Never Enough,

From Far away the desert calls

its voice like rain

"OH come back Mary o'graidha,

Back to the whispering plains

back to where the wind howls and the wolf crys

come back to Delmaria

come back to me

cried a wind as dry as souls

parched, dead, dry

return, return,

to me

Dear God,

You say you hold everyone’s  tears in Your hand.  Do You really?  Isn’t Your hand getting kind of full by now?  I mean, I know it’s probably a big hand, but still, there’s a lot of people in the world.

Aren’t You getting tired of watching out for me?  Whenever I trip, I expect to crush my face on the pavement.  Pavement kind of sucks sometimes.  But You always catch me right before I hit it.  One time, I could have sworn I hit it.  But it turned out it was just a pillow.  That must have been You.  I don’t usually find pillows on the roads around here.

As I stood in the doorway, I searched the crowd. I was looking to see if anyone I wanted to see was there; if it would be worth entering the room. I saw her sitting there.

She was alone at the table. Everyone must have just left. I stand there for a moment, just looking. But I was there for too long. She looked up and saw me. We didn't make eye contact per se but I saw her looking at me as I looked at her.

CHAPTER 2: THE HEAT OF THE DAY

    The sun had past the position of noon and it was now only a few more hours till sunset. A little less than six tedious hours had passed since the start of their trek. But within those hours the landscape had changed dramatically.

    What use to be a lush green countryside speckled with full trees that produced the most delicate shades of green was now a vast ocean of long prairie-like grasses. Not a tree in sight, but the wind that constantly blew over the land kept them relatively cool in the heat of the day.

*A/N* I've been having an infuriating case of writer's block lately, so therefore I had to rant about it. I think that lots of people can relate......

                Why was this work so important?

                The boss had been keeping an eye on me all day. I was such a normal guy that it confused me why he wanted to watch me. I had been working there for ten and a half years and been as honest as I could possibly be. What did he want?

                I stopped for a minute and rubbed the back of my neck, which had been bothering me for the longest time.

                “Damien!” barked my boss, Greg Martin. “Why aren’t you working?”

Tongues will always clack at those who are different. Or so they did in the small village of Greenharrow where no affairs were ever private. I lived alone with my mother, and we both worked hard to keep our small farm running. I had no father.

Father told me to expect guests that afternoon, but he didn’t tell me exactly who to expect. And he certainly didn’t tell me to expect an irate nobleman from London—though, admittedly, Father probably didn’t expect him to be irate.