I Am - Chapter 3

His hands seemed to move on their own, now. He was so excited with his newly discovered power that he could not stop creating. He made planets, moons, asteroids. His hands swiftly and flawlessly formed novae, solar systems, and spiral galaxies . He was creating almost without thought, but he realized that all he saw seemed to be wrought with the talent of a master. His creations were not just beautiful, they were majestic. He continued to make his worlds (for they were worlds, he realized; each so complex, and containing so many things that they seemed each to encompass complete realities in their own microcosms) until he was surrounded by them. He felt as close to his worlds as he had to the darkness, but this feeling was exactly the opposite. He knew these things, and he liked them.

My creations should be unique, he mused. They should all be different, so that no beauty will be diminished by an equal. This idea pleased him greatly, and he promised himself to create only unique things from then on.

He had been so busy creating his quintessentially artistic globes that he did not even notice the next ache, when two orbs began to glow brightly near the center of his self. He finally noticed that he had eyes when he withdrew a little to survey the beauties of his environment.

In the sort of sudden (yet somehow unhurried) manner in which things had seemed to be happening to him so far, he instantly found another feeling, burning coldly from he core of his self. These worlds were wonderous, but they were not alive. He knew, all of a sudden, that he was lonely.

musings

I'm thinking about the book I may make someday.. It would probably have just enough content to fit into a small coffee table book. Being ever the minimalist, I think I shall call my book:

Coffee ('ko-fE, 'kä-):

(tagline)
Something to be drunk while reading this book.

I dunno... just a thought... and now, it's a copyrighted thought! ;)

I Am - Chapter 2

The thing outside seemed to be much less threatening now. His new shining spot of hope had taken that threat away, and he was very glad for it. He began to create more of these. At least, he assumed he was creating them, because he could always feel a little ache right before one appeared. He realized now that the feeling wasn't so bad after all. Perhaps the first one had been the worst, like a muscle that aches when it hasn't been used in a long time. He had no way of knowing this, however, because he didn't have any muscles.

His stars were appearing all around him, keeping him company in the big emptiness, which is what he now knew the thing outside was. When there was nothing to compare himself to in the emptiness, it had covered him like a blanket and he felt claustrophobic. Now that he could find a frame of reference, he realized that he must be floating out in emptiness. There was a void as far as he could see, and even beyond- past all he could imagine.

Suddenly the feeling of suffocation left him, and he became instantly lonely. He felt another ache (strong, like the first time), and his being began to take form. He realized that this ache was a feeling of want. He was reaching for his stars, as if he thought that they would somehow run away. What was he reaching with? He could not tell, but he felt the ache starting to stretch farther away from his self, in two long bands. Then the bands began to split, with five extensions on each one, reaching for every star. I'll call these my hands, he thought. Just then, the ache vanished, like before, and he could see his new arms and hands stretching to the stars. They were glowing, like the rest of his self, with a light brighter even than the stars he was reaching for.

With his new hands, he reached out and felt his stars. They were warm, and he thought that they must be burning with the ache that left him when they were created. He did not feel weaker after creating them, though, and he realized that this must be the power he had sensed in his self from the beginning- the power to create.

legal stuff blah blah blah

It came to me today that I might someday like to make a book of all my short stories and poems, etc. Then, of course, I became paranoid about people taking my work from this page. So, just to clarify, any post or comment made by myself dating from the beginning of this blog to the end of the same is copyright, Kipling L. Coleman. This, of course, encompasses all posts and comments already made by myself, and all the posts and comments I have yet to make.

Now, back to the fun stuff.

I Am - Chapter 1

Everywhere.

It was everywhere.

He could sense it all around him. Somehow, without having to think about it (indeed, he couldn't have if he had tried), he knew it was suffocating him. He began to hate it almost as soon as he became aware of its existence. He knew, deep in the core of his self (which is all he knew he had), that he was alone. Alone, and enveloped by this stuff.

He wanted to run away- to get out. He didn't know where out was. After all, it was everywhere. The only other choice was to go in. He turned in upon himself, doing his best to ignore the choking feeling outside. When he turned in, he felt his first hope. There was a tiny hold. It was his self, and his self had power.

He discovered that he could keep turning in on himself, discovering a smaller, more concrete self within the one he had just grabbed onto. He felt the strength of his foothold on this plane of existence beginning to grow. He kept turning in. For ages, he turned, grasping smaller and smaller holds which seemed to grow bigger when he pulled himself in toward them. He kept at this for so long, that the thing outside became less and less important. After an age of ages, he forgot about outside. At that exact moment, he felt the power of his self solidify into completion.

Before, he had only one sense. It was a kind of vague feeling, or what one might call a premonition. Now, he suddenly became aware of five senses. Even though he saw, felt, heard, smelled, and tasted nothing, he knew they were all there. Could these help him hide from the thing outside? In the next instant, he realized he wouldn't have to.

He felt his self aching, and just as he began to become genuinely annoyed with this new pain he had stumbled upon, it was gone. The ache left his body, and he was blinded by a bright flash. It was only a pinprick, but it was the most beautiful pinprick he had ever seen. In truth, it was the first thing he had ever seen with his new sense of sight. And it was coming from outside.

The best kind of battles

The best kind of battles never leave the couch. There is tickling, pinching, biting and scratching all around. There is struggling, panting, grunting and laughing for hours. Then, there is peace. No one is dead. No one is injured.

Of course, the battles must have sides, and what better way to pick them than by gender? There's the sly looks, the nervous laughs (cleverly hidden among laughs of tickling), and the "Oh, my!" "Oh, sorry." "It's okay."

Or maybe it's just me.

But I guess the point is that we can all be veterans of these miniature wars... we all have our points of view to tell.

In the killing wars, only the winners can tell you what happened.

What have we done? What have we really done?