Tristan Polly

An Excerpt From My Book, 'Love, Life, and Darkness'

“Blood, Tears, Words” The gentle scratching of a quill on paper echoes through the dimly lit halls. Never ceasing, I find innovative the page. The words become stronger, a true extension of myself. The hope, the loss, the love felt through the years made manifest in the stories I tell. I don’t realize it, but I’m gripping the quill quite hard. So much so, I can feel my fingertips start to bleed. It runs down the point just as I reach for the inkwell, a drop of blood falls in. I fail to realize this and continue writing. The red and black in the inkwell form a spiral, running infinitely deeper. The blood ink makes contact with the page. The words become stronger, a true extension of myself. The hope, the loss, the love felt through the years made manifest in the stories I tell. I don’t realize it, but I’m gripping the quill quite hard. So much so, I can feel my fingertips start to bleed. It runs down the point just as I reach for the inkwell, a drop of blood falls in. I fail to realize this and continue writing. The red and black in the inkwell form a spiral, running infinitely deeper. The blood ink makes contact with the paper, and my words begin to shape the world around me. Every beautiful moment made real, every dark one made horrible. All extremes, all emotions, all the words of a man gone mad. I write faster and faster, harder and harder. The quill becomes weak, brittle. It’s almost frantic now as more and more of my blood is etched upon the page. Finally, the quill snaps at the tip. Everything stops, everything is calm. The wind dies, the candle becomes still, and I look up for the first time in…. forever. I look at my hand, still bleeding at the tips. I stare at my fingertips, still bleeding. A few more drops fall into the ink, and form a heart. I stand up and walk away from my desk. The small house fades to a broken-down image of itself, the candle dies out completely, and I fade away into the night. Only to return, and write.