Ikov9972

I am night Misunderstood Neither grim nor dark Nor bane of good I harbor no evil Though most would contest They see only my monsters While I'm not at my best In fact I give more Than shadows to hide Or killers and sinners A haven to reside I am unknown As of yet, unexplored A place of adventure A journey adored Without my approach The sun's light would waver Its bright rays exhausted To me it turns for favor If my presence were lost The moon would plead And stars would beg For their white light to bleed What evil is born From acts so sincere? I've done nothing so wrong As to inspire such fear! But such is my job I

Chapter 1 Benjamin awoke to a more familiar world; ruined buildings, bizarre predators and savages, and hostility at every turn. The rags below him, upon which Ben had slept on during the past three sleepless nights, carried an odor that would peel pain, which didn't matter as the paint had been scorched off long before. Regardless, it was better than sleeping on the cold stone floor. He sat up, looking around him to recollect himself after such a realistic dream. He had found shelter in the old basement of what was a residential house. Four stone walls, several empty shelves, and a long, splintered staircase, through which narrow beads of l

Prologue A gentle breeze brushed his neck lightly; the cool, crisp grass poked the bottoms of his bare feet; the collected hymn of laughter, shrill cries of excitement and pleasure echoed all around him. This was the small park around the corner and two blocks down from his house. Beside him, a larger figure planted a firm hand on his small shoulder. His father, large as a bear, firm as stone, and yet gentle, stood tall by him. A squeaky voice poked through the background noise from his other side. His baby sister, who's over-sized sun hat dipped well over her face, was only 6 years old, and she thought herself as strong and fearless as her

I waited on this bench of stone for a girl who, all alone, dropped her gaze and choked on pain all the while in the rain. She stood atop a place so high looking down on those who've died and wondering if she should try knowing full well she couldn't fly. "Stop!" a cry from down below. "It's cold down here, beyond death's row. "A sweet relief," she'd beg and plead, "From a wound that wouldn't bleed." "No blood?" called back, "What sort of wound?" "A kind of mind, of which a tomb was built around it's ebony room that shelters me from thoughts of gloom." "You think this place of macabre will rid you of such memories? You'll fin