How could she not understand me?
I had given her so much.
Her husband did not love her like I loved her,
No one could.
He lied to her about his love and
I exposed his heart to prove it.
She was as beautiful as I had envisioned from so far away.
I ignored her fear and uncontrollable crying.
I looked into her eyes to find what I was looking for.
She truly had no idea who I was.
Her lack of memory angered me
More than her secret marriage.
Her denial to accept me and my love
Enraged me to where everything in the room
Received a coating of red.
I had two gifts in my hand.
She was to choose only one.
I held out the rose as a last sign of faith.
She could have a life with me.
We could be happy if she would only accept it.
My blood boiled at her lack of support
For our relationship by not taking the first gift.
I dropped the rose on the ground and
Prepared to offer her the second gift.
She needed to know that it was always about her.
Everything I did was for her.
Every dream, every fantasy was for her.
Every need, want and desire was for her.
She was the reason I was alive and
The reason why she had to die.
She corrupted our relationship through marriage
And the avoidance of memory.
She would feel the pain and suffering that she had caused me.
She would feel every heart ache and
Every anxiety that she gifted me.
Her mouth dropped open as she realized
That it was time for our love to end.
She tried to run, but the strength of my hand holding her hair
From behind was too much for her.
I ran my blade across her throat and
Heard her betrayal leak from her wound.
Her gasps for air were only more denial for our love.
I lowered her body to the ground
With respect as she had once loved me.
I took a moment to kiss her warm lips
One last time before I proceeded to carve her heart out.
I would always cherish her heart
As long as I lived no matter how much
She ventured away from me.
I had always believed that her heart was mine for the taken.
The mood in the room was somber
Until Asmodeus opened the door and joined me.
I predicted nothing but shock on her face,
Instead she greeted the situation with a smile.
She told me I had done well.
I was not sure how the removal
Of the hearts out of two people was perceived as doing well,
But I accepted her comment.
I asked her if she knew about the secret marriage.
She said that the marriage was no secret.
She said I was the only one who did not know about it.
She said my lust for my beloved
Would not have allowed me to believe it.
She could tell that my anger was increasing
Towards her and she denied my feelings by informing me
That I could not kill what was already dead.
I wanted to try so badly,
But her smile penetrated my mind so deep with an evil arrow
That I actually became fearful of the unknown.
I asked her what she was.
She only stated that she was a demon.
After what I had been through,
I had no choice but to believe her.
My anger subsided and
I asked her in a calm voice
About what was to occur next.
She grabbed the handle of the door and
Said that the encounter had to end.
She pulled the door open as she vanished.
In the doorway stood four palace guards
Each with a shocked expression on their faces.
There I was covered in blood
Standing over two corpses
With a dagger in one hand and a heart in the other.
~
I am growing accustomed to the darkness in the cave.
Being in here for so long with the only light
Coming from the small candle
Has allowed me to adapt my vision.
I predict a negative effect
When I am allowed to exit into the sunlight.
Even the thought of the sun
Makes me squint against the brightness.
I think I am becoming friends
With the darkness and often times
Speak to it as if it were alive.
The black can secure and hide any evils
That lurk or allow them to show themselves.
It is the true ruler of the cave.
It allows me just enough light
So that I may continue my task.
It is gracious and kind to me.
I dare not think about angering the darkness
As I do not wish to feel its sheer power.
I could see how the darkness
Could be quite relentless in its actions
If it were not a friend.
I wish to stay on the good side of the darkness
And do nothing to provoke it.
I will follow its orders and meet its demands.
I owe it at least that for listening to my worries and
Not judging me for my actions.
I will offer it the same in return.
I will hear its cries and
See it with non-judging eyes.
For now, I will sleep
Knowing that the darkness is my friend.
VII
envy
Ore was my source of life;
My source of business.
I had never desired anything else except for it.
It was my passion.
My thirst for it was never quenched.
Even though I would
Receive a large quantity of it,
I still wanted more.
The sound of the wagon wheels
Rotating and squeaking
Along the path appeased me.
Once I heard the sound,
I would stop working and
Watch as the wagon neared.
I could often judge the amount of ore
The wagon was toting
By the different depths of tones
That the wooden wheels would emit.
A low grinding noise reflected
That the wagon was empty
While a high pitched sound
Meant the load was full.
Obviously, a high sound
Of an approaching wagon delighted me.
More ore meant more opportunities
And larger products.
Most blacksmiths opted for certain
Types of ore and sought it out.
While others craved other ores
Such as copper or bronze,
I focused mainly on iron.
I always felt at ease with the ore and
Harnessing its strength.
I was a master of iron.
The weapons and armor
I produced was evident of that.
I never ventured away from weaponry
Even when the popularity of
Precious metals was introduced.
An abundance of trinkets
Infiltrated society at a rapid pace.
To keep up with the demand,
Most turned to creating relics.
I tried my hand at the new market,
But constantly found myself back at weaponry.
I found no power and strength
In goblets and plates
.
The output was unsatisfactory for me,
Especially since most of the precious metal
Creations were for monetary gain.
Holding a well-made goblet
Was not the same as holding
A well-made sword.
No one personalized with trinkets
Except when they would increase
Their personal standing within society.
When someone held a sword for the first time,
You could see the empowerment
Within their eyes as their face
Reflected off of the blade.
A well-built sword tested a man’s will and strength.
The weight of the metal,
Length of the blade
Had to be right and built
To match the persona of the owner.
That was not the case with trinkets.
Anyone could randomly use them,
But not weaponry.
I believed a single sword
Was constructed for a single person.
A single shield was constructed
To protect only one person.
To watch someone bond
With such a weapon was satisfying to me.
I had seen it so many times in the past.
That moment of transfer released ownership
Of the weapon from creator to owner.
It was my gift; my talent to the world.
The iron ore that I worked with
Came from a nearby mountain range.
Each blacksmith employed strikers
For many reasons including holding the metal
While the blacksmith strikes it,
But the main reason was to retrieve
The ore from the mountain.
Some of the more wealthy blacksmiths
Like those who created trinkets
Were able to employ more strikers.
I did not have internal strikers
To help me forge the metal.
I was able to handle the process on my own.
I had only one striker
Who retrieved the ore from the mountain
And delivered it to me.
His workmanship was not the best,
But it was difficult to fill the role
Since the task was an undesirable one.
The mountain was separated into zones
Equally owned by all the blacksmiths within the region.
Each zone had an entrance point into the mountain
Where the striker would venture into the mine
To retrieve the ore.
It was common knowledge
That the strikers would stay only within their designated mine
And not creep into others as ore thievery
Was not looked well upon.
The process worked and
I was fortunate enough to lay claim
To a portion of the mountain
With an abundance amount of ore.
Others were not so lucky
As once you lay claim to a section,
You own that area regardless of whether
You can generate ore from it or not.
To avoid confusion, the mines were clearly marked
On the outside and throughout the inside
With flags and banners representing the blacksmith.
There was no reason why a striker
Would mistakenly venture into another blacksmith’s mine
Other than to steal ore.
The mountain range supplied
Plenty of the resource for everyone who needed it,
So the concept of theft
Proved to not be an issue.
However, the quality of the ore was another factor.
The highest quality of ore was the key to success.
The higher quality of the ore in its rawest form
Carried over to the higher quality of the end product
Thus making the output more desirable.
The strikers were not trained
In the art of deciphering
Between low and high quality ore.
That task was only for the most skillful blacksmith,
Plus the fact that the ore was caked with dirt and mud
When the striker was in possession of it.
It was not until the cleansing process
That the ore could be rated by quality.
For this purpose, the strikers mined all ore
Regardless of what they believed the quality to be.
It was possible that a delivery wagon
Would only consist of low quality ore
While others were overfilled with high quality.
One never knew until the ore was released from its dirt prison.
Part of the excitement was uncovering the high quality and
Pondering the levels that I would receive each delivery.
Along with iron, I also instructed
My striker to collect and mine any findings of coal.
The mountain range was also famous for its coal output.
That was a common practice with most blacksmiths
As the infusion of coal into the products
Benefited them greatly.
I personally would forge the coal with iron to produce steel,
The amount of coal was sufficient in the region and
Allowed me to create a wide variety of products with steel.
The process of forging and
Smelting the ore was a tedious one.
Only a blacksmith with high tolerance
For heat and strength could handle the daily process.
I for one welcomed the heat and
Enjoyed the strength and endurance
That my occupation provided me.
The challenge to bend and shape
Some of the most hardened natural materials
Into usable weapons was a desire of mine.
The role of a striker was an unusual one.
It was not an occupation for the light hearted.
They did a maximum amount of work for minimal pay.
It was hard labor and undesirable long working days.
Rarely did strikers have families
As they would venture into the mines
And not resurface for several days at a time.
Armed with only a pick axe and shovel,
They would spend most of their lives
Surrounded by darkness with the only task of acquiring ore.
Several days of work would reveal
A wagon full of ore that would be unloaded at a workshop.
The striker’s role allowed for the blacksmith
To focus on the construction of the products
As it would be impossible to both mine and create.
The task of mining required too much time.
Most strikers were treated well,
But the egos of a few blacksmiths were known
To apply hardships on anyone that worked for them.
As for me, I tried to give honorable pay for honorable work.
When business was good and I was able to pay more, I would.
When high quality was received; high pay would be given.
I was fortunate due to my tenure in the region,
To have laid claim to several
Prime zones on the mountain
With high output and quality.
That was no more evident than in the products I unveiled.
My swords, shields, axes, maces and daggers
Were high quality artifacts
That had been tested in battle and held by kings.
I did not produce the same product twice as
I believed that each weapon should stand alone;
That led to its worth.
To own something that had no comparison
Was a respect that I offered my customers.
Warriors and battle ma
sters from across the land
Beckoned my services and I was not hard to locate.
Depending on the item, I liked to meet the owner
To judge their weight and strength.
A heavy shield for a light-weighted warrior
Would not help him in battle.
Same for weapons, as a long blade
For a shorter fighter would prove useless.
For that reason, I needed to meet the owner
To properly craft the item for its full potential.
My customers ranged from the mightiest of barbarians
To the smallest of princes.
Each weapon was built for only one person.
I could not guarantee the same results
For anyone using the weaponry
That it was not originally designed for.
A few days had gone by and
I did not hear the familiar sound
Of the squeaking wheels of the delivery wagon.
A new delivery of fresh ore was something that I never missed.
Finding that high quality ore
Buried deep in a case of dirt was something
I looked forward to when delivery day approached.
It was getting late of the fourth day
Without an approaching wagon.
Usually, I received my ore on the third day
After my striker left for the mountain.
Being a day behind was rare, but not too unusual,
So I closed down the fire pit and retired for the night.
I began work the next day as I usually did,
But the level of my current ore
Would not allow me to make it through the day.
I had never had that long of a pause
In the process before.
I was beginning to worry about the welfare of my striker as
I had not seen him in four days.
I quickly finished up a current project
I had been working on and prior to beginning another one,
I decided to travel to the mine and inquire about his status.
With a sword attached to my back