Because it's Halloween and I wanted to write something for it...

I hate Halloween. I mean, it's bad enough being a black cat during the rest of the year, but Halloween just sucks. I've had people try to kick me, for heaven's sake! And then there's all the screams, and people yelling, "BLACK CAT!!!" like it's a big deal or something. It's not my fault I was born with black fur. It's genetics, people! Look it up!

The worst people, though, are the ones who try to keep me, or worse, pet me. No thank you. I already have one human to take care of, and believe you me, she's enough of a handful as it is.

"I hate Halloween," I grumble to my human, Diana. Of course, she's not listening. She never is.

"That's nice," she says absently. See? I told you. "Hey," she asks, fingering a stick of over-processed sugar, "do you think Mrs. Gremble poisoned my Kit-Kat bar?"

"No," I sulk, "She thinks you're an angel."

"Exactly! She's hiding something. Something dark and threatening. I don't think I'll eat this Kit-Kat." She throws it across the room where it joins an ever-growing pile of falsely accused candy.

"Now take Mr. Loka," she continues, examining a chocolate bar, "Why does he leave his house every night at precisely 7 o'clock?"

"Your mother told you. He works the night shift."

"The night shift is all a lie," she states wisely, biting off a chunk of chocolate. "Anyone who says they work 'the night shift' is actually a vampire."

"Oh really," I say sourly, "remind me to stay away from 24/7 grocery stores."

Di looks up, her head cocked. "Hey," she says innocently, "are you in a bad mood?"

"No," I drawl, "I'm positively ecstatic. How can I be upset on my favorite holiday?"

"If it's an apology you're looking for, then I'm sorry you couldn't ride on my shoulder."

"And why not?" I demand, "I did last year."

"Last year," Di says patiently, (patiently! As if this is a rational explanation!) "I was the Wicked Witch of the West. A black cat fit. Cinderella does not keep black cats." She flicks an imaginary speck of dust from her immaculate Disney Princess dress. I might just be forced to shred that dress. While she's wearing it.

"So now even you're prejudiced against black cats."

"Am not! Cinderella is. Take it up with her."

"Oh sure. I'll just catch the next train to fairy-tale-land, shall I?"

She gives me a long-suffering sigh. "Ares, you are a talking cat. You were probably born in fairy-tale-land." Here we go again...

"Diana, come to bed!" A voice floats from upstairs.

"Oh, mother," Di calls back, "I couldn't possibly sleep with all this sugar rushing through me."

"Then the grindlelaggers will get you!"

Di gasps. "The grindlelaggers! I forgot! They'll come and steal my toes if I don't go to bed on time! Come, Ares," she grabs me unceremoniously in one hand and seizes her pillowcase of candy with the other, "we to bed."

See what I mean? Humans. Can't live with 'em, can't live without 'em. Some are better than others, though. They give you a home, and a safe place from all the other humans who think you're a walking curse.

Home. It's a nice word. It's a nice place too, even if it's full of Cinderellas who won't let you ride on their shoulders.

Waiting

He no longer needs the white-hot iron pole to remind him.
Come 3 o'clock, his jaws open obediently, a gush of fire shooting over his mouth, caressing tongue, teeth, lips.
He knows that the fire he breathes heats the water that keeps the entire hall warm; how, he doesn't care.
He knows that the noises he hears above him during the day are those of children playing. Children taste good, he remembers that much.
He knows that there is no way to escape the chains they have draped over, around, and through him.
He knows this, but he doesn't really believe it.
One of these days, the chains will break, and he will destroy this cramped prison he's been locked in. He'll destroy the whole village, fry them, blast them, burn them, crunch them between his teeth until only dust remains. He'll kill them all.
Until that day, though, he'll wait: dry wings rustling against the roof of his prison, overgrown nails clacking on the floor. Those nails will rend their fair share of flesh in time. Until then, though, he'll wait.
It's 3 o'clock.

It's Shiny and New!

So, I have finally acquired a blog for myself. I can't promise that it will be updated regularly, or that I won't loose interest in about two days. We'll see.

Basically, I want this to be primarily a writer's blog, but it will have glorified journal entries. They are inevitable, enjoyable, and quite frankly I want to have them. I promise they won't be of the "hey guys i just 8 a sanwitch!!!" variety. Unless, of course, it was a really good sandwich.

So...yeah. Oh, and if anyone wants me to write something, I really enjoy getting requests. Pleeze and thnxks.