cobalt by @stygianoia

WingmanThe crowd chattered relentlessly around Scurlock and Bryon, though it did part easily for Scurlock’s massive form. The two brothers strode side by side, enjoying the mild spring weather during some much-needed time off from their respective jobs. With the carnival in town, they had decided to pay it a visit together, taking in the colorful tents and numerous craft stalls. Bryon, it seemed, had another agenda in mind. “So when are you going to begin courting somespire?” Scurlock did a double take, frowning. “You know I don’t do well with all that… romance stuff,” he said, shrugging. “Besides, the Academy keeps me busy. I don’t have time for that.” “Eh? Weren’t you the one going on about family lines and noble obligations the other day?” “I didn’t mean both of us have to find someone! Just… one of us, and you’re the one who likes to attend social gatherings and parties and all that stuff.” Bryon scoffed. “Come on, there has to be someone who’s caught your eye. What about Bramble? He’s into all the gym stuff like you. Or Sadine, they’ve been eyeing you pretty blatantly the last two times you were in the same room. Or-” “I said no, Bry!” Scurlock growled, rage suddenly roiling in his chest and forcing the glowing markings of his furnace to ignite and spark with energy. “I don’t want to pursue any of that romantic junk. Just because you want to doesn’t mean I have to. Now drop it.” Bryon raised an eyebrow, taking one step back at the display of anger. “I didn’t realize how strongly you felt about this.” “Neither did I,” Scurlock admitted, taking a deep breath to calm his furnace. “Sorry. Can we move on to something else?”

Kiss From A ButterflyHe couldn't believe it. He just couldn't. He didn't want it to end like this. His daughter, the only significant thing in his life, had lost the fight. She had fought against her sickness for so long and he, a poor man, was unable to do anything but to watch her suffer and pray that if there was some high divine power somewhere above, they would hear his plead. But they didn't – if there even was any deity listening, that is. He had tried to seek help from healers, but it was all in vain. They had ended up being all alone with their painful problem, dwelling in despair. And so, it happened on that one autumn morning that the little girl took her last breath. She had been young, way too young, and it was unfair that fate had stolen her life so soon. Her father had stayed up all night, grasping her fragile hand, begging for a miracle. It didn't happen. Her life slipped away trough his fingers. His daughter, his most precious treasure, was gone. The inevitable had ensued. Then came the tears. His vision got blurred and he couldn't help it. He wept and wept, but no matter how much he cried, the tears that dropped couldn't bring relief to his bottomless sorrow at all. Why did this have to happen? Who was responsible of the demise of such innocent child? Oh, he so wanted that somewhere out there would be a higher force so he could blame them for this tragedy. Deeply mourning, the father raised his beloved daughter and started to carry her tiny body. There was only one thing he could do. If the stories that were told around his home village were true. Perhaps he still had a chance to see his little girl. He simply loved her too much to let her go this easily. He just had to go to the hill of butterflies. The grieving father carried his child's dead body out of their warm home. The weather was a bit cold and the sky was clouded and dark like the man's mind. He began his travel to the hill that was good distance away from their village. Protecting the figure of the dearest person in his life as if she was still breathing, he journeyed to his destination. Even though the world seemed grim at that moment, the hill was beautiful. A lot of colorful flowers were blooming, and as the man reached the top of the place, then sat down with his daughter still in his arms, it appeared as if the gorgeous plants were guarding them. The man embraced her, petting her long, dark hair. Now he just had to wait. So he waited. Eventually the dawn turned to dusk. That whole time the man had squeezed his child's empty husk, mumbling to himself that everything was going to turn alright and that he loved her more than anything. He was so focused on the small body on his arms that he didn't realize that something miraculous started to happen around them. However, it didn't take long for him to snap out of his somber state of mind and become more aware of his surroundings. The magnificent flowers didn't get reduced to buds as the veil of darkness intertwined around the world. Instead, they started to glow with a radiant light in many different colors. The sight was breath-taking, but there was still more to come. Then they appeared; the butterflies. It was as if the flowers had summoned them. Those beautiful tiny beings just materialized out of nowhere, each one of them conquering a blossom for themselves. And then, in unison, they took off from their little plant platforms, rising higher and higher, and began to dance in the air. The sight was stunning. The man could just stare in awe as the butterflies fluttered around them. So it was true. The fable about night butterflies was valid. They could help him. Soon one of the colorful insects separated from the group of its sisters and brothers, descending to meet the man. It landed on his lips, and the man closed his eyes. For a moment the time felt like it had stopped. Only when the butterfly decided to leave the spot to ascend again did the man open up his eyes. “Daddy?” Greatly astonished, the father shifted his gaze at his precious little girl he was holding. She was staring at him with bright and joyful eyes. She was alive, she was alive! He closed his daughter in a tight hug, tears of happiness rolling down his face. His heart was beating wildly, bursting with love for his only important being in his life. Delight killed all the last remains of his previous sorrow that he had felt when he had arrived to the hills. It was like that misfortune never even happened. “Thank you… thank you!” father whispered and made known his gratefulness for the little insects. “What's wrong daddy? Why are you crying?” the little girl inquired. The man wiped away his tears before answering: “Everything is okay now. Nothing is wrong.” Then he kissed his daughter's forehead. She let out a small giggly noise, which made the father's heart melt. After that, they both stood up, hand in hand and looked together at the dance of butterflies. Those small creatures began to flutter around the father and his child. The family members looked at each other with a sheer glee on the face of them both. Then they gazed to the sky above and collectively, still holding their hands together, they started to ascend to the heavens with butterflies.

InspirationWhy do we write, scribbling ink onto paper?Why do we do it now instead of later?Why indeed do we do so many things in life,Instead of facing head on its many strifes? For some, these stanzas and rhymes help a bit.They make us think and let us control it.Illusions of stability made by turning thoughts into words,Otherwise, would any of us even be heard? Flowing,Freeform,Uniquelystructured, Or perhaps evenA short and simple haikuPacked with a large punch. So many different types await the creative mind.Some may choose to let them rhyme entwined,Or to let them fall flat without a twin. There is no wrong way to write,Nor is there a wrong reason,But to ignore it at all,Commits against yourself treason. Let the creative juices flow freely,Let them go how they might.However your poem turns out,Just make sureit feelsright. trophy

I am the thing sending you notificationsI take a private momentSend my eyes across the seasInto people's housesWherever they all pleaseI like the post We see them in the thousandsSometimes they see meI'm just a string of textIf that's what you believeI like the post I dream of all the silencesThe things that I would sayIf you really told me that storyIf we were face to faceIf I did more than hear youIf I truly did engageYour story moved me deeplyOr I laughed, enjoyed escapeI liked the post I want to let you knowYou are really not aloneBut I am just a string of textSometimes, even lessI like the post There is a well of righteous angerAnd a fathomless dismayA sea of human facesBut what else can I do?I like the post

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