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The Biggo Tree

Where does your mind go in your moments of doubt?
When fear runs wild, you run and hide behind a wall of ignorance
So eager to find someone to blame
You fail to stop to consider if you should.

And so you wrap yourself in false righteousness
pridefully creating narratives to preserve
That ignorance that grants you your superiority
While unleashing primal fury on anyone who fails to acknowledge it.

The mind, like a vine, it sprouts its passions
The mouth, like a chute, fires off its venom
You call it love as if that makes it so.
You’re lost within the biggo tree.

In your frantic desperation to be right

You blind yourself to your own actions
Do you see, within you, your own perversion?
No, you’re lost within the biggo tree.

You know you’re right because you tell yourself so
pronouncing it as often and loudly as you can
You feed on your hatred and lust for its power
So you can look down on your fellow man

You’ll always hate because there is evil,
Not in others but in yourself.
Your obstinance and pride will forever blind you,
Because you’re so petrified of being wrong.


©️ 2025, Accountec, LLC

Waking

Hope in God. If you have good hope and faith in Him, you shall be delivered from your enemies.


Diamond opened her eyes to darkness. The dream I had been chasing was a soft one, of a past that never was. Sweet, the flickers of something warm and heartening. I dreamt of the life I thought was mine, until my nemesis opened my eyes. Sometimes I can feel him whispering into my thoughts, and like a warrior in mortal combat I rage against him with all my strength, and yet I cannot expel him. He is insidious. He is everywhere. But He will not defeat me.

The dream was so vivid, and for a few moments I hold fiercely to the fading images. If only I could dream whilst awake, I would never let that vision pass. But my eyes began to adjust, bringing me back to a place familiar and comforting in the strange way that prison walls are comforting to someone too long behind locked doors. The room is small and dark, and sparsely furnished. There are no pictures on the walls, no knickknacks. The sheets of my bed are clean, but rough, and institutional white. I have been here so many times before, that I recognize this place, as if I belong here. And I do. And I do not. This is not my home, though I know it just as well as any home I have ever known. I stare at the ceiling, wondering if I might see the feathers of that dream again. I chase the last wisps of subconscious desperately. I know my efforts are futile, but still I try. I have to try, because I will not surrender. The dreams were full of color and as alive as any reality. More so even then this place, though I know it is not a dream. In this place, most everything that isn’t brown is white, and every line is straight. I don’t know if that’s supposed to be orderly, or simply dull. It withers the senses to be here and that is intentional. Hear my words and you will understand, as I unfortunately do. I push the sheets away and swing my legs down onto the plain brown carpet. I have a chill from the night. No matter the season, this place is always cold. Like a colony on a far away world, the environment is entirely controlled and completely separate from its surroundings. Only history tells me I am still on Earth. Plain white walls. Bland fresh scent. I am, in a way, home. I both acknowledge and rage against that thought.

There’s a small window that looks out on some shrubs and walkways. Even the outside doesn’t seem real. Too orderly. Too bland. The bushes could as easily be plastic as alive. I honestly don’t know for sure. 

Back within, and over at the small wood desk, is my companion, Candy, shamelessly reading my journal. She’s not the kind to ask, and besides, I can keep no secrets from her anyways. That is one thing I have accepted, and long ago. For better or for worse, she is my constant companion.

I hit the light switch, and the glow decimates any flicker of dreams and summons me fully back to reality. The fluorescent glow is harsh and cold, reminding me that I am not welcome here, no matter what pretensions are made to deceive me. And even the pretensions are few here.

I pull the sheets up and tuck them in. If Candy has noticed my awakening she doesn’t show it. My left hand finds my rosary on the small night table as my right smooths out the blanket. This rosary was a gift to me since before I appreciated it, since before I learned the value of faith. Those times seem as though they belong to another life, a life someone else lived and that she simply witnessed. But it was given to her by her mother. Whether her mother could have forseen the importance she would eventually recognize upon it, she couldn’t say. But she held it closely to her bosom with both her hands as she said her rosary prayers slowly one by one, her mind closed to thought and her soul uplifted to God. She could feel His presence more and more as she made her way through the prayers. Then she crossed herself and kissed the crucifix gently. She could never start her day without this ritual. Without it she felt distracted and lost. She placed it carefully back on the nightstand and headed into the very small bathroom.

As she was brushing her teeth she could hear Candy softly humming in the room, and soon she joined Diamond, leaning in the doorway. Candy was a lot of things Diamond was not, and she loved to tease her about that. Diamond had known her for about eight years now, and she knew the girl better then anyone. She was a collection of jarring contradictions. Her bright pink hair fell down to her shoulders, perfectly straight and smooth, almost silky. Her eyes were an impish green, full of humor and biting sarcasm. She never took anything seriously, whereas Diamond was serious about everything. Candy was fair skinned, but not as pale as her companion, and stood only 5’2” but was full of energy, though you’d never see her eat. She always wore multiple earrings on both ears and a tattoo of a phoenix on her belly. She was flashy and ostentatious to the max and always dressed the same, no matter the weather or occasion: cutoff jeans and a tank top, her nails always perfectly trimmed and painted something neonish. And, consistently, she had a mouth that never knew when to shut up. Though she liked to get under Diamond’s skin, her loyalty was bone deep.

The bathroom was just a dull as the rest of her quarters. It was floored in faded lime green tiles that crept halfway up the walls. She wondered if she was supposed to think she was at the ocean. If so, the designers had failed in that.

She rinsed and paused to accost her reflection. It was nothing like Candy’s. She had lost weight. Her hair was thick but coarse, and it took her some time to brush it into order, but once she did she had a serious look to her. It was somehow a regal bearing that sometimes caught people off guard. She looked like someone important. She only wished she felt that way. There were faint shadows beneath her cutting gray blue eyes. Her complexion was otherwise smooth (the acne of adolescence long behind her), but she was almost ghostly pale. There was a ferocity to those eyes though, an almost indomitable will shining through.

Who are you? She wanted to ask. What did you do with Sarah? When did that little girl become… this? 

That’s when she caught Candy giving her the look. She always tried not to because she knew that Diamond hated seeing it as much as Candy hated giving it, but sometimes Candy slipped. It was the same look of pity and regret. Candy immediately looked away, and the moment is gone. Diamond turned and twisted the shower knob roughly to the hottest setting, as if the steam could cleanse her of her thoughts. She stepped into the spray and closed her eyes, absorbing the sensation of all the little drops of scalding water hitting her skin. The intensity of the heat lured her mind away and for a few moments there was nothing… and it was a beautiful nothing, a nothing that was so much better then all the somethings that she almost smiled.

Her given name was and would always be Sarah Albrecht, but she had been going by the name of Diamond ever since... since then. She was 25 years old and a paranoid schizophrenic, pleased to meet you and how do you do, of course. In case you didn’t realize, Candy’s existence was limited to the extent of Diamond’s tortured imagination. She was a hallucination, nothing more, but that was something that at times slipped Diamond’s mind. After all, she had been with her companion ever since the day that she referred to, perhaps overly dramatically, as the day that Sarah died. For Diamond, it was as serious as cancer, and something that she was constantly aware of, even in the most carefree moments that her existence could contrive. Sarah was so many things Diamond was not and would never be. And no matter how many times people pushed her to release her fierce grip on her bitterness, it would always shine through… through and through.

She smiled as she pictured it again, smiled with fury. The day she discovered the truth about her mind replayed in her consciousness almost every single day. Well, it wasn’t that sudden for her, it was only sudden for the people that surrounded her, those who claimed to love and to KNOW her. And they learned that they did not really know her, not anymore. The day that the people around her discovered the truth about her mind was a crystal clear memory. She had been just a girl, just a normal girl, but by the time they found out she had been hiding it for… weeks? Longer? She was 13 years old when it all started. Sarah was popular, smart, and ambitious. She had a strong, loving family consisting of a doting father, a nurturing mother, and a big brother whose every accomplishment she insisted on doing even better. Her father was a manager at an engineering firm and earned good money. They had everything they needed, and they were happy. The future was not a question of whether good things would come, but, rather, which good things. In those days, the sky was the limit for her. She was an overachiever, envied -ENVIED - by her friends. 

The changes came slowly, quietly, at first. She didn’t know what was happening to her, nor what to do. For the first time in her life she was dealing with something she couldn’t control. And for Sarah, control was everything. 

It started quietly enough. Mere suggestions of thought.  Gentle at first. And then… not. Suddenly she felt paranoid, convinced that her friends were talking about her behind her back constantly. She would get angry and snap at people and accuse them. And then there was the voices, haunting her. 

It was three weeks after the voices started that she came home from school exhausted. Trying to pretend everything was ok was almost impossible and took all the energy she had, and even then it was easy to see that she wasn’t really fooling anybody. She had been sleeping a lot more and doing a lot less. She felt like a ghost, as if she had died and what remained was just a passing glimmer of who she had been. She couldn’t shake the feeling that this was all just a bad dream. She couldn’t make sense of it, and so it had to be a dream. She used to hate to dream. They were confusing and often frightening. But now in some twisted way she suddenly preferred my dreams to this reality.

She opened the door and almost jumped when she saw her mother sitting there waiting for her. She had this look on her face, a tired look of sadness. 

“Your school called today.” She sipped at a cup of coffee anxiously.

Sarah said nothing. It was obvious by her mother’s expression that something bad had happened. She thought of all the things that were happening, about how her life was crashing down, about how she was helpless to stop the anxiety, the suspicion, the voices. Whatever had happened, it couldn’t be any worse then everything that had already happened.

She dropped my bag and sat across from her, arms crossed defensively, not a word spoken. She just sat, and watched, and waited.

Her mom gazed at me for a few moments, and it struck her that there was more then a tiredness in her expression, more then mere anxiety. She was scared, and lost, and deep in grief. And then the tears came, welling up in her distant eyes.

“What’s happening to you Sarah? You’ve been acting so strangely, and with barely a word to say to any of us. You’ve been so hostile and lazy, and you’re sleeping all the time. Then today your school called and said you’ve been failing your exams. You’ve never failed even one exam before. Honey, whatever it is, please tell me what’s wrong and we’ll fix it together.”

Her mother’s words softened her a bit, and before Sarah knew it she had broken down crying. What’s happening? She wanted to tell her mother everything, like she had always done up to that point. But she couldn’t think of any words that wouldn’t sound insane. She didn’t want her parents to know what was happening to her, how she was losing her mind. She wanted more then anything to stay the Sarah they knew and loved. And so she turned to the best lies and excuses she could think of. She could tell her mother didn’t really believe them, but eventually she gave up asking, and that was where it ended… for a time.


That night found her crying in her room. She felt completely lost and helpless and didn’t know who she was anymore. She muffled her tears with her pillow, the door shut and locked. Before long she had cried herself to sleep.

When she woke she had the distinct feeling that she wasn’t alone. She had left the overhead light on, but now the only light was the dim glow of her desk lamp. She jumped when she realized someone was sitting at the desk, watching her. She had the playful green eyes and pink hair that was now so familiar to Diamond.

“I’m Candy” she proffered helpfully, as if that explained everything. Sarah stared at her. The girl sighed. “Don’t worry, people get used to me. I can tell you’re not a girl burdened by social graces. Maybe I can help with that.”

“Who… are you?”

She rolled her eyes. “Candy? Like the stuff they hand out at Halloween? Look, Sarah, you’re a bit of a mess. I can help you. Trust me.”

Sarah nodded, still staring. And that’s when it really hit home. She finally knew that the girl she had been, the life she had lived, was gone.


©️ 2017, Accountec, LLC

Projection

I don’t know you
You’re not my friend
Nor family, nor lover
To me you’re nothing at all.

Yet I open my world to you.
You listen to my secrets.
They play in the shadows of your mind
And I wonder what you’re not telling me

You seem to exist in another dimension
In a place I simply cannot go
Yet I struggle to reach you nonetheless
never understanding why I try.

Sometimes I want to tear you down,
To belittle you and say hard truths
To break your façade and draw your tears
In a clumsy attempt to make you real.

You’ve done to me not a single crime
but I easily pretend you’ve done everything.
I try to believe that hurting you is justice
Yet I am powerless to pursue such righteousness

I don’t want to feel anything when I look at you.
I pursue complete apathy, though I fail every time.
You’re not a part of my life so why are you in it?
The simple truth is that you aren’t.

I don’t deny that the adversary lies within me
I know that you are more than a reflection
I can warp my concept of you minute by minute
Yet regardless, you remain the same.

Even as I seek you, I try to escape you
It’s a twisted sort of dream
What will you be when our time is done?
As now, a figment of my imagination.

©️ 2019, Accountec, LLC

Island's End

There upon the sandy shore beneath a smoky sky
Past the telltale varied trappings where the tourists lie
Beyond the rocks and midst the surf betwixt the land and sea
You’ll find me at the island’s end… just the gulls and me.
 
The gulls at least they have their flock
The waves the tide; the crabs the rocks
I alone here have no purpose
No flock to join, no fins to surf with.
 
I seek out peace at island’s end
Only to face familiar questions again
I find that doubts are my only companion
As I search for signs but never find them
 
I can see in the distance the tourists cavort
Delighting in words, sun and sport
But the chaos of life has worn me down
I jealously guard what peace I’ve found.
 
Certainly, I could pretend to belong
Buy a few drinks and they’ll play along
We’ll laugh and play and fight the tide
Without a thought of duty or pride
 
But once I dreamt of following a creed
Of being a crusader of great words and deeds.
It seems to me many ages ago
But I once had places to be and to go
 
The tide brings me a tenuous peace
Can troubles wash away like driftwood on the beach?
The world is so simple yet somehow complex
The waves wash in… the seaweed collects
 
There is no home for me by the surf
Soon comes night and my return to the turf
I take a last look at the stars as I leave
knowing in my heart that this is just a reprieve.

©️ 2019, Accountec, LLC

The Edge

Beware of me, for I learn from the Night

His students adopt a different wrong and right
His virtues are rage, paranoia and violence
And here in the dark, they make perfect sense.
 
Can you see darkness falling my friend?
The shadows dance in my mind again
You know the darkness but have much to learn
you still don't know how stop its return
 
This line and verse is a dangerous song
All the rules change when the fading light’s gone
Our pride and our strength we think will forestall
The raging madness that summons the Fall.
 
There are efforts and promises all in abundance
As you still pretend I’m still who you saw
That person now lives only in dreams
And I am no longer what I may seem
 
Because some have learned the strength of the Night
And whether it’s wrong or whether it’s right
They will return to the light’s domain
But in the end, some shall remain.
 
I want nothing more than to save you from danger
Even though we are now nothing but strangers
Do you not see the darkness could claim you?
Can you not imagine who you might change to?
 
For if the Night claims you, your dreams will end
The people who loved you will run now and then
And though they might hear you when you should call
You too shall learn… you can’t stop the Fall.
 
They’ll trust you completely until they do not.
As little by little the Night twists your thoughts
The Night will consume us, in that we can trust
Long after both you and our friendship is dust.
 
There’s no one to help and no one to blame
No hero nor tonic to make us more sane
No matter your strength you cannot forestall
All on your own? You can't stop the Fall.
©️ 2018, Accountec, LLC

Memory

 I miss me

We used to go out and do fun things
But all me and I seem to do anymore is hang out and argue about stupid stuff…
And time passes by
 
I find myself searching for the days when I knew
Less about the dangers of the mind
I tell me that I think too much
But, I insist, some things must be remembered as lessons learned
 
I can’t throw the past away like some outgrown piece of clothing
Maybe I should, I tell myself
But my memories are who I am
If I throw them away… who am I?
 
I find that the memories have changed me
So much that I don’t recognize me.
Every day looking in the mirror
And only seeing memories.
 
I hold onto the events long after the physical evidence has faded
These events now exist only in my mind
It’s a jealous mind, guarding the memories like treasure
But I have to learn to let them go.
 
To know myself will I set fire to the past
And banish the memories forever?
Will I put that past behind me?
So that I can be something more?
 
I will fashion my tomorrow from dreams
And break the chains of shame that bind me
I hope you’ll come see me again
When the last of the ashes blows away.
©️ 2019, Accountec, LLC

Remembering Myself

I’ve forgotten only what I want to remember

I’m trying so hard to recall that September
When we were building the world anew
You saw everything in me, and I in you.
 
You taught my eyes and mind to see
A world, the same, but differently
You showed me how to trust myself
Instead of trying to be someone else.
 
And though you saw that me so clearly
And helped me to try to simply be
You didn’t see what was before you
Or the entirety of what you signed up for
 
Now I know I must remember
And blow to life hope’s dying ember
There is so much that I’ve forgotten of that fall
The Good, along with all that I don’t wish to recall
 
I’ve forgotten the smiles, both mine and yours
Yet I remember the goodbyes, all the more
All of the big things, small things, and more
I remember the sorrow and have forgotten the joy
 
I know you’re still out there!
And I wonder, am I?
I wonder what happens after goodbye?
 
Do you remember,
Can you remind me?
What do I do…
when only sorrow finds me?
 
Tell me my friend,
Help me remember
I need to find my way back
To the me of September
 
Soon the leaves will change my friend
Can I build that world again?
And be the person I want to remember
And find my way back to the me of September
 
I think that you know
Can you remind me?
What do I do
To remember, to find me?
 
Once you opened my eyes anew
And showed me a world I never knew
But then you disappeared so fast
And I crashed right back into the past.
I found myself lost within a dream
My consciousness, a memory stream
 
And I miss you when the skies are light
And I miss you when they’re dark
 
I want to be that me again
I wish you would remind me
I’ll try to be that me alone
I hope that I can find me


©️ 2020, Accountec, LLC

The Fall

It’s just wrong the way you do what you do.

Do you break everything you touch?

I’m going to see you down.

(it’s plain to see you’re down).

 

Are you a stranger to my thoughts?

I don’t think so!

I’m so easy to fool.

But you don’t scare me!

(Please Don’t scare me!)

 

I never worry about you!

(I’m anxious all the time!)

Do you think I’m perfect?

You’re Dreaming.

 

And when the sun rises

I can see your eyes in the sky…

The blue gray matching the color and mood.

 

Your friends aren’t your doctors and your doctors aren’t your friends.

Do you believe that?

I don’t think you do.

But why wouldn’t you?

 

I’ll be there when you call,

I’ll catch you when you fall.

But you’ll never find me back again.

Please don’t ever look for me back again.

 

You scare me now and then

I’ll desert you now and again,

I’ll be there when you call…

Don’t ever look for me back again.

 

And you tumble…

And you fall.


©️ 1998, Accountec, LLC

Compass

  You found me traveling in the wood

Splashing through the leaves

I did not know the path I trod

Though I was confident of my direction

 

For I had a compass in my hand that always led me true

Eventually our paths will part and friendship fades to memory

I ask one simple thing of you: Think of all the good I fought for

… And forget the fights, hurt feelings, and slights

 

They came at first quite unexpected

Looking back at me with warmth

And though they held no recognition

As time passed, familiarity would grow.

 

As the days passed, I became used to their presence

And they, mine.

We conspired together to battle the night

 

Gradually, I found myself relying on them more

They became my confidence, my inspiration

At times they pained me

Yet I never tired of their company.

 

Upon occasion, they would distance

A smoldering in those faded spheres

Yet tempted as I was to learn the reasons

I gave my word; I would not trespass.

 

I could not venture beyond their surface

I could only rent or hope to borrow

 

In times of doubt

And when I was lost

I trusted only them

These crystals in the dark

 

When all roads were dark

These crystals still burned.

At times the glow was all I had left.

At times it was only a memory of the glow

 

Our courses diverge

And I am far from where I started

But just beyond the dim horizon

The sun has finally begun to rise.


©️ 2019, Accountec, LLC

Henderson Road

July was fading into August and the growing detachment inside of her was something she still didn’t understand. All she knew was, the farther away from home she got, the less she felt, and if she didn’t stop moving soon she’d feel nothing at all. She was searching for somewhere She had been in the game long enough to know the rules. She had bounced from one foster home to another and yet the only home she truly knew was the one place they wouldn’t take her. After they took her away, for about the first 6 months or more she didn’t get it. She just was the same little Annie she had always been… waiting to be taken back home to her family. Then reality caught up. She realized not just that she was never going back, but that these homes that they took her to were not interested in little Annie. No, they all had their own expectations and motives. So she finally began to pretend. She would pretend to be what they wanted in the hope that they would leave her alone. She surprised herself at how quickly she learned the game, learned how to pretend. But even so, eventually something would happen and she would be back on the road again, waiting for her next “family”.

It was clear to her that the Ford Focus was being pushed to the limit of its useful life. The paint was faded and the tires threadbare. It was clean, but sterile. The caseworker, Morgan was her name (as if it 286497mattered), behind the wheel had a similar appearance. Anne had known her for years, but knew virtually nothing about her. She wore her usual cheap suit and strained expression, perhaps somewhat related to the time on a Friday evening. 

“Are you ready for this, Anne?” Morgan asked, keeping her eyes on the road.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Anne replied as she gazed out the window. The usual pre-launch discussion.

Morgan sighed. “Look, I know you better then you think. You’ve been through a lot. No one denies that. But this is a big opportunity for you, Anne. I’m serious. This family, they are very excited about meeting you. It’s a very stable home, and they can provide for you. And I know you’re tired of trying, but you need to try this one last time.”

“And how many last times have we done?” The words came out before Anne could think to stop them.

Morgan stifled a response and returned her eyes to the road, and Anne turned her eyes back out the window.

Anne knew the system too well. She knew the caseworker too well. There was always something they weren’t telling you. But Anne wasn’t completely innocent either. There were some things she regretted, and more that she probably should have regretted, even though she didn’t.

The news from the South Carolina Department of Social Services had come in just 2 days earlier. Anne had been in the system for years now, since she was 8, D.S.S. moving her from one temporary home to another. This time, they said, it would be permanent. After all this time, the word “permanent” sounded so foreign. When they gave her the news, she said nothing. It had been too long and she had seen too much. She had no illusions of a fairy tale ending, but still… permanent? The traces of a smile flickered across her face, then quickly faded.

They drove through quiet streets in a wooded area with proud, well kept houses. Her meager possessions had been hastily stuffed into a duffel bag in the rear seat… a few changes of clothes and some spiral notebooks. After more then 15 years of life, it was the only evidence of her existence. There had been other possessions along the way, some lost, some discarded. She couldn’t help but wonder what all this said about her. She peered out the window with pensive but steady blue eyes. Her father had taught her to be brave. The system had taught her to be strong. It looked so peaceful here and, if she allowed it, the scene would easily carry me off to visions of fairy tales of princes and princesses, heroic struggles and happy endings. But she was not naive. She kept her fantasies on a very short leash, otherwise they would turn and bite you. These trees were only trees. Beautiful, tall green trees with birds singing from their branches, but still trees. However, the sky was a clear blue and the sun was strong. They were well within the city of Greenville, driving down a slope on a road called Cleveland Street. The area was quiet, the only evidence of human activity being some kids riding bicycles. They were younger then me, but they looked so happy and she smiled at them as they passed. It was a forced, perfunctory smile, but it seemed required. This one time Cherokee hunting ground was not urban. The houses sat on plots of land of less then one acre. But the lawns were neat and flourishing and the houses modest two story structures and she wondered what kind of people lived here. Not the kind that lived paycheck to paycheck. For a moment she remembered her old childhood home, her father smiling as he cut the grass, her mother sketching at her easel. They had always struggled to make ends meet, as had many of the foster homes, and she had learned to be resourceful. But the roads were smoother here, the houses larger, the property in better repair. At the bottom of the slope the road came to a T and the social worker turned left on an upward sloping road labeled “Henderson”. 

A mere fifty yards down, the car slowed and turned into a downward sloping driveway. She could feel her heart accelerate as they came to a stop in front of a wood sided, recessed house. The clapboards were painted blue and it stood two stories high, with the driveway wrapping around the back. The social worker turned off the engine and looked at me, her hand sneaking into mine and squeezing it. Though this woman had been in the system for a while and knew better then to be falsely, overly nice, the system had not managed to kill her empathy. She knew what this situation was, and Anne thought the woman had a pretty good idea of what Anne was feeling. She might not be telling Anne everything, but this woman was her ally. Her only ally. This part was never easy, no matter how many times you did it.

Her other hand instinctively ran to the small prism pendant hanging from a simple string around her neck. When it caught the light it wouldn’t sparkle, but it would refract the light, producing rainbows, bright with the colors that life sucked out of the world.

For just an instant her father was there, his proud, sad smile on her. Take me home! She wanted to cry out. She never wanted to be here. She didn’t understand why she had to be. She didn’t want to meet these people who were trying to replace him but never could. The social workers face blurred as Anne tried to blink back the tears. She tried to shut him out, but she missed him so much. I miss you too, ‘Bow, always will.

Suddenly Anne became aware of someone gently shaking her, and she was back in the car again, the social worker’s voice dragging her back from where she belonged. Once.

“Are you ready, Anne?” her eyes spoke compassion, but her expression betrayed impatience. You should have let me stay.

But it was years too late for those words, and they didn’t listen then so there was no reason for them to listen now. And before She could put my thoughts into words She saw movement in the corner of my eye. They both turned towards the house. The door had flown open and a woman came bouncing out, trailed behind by a more much subdued man.

Anne furiously swiped at her tears and steeled herself for the usual presentation. She had no makeup to adjust, no fancy clothes to arrange. One of the suits had pushed her to wear a dress, but Anne had refused. She did not like dresses, and she resented the presentation ritual. She was no longer a feisty, unruly little girl. She had learned form and function. Her manners were irreproachable. But she was still her mother’s child, her father’s daughter, and Anne Marie would not be paraded around for the pleasure of others. If they did not understand that now, then they would learn. 

Her eyes reverted to the woman. “I’m ready.”

The suit nodded and climbed out. Anne lingered just a moment, then followed.

A tall wisp of a woman with sharp features was approaching them. She was dressed in a well cut and fashionable black dress, her makeup perfectly applied, her hair pulled back and pinned up. She looked like a doll. She walked with energy, however, her hands moving to adjust her dress and jewelry. Anne would have marked her for a museum curator or lawyer, if not for the anxious energy that characterized her. Her smile was surprisingly genuine looking. In fact, in her eyes Anne saw a little girl who just got the big birthday present she had been asking for for months. She burst forward and engaged the surprised suit in an embrace.

“We’re so excited!” she exclaimed as the caseworker awkwardly disentangled herself. The suit opened her mouth to respond, but the woman was too quick for her.

“You must be Anne!” The woman giggled as she threw her arms around Anne. At first her body tensed up, then she reluctantly returned the hug.

“Yes, Ma’am.” she struggled to force a smile.

“Aren’t you precious! I’m Janet Cardinal, but you can call me mom!” Then to the man “Andy, say something!”

The man who lumbered up behind her was a sharp contrast. His button down shirt and slacks were neat and clean, but not fashionable, in fact, they didn’t even match. He walked slowly and deliberately, and did not smile nor speak. He simply nodded at the social worker and glanced at Anne, acknowledging Anne with a grunt and a nod. He seemed to take an odd interest in the Focus, as if sizing it up for auction. 

“Anne, this is Andy, your new dad!” Janet squeaked.

“Hi”

Andy looked at Anne for a second, then addressed the social worker “Have any problems?” 

Anne looked at Mrs. Cardinal, who laughed and pulled her aside, half whispering to her “That’s your dad! Always a man of few words.”

Andy pretended not to hear her and continued speaking to the social worker as Janet drew Anne towards the house.

“Come, dear, I’ll show you your new room.”

As an afterthought she called over her shoulder to Andy “You can finish up here, right?”

“Yeah, ok.” He replied to her back as Janet led Anne into the house. 


Janet gave me a whirlwind tour, then brought me up the stairs and down a hall to a solitary room. My own room. I even had my own bathroom just down the hall. By that time Mr. Cardinal had come in and dropped my faded duffel by the door. Janet wanted to linger and chat, but her husband drew her away.

Left alone in the room, I let the situation wash over her. The first thing I did was close the door and lock it. I wrapped my arms around myself and took a deep breath. She shouldn’t have hugged me. She did not know me. I didn’t like to be touched… I still don’t. Even when I make love, I keep guys at a distance. I don’t like to cuddle. But I knew I could not afford to offend the woman. And the man… he was polite. He didn’t seem cold or unkind. But he seemed rather disinterested. The two of them had an odd dynamic. I had the strange feeling that I was viewed more as a pet then a person in his eyes. Except… that one moment when the social worker was speaking and Janet was completely absorbed in her instructions, I couldn’t help but notice the way his eyes seemed to dart in my direction, but not to my face, rather, running down my body for a mere instant, so quickly that by the time I thought to look back his eyes had returned to the social worker, nodding along to the details. My heart beat faster, and I closed my eyes and breathed again. When they opened they were calmer, and I released my self embrace. But the first thing I did was double check the lock. My life was not a fairy tale, hadn’t been for a long time. There was no one here to rescue me if something went wrong, and at the end of the day I would always remember the one truth of my world: I was often amongst others, but I ALWAYS stood alone. I moved my bag away from the door, but did not move to unpack it. Instead I looked to the window slipped over to the it and opened the glass. It was dusk now. The window opened on a sloping back yard that vanished into a thicket of trees. In the distance I could hear the sound of a burbling brook, and crickets began their nightly song. For a moment I could see a man there on the grass below smiling up at me, his features honest, his eyes sad. I blinked him away and the image blurred as I felt the disconnect again. Still the crickets sang their chorus and I remembered the song of another time, a children’s rhyme, part French, part English. The voice was gone, and gone it would stay. The crickets now would be that voice, and I left the window open. I needed the sound to ground me. I glanced over my new quarters. I could not help but smile at the quilt on the bed, an illustration of popular fairy tales stitched together. I pulled off my shabby sneakers and laid down upon the bed, wrapping the quilt tight around me. And there, armored in my tales of yore, I closed my eyes and tried to focus on the crickets song, blocking out my thoughts as best I could. Slowly, reluctantly, I slipped into anxious slumber.

©️ 2022, Accountec, LLC

Those Who Remain Unnamed

The full strength of the storm had set itself against me and I had prevailed. In all honesty, it was not even a proper mountain, merely a glorified hill. And yet it had been my Everest. The shrieking wind was suddenly silent, the echoes in the distance faded away. Even the chill in my bones felt some relief… it wasn’t that the cold had gone, but a warmth had kindled within. You might argue that the exertion had warmed me, but I would argue it was hope. Blind hope, perhaps even reckless hope… but the thought of somehow finding a way out of here…. It warmed my bones like nothing else could. 

Yet the hope that had kindled quickly sputtered back into mere embers. This hill that was meant to be my salvation (though I knew not HOW), was little more then a rise of earth crowned by strewn stones and a faded, fractured crystal rock near the center. It appeared as if there had once been walls and a central tower on this rise. The presence of the crystal mystified me, however. 

Yet this flimsy hope was built on something more then these unimpressive ruins. For days (weeks?) I wandered in the dark, my only company being the wind’s whisperings and the vague flashes of the echoes in the distance. I was still trapped here, but for the first time since I had reached this forsaken realm, I was truly not alone. 

She stood just in front of the fallen tower, her impression ambiguous, but if I had to define it I would call it disappointed. She was forgettable in almost every way. Her clothes were worn and faded, her frame small and frail looking. She was pale, almost white. There were several scars on her. She did not look like a warrior. But the one thing about her that was inescapable was her eyes.

In another world, the real world, there was nothing remarkable about them perhaps, other then the way they seemed to fade and intensify, pulsating like some strange energy source. They were the color of the sky… and in fact, the only actual color I had seen since I had come here. They seemed at once serene, determined, disappointed, and intelligent. And they were boring into my soul as if there was no secret I could keep against her.

I have to say I did not know her. She bore no resemblance to any specific person I could remember. I was quite certain we had never met. She looked so oddly familiar to me though, as if we had been friends for many years. My tongue moved to blurt out a name but only produced a mumble, for though she seemed closer then family, in truth I knew nothing of her.

“Hello, Watcher. I hope the journey did not tax you too much.” She looked up and over me into the distance and the warmth in her expression died away. “The Night never rests. Thus neither can we.”

The words seemed so odd, as if I really had entered wonderland. She was maybe 4 feet away from me but her voice sounded so far away, faded, yet echoing through my consciousness. She was not so different from the world around her. She was a flame flickering in the wind, but elsewise she was as faded and worn as everything around her.  I tried to look away, but the powerful magnetism to her eyes drew me and in and held me there. The blue of her eyes faded and then came back stronger, only to fade again. It was as if her spirit was rebelling against the world around her and her strength ebbed and flowed. I realized that she was the one thing in this place other then myself who did not belong here.

I had so many questions for her. But where to begin? And were there some answers that I just wouldn’t want to know?

“What is this place?” a  hoarse voice asked. “How did I get here?”

She frowned as if I was being rude or obtuse. But still she answered, simply and patiently.

“You haven’t given it a name.” calmer now, but just as wary. 

I blinked a few times and breathed deeply, my senses still blunted by the effort of the ascent. “Why would I give it a name. I’ve never been here before. I know nothing of this place.”

“And yet it is your creation. It knows much of you.” Again, a wary look into the distance. “More each day.”

She eyes came back to me. “I’ve never seen someone like you get this far.”

“Someone like me?”

“Someone so faded, empty, devoid of the light. You’ve been in the shadows too long. And that would be trouble enough, but now their master looks upon you too. You may know the shadows my friend, and you may think you know the Night, but you have much to learn and the Night is a most vigorous teacher. But perhaps the determination that got you this far may yet save you.”

I was struck by how her every answer only led me to more questions. 

“What is this place, truly?”

“As I said, it is nameless. But it is a battleground. Your battleground. And if they find you? A cemetery.”

“They? I see no soldiers, hear no weapons.”

She laughed an almost mirthless laugh. “Don’t be so simplistic. This is not a battle of sticks and stones. The soldiers you do not see are everywhere. They want nothing more then to destroy what is left of you. They are much closer to that goal then I feared. It’s not a battle for your body, it is a battle for your mind, the essence of who and what you are.”

“Why did they pick me? I’m no different then anyone else”

“Oh but you are different, Watcher, and you know that well. You talk different, you act different, you think different. Everyone around you is either trying to change you into something you are not or destroy you. Why have you been so long in the shadows if you have so many friends? We don’t have have time for games now, but suffice it to say that you have lost your way and now you have drawn the attention of forces that have no equal. Positive thinking will aid you as much as cough drops cure cancer. And you know that.”

It was true that the bumbling Dr. Clapton with his simplistic workbooks and cookie cutter solutions had no idea of the reality of my situation. Why would you invite a fool in to tinker with something as precious as your own mind, especially with how poorly he peddled CBT, the current therapeutic flavor of the month. If he was my only ally… I would have to place my trust elsewhere. “Tell me what I need to do.”

She smiled for an instant. “We cannot hope to defeat the Night just yet. I have a task for you, one you cannot fail if you hope to survive. If you seek the answer, and possess the strength to pursue it, wherever it may go, you must first seek the counsel of the other. Go north further still, and look for an orange glow in the distance… the glow of the one true forge. There you will find her, if indeed she still persists.”

“The Other?”

“The only other person in this world or the next who can both help you… and is potentially on your side. Everyone else you know or think you know either cannot help you or doesn’t care to. I’m sorry Watcher, but the night is darkest just before the dawn.”

In that moment the time flashed back. I wanted to tell her she was wrong. I wanted to tell her to go to hell. But she was right. She was right and she was the only hope I had of finding a way out of here. All this time I had looked around me for the answers, and now I would look within.

She seemed to see my mental decision in my expression, for as soon as my mind was decided, she spoke rapidly. 

“Go Watcher. The faster you reach her, the sooner you can seek shelter from the your true enemy. GO, and when you return all questions will be answered, I will give you that one assurance. For now, nothing more. GO!”

Again, more questions then answers, so rather then continue to pursue facts I decided to follow instructions. It seemed there was little alternative. I was maybe 20 feet away when I realized something. I turned back and she was standing there waiting as if she had known exactly what I would do.

“You never told me your name!” I had to shout over the gathering wind.

“You haven’t given me a name.” She said calmly, quietly, and yet somehow her voice carried over the wind to me. “But there have been those who have called me the child of the Skye.”


Why would I create such a place as this? Why would I create all this, and her? All of it seemed a meaningless jumble. 

Because you lost your way. Because you spent too long in the shadows. Because, little by little you allowed the light to fade. Because you are losing the battle. Because though there are hospitals, doctors, and nurses, therapists, psychics, scholars… they claim to understand an enemy that barely know. For them it matters little that as they peddle their simplistic solutions to problems they openly admit they do not understand, it is their patient that bears the burden of not only the disease, but the failed interventions.

It was on the second day of walking that I finally found the light in the distance, the orange glow I had been promised. At times I wavered once more. It seemed like days following the orange glow. I questioned my course of action with each step I took.  A few times I even turned and looked back, but all I could see was darkness. 

As I drew closer I could feel a radiating heat and the dim glow was now a fantastic illumination. It seemed so out of place here in the fog and shadows. I could only imagine that the master of this place was a powerful being indeed, and Skye’s urgance that I journey here began to make a little more sense. The glow roared and flickered in the distance and grew as I pressed on. Finally I arrvied at the base of a true mountain, with a giant river of lava flowing down before me. It was like looking down the gullet of a mighty dragon through the fog. 

But there was no one to be found.

I wandered around the lava lake for most of an hour but all I found was more lava and more mountain. The air was eerily silent, as if the wind was afraid to blow here and the echoes as well. 

It was then that I stumbled, falling face first into the ashes. At first I believed myself to be merely clumsy, but there was a stone or some hard object sticking from the ground.  I eagerly dug away the ashes to find an engraved plaque. 


Those we call Watchers must know Night from dawn

And thirst for the chance to fight all Night long.

In battle eternal, we wait for the dusk

Ashes to ashes and dust to dust


Suddenly the ground in front of me began to move. 

She was tall and muscular for a woman. She was younger then the Sky child, and seemed to belong amongst the debris from which she rose. Her eyes were colorless but burned with intensity and sharpness. Her hair could be described as blonde, but it was about as colorless as her eyes. Her face was as impassive as the other and she seemed to be waiting for something, whether it was for him to speak he knew not.

“Let me guess, I haven’t given you a name.”

She said nothing, but kept her gaze locked with mine.

“Is this… forge yours?”

She said nothing, but turned and walked towards the flames. She plunged her hand into the molten lava and murmured something inaudible. When she drew it back out it gripped a small polished dagger. It was small, but the metal gleamed in her hand like a torch. She returned to me and tossed it up in the air, flipping it and catching it on the blade so that the handle was extended to me. Though the metal looked sharp it did not even scratch her. I took it in my hand examined it closely, turning it at angle. Though I know little of metallurgy, it was obviously a fine piece of work, as if she had spent many days refining it. There were small inscriptions on either side of the blade itself, but I struggled to make out the words.

When I looked up to question her about it, I found she had vanished completely and without a sound. Again, more questions then answers, but I could see only one logical path from here.

©️ 2022, Accountec, LLC

Farther then Far Away

I have lost my way before, it's true. I have retreated into the distance, pulling back from the world in pursuit of shelter from the storm. But this... this perversion of existence I am now facing... I could not have imagined it. Before I had more questions then answers, and I yearned for those answers and the clarity I thought they would bring. But now... now there are no answers at all. Worse, I fear the answers so intensely that I no longer seek them.

After so long of feeling lost, without purpose, without shelter... I feel like I have to redefine those words to incorporate this new reality.  It's been days here in this void, stumbling through the darkness. I know not what this place is or why I'm here. I have no map, nor compass or path to guide me. Even the stars are denied to me. The fog that surrounds me does not discriminate between earth and sky. 

The air is cold and colder still... by now the chill echoes in my bones, as if the very air is trying to assault me. With each shiver I can feel the bones vibrate. It's a cold  that penetrates so deep it seems impossible to ever expel. With each additional day I can feel it sapping the life out of me. 

And oh the darkness! Nothing but darkness for days on end... I begin to wonder if my eyes have lost the ability to discern the colors and shades. How can I remember the light when all I see is darkness? Memory is a fickle beast, and the longer I stay here the faster it fades, as if forgetfulness is an infection spreading and amassing in my soul. Personality is but a mere concept - and a laughable one at that - when the memories and emotions are stripped away.

I have become a mere essence, drained of humanity, devoid of emotion... as colorless as the world around me. I struggle to understand what is happening, how this world has changed me to be just as empty and transparent as it. More then that, I struggle to understand why. I never wanted this, though I must admit in some sense I knew it was coming. I knew that I was going the wrong direction. But, as before, answers are not to be found, and my desperate search only yields more questions, more doubts, more fears. Yet I continue my inquisition, even as it offers nothing in return. I have to know. I must know. Despite my fears. Even if I don't like the answers. Even if...

In my struggle, I keep coming back to the same question: to recall how I got here. For surely, if I know my origin then I can decipher my destination? One minute I was running, running… and then my mind slipped away, like a leaf in an autumn breeze. Everything I had done to try to correct my direction had blown up in my face, but still somehow I had thought that I would find a way. And I kept telling myself that, with each passing day, with each passing failure, with each passing warning sign I told myself that somehow, some way, things would get better. But really, I was just echoing the voices around me, the voices of people who also didn't understand where this path was going... or worse, they knew where it was going, but refused to acknowledge that fact. Because every story has to have a happy ending, the hero has to prevail. But I see now that this denial only accelerated the journey. I needed someone to hit the emergency brakes at a time when no one was willing to acknowledge that the train was about to derail.

So now I am here. One of things few things I know for sure is that the most immediate reason for my predicament is denial. My denial, that the shadows were an asylum, that the darkness could be contained somehow... that somehow, someway, things were going to get better even when nothing was going right. My insistence grew out of that common need that we all embrace: the need to believe that things will get better.

But regardless, now I here I stand. Those others, the things they did or didn't do, the denial, the bandaid solutions, the abandonment, the demonization, the slipping away into the shadows... I have to find a way out of here and there's only one person who can help me now... and that is myself. And the truth is... the hard truth, is that in this fight I am better off alone. Because as little as I understand about what is happening, the others understand much less.

Yet I cannot say that I have any idea of how to even begin. There is a strangeness about this place that cannot but make one uneasy. The wind is never still, but merely varies in its violence. In its calmer extremes it is easy to hear the whisperings of numerous voices, but the words are nonsensical and disjointed. At times the tone reeks of conspiracy, violence or even rage, but at others it veers into persecution and flights of panic. It is like nothing I have ever known before. It is my one constant companion, one that I would gladly be rid of. 

The sky is constantly weeping, and at first one might think it snow. But in catching a flake or two no moisture cools your palm. The flakes are dry, and disintegrate readily into a chalky substance that could only be ashes... cold dead ashes that carry the faint scent of recent combustion. And the ground is completely covered in them, as if death itself surrounds you. 

Distant flashes of light echo all around me, and through the haze I can make out what I could only call echoes... visions that are deeply familiar, some that I recognize and some that I do not... and many I would rather not ever be reminded of. This place... I fear I have already been here too long. For I am learning the subtle ways of the Night. It has the ability to mislead. To trick and deceive, and thus you must always be on guard... watching the night. 

Eventually, after an eternity of plodding (though earnestly the timing I know not, but only the impression), a flash of lightning erupted, and in that moment, in the distance, one thing finally became clear: a hilltop, upon which sat what appeared to be ruins. Nothing else could be seen but desolation, and the light was gone just as quickly as it had come. 

My course of action suddenly obvious, and my weariness of this place by now acute, a sudden vigor embraced me and within a small flame erupted, defiant against the cold deadness of my surroundings. 

I set forth, jogging at first and then breaking into a run. Somehow the darkness seemed to realize my aim, and around me the native forces whipped up into a crescendo of a witheringly cold and brutal wind and loud screams and exclamations. Faster and faster I ran, but these dark forces magnified further... the air so thick with ashes and so cold, that my lungs cried out... the ground so loose and uneven that I barely kept my feet... 

I fought collapse with every step, but the reaction of the world only pushed me to press on harder and harder. It was defiance for the sake of defiance, a kind of senseless purpose that, though inane, was the only motivation I could generate in this place. 

And then, just like the lightning, it was over as quickly as it began. I collapsed upon the precipice, as the wind died away and the air began to clear. A light spread slowly, and with it a warmth, but from what source and what power I was not aware. 

I was suddenly delirious, the exertion and the journey seeming to hit me all at once. I gasped for air as darkness filled my vision. Just when I thought I was going to black out, my strength rallied. 

A voice was speaking, and it was not of the wind. It was calm, sure, slow, and deliberate... everything I was not at the moment. I raised my eyes to see someone standing before me, and though her words washed over me, at first I could not make sense of them, as if she was speaking a foreign language.

She was slightly pale. For the life of me I could not deduce her age. She could have been under 30 or over 50 for all I could tell. Her pale skin bore multiple scars, but the scars only seemed to add rather then detract from her appearance as only well earned scars can. She was almost beautiful, in a worn and faded way. She had a constant but serene gaze that seemed to know me well somehow, though I was certain I did not know her. She did not smile nor did she frown. She did not seem threatening nor welcoming. Her shoulder length hair was pulled back in a ratty pony tail. Her clothes were little more then rags, grey and ill fitting, with a frayed skirt and top. 

But the thing that struck me, that captivated me, that I could not ignore, was her eyes. For days I had trudged through the darkness, with nothing but shades of grey to greet me. Not a single shade that was not gray, and that remained true... except for her eyes. They were a pale blue, but as weak as the color was, against the greyness it seemed shattering and powerful. She looked down upon me as if she had been expecting me for an eternity, and I knew not who she was or what answers she might bring.

Yet I couldn't help but sense that I had reached my destination.

©️ 2022, Accountec, LLC


Past Reflections