The Duties Of The Older Brother Of A Magical Girl:

Duplex Dream

I grew up in duplexes and trailer homes

A trailer home for two with no fence for the yard

No fence for the yard is no pets, just us two: me and you

Us two, mother and daughter; it takes a village to raise a child

Our village was small. Small but good, dysfunctional but strong

Raised in dysfunction, but strength brought me up; helped me grow despite the odds

The odds that I wouldn’t make it this far; my own doubt that I'd ever see eighteen

Eighteen years don’t seem so long, but I always thought something would cut them short

Cut short but not by my own hands; it was just so hard to look for life ahead

But now, ahead of me a future lies, one I did not expect

My expectations far surpassed what I might have ever imagined

The imagination and dreams of that little girl who struggled to grow

But grew nonetheless from the love I found

Found but never lost in duplexes and trailer homes

- A. Yenzer

Fallen soldiers, from wars old and new, never stop fighting. They just have a different war to fight.

Sailors who die on sunken ships fight the monsters of the deep from pulling the ships of the living down to the depths. Ships with smashed hulls and broken masts, submarines with gaping holes in their sides rise from their graves at the bottom of the ocean and protect the living from the monsters of old.

Pilots of the newer wars have found themselves fighting the ones who can fly, the monsters that would steal a child off the street or a beloved pet from their yard. Until the first of these new fallen, attempting to fend the flying ones off was almost futile. But now ghost planes with broken wings and burning engines patrol the skies.

Warriors struck down on the battlefield fend off the monsters of the land from taking the souls of the living that walk the earth. Their axes and swords, bows and arrows, even calvary horses are some of the only things that allow the living to believe fairy tales are just tales.

A soldier never stops being a soldier, even in death. To them, it’s worth everything. To continue protecting those they love and all who come after.

- A. Yenzer

The knight’s armor clacked softly against the stone floor of the cave, shock and realization dawning in his expression and draining his adrenaline, his limbs collapsing as his fight left him. His brow furrowed as he thought hard, trying to remember how the kingdom’s war against the dragon had started. He quickly found that he couldn’t, the kingdom’s people had been aware of the dragon for centuries. They hadn’t had any problems for so long, the attacks were completely unexpected… or so they’d been told.

Outskirts villages burned, livestock slaughtered, gold stolen… the palace had blamed the dragon. Stirring up fear and contempt, raving about centuries of peace broken, calling for soldiers and volunteers willing to make the trek to slay the dragon and save the kingdom.

But there had never actually been any proof… no dragon sightings, no scales or talons left behind, not even claw marks, only the declarations of their kings.

As the knight has his crisis over the dragon’s revelation, the dragon had released him, moving off of him and backing away. The knight made it to his knees before hanging his head, pulling a rosary from a small pouch on his belt and began to pray.

“Oh Lord, forgive us. We’ve made a terrible mistake.”

“You pray not only for yourself?” The shock in the dragon’s booming voice was palpable as it resonated off of the cave walls. It was enough to jar the knight from his prayers, looking up at the dragon with a face full of regret.

“Our kings have lied to us. I cannot take back the pain you have suffered at our hands but I can apologize for my people, being so quick to judge despite centuries of peace and no evidence. Teaching generations to hate you out of spite.”The knight had made it to his feet over the course of his speech, resolve steeling his shoulders. “If you don’t mind, I’ll be heading back to the kingdom.” He gave the dragon a quick bow before turning on his heel back to his camp, armour clanging against itself and the stone floor.

“What will you do?”

The knight gave a last glance back over his shoulder, before answering the dragon’s curiosity, calling out as he continued on, “I have a king’s head to remove.”

"GO AWAY!" bellowed the dragon to the man currently pinned beneath one of their paws. "I've done NOTHING WRONG!" "You lie! You've slain dozens of noble knights over the centuries-" "In self-defense, because YOU ALL KEEP TRYING TO KILL ME!!!"

Precipice

The sharp click of the switch

reverberates through the air

as you turn off the light in the laundry room

and step into the kitchen.

Your steps stutter to a stop

on the cool laminate sticking to your soles

when your mind catches on

the sliding glass door

in your peripheral. There is a man,

standing on the precipice

of where the porch light’s glow

is swallowed by the dark.

Balaclava and clothes carved from obsidian

tempt the night to draw him in. The dying

bulb above the door is just strong enough

to drag his silhouette into its illumination.

Your gaze latches on

where his should be, instead

two brimming pools of black abyss

stare back, looking through you.

Your head is screaming,

“Don’t look too closely!

He might be real

this time.”

Wind wails against the walls outside,

the house creaks and groans in protest

and leaves scrape bark branches

as their trees bend with the gust.

The sudden sounds steal

air from your chest in

a sharp gasp. Muscles tense

and your eyes slam shut.

Dissipating

in the darkness,

the vision is gone

when they snap open again.

Your recurring apparition

leaves less fear

lingering in your blood now.

So,

Push your shoulders back

and wrench the weight

of anxious paranoia

off your chest.

You'll finish getting

ready for bed but

even though you know

there’s nothing there,

the shadows still seem

to whisper your name

and cling to you

in the night.

- A. Yenzer

The concern pinching his brows was a shadow on the flickering interest lighting his eyes as he spoke of my power. “You’ll need to learn control before we can even attempt to teach you anything else. Without it, you’ll continue to burn until it consumes you entirely.”

I’d ventured so far, seen so many who boasted about their ability to help anyone understand the power inside them, but I quickly learned that the fear in their eyes was a warning. I had never been excepted, turned away and run out of their towns and cities every time. Yet, the man across from me didn’t look afraid. Concerned but not afraid. Hope sparked in my chest. And at my fingertips, the static of electricity jumping between them. I curled them into my palms, sniffing them out as I concentrated on my breathing, eyes closed until I felt the magic that had been trying to unfurl lessen again.

He’s right. I know it and it’s why I’m here. What little control over my power I have found isn’t enough to keep me from being a danger to those around me. It’s why I’d set out on this journey in the first place. I couldn’t keep endangering those I loved with my presence, so I packed enough to sustain me and left my mom a note. I promised I would come back when I had control and I refuse to break that promise.

Thoughts of my mom help anchor me, give me the strength to keep my tenuous hold on my power. With the burn of it settled from my chest again, I open my eyes and quickly find myself under his watchful gaze. The concern seems to have faded, replaced by a confident set of his shoulders, his mouth tipping up in one corner and his brows have relaxed. Is he really that reassured by that dismal display of my meager control?

Before I can open my mouth the ask, a sharp two raps on the other side of his office door interrupts me.

“That’ll be your new teacher.” He speaks excitedly, rising to grant entrance to the most important person in my life for… the indefinite future. Who knows how long this will take… No.

Rather than let that anxious thought take root, I rise. Wiping my shaky, sweaty palms on my pants before taking in the figure in the doorway shaking the headmaster’s hand. Inky black hair grazes lean shoulders and bright hazel-green eyes above a freckle-covered nose latch onto mine, their gaze sweeps over me as their smirking lips spread into a full blown grin.

“Damn kid, I could feel your power from outside the room. We’ve got a lot of work to do on you but I get the feeling you’re going to be well work it.” They cross the room in three quick strides and I try not to let my discomfort at being touched make me flinch at the clap of their hand on my shoulder. The reassuring squeeze that follows eases some of that tension but I’m still not used to it.

I don’t have to hide it for long, their attention leaves me as the headmaster speaks again. “Rook will be your master here at the guild. They are your teacher, your guide, everything you need. Stick with them, listen when they try to help you and before you know it, you’ll get to start learning to use your power not just control it.”

I step forward one last time reaching forward over the large, ornate wood desk. I grasp his hand firmly, eager to demonstrate how grateful I am for their help and the chance they’re taking on me. My voice comes out more earnest than I expect but I’m not surprised, “Thank you for this, Headmaster. I won’t let you down.”

“No. I don’t think you will, Ash. Welcome to New Haven’s Villain Guild. I think you’ll do well here. I can’t wait to see how you grow with us.” His grip is equally firm, before he released it, dismissing me and Rook from the room, with a smile and a nod to his office door.

"An initiate's mana could be imagined as a flame. Most are small candles to bright torches. And we at the Order help these flames flourish into something useful... but you're a raging wildfire."

Life is a game of chess, and your opponent is time. 

Spoiler alert: it’s a parent trap situation

You are a god whose most devout follower is marrying your rival God’s follower. Normally that wouldn’t be a problem except you both are asked to bless the union, and for that both of you must attend.

Who’s next?

If you're reading this...

go write three sentences on your current writing project.

It will develop like everything else through time, care, and effort.

it’s okay if your prose is ugly right now. it’s just pre-gorgeous.

"I know adverbs are controversial, but "said softly" means something different than 'whispered' and this is the hill I will die on."