3 of the blank XL journals/sketchbooks I've made. 2=I made for me, the 3rd one was for a friend of mine who is an intuitive medium & proud pagan.
And, although all the covers may look like leather, only the last 1 with the phoenix on it is.
The Child Who Asked Why Money Isnāt Real
The child sat cross-legged, holding a crumpled bill,
and asked, āWhy is this worth anything?ā Her voice
fluttered like a moth against the monkās calm gaze.
He smiled. āBecause we believe it,ā then paused.
āBut if belief breaks?ā she asked, brow stitched with wind.
And so began the slow unraveling of debt.
The monk said, āA story, like a shadow, carries debtā
promises made by ghosts.ā The girl unfolded the bill.
āIt feels like paper,ā she said, as wind
tugged it from her hand. āYes,ā he said, ājust a voice
written by kings.ā She stared. āCan kings pause?ā
He blinked. āOnly if we stop giving them gaze.ā
She turned toward the river, lost in her gaze.
āWhy do we owe things?ā she asked. āWhat is debt?ā
The monk exhaled, soft as snowfall. āPause
long enough, and the world redraws the bill.
The tree gives leaf without ledger. The sky needs no voice
to explain itself. Only power fears the wind.ā
The girl laughed, and her breath joined the wind.
āThen letās pretend Iām the queen now.ā Her gaze
sparkled. āAnd I erase money with my voice.ā
The monk bowed low. āThen we are free from debt.ā
She wrote on a stone instead of a bill:
You do not own what you cannot pause.
The villagers came. āSheās disturbing things,ā they said. āPause
this madness.ā They wore suits, crisp against the wind.
She held up her hands, not a single bill,
only questions. āIf value lives only in gaze,
then why do we kneel before invented debt?ā
One man tried to silence her. Lost his voice.
The monk spoke last: āThereās truth inside her voice,
but the price of truth is that systems pause.
One childās question can bankrupt a debt
centuries deep. Even gold trembles in wind.ā
She closed her eyes, no longer seeking gaze.
In her fist, she crushed the last known bill.
And so the bill vanished, lighter than voice.
The wind remembered her gaze, her sacred pauseā
and debt, at last, became a leaf without weight.
An excerpt from the book Grim is writing currently called Whispers of Power:
The bar had emptied a bit, patrons spilling out into the steer as the night dragged on. The dull hum of conversation faded into the distance, leaving only the flickering streetlights and the low growl of traffic.
Ā
Vincent moved to just outside the door, scanning the faces of those who had been escorted out, keeping his cool as usual. He was tired ā tired of the agencyās demands, tired of the endless manipulation, tired of being the dog on the leash. But most of all, he was just tired of this shit ā the endless grind of power struggles, the meaningless rules.
Ā
A man stumbled by him, tipsy from one too many drinks. Vincent barley paid him any attention ā heād escorted this guy out like heād done a hundred times before.
Ā
But tonight was t like every other night.
Ā
āHey, fuckface,ā came the slurred voice from behind him, and Vincentās eyes narrowed.
Ā
He turned just in time to see the man ā tall, unsteady, with a sneer on his face ā swaying toward him. The man threw his shoulder into Vincentās chest, pushing him back.
Ā
Vincent didnāt move more than an inch. He let the man stumble off him, his expression cold.
Ā
āListen pal, youāre drunk. Go home, before I have to āā
Ā
The man, in his inebriated haze, raised a fist and swung wildly at Vincentās face.
Ā
It wasnāt even a real punch ā just the kind of strike someone throws when theyāre looking to pick a fight , a flailing swing fueled by nothing more than liquid courage. Vincentās hand shot up, catching the manās wrist in an iron grip. His training kicked in immediately, the instinct of military martial arts taking over like a switch had been flipped.
Ā
In one smooth motion, Vincent twisted the manās wrist, applying pressure, forcing him to his knees. The manās face contorted in pain, his breath catching in his throat.
Ā
āYou really donāt want to do this, pal.ā Vincentās voice was low, a quiet promise. But his tone had the weight of experience, the warning of someone who had been through far worse.
Ā
But the man didnāt listen. He buckled and lashed out with his other hand ā a wild swing to the stomach.
Ā
It was sloppy. Vincent was already in motion.
Ā
He sidestepped, dropping low as he used the manās momentum against him. With a quick, efficient twist, Vincent brought the manās body to the ground, slamming him against the brick wall of the bar with a sickening thud.
Ā
The man crumpled, his head smacking against the wall with enough force that for a brief moment, everything went still. There was silence before the man groaned, trying to push himself up. His face was pale now, sweat mixing with the remnants of his earlier drunken stupor.
Ā
Vincent stepped back, his fists still clenched, his breath steady. He wasnāt angry ā not yet. But he was done. Done with this bar. Done with the people. Done with everything that kept him tethered to a life he didnāt want anymore.
Ā
āYou good?ā Vincent asked, his voice sharp. But the man wasnāt responding, not fully.
Ā
The the manās body went still. Too still.
Ā
Vincent took a step forward, eyes scanning the prone figure. Something was wrong ā more wrong than he initially realized.
Ā
Thatās when he heard the sound.
Ā
The unmistakeable wail of sirens.
Ā
And the echo of thdd red front door slamming open.
Ā
āShit.ā Vincent muttered under his breath. He looked around quickly, eyes locking into Johnny, who had been watching from a distance, no doubt caught by the noise, by the commotion.
Ā
Johnny was still, his eyes wide. He hadnāt expected this. No one had.
Ā
Vincentās mind clicked back into focus, every ounce of military discipline reasserting itself. But it was too late to clean this up. Too late to fix this mistake.
Ā
The cops arrived, rushing toward him as the manās body was assessed. One of the officers glanced at Vincent, his hand already in his holstered weapon.
Tell us what you think⦠note this is the first draft. Lots of editing to doā¦
We would like to get past the 7K mark for followers for Grim as he recovers from #Cancer surgery.
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@StrytellinJerry
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@LakenBrimicombe Happy (belated) birthday, Laken! I hope that U had yourself a wonderful day filled w/an overflowing abundance of fun,laughter,joy,things that brought a š to your face,& that some of the moments from your b-day will 1day become pt of some of your favorite memories.šš„³ššššš°
@LakenBrimicombe I love šš that book/series!!! It's been one of my ABSOLUTE favorites from back when I was a little kid through present day! šš
š¦š§¹š§āāļøšŖ
#TheLionTheWitchAndTheWardrobe#CSLewis
Real-life ghost stories and Award-winning Paranormal Thrillers!
Cocktails With Cav & Award-winning Paranormal Author Kimberly Brouillette (@writeright4u)!
"The Monastery Murders series grabbed me and drew me in!"
Check our profile's X Shop for all the great show links!
@Igotatrophyin81 Thanks, Tim..I really appreciate your kind words & offer to talk. I hope all is going well for you & your wife are both doing well & (just in case I'm not online much or beforehand) that you & your family have the merriest of Christmases & a happy & blessed New Year as well.šš¤
Pt14: I didn't sleep for more than 24 hours..all I did was sit floating between a state of being in shock & utter heartbreak & disbelief. When I tried to sleep, j/hours after she passed, the funeral home called to make arrangements, so I had to pause my grief to make decisions...
Pt13: Even after the BiPap was off, she was unfortunately too weak to talk, so we never got to hear her voice again... šš„š¢š
Her movements were so strained & weak, & she looked so frail compared to the force of nature she had always been all my life... & then, she was gone...
Pt12: She couldn't talk because of the BiPap machine, but she squeezed my hand in recognition that she could hear all of us as we talked to her & she could blink & nod her head slightly...