Written In My Own Heart's Blood Novels & Stories

-o0o- As I step out of the imposing skyscraper, my weary legs carry me forward with leaden weight. Fatigue gnaws at my body, my back throbbing in protest. My once-delicate palms now threaten to become coarse and calloused, like the rugged hide of a crocodile. My heart bleeds, shattered by the cruel twists of fate.

“You write about everything. The good, the bad, the ugly. So he never forgets where he came from. So he knows the sacrifices made for him. So he understands the strength in his own blood. And so he knows how damn loved he is.” I nodded, the truth of her words settling deep within me. It was so simple, and yet, I had complicated it with my own fears, my own expectations. The truth. Not a grand prophecy, not a list of commands, but the raw, honest truth of our lives. Of my life. Of his. I didn’t speak again. 🎲🎲🎲🎲🎲🎲🎲🎲🎲🎲

for every startle and the tired tossing I put your soul through. My existence... pure, until tranquility caught up with me, leading me to commit an act of the heart, despite everything. You know it, all those who basked in the extraordinary glow of the impossible know it too. My name reached the ends of a place. My story made it even stronger. I was everything you believe, everything your heart said. I was everything... that deep down, you are, my life, only you. What was written on the yellowed pages of what you pursued, what you believed my mother gave me as a gift, will pass through time as our enduring seal of love.

“Look at me.” But I couldn’t. My eyes were locked on the box, on the heart, the blood smeared across my skin. My pulse roared in my ears. Someone had sent me a message. And it was written in blood.

Yet, the pain in my body is nothing compared to the agony of my heart. I pass a small stream and kneel, cupping the cool water in my hands. I look at my reflection, the determination in my eyes battling the fatigue etched on my face. “You will find him,” I tell myself, the promise resonating deep within me. “You are not alone in this.”

"Because my heart hurts." ‎

They miscalculated. Whatever is in me is waking up and it is mine; that's the part that keeps arriving clear and clean through everything else. Not something done to me. Not a weapon someone else built. Mine. In my blood, in my body, inherited from a father I never knew and carried in dormancy through eighteen years of being told I was ordinary. I am not ordinary. I think I never was. I turn off the shower. I dry my hair.

The earth seemed to pulse beneath my feet. I raised my hand. The air shifted. The sky darkened. And the flame inside me ignited. “Then let the blood spill.”

Forged in fire, forged in blood, and this time, I won’t fucking falter in the inferno I was born into. *** THE END ***

And the next words let my blood flow: “I am your father.”