened bandage and the infected bite peeking out from beneath the scarf.

Brett and Tess exchanged a glance.

As the fed moved to grab Tess, Brett threw out a punch to defend his friend. “Tess, go!” he screamed at her.

She used all her strength and energy to pedal her bike down the street, suddenly wishing for the lights to go out and help hide her in the darkness.

The van revved to life somewhere behind her and a gunshot nearly gave her a heart attack. Whether the bullet was meant for Brett or for her, she wasn’t sure, but Brett had not caught up with her so that was enough to answer her question.

“Holy shit!” she screamed before chancing a glance behind her.

No Brett. Just a van barreling down on her.

Another gunshot and Tess knew this was no joke. She had to do something and fast or risking being another of the feds’ nameless and faceless victims.

She quickly turned down a small street not sure where it led… but at least it was dark.

A screech of tires and the glow of headlights were gone just long enough for her to ditch her bike and start climbing the fire escape up the side of one of the old buildings.

She smiled from her perch as the two feds ran into the alleyway. Her smile faded when she spotted their guns.

She froze and remained completely still, watching the two men, praying to whatever god might listen to an Infected that she would remain unseen.

Her hopes were dashed when the young driver looked up and spotted her.

“Rick!” he called out as he shined his flashlight on her.

Without a word, Rick aimed his gun and fired, the bullet hitting the wall just above her head.

Panic.

“Holy shit! Holy shit!” she muttered to herself as she climbed the rest of the ladder and threw herself over the ledge, hiding on the roof.

Pulling her handgun out from her waist band, she leaned over and sent down two shots blindly. One of them must have hit its mark because someone cried out in pain.

“Take that, assholes!” she screamed as she ran across the rooftops towards her safe haven.

***** 

“And you’re sure they didn’t follow you?”

“Pretty sure,” Tess winced as the doctor cleaned her wound.

“We have more pressing problems,” the doctor interrupted. “She’s been bit. We need to put her in isolation for the next twenty-four hours.”

“What about Brett?” Tess demanded. “He’s still out there with those monsters!”

“And the zombies,” her uncle tried to joke.

Why can he never take things seriously?

One of the three leaders of the camp, Joyce, placed her hand on Tess’s shoulder. “We’ve sent some scouts out to look for him. If he’s out there, they’ll find him.”

Tess didn’t want to think about why he wouldn’t be out there. Anything could have gotten to him—dogs, zombies, feds… if he was even still alive.

“The boy is most likely dead, or worse.” The doctor finished wrapping her arm in clean white bandages.

“Oh thanks. That’s reassuring, Doc,” she sighed, jumping down from off the table.

Her Uncle Norman led her down the hall, suddenly all business. “We’re not too sure on the incubation time—for some it’s minutes and for others it can be days. Richard,” they both stopped at the mention of her brother’s name, “his Change was average: ten hours and thirty-six minutes.”

“So you’re thinking I still have a few hours left.”

“I just hope you can make it through the night.”

Neither of them wanted to mention the great big elephant in the room—by this time tomorrow, she would probably have a bullet in her head.

They walked down the isolation chamber’s hallway to the clean, empty room. It was similar to a hospital room—cream walls, a bed, and even a toilet. There wasn’t a need for much else. No one stayed for long.

The events of the night finally began to catch up with her.

I am dying. This is my last night on Earth. My family is dead, my best friend is dead, and soon I'll be dead… I’m going to die here, alone.

She turned to face her uncle. For the last two years she had been a soldier and he had been her commander. After her sister died, they were all they had left in this world. Tears filled her eyes and panic filled her chest as she threw her hands around him.

“I love you, Uncle Norm.”

“I love you too, baby.”

This is the last time I'll ever touch another human… and not want to eat them.

“Be strong.” He placed a kiss on her forehead before locking the door behind him, leaving her, once again, with her terrified thoughts.

***** 

Forty-eight hours have come and gone and I still feel perfectly normal.

The doctor shook his head as he took back the thermometer from Tess. “I’m just dumbfounded. Two days is the longest anyone has ever gone without Changing.”

“Could it be that she’s immune?” Norman asked, still sitting next to Tess. She appreciated his courage.

The doctor sighed. “I don’t think so. You told me you had stomach cramps and you do have a fever, however slight it may be. Those are the early stages—the very early stages. Usually they take minutes… But for you, Tess, it has taken nearly two days.”

“So I’m still Changing.”

Doc nodded his head. “Just very slowly.”

Any hope that Tess had dared to hold onto vanished with the nod of Doc’s head.

Norm wrapped his arms around her just as the message chime sounded over the PA.

“Attention: illegal campers—“

“That the hell?” Norm leapt up to his feet.

Tess froze in fear. He hadn’t said much to her but she could still recognize his voice. It was that fed—Rick—the man who was also probably Brett’s murderer.

“I must say your little hideout was quite tricky to find but it is time to go. We have surrounded you and I am holding the register of every man, woman, and child in your little establishment. You have fifteen minutes to pack the things you want to bring with you to the reservation before we incinerate this place. Your time starts,” he paused for dramatic effect while everyone in the building held their breath, “now.”

“I thought you said they didn’t follow you!” Norm turned to his niece.

“They didn’t!” she defended. It had been two days ago. “I shot one of them for Christ’s sake!”

“It’s too late for that now,” Doc calmed both of them down.

“Well what should I do?” Tess asked the two men nervously. She looked down at her bandaged arm. The right thing to do—the honorable thing to do would be to let them burn her alive… but her very human mind still feared death. “Should I stay or should I go?”

“They will find you and put a bullet through your head if you stay.” Norm shook his head.

“But we cannot risk infecting others.” Doc shook his head in response.

“Everyone out! Now!” An armed fed appeared in the doorway, guns pointed their way. The group raised their hands innocently as if they had nothing to hide. “Up to your bunks and get your belongings now!”

Terrified and thoroughly confused about what she should do, Tess lowered her eyes and pulled her hood up over her head and followed the two men out of the isolation chamber.

“What should I—“

I tried to ask Doc. I really did.

The members of the camp were running through the halls, bumping into one another and trying desperately to avoid the feds.

Caught up in the moving sea of humanity, Tess realized that her uncle and Doc were nowhere it be seen and she was being ushered away from her room.

The camp that Tess had called her home for the last two years was really an old apartment building, four people to a room with a mess hall in the basement and the isolation chambers in the upper rooms.

She slipped into the line of illegal campers and slowly began to make her way down the winding flight of stairs.

Holy shit. Holy shit. What am I doing?

Very rarely did Tess look to her uncle for permission (you needed to be able to survive on your own in this world) but now she was like a lost little girl looking for help with every step.

She stopped in her mindless march.

“Hey! Watch it!” Someone bumped into her.

Eyes wide, she looked down to the next landing and spotted the dark hair and darker face of the fed from the night of her bite.

Knowing her stillness would draw his attention, she quickly started to follow the line of people once more and pulled her hood down over her face, hoping to shield herself from his eyes.

The closer he got, the harder it was for Tess to breathe.

She closed her eyes as she brushed past him and dared to release a sigh of relief, but a hand firmly grabbing her arm made her scream out in pain instead.

Everyone turned to look at the cause of such a horrific sound. Tess spun around to find the fed holding on tight to her, his fingers digging into the bite wound.

“Gotcha.”

His smile sent a shiver down Tess’s spine as she tried to pull away. Her fingers just wrapped even tighter as he pulled her away from the hoard of campers.

“No! Please!” Tess screamed, looking to her comrades—her friends—for help. “Please!”

“Out of the way!” the fed, Rick, barked, kicking a man down the stairs. “Move!” He continued to drag Tess behind him.

The crowd did little to help him pass.

Maybe it’s their pathetic way of trying to help me.

With a sigh that sounded more like a growl, he pulled one of his many guns out and sent a warning shot up into the air.

The staircase filled with screams and everyone fell to the ground, their hands covering their heads.

“Nobody move unless you want a bullet through you!” he ordered, pulling Tess along behind him.

Tess looked down at the people huddled along the bannister, their wide eyes watching in horror as she was dragged behind the fed and, with one final scream, she disappeared into their van.

 *****

Tess was ashamed of the tears running down her cheeks as she laid on the floor of the van, screaming for help.

“Shut up!” the fed pressed his gun to her head. “Let’s get out of here!” he called out to the driver banging on the window. Without any hesitation, the van roared to life and sped away.

"Where are you taking me?” Tess tried to not sound too terrified.

The fed didn’t answer her, didn’t even bother to look at her. “Eric,” he called out to the other fed in the van.

Movement from beside her caught her eye as she spotted the young blond fed that had almost run over her, now aiming his gun at her.

“I should have shot you dead when I had the chance,” she spat.

He smirked. “You should have worked on your aim a bit more.”

“Well not all of us are privileged enough to have the government fund our training.”

“Shut up!” the fed named Rick shouted, taking her wrists gruffly in his hands and fastened them together with ziptie handcuffs. “An Infected bitch should show some respect to the soldiers sent to protect you ungrateful lot.”

“Protect?” she scoffed. “Don’t make me laugh. You feds have done nothing to protect me. You’re just expensive hitmen—paid murderers! You’ve killed my best friend, destroyed my home, and took me away from the only family I have left. You’re not soldiers… You’re just a bunch of assholes with guns.”

Rick hissed as he grabbed a hold of Tess’s hair, pulling her in close to look into her eyes. “I’d watch my mouth if I were you.”

“What are you going to do?” She mocked him—he had already taken everything away from her. “Kill me?”

“Not yet.” He pushed her back against the wall, his eyes never leaving hers. “But I can’t wait until the order comes in.”

“You’re a bastard.” Tess hated him already.

“And you’re a little girl stupid enough to still be walking around after being bit by a zombie,” he spat as he pushed her sleeve up and ripped the bandage away to reveal the infected bite that was bleeding once more. “Did you really think we would let you escape and infect your camp?” He looked down at her as if she really was a stupid child.

“I haven’t Changed yet,” Tess said softly, her eyes locked on a trickle of blood falling down to her wrist, slowly.

“What was that?” Rick looked as though he did not have time for this.

“I got bit more than two days ago and I haven’t Changed yet,” she nearly shouted.

Rick held her gaze for a moment without revealing a thing—he didn’t seem confused, concerned, surprised, or intrigued.

Tess jumped back nervously as he leaned in close and pressed something over her mouth.

Oh my god.

It was a muzzle, she realized as he fastened it around her head.

“It doesn’t matter if you’re Changing at a normal rate or not. You’re hot to the touch and your skin is yellowing.”

Tess looked down at her bare skin. How had she not noticed her pale skin Changing?

“It’s how I spotted you,” he explained, void of all emotion. “No matter what—you were bit and you are Changing.”

Tess leaned back against the wall of the van, a sense of hopelessness overwhelming her. The only people that knew what was happening to her were gone. She was the feds’ prisoner… soon to be lab rat no doubt.

The muzzle bit into her jaw, keeping the feds safe from her. The metal and leather around her head, clamped her mouth shut and reminded her that Rick was right, she was Changing… however slowly.

Sooner or later, she would be a zombie.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Sorry this one was so long! You actually just read the first ten pages of a story I've been thinking of writing for almost a year now! I call it, "Love in the Time of Zombies." Get it? Any Gabriel García Marquez fans out there?

 

My love for Halloween and zombies grew into an obsession when I first started working at the Ghostlight Theatre almost ten years ago. There, I met people who loved Halloween just as much as I did (if not more) and I met my dear friend, Paul McGinnis, who taught me everything I now know about zombies.

 

I tried to incorporate different aspects of zombie culture into this story--origin theories, calling zombies ghouls, killing the brain, etc.--while also adding a new twist to the story.

 

What if someone was bitten but began to Change slowly? They have all this time to think about their fate. How much more torturous would that be? But they also have a chance to figure out how to stop the infection from spreading. And what if a living human fell in love with an Infected? A doomed romance from the start!

 

We always think about what we would do in the case of a zombie apocalypse (don't lie--you have your survival plan). We always think we could kill the brain and kill the ghoul without any hesitation (after all, "they're dead... they're all messed up.")... but could you kill someone you love? And could you look into someone's eyes--someone you know is Changing and will one day be a brainless ghoul but is still very much human--and pull the trigger? If so, then maybe we need to look deeper at what makes a human, human, and what makes a ghoul, ghoul.

 

a.r.w.