Gray Bennett Writes

Kaleb is often considered the eldest sibling within the Order. It's only fair; he was created first and is by far the most mature of his siblings. A certain kind of level-headedness and wisdom comes with being the Keeper of Graves, and Kaleb has always carried that weight on his stoic shoulders without complaint.  His duty to the dead and dying is not a glorious one. He is not as flashy and beloved as the others. His followers are few but devout. However, the task is not as grim as it may seem. Others will see deathbeds, weeping over graves, and cold, still bodies in his line of work. Kaleb, though, sees comfort and peace that is owed to those who have lived their lives and the ones they leave behind. The duty of the Grave Keeper is one of kindness, patience, and empathy that Kaleb worries mortals would otherwise lack.  To mortals, Kaleb is the reassuring hand of a father in times of grief. To his brothers and sisters, Kaleb is the patient listening ear with advice to spare. T...

Her overalls are disgusting. Between the smells of oil, sweat, and lemon-scented soap, she’s shocked she hasn’t fallen over dead.  The hose in her hand buzzes with the steady thrum of pressurized water, grounding her in the present as much as possible. Streams of water shower the twenty foot combat frame and begins to chisel away the dirt and soot. The thing sits like a frog; legs tucked and knees high, shrinking it to about ten feet. She’ll have to shift it soon to get its back. For now, though, she’d rather stay unplugged. She switches the hose for a sponge taped haphazardly to the end of a paint roller. A few drizzles of soap later, suds start to form across the left leg. Side to side, up and down, she scrubs. More pronounced things like solidified concrete powder and slag are scratched off with floor scrapers. The whole thing will need a paint job after this, but it isn’t her priority for it to look good. The only reason she bathes this thing like a dog is to keep it sleek, aer...

This short but meaningful poem takes place during a space walk Persy takes in Paradise Lost. She must decide the kind of person she will be in the upcoming war all while hijacking an enemy satellite tethered to her ship by a single thin line. Above it all I float and fall Neither moving up nor down Everything above me dark Nothing is around My world is empty, my mind is void Nothing keeps me sound How can I stop and equalize So far above the ground How can I think inside this dark when I can’t even breathe When the only light I’ve ever seen Is the flash of firing teeth In worlds where bottles beckon bullets can any gleams break through? Are we doomed to only see the light when it’s aimed at you? Is there anybody else with faith, with passion to survive? Or does hope roll over too when metal feet make stride? When Ares knocks and Eris calls can we help but heed? Take up the sword and fight for those who can’t afford to bleed? The sun is rising now for a Morningstar to see Even tho...

mas·sa·cre /ˈmasəkər/ to deliberately and violently kill (a large number of people). “M,” Persy begins, scanning the crowd gathered in her middle school’s auditorium. “A, S, S, A.” She pauses. The last three letters always stump her. All three judges stare intensely, waiting for a mistake, ready to give the title to Titus if she can’t remember the last letters. Her mother waves – it’s easy to see with her gold bangles reflecting the overhead lights. Both parents wear matching navy blue, one in an elegant cocktail dress and the other in a simple button up with matching slacks. They almost look like the mother and father of a bride. “C.” Persy follows her father’s silent instruction and takes a deep breath. “R. E.” It can’t have been more than half a second, but Persy swears the silence is hours long. The judges whisper to each other and she has to find her mother’s stare again. Those perfect white teeth flash in a supportive smile. Her mother’s scrunched eyes betray what must have been ...

In the world of Etheria, there are beings known as gods. They used to be mortals - powerful mages devoted to their god - that rose to immortality when the previous god was killed. The current bearers of the title have all been gods for a little less than a century. This is the longest Etheria has gone without losing a god. But what if I told that hundreds of years ago, at the beginning of Etheria itself, there were true gods? Gods who couldn't be killed? Gods who were made of Starlight and became the weavers of the Astral Veins? These five gods were called the Order of Etheria. Each reigned over their realm justly and with gentle hands both as gods in Astral form and as teachers in mortal form. There was Evyn, the Rover. Queen of the Wilds and caretaker of those who did not belong among the ordinary. Kaleb, the Grave Keeper, who oversaw final rites and rituals for mortals. He eased the dying and assured the grieving. Matron of the arts, Joan, the Muse, was the inspiration for many....