TwitchyPhilosopher

 About two years ago, rumors surfaced of a man of unprecedented violence. Reports state that he stands anywhere from six to twenty feet in height, depending on the superstition of the person you ask. Details are sketchy, but the most popular tale is that he wields two great revolvers and is capable of fanning them with inhuman speed and accuracy. He has been blamed for the deaths of some few hundreds of people since his apparent appearance. Some say he was the Devil's own spawn, others that he was the Devil himself, and still others that he killed the Devil. Naturally, this man is a bounty hunter. That profession tends to lend itself well to

Two decades ago, she gazes into his intense azure eyes, and he into hers. They embrace in a moment she wants to last forever, trapped in his strong, radiant warmth. Two years from now, she stares blankly out the window into the hazy morning sky. The window is fogged with the cold air of a place she still refuses to call home. Two months ago, she glances about nervously while a man digs into a heavy black case and removes it to present it to her. It gleams with the harsh incandescent light of the room. She quickly places an envelope of cash on the counter and snatches it up. Two months from now, she surveys her small apartment, finally s

Drive. Just keep driving. Focus. They can't possibly still be following, can they? He glanced into his rear view mirror. Nothing. A wave of relief washed over him. He returned his view to the road, just in time to see a tree moments from impact. --- He opened his eyes. Darkness. Deep and surrounding. His eyes took some time adjusting to the light, or lack thereof. Slowly, his environment came into view. A forest. Leafless trees surrounded him on all sides. "Where -- where the hell am I?" he hoarsely managed through his dry lips. He strained to remember. Driving. He had been driving. And then -- a tree? He must have crashed. He strained

 The autumnal wind cut deep, to the bone. The last remnants of summer clung to the trees in the form of stubborn leaves, and the chilled air hailed a winter sure to be relentless. A silent , peaceful atmosphere hung across the vast field of stelae in the Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe in Berlin. The man walked with a gait far too laborious and stiff for a person of even his age. As though weighted with an invisible force, he carried himself toward the field, pausing every few steps to survey his surroundings and ponderously stare into the sky. He was a tall, wide-shouldered man, of many years, with a scant tuft of blonde hair that

Fear. A kind of deep, loathsome distaste. I couldn't place it. I didn't know what exactly frightened me about the place, but I was entirely certain that it instilled in me a sense of fear one does not easily escape. I'd been mortally terrified of  returning ever since my first unexpected visit, but somehow I knew -- I knew -- that I would one day step foot again in that awful house. The blight on the landscape mars an otherwise picturesque village, nestled in the foothills surrounding the heavily forested region. Outside of its premises, birds sing mellow tunes, flowers peek out of every corner, and the sun is constantly set in the sky.

 I must now write what I never wished to write. Words upon paper I never intended to revisit, images and terrible memories from the corners of my mind that most resist remembrance. For, you see, all must be warned. You must be warned. Humans remain ever sure of their superiority… their inherent precedence over all other creatures… we imagine no universe further than our own. An arrogance, if you will, that has been thoroughly ingrained in our minds. But there are places further than out small universe, our center of power. Universes that stare down scornfully upon our arrogance and hope it crushed. A veritable ocean lies just