Inspirations of a Soul Stealer

        It is Sunday morning and the park is the epitome of harmony. The world is a bright and cheerful place, or so it would seem. If you were looking closely, really closely, you could easily see that sinister acts were unfurling everywhere.
        For instance, in the branches of an old maple tree a squirrel dreams of being an arsonist. Of flames dancing over the trees as it looked on and cackled. But he did not know how to start a fire. Anyways, there were even more nefarious plots being acted out in this park than the mere aspirations of a would-be felon.
        For instance, a group of ants had assembled a motley crew of gentleman thieves and were preparing to execute a fiendishly clever plan to liberate a fortune from a picnic basket. The haul was big enough that they could finally afford to get out of the business for good. Yet there were even more underhanded undertakings being perpetrated in this park than small-scale grand theft.
        Kids were being bullied, bikini clad beauties were being forced to fend off the unwanted advances of overeager suitors, and joggers were desperately trying to fix their self-images. But the most suspicious of all the park's happenings was going on by the water fountain where a man named Paul Diebs was stealing souls.
        Paul Diebs wasn't a demon or even a monster. He was just a pudgy man in a floppy hat. He liked getting up early and the discounted breakfasts that came with it. He had never gotten the hang of cooking. When he turned 10 years old his father gave him a camera and a roll of film. Now every Sunday morning he would go to the park to steal souls.
        Children, mothers, and lovers: no one was safe. Although, in his defense, he wasn't stealing whole souls. He was just snipping off little bits and pieces and preserving them in a chemical bath of film. In his mind he wasn't doing anything bad. As long as these photos were around these people would live forever. They would never die. They would never be forgotten.
        The sparkle in the eye of a child reaching for the sky by means of swing-set. The caring look on the face of the mother who deals with the aftermath. The gentle embrace of two lovers completing one another. When someone looked upon these photographs, when they stared into the pieces of these souls, these would be emotions they would see. These would be the souls they would touch and these would be the souls they would be touched by.
        It is Saturday night and a dim glow is fighting off the encroaching darkness. Paul Diebs lies in bed holding a well worn photograph as his gaze refuses to leave it. A young women in a yellow sundress has her arms wrapped around a lanky young man in a floppy hat. It was an old photo and the colors were dulled, but even so the woman seems to carry a joyful radiance that seems to surpass the aged nature of the photograph.
        Paul Diebs is crying; his tears make their way over the crinkled terrain of his smiling face. Sorrow and joy have achieved a sort of coexistence. When he finally turns off the light he can still feel the souls in his hand.
        It is Sunday afternoon and a lens cap gives a little snap as it clicks into place. Paul Diebs puts his camera into its case and gets in his car. As he drives home he thinks back to all the specimens his camera now contains: imaginations running free, nurturing natures in action, love spreading out in ever expanding circles. It is all still out there, even if you sometimes have to be looking for such things in order to see them. A knot in Paul Diebs' stomach undoes itself and he feels better.
        It is Sunday evening and the living room is filled with laughter and talk. Friends sip wine and catch up. Someone asks Paul what he did that day.
        “Nothing much. I just went to the park for the usual round of soul stealing,” he said.
        His friend looked at him quizzical so he motioned towards the old camera sitting atop the bookshelf.
        “Oh! You mean you took some photographs?” they asked.
        “Who's to say you aren't doing both?”

Snowbeard, Part 6: The Season For Apples

        The sun was beginning to make its journey towards the horizon and Snow Beard was on the porch enjoying some cold beer with Jeff. It was the kind of day where you felt accomplished just for being alive to enjoy it. A cool breeze was in the air and colors were beginning to seep into the sky. Off in the distance a small figure could be seen flitting around. It appeared to be a person trying very hard to be stealthy and failing. After awhile it was gone and they didn't think too much about it until a few minutes later when a rather ugly old woman came shuffling down the road. She was clad in a black shawl and carried a wicker basket.
        “Oh, why hello there!” The woman said as if she hadn't noticed them until now. “My, what a fine looking dwarf you are, miss. A dwarf as pretty as yourself deserves a treat!”
        The old woman smiled and pulled a green apple from her basket and presented it to Snowbeard. Jeff looked at Snowbeard and Snowbeard looked at Jeff. It isn't every day strange people try to offer you fruit and there is good reason for that.
        “Uh, no thanks,” Snowbeard said, trying her best to not be rude.
        “Oh come now,” the old woman cooed. “What could be better than a nice crisp apple at the end of the day?”
        Jeff and Snowbeard both held up their bottles.
        “Well, I suppose that would be quite nice as well,” the old woman said slowly as her eyes darted around with thought.
        “Why do you have a basket of apples?” Jeff asked before the woman could think of a response.
        “Because I'm an apple salesman...woman!”
        “Isn't it hard to sell apples when they aren't even in season yet?” Jeff asked while taking a sip of beer.
        “Well...that's the best time, because, you know, supply & demand...and market fluctuation,” the women babbled and then nervously laughed. “It's all rather complicated.”
        “There's nothing more complicated than fruit. That's what my Gran always told me,” Snowbeard said chuckling a little.
        “Come on, deary,” the woman said as she took a few steps closer. “Have an apple.”
        “I'd rather not.”
        “Come on.”
        “Still no.”
        “Just eat the apple! Eat the apple!” The crazed crone thrust the apple in Snowbeard's face.
        Jeff gulped. He had learned a few things about short-tempered dwarves in the past few weeks. Thrusting things at them, even fruit, is not the best idea. They tend to see it as a threat. Snowbeard snatched the apple from the woman's hand while knocking her down. The next second the old woman was thrashing like a fish out of water as Snowbeard sat on top of her and force fed her the apple. It wasn't a pretty sight. But then, like a balloon deflating, the woman's frantic squirming slowed and then stopped all together.
        “Uh oh,” said Jeff. “Is she dead?”
        “She ain't dead,” Snowbeard said as she wiped her hands on her pants. “She's just asleep. Probably passed out or something. Here let's throw her out back. Maybe we'll get lucky and something will eat her.”
        They were just about to haul the old crone out back when it began to contort and twist. Jeff and Snowbeard both dropped her immediately and jumped back. What had once been a bizarre apple saleswomen was now a male dwarf.
        “You've got to be kidding me,” said Snowbeard.
        “Do you know her...him...it?” Jeff asked.
        “I think it's that dumbass King. I heard that he tried to have me killed just because I'm nicer to look at them him. Apparently he just doesn't do 'subtle',” Snowbeard said as she gave the King a little kick to see if he'd wake up.
        “If he could transform himself why didn't he just transform himself to be better looking?”
        “Why the heck would I know? Because he's an idiot?”
        “Fair enough. So, what do you want to do with him?”
        Snowbeard smiled, “Let's toss him way out back where something is sure to eat him.”
        Jeff and Snowbeard hauled the King deep into the woods and threw him in a bush. They took a brief moment to soak in the feeling of success from a job well done. Jeff gave the sleeping dwarf a final prod and they headed back to the house to celebrate their victory with further drinking.
        The next day a prince was walking through the woods. In most ways he was just like any other prince: handsome, charming, rich. However, unlike most princes this one had a bit of a thing for dwarves. Unfortunately for him, humans rarely have much contact with them.
        The Gods must have been smiling on this prince, because this was the second one he'd seen in the past week! In fact, the last one was the reason why he had to take this dangerous path through the woods. Normally he would take the main road, but the last time he did that he came across the most gorgeous of dwarves. He had tried to put the moves on her and barely escaped with his kneecaps intact. What outrageous luck to find this beautiful little dwarf man sleeping in this bush. This one wouldn't get away from him. Not this time!
        In the end everyone lived on happily ever after. Snowbeard and Jeff became quite wealthy after coming up with a way to grow and sell apples out of season. Minerson was promoted to King after Heinrich disappeared. The Prince got married to the second most beautiful dwarf if the land.
        What about Heinrich you ask? Well, Heinrich did wake up eventually. He woke up shortly after a priest had declared that it was now okay for the Prince to kiss the dwarf. Admittedly, Heinrich wasn't happy to wake wake up being kissed by a man and was even less happy when he learned that mutual consent wasn't necessary for royal weddings. But after the horror had faded, he was happy. He now had someone who really appreciated his good looks and cared about him. And that's all he ever really wanted to begin with.

                                          The end.

Snowbeard, Part 5: Heinrich The Crone

        Well past midnight the clouds silently drifted in front of the moon and the castle was dark and asleep. At least most of it was. From beneath the door to the basement a soft light flickered. The castle's basement is where Heinrich had set up his laboratory. It was there that he currently stood awake, working upon some ancient magic. He was hopelessly vain, quick tempered, and a total prick. But for some reason he had turned out to be adept at mastering the dark and mystical forces of the cosmos. His teachers were just as surprised by this as you are.
        His hair disheveled, his brow sweaty, his hands danced from vial to mysterious vial and he muttered to himself. Suddenly, with a puff of green smoke, a great bang sounded and Heinrich fell off his stool in surprise. When he got up and peered over the top of his work bench he found his beaker full of a translucent green liquid gently pulsating through the darkness. His potion was done. Now all that remained was a disguise.
        Surely his good looks would give away his identity. He began to cast a simple spell to change his appearance. If you had been listening to his incoherent stream of mumbling you would have heard much talk about how, “covering up looks like these isn't easy.” In fact it was quite easy and the spell was one of the first ones he had learned.
        Suddenly the mumbling seemed to take on more purpose and Heinrich dark robes began to writhe and contort. Then with a final pop of a newly formed joint they stopped. An old crone now stood where Heinrich had once been. Her back slightly hunched and the faint light of the laboratory falling in and out of her many wrinkles. With thin and gnarled fingers tipped in long dark nails, Heinrich stuck his open hand into the beaker of glowing green liquid. It began to froth and bubble widely. As he began to close his fist the liquid seemed to become more viscous and it continued to flay about widely. With seemingly great effort it at last settled on a shape. Heinrich pulled forth his withered old hand and in it he held an apple. A sneer crept across his face.
        The figure of the reformed King darted through the umbras, out of the castle and towards the river. From the royal boat house a small gondala could be seen emerging. It cut through the water and the darkness, the only sounds of its existence the water gently lapping at its sides. Then, with little to no consideration for who was supposed to be in charge of the kingdom in his absence, Heinrich disappeared into the night.

Snowbeard, Part 4: Fake Corpse Glitter

        Back at the castle, Minerson was sitting at his desk. Bags were under his eyes and his desk looked like a kindergarten art room had exploded with a full class inside. The top was stained with blood and paste and glitter. He had spent the last 24 hours hastily trying to make a convincing corpse using mainly paper-mâché and $19.50 in assorted butcher scraps. Obviously his attempt at capturing Snowbeard had utterly failed, but King Heinrich wasn't the type to accept that. While Heinrich wasn't the brightest of dwarves even he was smart enough to not accept someone's word when in came to matters of murder. A fake body was necessary.
        Minerson put the last strip of dripping paper on his corpse and stood back to admire his work. It had actually turned out better than he had expected and he especially liked what he had done with the glitter. While he waited for it to dry a little he went to straighten out his appearance a little bit.
        Despite the hard work put into the fake corpse, it turned out to be unnecessary. The King had a severe case of hemophobia and one look at the bloody mess of the paper-mâché dwarf was enough to cause him to faint. Minerson was slightly disappointed that the King hadn't taken the time to truly appreciate his creation, but his head was still on his shoulders and that was nothing to be scoffed at.
        Heinrich eventually came to and he did so with a big grin. He was once again the most beautiful dwarf in all the land. This of course meant that he could get back to his favorite pastime of admiring himself. He had even gotten a brand new magic mirror just for the occasion. Well, new to him at least. After spending all that money on the first one just to end up smashing it five minutes later, he decided a refurbished one would be just as good and much more cost effective. He ran off to his room and threw off the wrappings and asked it:

“Mirror, Mirror that I bought on sale,
Who's the hottest character in this tale?”

        The Mirror said:

“I’m very sorry my good sir,
But it’s Snowbeard’s looks that I do prefer.”

        The King laughingly replied:

“Silly mirror, you must be high.
I already caused that dwarf to die.”

        The Mirror stated simply:

“It seems you must have met a con-man
That sexy beast, she still lives on, man.”

        Heinrich let loose a howl of rage as a vein on his temple bulged. Minerson had tricked him! That little dwarf bastard, he'd get what was coming to him. But he'd get it from the sexiest dwarf in the land. It'd sting all the more that way...probably. Regardless, first things first. He had a damn fine looking dwarf to kill.

Snowbeard, Part 3: Home Invasion

        After walking for what seemed like forever, Snowbeard came across a farm. It was the first house she had seen since leaving Tumorwerst. She was nearly out of food and her whiskey rations were running low so she decided to check it out. She knocked on the front door, but no one answered. Since, technically, no one had told her she couldn't come in she decided that no one would tell her not to break down the door, so she did just that.
        She stepped through the pile of splinters that had once been a door and into a most peculiar abode. Everything inside seemed to have been built on a larger scale. It was as if some fashion senseless giant had built a house. Snowbeard was too tired and too hungry to put too much thought into the strange house and instead went looking for where the food was kept.
        The next morning, a tall gangly man by the name of Jeff Bucket was walking up the dirt road to his home pulling an empty cart behind him. He was a farmer by trade and had just taken a trip to town to sell some of his crops. When he arrived at his front door he was shocked to find he no longer had a front door: it had been transformed into a simple pile of disjointed wood. He was too tired to be bothered by the matter and decided that a wizard must have done it. Everyone knows wizards love transforming things. He'd get to work on a new door later, for the moment all he wanted to do was have a bite to eat and put his feet up.
        When he got to the kitchen he found all his cupboards were open and their contents strewn about. Pots and pans, peels and pits were all over the place. His current lack of a door must have let in all sorts of wild beasts and monsters. They were usually satisfied to just ravage his crops, but clearly they weren't the types to turn down an opportunity. Stupid wizards.
        Jeff would just have to add that to the growing list of things he'd have to do today. At the moment he was more concerned with putting his feet up and possibly taking a nap. He shuffled towards his bedroom, kicking his shoes off as he went. He reached the entry way to his bedroom and stopped. There was somone sleeping in his bed. And they were still there!
        A dwarf with a beautiful snowy beard lay asleep atop of his bed. A thin strand of drool hanging from her lips, glistening. She turned over and started to snore a very loud, although very ladylike, snore.
        “What the hell!” Jeff exclaimed with a nasally tone annoyance. This day was just becoming much too weird. “Who the heck are you!”
        The dwarf's eyelids, with great effort, managed to to rise to a halfway position.
        “Oh, hi,” it mumbled as it gave him a quick nod before closing her eyes and turning over again.
        “What are you doing in my house!” Jeff shouted, getting more and more distressed by the events of the day.
        “I'm trying to sleep,” the annoyed dwarf replied without bothering to turn over to look at him. “If you'd be so kind as to perhaps go outside if you plan on doing any more shouting?”
        “How did you get in here?”
        “I knocked on the door, then I knocked the door down, then I came in.”
        “But...this is my house!”
        “Well you never told me not to.”
        “But-”
        “I even left a note,” it said. “In the kitchen?”
        Jeff went to the kitchen and lying amongst the mess on the counter was a piece of paper. It read:
            “Dear Whoever,
                Thank you for having a house here. I am kind of sorry about the mess.
                                Sincerely,
                                            Snowbeard

                  P.S. You should probably get a new door. Safety first ♥”

        In his excited state Jeff was having a hard time finding the flaws in Snowbeard's arguments. She had left a note after all. Snowbeard decided that even though she had been more than polite she was going to need to have a talk with this bizarre looking fellow; otherwise she'd never get back to sleep.
        Despite their rather odd introduction Snowbeard and Jeff soon became good friends. Jeff continued to work the farm and Snow Beard protected them from the usual assortment of thieves and monstrous creatures that are always roaming about in fantastical lands. For her the job provided the much needed excitement that was lacking from her previous job as a miner. For him the situation not only gave him some nice company, but also fixed his newly discovered home security issues. It was a pretty sweet set-up all around. Except, of course, for those responsible for bringing forth Snowbeard's untimely demise.

Snowbeard, Part 2: A Brawl at the Bar

        Weeks later and miles away, at little bar in the little drunken borough of Tumorwerst, Snowbeard was in high spirits and enjoying drinks that were also. With a beautiful snowy beard like Snowbeard's it was rather easy to maintain a full flagon. The bar was full of drunken jocularity, but meanwhile, outside, there were fiendish plans afoot.
        Minerson had finally managed to track down the fetching dwarf the mirror had spoken of and, unfortunately, King Heinrich was still in a tizzy about the whole thing. The short dwarf and a squadron of local police officers were crouched down outside the bar preparing to put their plan into action.
        Snowbeard was just finishing off her 10th flagon when the door to the bar burst open and police officers swarmed inside. Although, still enjoying the warm glow of intoxication, she didn't really pay them much mind.
        “S-s-snowbeard!” Minerson stammared as he stepped forward. “You have been found guilty of treason and, by order of the King, you are to be placed under arrest.”
        The officers began to advance on Snowbeard. The sound of the officers pulling out their swords was promptly followed by the sound of a bar glasses being set down. Minerson had expected the bar to be full of drunk dwarves, but he hadn't taken into account just how good looking Snowbeard was. As it stood, the dwarves of the town were all so enamored with her that they were always on the lookout for a chance to impress her. The police were promptly set upon with a drunken intensity by an amalgamation of disheveled dwarves. A chaos of booze, fists, and hormones erupted throughout the bar.
        Snowbeard decided that now would be a good time to take her leave. She snuck out through the back, grabbed a few possessions from her home and headed out of town. The dwarves here, while not the brightest, were quite nice and she didn't want to end up getting them in any more trouble. As the town receded further and further into the distance, Snowbeard took a brief moment to look back nostalgically, then another to throw up behind a bush a little bit before heading back on her way.

Snowbeard, Part 1: The King's New Mirror

        Once upon a time in a land far away there was a kingdom of dwarves. They were ruled over by King Heinrich Bottom and the only dwarf he cared about was Heinrich Bottom. He loved himself so much that he spent most of his time looking in the mirror. He would use his mirrors so much that they'd wear out. No one could go through mirrors faster than him.
        It was a pleasant spring day and King Heinrich had just unwrapped his newest mirror. This particular mirror wasn't an ordinary mirror. This mirror was magical. So magical, in fact, that it was greatly over priced. However, things like that don't matter when you're King. He took the mirror up to his room to give it a test run:

“Mirror, Mirror, you must agree,
There is no dwarf more beautiful than me.”

        The Mirror replied:

“Actually, sir, I must confess,
It’s Snowbeard’s ass that I’d rather caress.”

        Heinrich's mouth dropped. He was shocked, after all Kings aren't used to hearing the truth. But you know how it is with a new mirror, they've always got a few kinks in them. Plus he had never even heard of this Snow...Beered. He decided to press the issue:

“Mirror, surely it is my buns of steel,
That you would rather cop a feel.”

        The Mirror replied dreamily:

“Snowbeard’s sculpted body and sexy beard,
Leave you looking rather weird.”

        That was the last straw, Heinrich had heard enough. No one made him look bad and got away with it. No one!
        “Minerson!” Heinrich bellowed, his face turning bright red with rage.
        The door to the King's room burst open as a particularly short bespectacled dwarf scrambled inside.
        “What...can I do...for you, sir?” Minerson huffed as he tried to catch his breath. He really wasn't paid enough to put up with these sorts of shenanigans.
        “I've recently been informed of a...treasonous individual who is subtly subverting my power. His name is Snow Beered or something like that. I need him...taken care of,” Heinrich said through an oozing sneer.
        “What exactly is his crime again, sir?” Minerson asked. It was a risky question, but he was nothing if not thorough. After all he was the one that always got stuck doing all the paperwork.
        “Treason!” Heinrich bellowed. “How many times do I have to say it? The law strictly prohibits people from going around looking better than the ruler. That's how 'equality' starts.” Heinrich spat.
        “I shall see to it immediately, sir.”
        In actuality there wasn't a law even remotely similar to the one the King was citing, well there was one, but it really only applied to moles and Minerson had pushed his luck enough for one day. He took a moment to enjoy a good sigh then set off to find this Snow Beered fellow and, with any luck, the King will have forgotten about it in the meantime. Minerson didn't much care for murder, though much to his surprise the job of a King's personal assistant involves an awful lot of it. If it came to that he'd probably just pass off the messy bits to the local authorities. That's, kind of, what they were there for, hopefully. He'd have to double check that one.

Throawae, Part 4: The Seeds of the Heart

        I wandered through the sewers for what felt like ages, trudging along and continuing to make the same mistakes and tripping over pipes. But up ahead a chamber seemed to be more illuminated than the other tunnels. Inside of it a pool of luminous energy, the accumulation of light which streamed out of a gutter overhead, creating a patch of clarity in the chamber. Upon its edge, at the separation of light and dark, a giant figure loomed. It must've been 10ft tall, you could only just make out its shape. It stopped its humming and turned to look at me, its eyes glowing faintly in the shadows. We stood there, not moving, just staring at one another. Perhaps we were both a little surprised. I finally was able to gather enough of my wits about me to break the silence.
        “Excuse me, sir? I was wondering if you could help me?”
        “Perhaps,” it said slowly.
        “I'm looking for something I've lost.”
        “You've lost many things.”
        “Yes...I suppose I have,” I said as I thought about the truth behind that sentiment. “But at the moment I only need to find one of them. You wouldn't have seen a heart around here, by chance, would you?”
        It chuckled. “I've seen countless numbers of them.”
        “Were any of them mine?”
        “Yes.”
        “Thank goodness! I've been looking all over for it. I need to talk to it.”
        The being cocked its head quizzically. “You aren't going to like what you see.”
        “What? Of course I will. I've been looking for it, of course I'm going to be glad to see it once again. Can I please just talk to it?”
        It stared at me and then broke the silence with a large shrug. “If you insist.”
        You could see its form moving about, but what exactly it was doing was unclear. There was a nauseous sound like a bowling ball in a pile of compost then it crouched down and extended its dark hands into the light. They were cupping something. I took a few steps forward and offered my own hands up to accept his offer. Gently it poured something into my hands. It was slightly damp and earthy, like dirt but somehow more organic.
        “What is this?”
        “You don't recognize it?”
        “But,” I wasn't exactly sure what to say. Was this some sort of cruel joke? “This isn't what I lost. This isn't what I've been chasing after.”
        It began to laugh. A chuckle so large it filled the chamber and the walls seemed to laugh back in reciprocation. “I do not think I will ever understand how creatures with eyes can see so little.”
        “How dare you! Is this some sort of joke to you? What are you talking about?”
        Its eyes narrowed and it stared at me. “You people throw things away and then think you can just reclaim it whenever its convenient for you? As if there are no consequences to you actions?” His voice was cold now and I could feel the icy edge to his words against my skin. “You threw it away and you expected it not to rot? You don't take care for it and you expected it not to die? These are not the scarfs and mittens of the lost and found, these are beings with life. They have life and because of that they also have death.”
        His words echoed inside my brain. Sounding and resounding again and again. Still cupping what he had given me I fell to my knees. I came all this way, I endured all this...and for what? I was doomed to a life of being numb. A life of blindly stumbling through the world unaware of everything around me. I couldn't help, but to begin crying. Not filtered tears elicited by a sad movie, but the true tears and bawls of a child who cannot help but feel too much. I clutched the remains to my chest and continued to weep.
        “One mistake!” I wailed. “One idiotic mistake and I've cursed myself to be forever cut off from humanity? One mistake and it's all over? Doomed to a life with no heart.”
        “No heart?” its quizzical look had returned, the chill gone from its voice.
        His question took me by such surprise the tears stopped as my brain tried to wrap itself around its implications. “What?”
        “You really are blind, aren't you.”
        “You said it yourself, I killed it! It's gone. It's dead!”
        “Yes. It is dead,” it said. “Dead does not mean nonexistent. Things that die do not disappear from the very fabric of existence. How can something you remember truly be gone? How can something you love not exist? Hearts are not some lone stone that sits as it is until it becomes dust. Hearts are alive, just like seeds are alive. Hearts are the seeds that you sow every time you share, every time you love, and every time you care. Every good word, kind act, and smile plants itself somewhere. The consequence of cutting down a tree is not extinction. A tree nearby will simply drop a seed in the empty plot and a new one will grow in the rotted nutrients of its fallen predecessor's trunk.”
        “So...what do I need to do to get it back?”
        The being crouched down, leaned forward, and for the first time I could see its face. It was less human and yet more human than anything you could imagine. It gently brought my cupped hands away from my chest then held up a tiny seed. Then slowly, as if to make sure I was following along, it poked the seed down into the remains.
        “You just grow a new one,” it said with a subtle twinkle in its eyes as it smiled for the first time since I met it. It leaned back, returning to the shadows and then returning to its full and towering stature. “We do not love because we have hearts. We have hearts because we love.”
        “Who are you?” I whispered more to myself than anyone as he began to disappear into the darkness.
        “I am the golem of waste. I am the collector of humanity's jetsam. I am the home of the unwanted. My name is Throawae.”

Throawae, Part 3: Chasing a Forgotten Tune

        Like any good detective you must start from the scene of the crime. For this case that means the front steps of my apartment. It was here that I stood the fateful day I decided to throw my heart away. It was here that I stood the last time it was rejected. It was here that I stood in the rain and watched her walk away from me. It was as I watched her go that my grip loosened in preoccupation and my heart slipped from my fingers, landing on the ground with a splash. It began to cry and I looked down. It was crying so loud it hurt my ears, it hurt my mind, it hurt my everywhere. So I left it there; I shut the door and went to lay down in the dark where things were quiet.
        From these steps I had to start, but where to go from there? Left or Right? The answer struck me before I'd even finished asking the question: it would have gone after her. To the right and across the street. Past the diner where I first met her, over the sidewalk where she'd try to dodge the cracks. Under the overpass where it gets so icy every winter and she'd always slip and cling to me tighter. The route to her place was irreversibly intertwined with memories and I dashed along its course, but still no sign of what I'd lost.
        The sun began to peek out of the clouds as I ran, a ray hitting my eyes. I was putting my hand up to block the beam when I heard something that made me stop: a snatch of a faint tune I had long forgotten. I had to strain my ears to even hear it, but it was there. Where it was emanating from, however, was another thing. Left, right, back, front, up...down. It was coming from the gutter.
        It was pouring that night. The rain must've washed the heart into the gutter and down the drain. I had to go down. It was a challenge to get the cover of manhole off, but eventually it came loose and I began my descent into the darkness. The cover slipped back on easily, but tiny rays of sunlight were still seeping through. I began to walk, ever so cautiously, forward and disappeared into the darkness of the sewer's tunnels, following the sound of a forgotten tune.

Throawae, Part 2: A Use for the Useless

        I threw my heart away once. What did I need it for anyway? I wore it on my sleeve and it just got dirty. I gave it to another and it'd end up broken. Perhaps it just wasn't any good. Perhaps people could see a little sticker on its side telling them that this heart was passed its prime. So I did what you do with things that have gone bad: I threw it out.
        It isn't so bad really, living without a heart. Most of the time you hardly realize it's gone at all. Every once in awhile an emotion may come to the doorstep where your heart once lived but it would soon forget why it had come in the first place and slowly turn back from whence it came. It really isn't so bad.
        But if that's the case why am I doubting myself? Why am I beginning to wonder if I made a mistake? I already know the answer. She's smiling at me. This random stranger, this beautiful stranger, is smiling at me and for the first time I can feel the emptiness. Like swimming in a warm lake and suddenly coming across that cold spot. The illusion of warmth breaks with a slow and icy shock. Living without a heart isn't so bad, but it isn't so good either. It's just nothing.
        In the end, is the happiness really worth all the pain? Then my thoughts turn back to that girl. That girl and her coy smile and a look as if she could see something no one else could. Maybe she could. But what was she seeing that I've been missing?

        I need to find that heart.

        I need to ask it something.

Throawae, Part 1: The Golem of Waste

        Beneath the swirling soiled waters of the toilet bowl, down past the maze of u-bends and countless pipes, deep in the darkness of the sewers sits the home of the unwanted, the golem of waste, Throawae.
        Every hope, every dream, every wasted moment. When such things are cast aside they are forced to wander about the sewers lost and alone. When things are thrown out of sight, out of mind, they are thrown into a mind of their own. Sooner or later their blind stumbling will bring them to Throawae and he accepts them with open arms. Once you've kicked them out of your mind, he is there to welcome them into his. His body is made of time, his limbs are made of unwanted truths and his nails from the shards of broken promises. He sees through forgotten dreams and speaks with the low voice of an inconvenient conscious.
        But why should I bother to describe Throawae to you? You already know what he looks like. After all his pieces were once your pieces. We create these abstract ideas like truth and love out of nothing but imagination and breath life into them. However, everyone at some point or another will abandon one of their creations: in an attempt to drop ballast, to enable an excuse, or sometimes simply because it hurts to much to keep it around. Despite our reasoning we cannot help but feel guilty for what we've done. While we can run away from our ideas, the guilt remains to link us to the past. A stain upon our subconscious.
        It is no wonder people find him off putting. Not just because of his looks, nor even the smell of rot and waste emanating from him. No, it is what he represents. What he makes them remember. So he is ignored. Or at least we try to. Every once in a while we cannot help but to see him peeking through a sewer drain, or rummaging behind a garbage can, and then that ping of remembrance reverberating the hollow where what we've given up used to reside.
        So Throawae sits in the company of himself. Waiting to hear another cry from the tossed away, lost-their-way. But every once in a while he'll get a visitor of a different kind: someone who's realized their trash was treasure and needs it back.

        This is where I come into it.

Teeth Marks

        I think something bit me last night. My finger itches. Illuminated by my scratching, glowing white through the red, are two little sets of the same tiny bumps. But where on Earth did they come from? The remnants of some late night battle? Perhaps.


       Two spiders walk across the landscape of a slumbering giant. While not the most ideal path, it is the quickest. You couldn't tell from their movements that they were scared. To any observer it was just the same clamorous cacophony of legs which spiders exhibit. But they were scared. If they knew how to skulk back and slowly tip toe across this beast, trembling all the while, they would, but they didn't.
       Suddenly there is only one spider. The other has left to go investigate the great boulder which is the creature's head. It had been warned of the dangers, but it didn't care. It wanted to see what the fuss was about. The spider and the giant are face to face. The spider turns and calls to its brother, with hubris painted over its face it laughs.
       The impossible quiet of the laugh slips through the air before slowly echoing down a cavernous pit of an ear canal. And something wakes up. While the conscious mind is distracted by colors and lights of a dream, the lumbering subconscious rears forth like a lightening strike and the spider disappears down its gullet in a shower of chitin. In a rumble even lower and ever quieter than the spider's, the monstrous subconscious laughs last.
       The remaining spider is left to comprehend what has just occurred. The sight of its brother's demise searing into its memory 8 times over from 8 different angles. Why was he gone? What did he do to deserve such a thing! The spider lashes out and bites the closest piece of the giant. It bites down again and stops. If it knew how to cry it would, but it didn't. Just like it didn't know how to hang its head and slowly shuffle off.
       A single spider scuttles over the edge of slumbering giant and disappears.

       I think something bit me last night.

There's a Chupacabra in My Yard, George Clooney

Dear George Clooney,

      My name's JC. How are you today? I was just sitting here by my lonesome and I figured, why not see how my favorite movie star is doing. I...

     Did you hear that?...I thought I heard something outside. Hmmm...oh well.

     Anyways I'm a big fan of your movies. And that's saying something, because the only thing I enjoy more than movies is raising goats.

     Okay, what the heck was that? Is someone on my lawn?

     I'm probably just overreacting. The night will play tricks on you sometimes, eh Mr. Clooney? Silly how easy it is to let the unknown get the better of you, huh? I mean any rational person wouldn't give in to, SWEET BABY JESUS! What the hell was that? Okay, there was some freaky thing looking at me through the window. Oh jeez. Oh jeeeeeez. Deep breaths, JC. Deeeep breaths.

In.

Then out.

In.

Then out.

      Okay. It was probably just some ordinary peeping tom. Just some ordinary, run-of-the-mill voyeuristic peeping tom. Just some normal pervert. A perfectly normal pervert with huge pointy teeth and the cold dead eyes of Lucifer. I'm sure you get those all the time. In any case, I'll be right back I'm just gonna go close the shades. I mean, it never hurts to err on the side of caution, am I right?

     Oh dear lord, MY GOATS! Oooooooo, my precious goats. Oh God, they're all over the lawn. Oh, I'm going to be sick. Oh, Nibbles. Bleaty! Tin Can Tom!! Marky, you're still alive...son of a bi- you're eating my roses again! Dangit, Marky. I must've told you a million times to stay out of there! But this isn't the time for that. Oh, Marky. Sweet, sweet, Marky...where's your head?

     WHERE IS YOUR FREAKING HEAD!?

     Oh, there it is! That perverted monster is eating it. It's eating Marky's head! You piece of shit! Oh, and it saw me...ducking down now. Maybe if I turn off the lights it'll think I've gone away. Yup, nobody here. Just an old dark house. Safe inside the dark house.

     Unless it can smell me. Oh crap, I probably reek of goats! Damn those goats. I should have listened to the people that thought raising goats was a bad idea. Why didn't I listen to them? Damn, this goat-loving pride! Okay, so I'll burn my clothes. Yes! Burn them and their goaty odor!

     Sitting behind the couch in my skivvies now. Nothing weird about that, eh Mr. Clooney? Perfectly normal. Got my clothes burning away nicely. Got my kitchen knife in reach. Goats are all outside. Even their insides are outside. Ha ha. Yes, nice. Laughter. Laughter is my friend. And you...

        You're my friend. Right?