One Reality

We are real; we are not creatures of myth. Some of us are neutral, some
good and bad.

There is a darkness rising. Even the forces of good, cannot hold this
at bay. We do not

know what this darkness is, our allies, or our enemies. But we do know
this foreign

enemy threatens to destroy the universe as we know, or don’t know it.

However, our legends say there were five primeval element spirits borne
in the birth of

time itself. They were created to keep the balance, the protectors of
all races. We are all

in need of salvation, I pray, as well as you should, that these spirits
are reborn again

soon, for all our sakes. What you have read in fiction novels, whether
skewed by humans,

or straight from one of us, mythical beasts, witches, vampires…. All,
all, creatures of the

night are real.









Sarah Walker

Stormy Pain

Sarah sighed as she walked through the penthouse, which she had once
called home. Everything seemed

so alien, so … so cold. Her
father was a stranger to her; he had been acting weird the whole night.
Not,

that he didn’t normally treat her with scorn, distaste, disgust,
contempt… All emotions were negative…

A hand clamped like a band of steel on her wrist, and viciously
wrenched on the person that was attached.

His hand was pale as pearl, while her arm was dark as coffee.

“Let go of me,” her voice was quiet, but her tone powerful. Fury
flashed like the lightning outside, from

her dark eyes, a warning, to those who saw it. But Sarah’s father did
not. And then she whimpered, “Why

are you doing this to me?” she really had no idea. She had never gotten
on with her father, but he had

never caused her physical harm, directly, anyway.

In answer, his grip tightened fractionally. He had pulled his lips back
in anger. Words spewed from his

mouth. Every swear word, every damnation poured from the white man’s
mouth. But nothing made sense.

Sarah’s eyebrow twitched, he was mad. Stark raving mad. What had come
over him? He wasn’t the same

person he was last time she saw him.

“I said, let go of me!” she struck at his wrist in a karate chop motion
with her free hand. His hand fell, but

Sarah wasn’t waiting for him to recover, she kicked him in the chest,
hard. He stumbled back, hit the

fridge, and slid down it while magnets clattered to the floor.

Her hands clenched into fists, her knuckles showing white, despite her
brown skin. Fingernails painted

midnight blue and chipping, rings adorned her fingers, and bracelets
looped her arms. She wore no

earrings in her ears, but had several necklaces dangling from the
spiked collar circling her neck. Her black

bra hidden behind a white tank top, and a thick belt hugged her waist,
chains rattled from belt loops.

Combat boots completed her image.

Her chin lifted and she glared at the man with contempt, her eyes
narrowing dangerously, “Don’t ever touch

me again.” She spat at him.

The man got to his feet, and advanced on the younger, shorter girl, who
quickly backed up, fear flicking

from behind her tough façade. His mouth tugged on a self
satisfied smile. “You ungrateful whore,” he swore

at her. “You should have stayed in juvenile detention where I had you
locked up. Now, I’ll have to deal with

you myself, you piece of shit.”

He took another step forward, and Sarah took one more backwards, her
back bumping into the counter. Her

eyes flicked around in terror, her hand snaking behind her body.

“There’s no where to run, no one to hear you scream, and no one to miss
you once you are gone.” His eyes

were dark, as if someone had painted the normal colourful irises black.

Something rose in her throat, strangling her next words, “But you’re my
father!”

His look was full of disgust. “So your mother said. But she lied,
tricked me. No one looking like you could

possibly be my daughter.” Insanity flickered in those bottomless eyes.

Sarah’s terror flicked, and vanished, she pulled her face into an
expressionless mask. She wasn’t afraid, she

had never been afraid, she was just trying to get… “I don’t want to
hurt you, stay away!” her
hand whipped

out in front of her, something dark and deadly glittering in her grasp.

“Why you little…” he charged her.

***

Her footsteps were loud in the empty hallway, she seemed to stagger,
unsteadily. Each step was like a crack

from a gun, urging her to keep moving. She could not stop. One foot,
after the other. Good, good, keep

going. Her pace quickened slightly, and she kept her head down. A brown
hand trailed behind her along the

walls, her eyes were wet. Hitting the button for the elevator, Sarah
stared at her sneakered feet, which stood

on linoleum flooring. Lungs rasping on each heave of her chest, Sarah’s
head spun slightly, darkness,

dragging like tendrils from her mind, threatened to claim her.

The doors opened on a whoosh, taking her by surprise. She jerked back,
swaying, and involuntarily glancing

down the lone hallway from which she came. A hot tear streaked down her
cheek, and she stepped into the

elevator, luckily, it was empty, but it would be, at such a late hour.
Her large military style bag thumped to

the floor, the carpet muffling the sound somewhat.

The doors binged as they closed, Sarah jabbed the button for the lobby,
eighteen floors beneath her feet.

She closed her eyes and ran her hand through her chin length hair,
wincing ---and not knowing why she did

--- as her hand touched near her scalp. Her head throbbed, her brain
pounding against her skull, a

headache. She sighed, and leaned on to the wall, which doubled as a
mirror. Yes, what passenger on an

elevator wouldn’t love to
stare at themselves?

After a few moments, she opened her eyes, and glanced at her
reflection. She wore a black jacket over a

white shirt, and dark denim jeans, military style combat boots. Salty
tracks ran from bloodshot eyes, to stain

her milk chocolate brown skin, Sarah scrubbed away the marks quickly.
No one wanted to see her cry, least

of all her father. Her eyes darkened at the thought of him. But all her
thoughts from the past half hour

were a blur, blending into darkness, she remembered little. She hadn’t
cried a single tear since her mother

was killed, when she was seven. No one would have the satisfaction of
watching her cry. Ever.

Sarah glared at her reflection, disgust pouring from the core of her
being. Not for herself, or even for her

looks, but for what she saw in that reflection. Her father. Her fists
clenched, and her knuckles gleamed

white. Her whole body tensed, her spine straightening into ram-rod
perfection. Something sharp bit into

her palm, and Sarah glanced down, surprised, and dizzy.

A large knife that dripped a dark, thick liquid, was held fast in her
fist. She gasped and it fell from her

grasp, then clanged to the floor. The liquid smeared, and Sarah saw
that it was crimson. She slammed

the emergency stop button, and knelt to take a closer look, her hand
automatically touching her side

as she bent, the other, bracing on the wall. The knife was a standard
kitchen knife, very sharp, she

could tell even by this distance. She knew because it was extremely
similar to the ones in her father’s

kitchen. What was it doing here?

With her hand still braced on the wall, Sarah reached for the knife
handle with her other hand. She

stopped, her eyes widening, nostrils flaring. Her hand, was much darker
than it should have been, and

it was also covered in the same liquid as the knife. Her heart sped up,
and thumped frighteningly hard

against her ribcage. What had she done? She fell onto all fours, and
gasped for breath.

Slowly, she calmed herself down, but she became increasingly woozy, her
head hurt, and something was

trickling, tickling across her scalp. She sat back up, fighting a wave
of blackness and heat. Her side began

to ache, and as she moved her shirt felt wet. What happened? She tugged
at the zipper on her jacket,

and pulled it from her side. Her shirt was no longer white, it was red,
and the stain rapidly blossomed,

dripping down her pants. Sarah’s head spun on an axis, realizing her
life’s blood was pouring from her

side. How long had it been? Two minutes? Ten?

She had to get out of there. She managed to fumble with the emergency
stop, and the elevator continued

it’s descent. It took a year. Or a moment, Sarah wasn’t sure. The doors
opened, she grabbed the knife,

tucked into her pocket, and began dragging the duffel bag behind her.
Where had she been going?

The security guard was slumped over his station, a snore echoed the
empty, and dark lobby. She walked

past him. Most likely Bill was stoned out of his mind, as usual, and
wouldn’t even know who she was. She

had only taken ten steps from the elevator when the lights fizzled out.
Good thing she wasn’t in the

elevator anymore. She hurried to the phones. Dead. She was locked in.
The door also opened only if

there was electricity.

She spun from the desk, and glared at the glass doors that led into the
wet, fearful night. It was raining

all right, and lightning flickered in the clouds. A strange thing
happened as she turned, maybe it was a

combination of blood loss, and dizziness, but Sarah felt something
burst from her, it was hot, and bright.

She heard a strange, crunching and slurping sound. It sounded as if… as
if glass had…

Sarah rushed to the large doors, only to find they were no longer
intact. It was as if someone had melted

them. There was a large hole, oozing red hot glass onto the marble
floors. Sarah didn’t stop to marvel, yet

burst from the door. The rain immediately drenched her, but she didn’t
care. She didn’t care at all anymore.

She staggered down the street, visions and memories hitting her in
rapid succession, she was so confused,

delirious not knowing what was real and what wasn’t. She felt so alone,
miserable.

‘But you’ve always been alone.’
A familiar voice mocked.

“You’re right!” she screamed at the night, hearing thunder boom in
answering.

She had always been alone. Once, it wasn’t. Once, she had a mother,
once, she’d had hope. But now,

now she was alone. Her was mother brutally murdered before her eyes
when she was seven. Only by a

miracle was she still alive, to this day forensics could not explain
how it had happened. And Sarah

could not remember.

She grew up too fast, hardened to life by an early age. She became
cynical, strong, and even violent.

She learned to fight in the dirtiest of ways; on the street. No one was
her friend, no one had ever

wanted to, and to Sarah, that was just fine. She earned their respect,
even if it was only because they

feared her. Her attitude had sharpened during the time she spent behind
bars. She took the knife from

her pocket, and shoved it into her bag, and deep.

Her face pinched at the memory of being alone, and rage coursed through
her mind. Lightning struck

a hundred yards away, the wind whipped up, and the rain belted harder.
She had to keep going. She

couldn’t stop. One foot, then the other, yes, that’s good. Keep going,
don’t look up, and look at your

feet.

Minutes later, Sarah collapsed onto the doorstep of a building. Just
seconds before she fell, she could

see someone rushing at her, but darkness welled up, and engulfed her,
and then she was dead to the

world.