Apollo's Light

            I sniffed back the tears that where now frozen down over my cheeks, and realized that my crying had been in vain. The darkness still surrounded me, but my light continued to keep the dark forces away. I could hear the tearing of the ground outside of my glow, and the screaming as they neared it. I knew that even if my god was unable to come save me from this world that he would allow me to keep his light as protection from whatever evils may be lurking in the shadows.             In his protection I wasn’t free from the unendurable pain. The coldness was blistering my skin. I wished that I could say that because of the bitter chill that was surrounding my body only numbed my extremities but instead searing pain shot through each of them going directly into my heart. I kept my arms wrapped so tight around me hoping that it would help keep me warm, but I knew that it was useless. I could feel my skin burning oddly enough in the freezing weather. My hand shook badly as I

        As we entered the Art Gallery Dave pulled me through almost the enter display until he finally found what he wanted to show me. “Now you can’t tell me that it doesn’t look like you.”             There before me was a large painting of a woman. Brown hair fell down over her shoulders, and the green in her eyes seemed so in love. A light seemed to be coming from behind engulfing her. I looked down in the corner to find the artist’s signature, but it simple read, ‘My Goddess’             “Well, doesn’t it look like you?” Dave exclaimed, “Hey, look here is another one. On a bad day it looks like you.”             Dave pulled me over to look upon another painting. This time I stared into eyes of almost pure hatred. There was no light, but complete darkness behind her. Her hair was wet and brought down over the side of her face. This one I had found more interesting as if I had already seen it before.             “She looks pissed.” Dave finally broke my concentration. “W

            There I was four years old standing in the middle of my bedroom playing peacefully it seemed with some harmless dolls. I looked down at the writing on the bottom of the Polaroid, ‘No Flash.’ The next picture was labeled with the same date, but it said ‘Flash’. I glanced at the pure white photo, trying to gather what it meant. I flipped back to the last picture, and looked at the lights. There wasn’t any on. The one on the stand was off, and so was the one on the ceiling.               I went back to the first picture that was there in the scrap book that was in the folder. It was just a baby swaddled in a blanket, nothing weird, and then there were no other pictures of me until these ones. I held my breath as I went to the next page afraid of what I would see. There were some newspaper clippings showing a huge sink hole. I briefly glanced at the article saying that there used to be a home there, but with the flooding of the area it caused a sink hole to open. ‘The Turner