Do Not Go Gentle Into The Night Novels & Stories

she whispered. The trees didn’t answer. But then—a sound. Low. Steady. A single howl. Not mournful. Not triumphant. Alive. It drifted across the snow-covered hills and coiled through Ironclaw like a forgotten lullaby. Grace closed her eyes. She didn’t howl back. She only whispered, “Goodbye.” Then turned and descended the tower, steps steady, leaving the wind to carry the rest.

It was a lifetime defined not by grief or trauma, but by an unbroken, radiant joy. Until the sky turned to ash. Without warning, the golden light shattered like cheap glass. The dream fractured into a terrifying, chaotic whiplash of agonizing images. Rebecca felt a sudden, suffocating cold lock into her lungs—a violent, hacking cough that tore through her chest, leaving the metallic taste of blood on her lips. She was lying in a wooden bed, her flesh burning with a wasting mortal fever, her vision fading into a gray, terrifying dark.

“Let the blood of the Romans fill the grass of our land. Let the earth feed from it and give blessings to its proper children.” Gonar asked, “Once this day is done with, will all recall this event of war as one to never be forgotten?” Drust coughed and watched the mass of hairy things start to grow anxious and take steps out of order. “On the contrary, son, no one will ever know this day happened, not clearly. But that is good. Only flesh longs for memory or lauds. The earth will remember and the wood, well, the wood knows.” The creatures grunted as one then started to move to the west.

“Every time people touch me, all I can see is me in my room,” I said as my voice grew louder and I moved a bit away from him. “I can’t breathe. I can't move. I don’t want to feel anything because when I do I always get hurt in the end. And I’m tired of it. I’m tired of this pain. Why won't it just stop?”

He seemed determined to grow his minuscule ego by dominating a nothing port town. Rose kept going on and on with every file we picked up another horror story one after the other, a single mother the sister of the watch commander at the police department being harassed by my father's men, who threatened to kill her son. A mom and pop shop who lost their son in an incident last year so now they had to go back to work in their seventies to keep their shop open, my father had their windows smashed after they refused his help. Gio had helped every one of them.

Not anymore. Not tonight and the night is still young.

This time we don’t scream. We moan. Low. Deep. Intimate. As if the pleasure hurts from being too perfect. We stay tangled. Skin to skin. Breath to breath. His fingers caress my face. He says nothing. Neither do I. There’s no need. Tonight, there are no words. Only ashes that still burn. FIN

I'd rather die Than give up the fight

*** Breathe me in, Like the tides taking wisps of the sea Holding her firm, and when it leaves She is left for calm nothingness. Wrap me in your embrace And let me linger amidst the rolling pebbles So when the turmoil ceases its menace I am left wounded and groveling. Fill my craving for your presence. With the ferocity of Valdivia, let me plunge Into the abysmal darkness. So when I'm tired... Will I ever be tired?

You will not rob us of that. You've lost your fair share of battles. You have come against those who refuse to go gentle into the night. My dad will rage against the dying of the light. He will rage against you. And, his light will still shine bright. We might accept that you are here. We know that we need to accept that this is not our fault and that there is nothing that we can do about it. But what we can do is fight and fight we will. Yes, life should not be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well-preserved body, but rather to skid in broadside in a cloud of smoke, thoroughly used up, totally worn out, and loudly proclaiming "Wow! What a Ride!"