Telzin1924

 By Terumune O'Kennedy
 
 Flight through the Dark

    Another painful breath pushes Gen of Azariah through the pitch black maze of the forest, moving fast as he dares along forgotten paths that go deeper into the mysterious and forgotten dark. Were it not for the adrenaline coursing through his veins and his fear for his precious cargo driving him harder through the terror of a seemingly endless void, Gen might just have a better idea of where he was going, but the only light to guide his way came from the burning castle behind him.

    The death cries of King Graham and the final whispered command of Princess Yvette rang in Gens memory yet again. “Save them Gen. Keep them safe!”

    Gen spares a quick look to the children protectively cradled beneath his arms: the wide eyed and terrified six year old Prince Narius, elder of the two children who fusses again at being handled so roughly by Gen’s sword arm. Instead of his blade, Gen keeps the child in a protective hold that kept the boy from being whipped by the branches Gen rushes past.

    The more he thought about it the more Gen realizes just how much of a disadvantage he was at should his suspicions prove correct and the murderers still close at hand. Gen wishes again he could draw his blood covered blade resting in its sheath but found his hands full with Narius under one arm and beneath his other arm the crying infant Princess Odette he kept cradled close to his chest.

    Gen’s ignores Narius fidgeting in his grasp. Frightened and confused about where his guardian was taking them through the dark forest, once again Narius asks where his parents were. Gen could only answer Narius’ questions with pained breaths as the blood flowing from the agonizing gash in his back pushed Gen on like a madman possessed by duty.

    Gen stops for a brief moment to listen for pursuers, the assassins wearing robes of black and bearing the warrior masks of a nation of people that as far as Gen knew should have been dead. Gen curses aloud, “Damn cowards.” Their brutality flashes yet again in his mind, a memory of the last he saw anyone related to the royal family trapped in a fight for their lives, save for the two children with whom Gen was able to pull from fire and death.

    The faint echo of footfalls belonging to what could only be the assassins came crashing fast through the forest hot on his heels, leaving Gen without choice but to fight his way through. Adjusting Narius to a position that would allow him to fight with his sword arm, Gen moves Narius to be carried on his back before swiftly unsheathing his sword in the same motion, prepared as well as he could be for the inevitable fight.

    Gen breaks the silence of the night by shouting to Narius, “Hold tight lad, things are about to get bumpy!”

    The killers in black move with practiced precision through the dark faster than Gen could actually see, only their silver blades and pale masks catching the light could be made out. The stains of blood along their blades from their earlier victims caught Gen’s eyes as the villainous figures made their way closer to finish their bloody work.

    Without warning his cargo, Gen surges down a random path, running as fast as he could manage with Narius clinging desperately to Gen’s neck, and could feel as the blood from his wound was making Narius slip around from the sudden shift in movements. Gen held Odette tight to his chest in a protective grasp as he slashes about blindly at where he could feel the dark figures were, their lethal intentions screamed out to his senses and allowed the old warrior to fight as though they were fighting during the day.

    With practiced form and skills learned from a lifetime of war and fighting across countless different fields in the dark and the light, Gen was able to hit several of them with lightning speed and lethal precision. The figures in black ran alongside Gen, striking back at the Gen with his skill and speed being the only things keeping him and the children alive.

    With a drive and desperation he didn’t know he still had in him, Gen fights desperately while he runs, slaying some and injuring others, but above all he continues running, doing his best to keep Narius from slipping from his back as he held the infant Odette in a grasp that almost fails several times with all the movements of Gen fighting as he ran.

    Gen wasn’t sure of the exact moment but he could feel Narius’ grip fail. The boy tumbles from his back, crashing to the ground with only a pained yell escaping the prince’s lips. Noting his charge’s sudden absence, Gen turns back to pick up Narius but stops dead when seven of the assassins still chasing him encircle the prince and cut off any chance for Gen to reach Narius.

    A pained rage surges through Gens very soul when he realizes the unfortunate choice he must make between Narius, trapped between the assassins bearing down for the kill, or Odette, where all he would have to do was leave and save the infant princess safely cradled in his arm. Looking to Narius’ and hearing his cries is impossible for Gen to ignore, but he does so, turning and leaving quickly as a deep well of sorrow and regret grips his very soul.

    Running at full speed once again with his sword drawn, Gen listened for the whimpers of Narius as long as he could until there came a blood curdling scream followed by the swift horrific sound of an explosion of energy familiar to Gen as magic, a magic belonging to the people that Gen believed to be gone from this world as he was personally responsible for sending a countless number of them to Hell, when his king commanded that he lead the armies of Azariah to slaughter them.

    Running along ancient forest paths until he spotted familiar ones, Gen takes a moment to look at the face of a crying Odette he held desperately in his arms. At least a piece of his sworn battle brother would live on, so leaving the royal family behind as Princess Yvette commanded Gen to do in their time of need wouldn’t have all been in vain.

     

So... DeviantArt... yeaaah... It has been a while.
Much more time has passed than I meant to let go of since the beginning of what has been (for most, particularly celebrities and legendary idols among many different entertainment industries [David Bowie dying on my birthday particularly sucked]) an incredibly shitty year.
Yet I cannot in good conscience say that it has been a totally bad year.
Sure a lot of bad has happened (in my own case I found out my Aunt's cancer has returned and unless she can find a treatment that can get at the cancer in her bones and lymph nodes in the next two years it will claim her life, my own depression hit me hard enough multiple times that I nearly took a knife to myself to end it all, and the state of the future doesn't exactly look the brightest [among many other issues I dread to think about]), but this year has also had its joys, wonders, and has been a time of healing for myself that has given me the opportunity to look on the future with optimism to where I am actually thinking of where I will be in five years and working towards living a much more positive and fulfilling life.
For example I now have a wonderful girlfriend (never thought that would happen) and I found out on Christmas I'm going to be an uncle! (Coincidentally two years after finally went and got help for my disorders this child is expected enter the world [around about August]) Making me happier than ever that I didn't kill myself! (To the joy of many others). 
Some time around the beginning of this year I wrote with the notion that I would write much more, polish what I had already written and not shared, and get more in the habit of posting the things I write online.
Since I like to at least pretend I am a man of my word, that is exactly what I shall endeavor to do with the few hours remaining on this day 12/31/16, by sharing with you just a fragment of some of what I've been spending the past year working on. 
Far from polished and full of errors (grammatical and otherwise), the ideas themselves remain complete so I have a general idea where the road leads.
I'm afraid that when it comes to doing the actual work, adding the dialog, fleshing out characters, and actually going through the grind of completing the story from beginning to end without it becoming a bundled up crowded mess... that's still something I am quite horrible at and have quite a lot of work to do before I can consider myself a true writer. 
While I would like to demonstrate this so I don't come across as a rambling liar, I will instead focus on what I have managed to polish... grant you it's not a lot and there is still so much more to be done, but it is an important step I've bee meaning to take for a while now and will just be glad to get it out of the way. 
Thank you kindly for reading and I hope you enjoy.
And a very happy new year to you all and a good riddance to 2016... may the future prove brighter and better for all the world.

Often painful for the "survivors" to talk about, suicide and the subject thereof can be equally painful for the person going through depression and obsessed with such thoughts. 
Suicide is still very much a taboo subject that triggers intense emotions we'd rather avoid. We detach ourselves from and can't really talk about it for one reason or another, whether a loved one or a friend has gone through with it, or whether it's just someone you idolized and cared about making the sorrowful choice, suicide is something that leaves a painful void for all involved and is a subject that cannot be ignored. 
But after going through Oregon's IOP (Intensive Outpatient Program), I know for a fact that talking about it with others does help. Opening up with family and those you care about (while terrifying beyond words in so many cases) can also open many more doors... it lets others know that everything isn't okay, that you need a hand, but that you aren't totally dependent or helpless. It's a way of saying you're looking to get your life in a better direction than to continue on a path that is clearly leading to a tragic ending. 
I previously mentioned I would likely talk about my own depression and attempts at suicide, and I suppose now's as good a time as any since I'm actually trying to say something important.
I have been asked what depression is like numerous times, how I see it and how it affects me. The way I have come to see it is that depression is an invisible weight. You are the only person that knows it's there and can feel it constantly shifting and changing, sometimes feeling that letting it crush you or drop it would be easier and best for everyone involved. In reality all you see is releasing this weight is the only way to end the ceaseless weight, especially since it's slowing you down, keeping you from achieving or even just enjoying life, along with what you or others think you could achieve in life. 
To everyone else, they are carrying their own weight of life that is very much visible. For some they are able to carry it with such ease through faith or just a healthy mind that everything seems easier for them. Others are burdened and weighed down by the troubles they go through, but their burdens and weight are often helped and lifted up by others, from family to friends. Yet it is a weight that is in both cases looks very much visible, especially to someone burdened by the invisible weight of depression.
For someone suffering from this invisible weight, to look at others is to see the weight they have to bear, and because everyone has their own weight of life to deal with, a depressed person begins to believe that to talk about your own burden, to try and ease the weight with the help of another would be dropping the entire weight onto that person; that you become dependent, weaker, or that you would bring about greater harm to the person you care about and think would be most willing to help you. Eventually this invisible weight randomly increases until it becomes suffocating, crushing, and paralyzing. 
Suicide is the act of following the simplest solution: throwing the weight from your shoulders. But since this invisible weight includes the weight of life it means throwing everything away.
Something most afflicted by this invisible weight don't see is how in doing so by committing suicide, that cursed burden still remains and affects others with your loss, your invisible weight shifting around because it does not leave with you and has to go somewhere. It winds up going to those you care about and hits them heavy and hard, cripplingly bad in some cases, while with others it's not so terrible and they are able to go on having a harsher opinion of suicide than most, not seeing the invisible weight for what it is. 
You don't have to get rid of it all at once. Talking about depression and suicide is like taking some of the weight off a little bit at a time, being able to relieve yourself even just a bit to the point where you can breathe easier and actually begin moving forward with your life. 
Medications also do help... it may take your entire life and they may mess you up at first... but it's like adding a new weight meant to help; sometimes it does, other times it doesn't. 
You don't have to let such weight crush you. There are so many good and wonderful people out there in the world with an open heart and a willing ear... they can be hard to find sometimes, but they're there. Oftentimes it simply takes a first step with a stupid question to get you in the right direction. 
Start by asking around. Call people that are supposed to deal with these issues as a profession and work from there. Your friend can give you a recommendation of what you can do, but they can't give you something that can help if the problems turn out to be worse than you realize. 
It is a long and arduous journey, but it is the journey of your life, something not only worth it but one that is much better with you in it.

So, once again I find myself in a state of mind where I am overwhelmed by my depression and find myself with few options but to ramble out something I've been meaning to type, but haven't gotten around to actually typing until now.
Yet again I find my mind locked in a state of uncertainty where I don't completely know what to write. 
An unfortunate affliction I believe is called "Writer's Block", but unlike the usual case of this deadly artist affliction where I have nothing that comes to mind, I instead feel my mind overflows with no clue of where to begin. 
The only thing I know at this point is that for another restless night, the dark corners of my mind are once again trying to convince me to kill myself. To make it nice, quick, clean, and to only take one final painful moment before that eternal slumber part of me longs for... the only way I know how to truly and completely stop, as I don't actually want to die... I just want to stop. 
So once again the part of me that wants to live (odd as that might seem for someone that claims to be suicidal) goes through a list: the list of people that I think of in such times that help make each breath I take when in pain or misery that much easier... those rare people that make up my world I actually care about and would do anything and everything for, including continuing to live when life gets too painful to bear. 
Whether they know it or not, care or not, I cannot say... but it isn't important that they know or return such feelings, only that they are there, that they continue to strive and push through their own dark times and draw strength from living another day when I cannot see the same light. 
I've been meaning to reveal for a while now that saying the words "I love you" are, for me, probably the hardest thing in the world to do, whether it's to family, or those I care about and would like to say such a thing to more than anything. 
They are words I hold as sacred, something of an unspoken promise to those I care for that I do not make lightly, one that keeps me alive in the many dark moments where the tip of a knife seems to whisper a promise of what part of me longs for. 
To tell someone that I love them is to promise and give my word that no matter what I will do everything within my power, give all that I am, and do whatever must be done to ensure the safety, security, and comfort of this person I am willing to open my heart to, to protect them from all I am able to, including myself, no matter what it might cost or do to me.
Time and time again I have had my heart broken, as well as my trust flayed and left to rot. Trusting others no matter how sincere, loving, or caring they might be is another of the hard things this life presents me with. 
This holds especially true when the words I hold sacred, those three simple little words that get so easily taken for granted were used as a tool, a reminder, a thing that kept me going through a lot of very bad stuff I really didn't need to put up with, but I did so with a smile because of the daily and nightly reminder of "I love you, son" to the point where those words rang hollow, spoken out of obligation and for the sake of keeping my loyalty, but no real affection behind it, twisting those words into just another measure to keep me in line... from getting help when I was in need. 
I imagine I never did go too far into what exactly happened to me in the interceding years before I finally reconnected with formerly distant family and friends, and probably never will go into full details of what happened (unless you've got a few hours to spare, a long attention span, nothing else to do, and I actually feel willing to relive such horror) but aside from a lot of really bad and painful stuff (my brain mashes together a lot of terrible things as a defensive measure so I can't focus on one singular event), there was also enough goodness and love to keep me some measure of hopeful for what tomorrow might bring, however much past experience and the ceaseless wanderings of my mind might say otherwise. 
To those I love, those I truly do care for, allow me to say it yet again: I love you. All that you are, all that you have yet to be, and all that you have given me that makes this life a bit more bearable in dark moments when my brain doesn't shut up or stop hurting, like today alongside the past several months, the times when the dark almost won out.
Now I've lately come to realize that for some, these words are equally hard to come by for one reason or another, and that usually when it's said to me it is meant to be just as sacred. 
In such cases it's also something shocking for me to hear sometimes... something so unexpected that it changes something within myself, how I act and strive to live every day knowing that their love for me might be the last thought they have of me, as time and time again I come closer and closer to being stupid enough to go through with actually killing myself and the scariest part is I have no control over when it happens. 
To know that I am loved, and to be able to love and trust others helps more than could possibly be imagined, and is one of the things that really does keep me alive each and every day. 
For those of you wondering, the medications do make things easier... but true happiness is like the moon, a beacon in the dark so far out of my reach that I can't even dream of such beauty without feeling like my continued existence taints it: that to just think about such beauty is to corrupt it with the thing that I am.
Besides, dreams are things meant for the innocent and young, those that deserve to be protected and cared for so that they might make a better world unburdened by the crap that makes our current world rotten as it is, a paradise yet to be not fit for a thing like myself: a thing that I would equate more to a monster than a man. 
Why I have such an opinion of myself is one of the keys to my depression, something that's been growing within for years and just keeps getting worse with every mistake I make and every day that passes: an uncontrollable chain of thoughts linking every misery, every failure, and every pain into overwhelming waves of crushing thoughts I possess no control over, losing pieces of myself every day until I can no longer recognize my reflection. 
I instead do the only things that can be done day to day: distract myself, draw breath, keep myself from dreaming or sleeping right (even when I can), take my medications, and to keep writing even when I can think of nothing left to write. Above all I try to remember those I love and continue to try living for. 
I imagine I'll reveal bit by bit of myself when these dark times rear their ugly heads... plenty of me still remains something of a mystery to those curious enough after all. 
To write for the simple fact that writing is a core part of who I have become, on whatever subject comes to mind (in all likelihood it'll be something centered on depression and some of the lessons I've come to learn through the last year of therapy and being able to further study exactly what's wrong with my head) and while I can't guarantee it'll all be good, thought provoking, entertaining, or even interesting, I can at least try and promise it'll be worth the time to read, that there is something of value to be had in what I am sure has become something of rambling gibberish by this point. 
I would like to again thank you for taking the time to read, for sharing if you felt the need to, and to thank you more than anything else for caring.

Dear Past Self,

For the longest time I have hated and despised you, the thing that you were, and the ways you seemed to become worse with time. That like a toxic, untouchable, burdensome mess, you deserved every agony suffered and every ounce of misery endured as all these feelings were justified and deserved. For the crimes of willful ignorance and outright stupidity, there could be no punishment more deserved than death: if only to ease the burden your existence places on those you care for.

With time, patience, and the continued love and support of others I have come to realize just how truly wrong I’ve been, and can see now just how existing with the love and kindness you show to others every day, even when no one else sees it, has helped so many. Your compassionate and caring heart, while hurt, has still strengthened and brought the greatest joys to those you care for, and the friends you’ve made over the years.

You have within you the strength to persevere and endure the long harrowing years ahead, and you will thrive against all the odds as you always have done. While time will make you think on what you could have (and probably should have) done, it is more important to remember the good and great things you did for yourself and others. How against all the odds and impossible things, you are still here, and that you not only have but you deserve everything good and more.

Always remember that in spite of it all, the mistakes you’ve made and the pain you’ve suffered, life is better with you in it.

From,

Your future self