Storm of Daggers
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I remember the night you tried to kill me. I remember the night that you screamed outside the door and would not leave until I let you in. I remember the howling of the wolf and the rattling of this house made of sticks, the knowledge that the wind and the rain and the storm would bring my home down and you would devour all within.

I remember seeing you in the lurid crash of the lightning's stroke against the silhouetted skyscrapers of Lower Manhattan. I remember the broken jagged teeth gleaming in the moonlight. I remember the feeling of the ten-inch sword I took from the stones made of oak and clutched in my fist to protect myself and the Matron of the Nine Stars against your rage.

I remember the electron howl of ones and zeros screeching through the copper-and-glass highways of the leylines put down by the mages of the blue sphere and the falling pin. I remember the words of power spoken in that darkened bedroom, the words that tear souls from flesh and leave them suspended in glass, with the sands of time slowly falling over them to enfold the dark light of the shattered birds of extinction.

I remember nine years spent wandering through the salt-cracked plains of Zion Again, the lacerations upon the soles of my bare feet through the endless rose-thorn strikes against my inner heart. I remember the apple and the tree, the sword and the table, the fig leaf and the musty pages of an ancient book. I remember the felt and the corpse, the voices raised in praise to the gods of healthy eating and early bedtimes, the cold linoleum heart of the school in which we learned our letters and numbers and the names of the nine circles of Hell.

I remember the blood of my blood and the shadows of my shadows cast upon a wall made dingy with the cast-off bodies of a ten years of sadness and triumph. I remember the lies and the death, the screams and the heartbreaks. I remember the antlers you wore upon the crown of thorns with the blood of divinity trickling down your face, a modern day Superman brought low by grief and shame.

I remember the silver among the ebony. I remember the lightning upon the glass. I remember the ribs of the beggar placed into a purse of velvet and served to the wedding guests as a delectable treat, a true delicacy like none that they had ever experienced. I remember the mint and the whiskey, the ice and the fire, the milk of the mother turned sour by heat, tainted by the feet of houseflies and the shit of the cat.

I remember the silence, the fear and the terror. I remember it all.

I remember because the heart of clay will never forget the imprint of the cuneiform impressed upon it by a stylus made of human bone. I remember because to forget is death.

I remember.

I live.

I am.

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