Vincent and the Gods - Part II don't know why I had trusted them.At least neither of them disagreed with my sentiment of gruff understanding.I had entertained the idea of letting trouble and chaos into my life. The two oddly enough brothers, full-blooded Norse gods of legend. One a muscular form of brute strength, dirty blonde hair, and a boisterous personality. The other a slender pale figure of mischief, black hair, and a silver tongue that could cause commotion and chaos.The idea wasn't originally mine - I borrowed it from a proverb in a self-esteem/self-help bible: A little trouble and chaos never hurt anyone. The trick is to contain it from controlling things.Clearly the writer never met these two nor lived with them for 3 weeks. The two caused me more headache than dealing with "Ice Princess".And no, that hadn't been a jab at the dark-haired god.Gods aren't people or beings to be made fun of, even if they're the ones who started poking mirth and amusement.I had let the nickname slip when mentioning my
Past Deserts and MemoriesThe wind howled around a hooded figure trudging through the sand, his clothes torn and stained in blood. Sand continued to whip his pale face, tearing into his skin and slowly ripping his coat and sleeves in twine. He appeared to be a mirage far off in the distance, one that didn't fade with the lost miles. A real mirage with wounds that left a small trail of blood drops behind him.He never once looked up, simply dragged his broken self through the slowly building and disappearing sand dunes. He didn't need to, destination never mattered. He didn't care. Didn't care enough to tell people where he was going.Not that he cared where he'd end up. It didn't matter one way or the other.One thing was for certain: he had failed in the eyes of the elders. Failed in the eyes of those who brought him up, taught him what he knew. Those who had thrown him out, those ones left him to die a long painful death in the wilderness.". . . Not here . . . I don't belong here . . . I don't belong . . ."
Never Trust a StrangerI never really cared.Nothing mattered to me. Nothing mattered at all. Why should it? Why should I care about my treatment at the hands of an Asgardian ?I'm just a simple Midgardian, as he had said. Nothing in the world would make him care, so why the hell should I?"A simple-minded fool with nothing" in my life that mattered. Nothing that mattered to him.Of course he wouldn't care. That close-minded raven-haired trickster.I wanted to correct him, tell him he was wrong about me. He knew nothing about my heritage, nothing about being the bastard son of a high-ranking noble. At least that's what my father called me.I wasn't a bastard - I was his true son. A son who wanted to be treated the same as the rest of his children. Not being a full blooded son didn't bother me. Not his type of hell-spawn, I was called. Not a blood-sucking monster that wanted to control others for their personal gain. Not wanting to be more than what he really was: a true hideous murderer.I knew better. Why e