Happy with a hole.

Happiness is great, happiness is grand,
But if there's a hole, then it's a lot like sand.
It falls through the cracks, it slips out the hole,
To fix this problem, try looking inside your soul.
Happiness is good, happiness is fine,
Where is the hole, how do I fill this gap of mine?
If it's like sand, then there is only one cure,
What you need is love like water, pleasant and pure.
So find your water, strengthen your sand.
Reach for the fires of passion, but don't burn your hand.
If you burn too bright, if the sand and water get too hot,
then your heart becomes like glass, strong it will be not.
So find the pure love, to strengthen the flowing happiness,
Burn with passion, fill the hole, that is your test.

Unwelcome.

I hate the rain.

Being in it, I mean. Rain is nice to watch from the comfort of your own home, splashing on your windows and making that nice pitter-patter sound that's a music all it's own.

I just hate being in the rain.

So, as I stood there, my head in the clouds and the pitter-patter on my fedora, my trench-coat soaked through only a couple of it's many layers (fortunately); I watched. I was looking for something, and while I knew, I didn't at the same time.

I hate the rain.

The mud squishing beneath my shoes, the water falling in trails from the corners of my hat. Who is this? It looks like a candidate. Are you who I'm looking for?

I just hate being in the rain.

The window is open a crack, just enough for anyone to peek inside and get a view of what lies within. Another layer of my coat becomes soaked. I take a few steps forward, the rain drowning out the sound of my muddy footsteps.

I hate the rain.

I nearly slip, grabbing a tree for balance. The sound might alert them to my presence, not yet. I don't want them to know I'm watching. It would be too soon and they'd be able to react!

I just hate being in the rain.

I get closer now, I can see them clearly. Tall, decent build. It's weird, you never expect them to look like that, or even that you're looking at them like this. I mean, c'mon, in the rain? Who does that?

I hate the rain.

I call out to them. They turn and look at me, frightened. Why is he here? How did he find me? What am I going to do? I hope they don't run. But, sure enough, they always do. I hear the screams of a surprised woman from the window. But that doesn't matter now.

I just hate being in the rain.

I tackle them, they're on the ground now. I bind their hands and flip them over so I can look in their eyes. They know what's going to happen next, I don't see how they can be surprised. I get them to their feet and move them to a better spot.

"You're under arrest." I say, as I lower their head and lock them in the back seat of my patrol car.

I hate the rain.

It can't wash away all of the dirt in this city.

Who?

I'm that guy, the one who listens. The one who dishes out advice that you're surprised he doesn't follow.

I'm an outsider, the guy on the sidelines, not quite in, and not quite out. I observe the problem with a cool mind and tell it like it is.

I'm that guy, the one who cares. The one who discusses philosophy or something as simple as hair.

I'm a mystery, the guy with his head in the clouds, not quite here, and not quite gone. I share bits and pieces to make you think.

I'm that guy, the one you expect to be there, but don't mind if he's gone. The one who you're sure will always show up again some day.

I'm a fool, the guy who is so set in his ways that at times he's blind to the opportunities in front of him.

I'm that guy, the one who entertains and hardly breaks down. To see him freak out is a rare sight indeed.

I'm a shadow, the guy who either drives you insane or makes you laugh.

I'm that guy. I'm just me. Now the only question is:

Who's that girl?

Hunter and Hunted

He observed with contempt. These trespassers had blocked the trails, had cut the trees, and even began poaching the wildlife. These men. These unclean, uncaring, men. He observed their camp, a large collection of tents and fires surrounded by a large fence made from those that stood so proudly not so long ago. They moved about their business, each one carrying their standard in some form or another. Whether it be stitched on their bandanas, their shirts, or even on makeshift tabards. He observed their unshaven faces, their foul teeth, and their unkempt hair. These men were foreign, and they did not play by the rules.

He placed a rough hand upon the bark of the large tree next to him. He could feel it's pain, feel it mourning for it's brothers. He could feel the rage of the earth beneath his feet. He knew what his mission was, but how to do it? He must remove them for certain, for they blocked the trails. Not only did they fortify their camp upon the main trail, standing mockingly in the way, but they attacked and robbed anyone who dared cross any of the other paths.

He knew his mission. For now, he would wait. He would observe, as much as it offended him. To defeat your enemy, you must know your enemy, and he knew this one more than he had ever wanted. He would wait, for at night they slept. He would wait, for they were lazy yet for but a few.

He would wait.

~~~

The moon was new that night, making the shadows easier to dance in. As the fires died, and the snores were born, he stalked. He was searching, for what? He knew. It was close. He had seen their kind before, but not close, not like this. They, like any creature, both a hive, or a single being, were destroyed in the same fashion. The mind. Destroy the mind, and the body falters. So he searched. He sought the mind of his enemy.

Just like any animal, any beast, these men kept their mind in the grandest of abodes. While the men slept in tents or on the earth, the mind rested in the comfort of a cabin. The cabin was guarded, by the fiercest of the bunch. These were beastmen, different than the rest. Their eyes did not need light, their noses sensitive. He knew this, and so he used it to his advantage. With the right ingredients, nature could provide the strongest of sedatives, as well as the most subtle. It was simple, a thin pouch. And when it was thrown the fumes of it's contents erupted into the air, causing the sentries to slip unconscious before they could even notice the dark figure approaching them.

With the sentries slumped over, deep in dreams. He took their keys and unlocked the door. He would have preferred a window, yet strangely enough this cabin only had one entry visible entry. As he slipped into the door, he readied himself. The room was dark, almost pitch black which caused him to feel his way through the short hall. He heard breathing, soft, regular... asleep. He approached the sleeper, closer, closer. His muscles taught, his senses on edge. He was close, his mission would be complete and order would be restored to his home. He knew. He was ready.

And suddenly, he was blinded. The contrast from pitch black to the radiant glow that now permeated the room sent his mind reeling. He turned away from the source of the light and saw the grinning face of his target, the mind of the parasites that plagued his home. He was tall, a beastman like his guards. His teeth where white and sharpened. He wore little, his body a large bulk of muscle and sinew.

And then, darkness.