It's over for me...

I walk alone in the darkness as late becomes early.
Far away the sound of a dog barking as I take a full breath into my
lungs. Cool, still air with a small unexpected breeze.
Trees lit from underneath from street lights along my path.

I walk for miles, listening with my eyes, with my skin,

All around, the mourners gather
My dread grows as the stroke of midnight
Falls against my stained soul
It severs me, and in darkness
My essence drips to the thirsty earth
In abject fear,
I beg for forgiveness
Now alone
My fervent plea falls upon blind eyes
This is my salvation

Fantasm
August 26, 2001

April 11, 2007 (wired news) -- Auction hounds are snapping up "vampire killing kits" and "vampire hunting kits" manufactured by a nineteenth century quack named Ernst Blomberg. The kits, which have been found in Australia and sold by at least two auction houses (including Southebys, reportedly for $12,000), include silver bullets, a wooden stake, holy water, and other important vampire-destroying items.

Most writers can remember the moment they started to compose their first story. For some, it started with an exercise book on the train. Others penned their first words in front of a blank computer screen. Successful children’s author Ann Jungman’s first attempt at literary creativity was slightly more public -- it happened in front of a class of unruly primary school children.

The mist glowed with an eerie light,
She held onto his hand so tight.
He looked at her with tender eyes,
And led her firmly on.

The night was cold and chilled her bones;
He spoke to her in soothing tones.
She put her trust in him alone,
And knew she need not fear.

They reached the castles mighty door,
Uneasy thoughts began to soar.
But standing safely by his side,
Her doubts flew swift away.

He pushed the door and walked on through,
Then beckoned her to enter too.