I always liked this time of night.  I always found it to be serene how the world stands still.  You can hear some soft sounds here and there.  Mostly those made by nature herself.  A light rustle of leaves in a tree, a slight skittering of a rodent running across the pavement.  Not much of anything, but enough to remind you that time hasn’t stood still.  The moon was at its peak, and while it wasn’t full, it was casting an ethereal glow upon the surfaces.  The moonlight seemed to extract colours from the earth, instead of wash over them.  Reds became violets and greys became silvers.  Looking around, one could forget that they were even on Earth, and maybe imagine that they are on another world, or in another time. For a brief moment I close my eyes and take a slow breath in.  I can picture being in this other time.  A time of the past, of simplicity.  A time when the world seemed mystical and full of unanswered question s....

There was but one corpse left in the mausoleum when they found me. In due time you will learn of how it got that way. But first you must know my name - Carson Forte. It is one that has been with me even before birth, if you can believe it, because with it carried the expectation of a household name that boasted resilience, perseverance, hard work and, altogether, strength. Indeed, the last name Forte derives from the Italian word strong, so it goes without saying that my birth name already instilled in me something to aspire to and emulate. Of course, with lineage dating back to farmers and herders in the old country, the word strength certainly referred to something more daunting and physical, particularly in terms of what it meant to pursue a career. I became a writer. A little known fact amongst my family that spread like wildfire after that fateful day I revealed to my parents of my passion for the written word. “So you, like, write words and stuff?” “Yes, ma, I write ...