The Writings of a Dyslexic

“Tell me, what is magic?” a boy asked his mother one day while the two worked in the kitchen. “Why Child! Magic is a gift from the Creator!” his mother answered him shocked that he did not know this already. It was pretty common knowledge especially in a household such as theirs that had magic in their blood. “Then why can people do evil things with it?” he asked her a look of sadness on his face. For it was true despite magic being a gift from the Creator people could still and did evil things with it. “Because the Creator also gave man free will to use it as they please, though it saddens him when a man abuses the gift he gave them,” she answered her son knowing full well he was just going to ask more questions from such an answer. “Then why doesn’t he stop them?” he asked the boy’s eyes wide. Surely if he had given them such a gift the Creator could stop them from misusing it as well! “He did once long ago then warned what would happen to others that followed in their path...

Masks is a five-part short story series I began in March of 2012 and finished on June 01, 2016 which is why when all five parts are posted they have the tag of Old Work on them. It was originally posted on my Livejournal with Masks, Other Side, and Cracks being written in LiveJournal while Falling and Vanquished was written long handed than typed out. Masks was first written at a time in my life when I would just write whatever popped into my head and post it up for the world to see. Thus if first parts of the series seem a bit, well, rough that would be the reason why. It would be probably another year before I realized just how important rough drafts and revisions actually were. The story behind the idea of Masks is a rather simple one. One time I was speaking with someone, cannot quite remember who, about how everyone seems to wear a mask. Much like its implied in the story, we didn't mean an actual, physical mask, but more like a mental, emotional one. They wear these masks t...

When she had arrived at home she had not expected to see her husband pacing in their living room trying to wear a hole in their hardwood floor. She knew the signs of a panic attack and clearly, he was having one. She set her things down and walked up to him taking his hands in hers mainly to stop him from twisting his wedding band around his finger. It had become a telltale sign of distress for him not long after they had gotten married. “Honey, what's wrong?” she asked him noting he was looking down. His focus was currently on her stomach where their baby was currently growing. She wasn’t showing just yet, but she had told him almost as soon as she had found out herself.  “What if I’m like him?” he asked. “You are wonderful around kids. None of your kindergarten students want to go home when the day is finished. You are not at all like him,” she told him as she smiled softly. She wouldn’t have married him if he was even remotely like his father. “He was like that! Nice outsid...

“You want to marry him?” her mother practically screeched as she pointed and an accusing finger in the direction of her now Fiance. After all theses years, she was more than used to her mother's rantings now. Her fiance, however, was not as she had managed to make sure he was never around when her mother started in about whatever had managed to upset her that particular time. It was clear to her that the entire affair was making him nervous as his face had paled considerably. While she waited for her mother to stop yelling she turned her focus to her father. She did not really care what her mother had to say about her choice in a Fiance. The only reason she had told her was out of courtesy. She wanted to know what he thought. Her father sat there with a practice blank expression on his face. It was one that he only had on his face when his wife started ranting like this. In an effect it was his own mask yet unlike his daughter it was one he could remove as he so chose. His opinio...

Slowly she worked the knots out of his lower back trying her hardest to ignore when her fingertips brushed over one of the many scars upon his back. Some she had even treated the best she could when he had shown up hurt and refused to go to the hospital. She longed to ask just where they came from, but past experiences taught her that it was no use to ask him. He would never answer her. Her fingers brushed over a couple of scars that were clustered together. "I got that one when I was twelve. My dad threw a glass at me for making too much noise while I was playing in the sprinklers in the backyard." She nearly jumped when he first had spoken. She had thought he had fallen asleep. In fact, that had been the aim of giving him the back massage in the first place since upon his arrival here it appeared to her that he hadn't slept in days. Something about the tone of his voice also worried her. Just what had happened to him in these past few days? Her fingers ran over anothe...

The first post covered how Dyslexia affects me when I read. It is kind of hard to explain and as such the post wasn't very long nor had a whole lot of detail. The reason for this is because unless I am reading out loud most of the time I don't notice myself making mistakes unless the sentence ends up not making sense to me. With writing in general it is a whole lot easier for me to point out and even describe how it affected me growing up. Remember this from the first part? ... when they found out I was Dyslexic and my mother asked what could be done to help me their answer was a simple one, "Be glad that computers are coming out with spellcheck." What they said about being glad that computers are coming out with spellcheck now would be something I would grow to absolutely loathe. Before we get into that, however, let's start with my younger years as the issues with spellcheck wouldn't really crop up until much later. When I was little there was this Hook...