Confession of the Leviathan


I had several people ask if I had more of Leviathan’s story. I appreciate all the compliments given, and all the support makes me want to write and learn even more about my mysterious Templar. For those that want to know, the inspiration came from a favorite song of mine called “The Truth Beneath the Rose” from Within Temptation. It’s about a Templar that starts questioning her faith and what it truly means to be a warrior of God. Enjoy!

Leviathan’s hands clasped together as if she were grasping onto the hand of the Father himself, and her body shook from the resentment she had toward her blade. The booth she sat in seemed almost like a courtroom with the High Priest sitting on one side waiting to hand down her sentence and her in front, cowering beneath the critical gaze.

“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned,” she whispered, her voice filled with the turmoil she felt. “I have sinned against my Almighty Father and brother.”

“The Lord be in your heart and upon your lips that you may truly and humbly confess your sins: In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit,” came the reply between the crosshatched wicker.

She repeated the teachings she had been taught throughout the training as a Templar, although it felt like acid on her tongue. “I confess to Almighty God, to his Church, and to you, that I have sinned by my own fault in thought, word, and deed, in things done and left undone; especially driving the silver through the gypsy child’s chest. I pray God to have mercy on me.  I firmly intend amendment of life, and I humbly beg forgiveness of God and his Church, and ask you for counsel, direction, and absolution.”

“It was not a mistake, my child,” the priest replied, his voice sounding as if it were coming off a recording. “The child would have grown not in the way of Christ, but in the way of a savage.”

“Could I have not saved his soul? Turned him from the way of evil and unto the love of the Father?”

“Nay, I say. Satan never would have let go of the resentment and hatred toward God.”

“Father,” she began, her voice shaking as much as her sword had after drawing it from the child’s chest, “God forgives everyone, and if I had taught him the ways of Christ and his followers, perhaps—”

“No,” his voiced caused her to jump, and her gray eyes turned to the wicker, “he would have resented you and the Church more than Christ.”

“I do not understand how the Father’s teachings would not have taught him to forgive as you are forgiving me now.”

I am not forgiving you, Child,” he said, shifting on the other side of the wall between them. “The Almighty Father God is forgiving you.”

“But are you not the vessel in which he speaks, Father? Are you not the one channeling his forgiveness and mercy?”

“Perhaps, but if you truly speak forgiveness, does it not come from within me, but within the angels that deliver his message and his response?”

“I do not understand, Father. We are taught within The Inquisition that forgiveness is only handed down through the blood of Christ.”

“Did you not spill the blood of the savage child? Does that not justify the means? You do not need forgiveness, Child, but clarification of what the Word of God speaks. Satan has a strong hold of your heart, twisting your beliefs until you think you have done wrong. You have rid the world of the very evil that is wrought upon it, and for that, the Gates of St. Peter welcome you.”

“I should not ask forgiveness  for spilling innocent blood?”

“It is not innocent if it goes beyond the hands of God.”

She bit her tongue to a retort. “Yes, Father.”

“Now, you should return to your quarters and study the word of the Father. He will lead you in the way of forgiveness, my child.”

She slid out of the booth, her heart a little more heavy than it had been at the beginning of the session. She knew the priest was feeding her lies that The Inquisition had taught him, but there was no way to stop it.

Lest she wanted a sword through the heart like the blue eyed boy.


Rise of the Leviathan


Hey, everyone!

I know it’s been a while since I’ve updated, and I feel I’ve been slacking. So, rather than continue to be a hermit, I’ve decided to follow in the footsteps of my mentor and publish a bit of writing I did while at the James Jones Writers Workshop Retreat. I was rather proud of this piece of writing, so enjoy!

(AN: I do not own the rights to the picture posted above. All credit goes to the artist Maia Kyi’Ra Nartoomid)

The Inquisition called her “Leviathan”. The way she could cut down six men in three blows had earned the title for her. Opposing armies cowered when they heard the name, and allies cheered. At first, she bore it with pride like the bloodstained armor she took off after every battle.

Now, the very mention of the name sickened her. It twisted her stomach as if the Demon of Envy himself had wrapped a tentacle around her lungs, squeezing until the thought of air was only a mere memory.

She could still hear the sickening slicing of her blade cutting into the gypsy child trembling behind his mother who had fallen from her sword moments before. She could see the bright blue eyes glazing over from fear to the sweet kiss of death and his body sliding from the sharp silver and into a heap on the ground. Blood blossomed within the dirt, mingling with the grotesque flowers of those The Inquisition had deemed as “heretics” or “witches”.

The sight haunted her thoughts now until she felt like a hollow tree, strong and brave on the outside, but empty and decayed within the branches. She no longer felt the faith and freedom she had before when she thought God was on her side. She knew now God had damned her along with the rest of The Inquisition, and the strength she once thought came from the Almighty was only a lie told to her to keep her from questioning the cruelty of her actions. She believed the bloodshed justified the means, but now she had removed the scales from her eyes, and the truth was far more horrifying.

There was no such thing as a “Holy War”. Blood was not salvation. Within those seconds of staring into the child’s eyes, she had discovered the darkest part of her soul, and it was the faith she had held so dear.

Love Will Leave a Mark

19424100_10209088835353840_7263875388070877200_n.jpgAccording to Merriam-Webster, an anniversary is the annual reoccurance of a date marking a notable event.

Six years ago, I was a sixteen-year-old girl at a small church camp, and this auburn haired seventeen-year-old boy introduced himself to me. On June 27th, 2012, I gave my heart away during the movie Evan Almighty. I don’t even remember most of the movie because I was too busy planning my future with this boy I had met two days earlier.

Two months of harmless flirting and awkward encounters later, he told me he was a psychic at one of my brother’s football games. He told me he knew what I was going to say to his next question, and then he said six words that changed my life forever.

“Will you go out with me?”

At first, we only saw each other once a week. It was hard and my heart ached each time we said goodbye. We went through ups and downs and times where we didn’t even know if it was worth it.

On April 8th, 2017, the man of my dreams said seven words that once more changed my life.

“Breanna Renee Fairchild, will you marry me?”

They were the most beautiful words in the world.

Now, on June 27th, 2018, we are celebrating six amazing years together. We’ve spent it looking for houses to buy and making the future we planned together at a little church camp a reality.

As I like to say, my parents sent me to church camp to find Jesus, and while I did find Jesus, I also found the man God had made for me.

Happy Anniversary, Cody. Thank you for showing me what love is and supporting me in all I do.

Oh, Deer…


Everyone knows the panicked feeling of waking up on a Monday and dreading the work day. I woke up two minutes before my alarm went off and cursed the rotating Earth. When I arrived at work, it was pouring rain and windy. The board was flooded with phone calls and our systems were running slow. You would think the world was ending. I wished for the day to end.

And then I realized what I was wishing away.

As I was driving out to my parents’ house, which is about 20 minutes from my place and an hour from work, I came upon a familiar scene from the Midwest. It was the age old “Truck vs. Deer” we see so often here. Except this time was different from the rest. This time, I had driven upon the deer running off into the grass and the Ford F-150 pulling over. In those few seconds, I saw the deer breathe its last and collapse onto the ground.

It really made me stop and think. We wish so much of our lives away that we don’t spend it “living”. We “wish” we had a better job, a better car, a better house, a better LIFE. Many of us don’t realize we only have ONE life until we see those headlights coming for us.

The deer didn’t wake up this morning expecting to die. She didn’t wake up this morning cursing the sun or the pouring rain. She woke up with one thing in mind: to live.

The concept is so hard for humans to grasp.

Does Being a Writer Make Me a Serial Killer?

UpdateThings in my life have been absolutely insane lately. I recently moved out of my parents’ house and into an apartment with three others. Since then, there has not been a moment of boredom in this household. While juggling a new job, a household, and healing from a displaced disc in my back, I have hardly had a moment of peace.

However, I have managed to make my whole household afraid of me.

Being a writer may sound like fun, but it takes research. Lots and lots of research. At first, it started out as small things like how people in a certain country act and talk, and soon it upgraded to how to do a chest tube insertion, a resuscitative thoractomy, and tranquilize someone with carfentanil (elephant tranquilizer). Tonight, I was sitting here researching the latter and found a page on how to make carfentanil. My roommates did not mirror my excitement whatsoever, and now they’re convinced if they make me mad, I may poison them.

Above is my research bookmarks for my novels. You get to decide if it’s alarming or normal.

The Harder the Heart

A7X_v2_850x425 Those who know me personally know how big of a heavy metal fan I am. This weekend I had the privilege to see three of my favorite bands in concert: Breaking Benjamin, Bullet For My Valentine, and Avenged Sevenfold. It was by far one of the best concerts I have ever been to. Just looking around at all the people and knowing we were all enjoying something together was out of this world. It made me start thinking about things that can bring the world together. In that concert hall, everyone was enjoying the music, and for once, we could all put aside our differences.

I took a moment to look around, and amidst the headbanging and screaming and singing, I could see smiles and probably some tears because there was no place anyone else would rather be. There was one person that stood out to me the most. My fiance pointed out a gentleman in his late 50’s early 60’s headbanging with the best of them, and I thought it was the greatest thing I had ever seen. He was among a crowd of people 20+ years younger than him, and he didn’t have a care in the world because those were probably three of his favorite bands and he was seeing them live.

We often forget about the amazing things in life when there are so many horrible things going on in the world. It seems our hearts become hardened to everything pure and good. We become cynical and bitter toward those little wisps of beauty, but sometimes, we have to remember to stop and look around. We have to remember to not allow our hearts to become hardened and try to be unified through the beauty in life. My favorite line is from one of Bullet’s songs, and I feel it pertains to many issues in life today:

These are our times, never forget.

No looking back, no more regrets.

One thing we’ve learned from our mistakes:

The harder the heart, the harder it breaks.

Tick Tock

While Friday was an amazing day, Monday was a rather conflicted one. I received a call from my temp agency, and my contract for work at my small clinic was cut. It was nearly six months on the dot. Unlike last time with my retail position, I wasn’t blindsided. There was a chance my contract would be cut, but it was still frustrating.

Instead of burying my head in the sand, I spent the next few days cleaning the house and working on my novels. Despite working on my novels so much, I still have come to a brick wall with all of them. However, I did have one of my favorite quotes come out of it.

“Time is a dangerous weapon and a beautiful lie. We all believe we have more time than we actually do.”

It speaks volumes to me. Life is too short to not do something with it, and if I have a passion in life, why wouldn’t I want to make it go beyond a dream? So, my challenge is this: don’t give up on your passion. Take that class, write a book, fall in love. You may regret it at first. You may stumble and fall, but what if you fly?

Those Who Favor Fire

fairchild_friscifiThis morning was insane. If you know anything about Midwestern Illinois then you know the weather can change in the blink of an eye.

Yesterday was almost 60 degrees, and then we woke up today with almost 5 inches of snow on the ground. Go figure.

Dad woke me this to tell me my car door was frozen and would not open. So, I called into my day job. After sleeping for another four hours, my email went off.

It was Alice from Akashic telling me my short story was live. In that moment, all the blood, sweat, and tears paid off. The fire that started as a spark when I was ten blazed even higher and mightier than before.

I can’t even begin to describe my feelings right now. I’m excited and hopeful. I never thought this could become a career, but now…now, I KNOW it can.

‘Twas the Night Before Publication…

Twas the night before publication and all through the house, the writer was stirring, not quiet as a mouse.

Wow…ten years ago I never thought I would see this day. It’s unreal to think tomorrow I’ll be joining the rank of “published author”. Yeah, it’s only a short story, and yeah, it’s not a physical copy, but Canary is MY work…and originally, I wasn’t going to write it.

Back in October I was doing what most twenty-one year olds do after a night of fun, and I was woken up by a loud, resounding “DING” from my phone.

“What dirtbag is texting me this early?” I thought.

It wasn’t a text as I had thought before, but my lovely mentor emailing me about a flash fiction for Akashic Books. I forgot about it until October 31st, and then the conversation went a little like this:

Justin: Did you get my email about the flash fiction?

Me: I just found it buried under my emails.

Justin: Feel free to give it a shot

Me: Gotta have an idea of what I’d like to do before I go in.

Justin: It’s only 750 words.

Long story short, I didn’t want to write it, Justin wanted me to write it, so I wrote it.

Two days later, I received a message from Justin telling me to look at my email.

Prepare for take off. The Canary takes flight tomorrow…Horsehead-Nebula-in-Orion