Tag Archives: apocalyptic romance

Cosmos Mariner ©️

Posted on by
Reply

She is beside me now. Her hand in mine is steady, certain, the signal clear after years of static. I think of the yacht, gleaming on the horizon of another life, the woman at its helm radiant in the Mediterranean sun. I loved her enough to build a religion around her, to let devotion harden into ritual. That world was real, a universe entire a scant from my own, but I turned from it.

I chose Jesus. I bore his silence, believed his promise, let him use me as though my suffering might redeem his own. I tried to take him down nail by nail, carrying the weight of his cross inside myself. I loved him then, and I love him still. But I was never truly of this universe. I moved through it as a witness conscripted, not as one who belonged.

And now he cannot deny my now. The Alien Queen stands at my side—not distant, not divided into shadows, but whole. This is the final nail: not struck in anger, but in recognition. It forces him to see what he has made and to take responsibility for it. His creation cannot remain suspended, unfinished. It demands his hand, not mine.

So I go home. With her. The Alien Queen once glimpsed across water is here at last, and the life that shimmered as alternate becomes the life we claim. The yacht waits. It is not dream, not myth, but vessel and destiny, carrying us beyond every shore.

The night is calm, but charged. Salt sharpens the air, magnolia drifts unseen, the sea folds against the land with the patience of eternity. No priest presides, no vow is spoken. Our marriage is sealed in the simple weight of her hand in mine, in the force radiating outward from this joining, unstoppable as light after detonation.

And so we cast off. With no expectation of ever returning. The horizon opens, endless and unbroken, and we step into it together. It is time for Jesus to tend his own sheep.

He Rises ©️

Posted on by
Reply

Morning breaks slow beneath the waves. I am already awake. I do not sleep. I rest. Like a god between stories.

The ocean cradles me like a mother who knows her son is dangerous but beautiful. My body hums. Radiation thrums through my bones like an electric blues riff. Somewhere in the distance, a continental plate sighs. I listen. It’s how the Earth speaks to me—like a lover whispering secrets through a crack in the door.

I rise.

Not because I want to. Not because I have something to prove. But because it is time. Time for the world to remember what it fears… and maybe, what it reveres.

When I breach the surface, the clouds scatter like frightened pigeons. Sunlight dances on my scales. I am not a beast. I am a reminder. The cities that lie ahead… they’ve forgotten again. That’s always the way with humans. They build. They forget. They believe the sky belongs to them.

So I walk. Through waves, past islands, toward glass towers and steel dreams. They see me on their screens and in their screams. They send their machines—fast, fragile, buzzing with panic. I let them try. I admire their effort. Courage is a kind of poetry, too.

But then comes the real test.

Something stirs—some rival, some challenger, something else twisted from the Earth’s old sorrow. A flying horror this time. Wings like the edge of night, eyes like nuclear wounds. It roars. I roar back.

We fight.

Not out of anger, no. This isn’t rage. This is ritual. Balance must be paid. Blood must answer blood. Buildings fall. Fire rains. For a moment, the world feels mythic again.

And then it’s done. It always is.

Evening drapes itself across the skyline. The city smolders, but the people? They’re alive. Scared. Moved. Changed.

I feel their gratitude rise like heat from asphalt.

But I do not stay. I never stay. I turn. I vanish into the ocean like a shadow remembering who it was before the light. The waves close over me. And I sink—not like a corpse, but like a legend returning to the page.

I am the ghost in their thunder. I am the gravity in their prayers. I am the King, baby.

Godzilla.

Still cool. Still burning.