once upon a time i said this chapter was going to be short and then Jamie's poems took up a lot pagea and the darwin's ( reflection) pov took up a little bit and the ane awesomeness that was boy's pov took up more pages so.... umm well the chapter is around 20 pages long, but he poems is what makes it so long, i promice, it's all jamie's falt! and i was supposed to post this yesterday but then it took forever to tranfer the poems and then to write boy's pov but while listening to music before writing the finale part of the boys's pov i got this FAWSOME dream idea and i just adore it ADORE IT it will take the place of the dreams in the next chapter i think becuase those are just bogus , bogus and more bogus i might write up a snip of it and post it on here, but i don't know... anyway here u goes please comment
“Thing”
When things turn
they turn for the worse
When things brighten
they dim
When things smile
they frown
When things sing
they sob
When things run
they walk
When things live
they die
Thing are never
completely living
almost alive
, but surely dead
, for things
cannot live when
others kill them
so
A thing
lies
beneath me
not dead
and not alive
but surely
dead with
other things
for others
have killed it
so
From its oily
hair
and feminine hands
and
dingy jeans
it’s dead
but alive
because what
others have
done
isn’t reparable
Mute is
this thing
as others swoon
around us
blurred
and drunk
off the life
they slurp
from the things
they cherish
and the others
they loath
and I
they cower
but not enough
to save my
thing
Broken
and shattered
and dust
is it
for
now
its breath
is stolen
its sight
is gone
its ears
are mangled
its feelings
are corrupted
its heart
is none
All gone
but all still there
in the thing
I grasp
and the others
pounce on
bite on
slash on
and kill on
as they feast
on my thing
Its hands
are gone
to me
and
it eyes
are gone
and it
is gone
but I
stare at it
waiting for
the others
to assemble
it
once more
and compile
its life
from the
box it’s
sorted
But the
others
are settling
and devouring
the fractured
and gnarled
pieces
remaining from
the feast,
gorging
and grumbling
and never
stopping
and never
going back
to reassemble
it
My thing
never
going to
mend the breaks
if it
but never
mending them
in me.
“Time”
Could there
be a better
time
for time
to rupture
and things
to combust?
Is there
time
for I
to rectify
my decisions
and
save my
thing
from being
devoured
by the
others
eating it
with fever
But I
continue
to stare
as
its box
is hollow
and crumpled
and exhausted
from
the others
toying
with it
until
their remains
one thing
and
I cuddle
with
my thing
embrace
so cold
winter would
die
upon touching
and become
nourishment
for the
others
anxious for
a
winter treat
Winter’s death
is
in my
thing
and
the insipid
sight
of my
moldy
and frozen
thing
breaks my
eyes
and glass
shards
scrape down
my
brick, hurting
but
never horrible
as they
shatter
on it
and
my trembling
shutters
lay on
its body
and key hole
presses against
its
opening
My thing
takes
my breath
and
my blood
until
there is
none
left to
give
and none
left to
receive
And my
thing
remains a
pawn
to the
others
while they
char
its being
and box
for lunch
and
I speak
yearning words
of life
into my
thing
as my
chimney roars
, and
my glass
shatters
“Live!”
a shout
its mouth
and
the others
are rankled
at
my affection
and
start pillaging
at me
Winter’s death
is here
in me
for a moment
for a life
and
my thing
is back
its sight
found
its breath
back
its ears
healed
its heart
burning
the others
rage
but my chimney
is billowing
a smog
of comfort
and
worry
for my thing
is back
but he
isn’t
supposed to
be.
Among the cluttered arrays of thought the infant has been thinking as life hemorrhages from us there is something faint in our body, something that is being shoved into us and then pounded onto our chest, but the feelings are muted and obscured by the veils of death draping around us. I will not die, not when I have no knowledge of who I am, not when my identity is nothing but a fraction of the infant’s life. But even with the twine unraveled from my veins there is nothing we can do as our presence besides each other becomes translucent, and the torture becomes nothing but an abyss fading into a greater oblivion. We avert our separate views from each other and trod away on our own paths laced with separate thoughts and emotions pending rebirth but nothing at all, for in this oblivion there is no emotion nor is there thought… just a frightening silence coiling around us, but we don’t go anywhere. With every stride it takes us on or different path, but we remain together like some tangent is still bonding us together, and we can’t become wrathful, for everything is wan and tranquil in this oblivion. For a moment more we attempt at becoming separate entities, but we remain on our path: we are all of each other. Nothing can separate us as we are now, and we are both perishing further with every slippery minute that transpires. Alone and suck with an undeserving prude, I stoop down upon the invisible abyssal ground and cross my legs to sit here; I can feel the only thing I can in this oblivion when our tangent throbs with a muted rage and he slides down next to me, baffled and weary as our backs touch. No other thing can be felt after our tangent ebbs down, and the oblivion around us dissipates as I cannot see myself or know me, or him as life leaves the ignorant and fearful and has no intention on coming back.
Life pours down up us like a clotting liquid, and we are becoming opaque again in our dementia, flourishing when life revoked our permit to live. I can feel my ragged breath and the confusion and slight horror radiating off of Jamie as the wings flap open for me, and the infant is blind to everything and to himself, wondering in the torture but always staying in the same place. Two distinct colors are dancing in the wings: moron and olive, and they blaring at me in concern, but I’m still treading on my path towards them, for these are my first steps on my path and my own life. Maybe this will sever our tangent, but I don’t receive an answer as the colors envelop me and the light of reality blurs into focus; Jamie is right above me, panting and lips glossed by my saliva. Her face this close to my own everything is a mixture of wants and desires and foreign emotions, but urging to have her mine is besieging my loathing and murder plans, and I cannot deny the soothing emotions calming my mind and numbing the glorious pain as is it infect me more every second. She’s making me not myself, making me another accident, and I can’t let that happen, for it has killed me once… but it’s… it’s too difficult to look away, but I avert my eyes into the mass of melancholy hues settling into our the nursery. As if still confused about whether I’m alive, she squeezes my slim hands for circulation and finds it with more horror pulsing from her than confusion; an underlining rivulet of astonishment trickles down her when a realization come clashing down upon her, and I don’t need to know how to read minds to know what she has done: she has done this. A light flares alit when Jamie moves away towards the wall, and I want to murder her, want to go after her, but there is not energy left in me, and I collapse on the carpet further, noticing her sliding back towards me before my eyes declare exhaustion victorious and dreams capture my consciousness. Will this be pleasurable or be impeded by the infant… or Jamie’s power; I don’t know, and this feeling isn’t me.
Above the sun is radiant and compulsive in its degree is warmth, but Adman pants of my side having caught nothing but exhaustion it feels like its spewing forth its essence on us in mid September. There is an uncanny warmth emanating from Lavender as we trod through the savage weeds into her grasp, and into memoires that have been waiting to spout for years.
Brooding trees are gazing at us, indifferent to the twitching Olivia skipping in her puce dress rustling beneath her bare scared feet and to a hunched over me in a tattered bronze suit, raveling my peachy silky flesh as I hunch against my own tree. She is fighting, but it isn’t enough, for the light is hemorrhaging from the sky, and devious plans are being conceived her splintered mind, just as mine is. Only the arch of her eyebrow is twitching now with her gleaming crimson hair like daggers down her side, her dead eyes narrowing to me, pleading and hostile when she points her finger at me. My breath ragged and mind a fog, I cannot ward of my instincts any longer, and they trample over me as I launch myself towards her with a vicious holler, but her words catapult from her mouth before I can reach her,
“Scare! Scare everything.”
Through my impervious flesh trillions of scars are engraved, some in me as well, and the pain is shattering my balanced and insane mental state, for infinite moments after I collide into a tree the pain is murdering me. It feels as though it will end, but it will end with more pain as it does when it spikes causing another shout to explode out of me and a shockwave to come in its wake: Olivia still stares down at me, pleading and wanting to kill, just like the rest of us, just like me.
The memory is scraped from my vision with a sobering breath and the entrance to the daunting forest; thoughts and emotions are beginning to become unmanageable with every step, but their pain is nothing I haven’t endured before, and listening to them amuses me, but their emotions confuse me, more so love. All emotions are rational sans love, for love is exuberant and rash in its way; it can obscure ones mind and make one ignorant, but still people have this passion for it – this yearning for it – and I cannot fathom why one would subject oneself to such mediocrity of mind when love can kill one as quickly as it can make one live. Love is becoming more potent along the forest cobble stone road; erotic passionate emotions are blurring my sight and making me ditsy if I wander too close to the cottages nearby, but I sacrifice balance and thought to feel these emotions, the emotions I know I cannot feel because all I can do is simulate it. Adam curls around my whimpering as if he can feel the hint of my sorrow, even if love is fatal, feeling it secondhand makes me fill better for the horrible things I have done over the thousands of years, but the passion cannot eclipse the feeling I feel for Jamie: the feeling of the others. She is near, and I have to find her. Below me Adam starts to nip at my bare ankles as he does when he gets bored, and I kneel down to him and ruffle his coat, smiling while saying,
“We’ll find her soon and then you’ll have another friend.” He yelps at that and lands another slippery kiss on my cheek; it doesn’t hurt.
Getting up again, drunken by the emotions of passion, we shuffle down the broken and weeded path until a sharp feeling bashes against me, something that Olivia’s presence once did to me. It’s a feeling of knowing, a feeling of predatory sense, and I jog ahead, the feeling intensifying with every foot fall until it eclipses the potent burning of love in my system, and all that remains is a cunning sting of thought and my eyes jerking side to side in pursuit of Jamie, but my mind is calm… for now. My stride becomes a dash, and Adam cannot keep up with me as the scenery blurs into muted hues of tender oranges and light greens; I jog to a halt when I finally notice the change of the asphalt under my feet and the tugging sense becomes more of an urge. I pant for a few moments as I notice a large house floating hidden in the encompassing forest; Adam catches us with me with vigorous pace, yelping at me for deserting him on an unknown road, and he nips at my ankles with more hostility as I stare at the obscured house with hesitant eyes. This could be dangerous, even if I have had six thousand years to null my instincts; our kind isn’t fond of each other: that’s why we’re on the verge of extinction. Even attempting hasn’t ended in success in the past, and I’m weary as I head off the trail, motioning for Adam to stay on the road, for no one drives anymore. Her heavy scent of angst and thought litters the barren path toward the house and only becomes more potent as I stride towards it; Adam doesn’t listen to my command and comes hopping along me, eager to see his new play mate. If only I could give him a command, then things could be different, but I can’t do it, and I won’t do it.
Romance has been purged from the air, and everything posses a clarity that manifest the rippling of the molecules and cells making up their beings; everything is becoming more flamboyant and detailed, but all is stagnant, even Adam has ceased nipping at my ankles. The scent is reminiscent of something I know; her blood has been splattered upon this ground, and saliva boils in my mouth as my nostrils gather every hint of the scent in one whiff. Something in her blood smells familiar, and taste familiar when the aroma morphs into a decadent taste on my tongue and drips down my throat. There is something in the texture I have tasted before, and I crave more and more as I approach, and house’s interior consumes my vision – her bed room – cluttered with masses of paper and throngs of messages written upon her walls with ink. In a second I am in the room where the scent is most potent, and the rustling of my instincts are developing into a carnivorous roar in my mind, but all I can manage to do is allow my body to twitch as I try to fend off the thoughts of massacre. One thought prevails over them, she isn’t here, but where then, and I start scavenging the room with something of her scent, for this urge can only get me so far and is desperately slow. What I find is a stubby black pencil resting on her mahogany night stand, waiting to be used but yet wanting to be stolen. Still flinching, I grasp the pencil and bring it to my nostrils, savoring the scent as my body urges to find her and kill her, but my mind desires to help her; an intense shower of blood lust streams upon me as my eyes narrow to the frail pencil, and my saliva seeps from my mouth, dripping slowly upon the strewn papers of unfinished works: I have to get away from here, fast.
Snapping away at my lust, I envision the path I shuffled up upon whilst coming to this room and allow the serene calm of the place besiege me in carful moderation, and I a moment I’m back with Adam, yelping at me for deserting him again, and I smile at his apprehension, but I can’t smile for long, for someone else I hovering next to him. Pale, tattered, and wan in silver light- Olivia is boring her hostile expression into me. My borders on my mind evaporate, and the instincts grasp hold on me, letting my hands open and the pencil to tumble upon the leaf strewn ground. Just the sight of her brings forth the rage and anger, and loathing the other me once had for her, and it is the other me who charges after he but goes straight through her. She glides side to side teasing me, then cracking a smile as she disappears, leaving the other me still fuming when Adam comes nib at my ankles once more. NO! Revulsion and sorrow course through me, but it isn’t enough for me to grasp me body back as the other me’s rage whips the wind in rape and turns around with a malignant expression, laughing,
“Die, doggy, die!” And with that Adam stops yelping, he’s knees buckle, and he falls upon the piles of leaves as though he would be jumping them in joy, few leaves blow away from the pile his body forces some to gain altitude in the raping wind. Clouds begin to form in the immaculate sky, raging melancholy clouds blooming from my own emotions, chocking the radiant sun to a righteous death.
Now Olivia is on my side, smirking and patting my chestnut hair, whispering into my ear,
“Isn’t it night to kill loved ones, brings a smile to a face and a passion in the stomach?”
If this would be a few thousand years ago I would be panicking at the sight of her ghost, but it’s not then, and I’m not. I’ve only had Adam for a little while, but he’s become my only companion in that while, and the closest thing to love a dog and a man can have when I supply his food and he continuously bites my ankles for fun. This should have been seen; I should have had a vision of this, but I learned long ago seeing future death isn’t kind, and I have learned to block such things from my visions, but I still would have liked to prevent this. But the killing isn’t done yet, and even as I attempt to budge the other me away from Adam’s limp body he is stooping down to it, barring he canine scared teeth. Everything is felt from the moment my teeth puncture through his pelt and then gulping down the blood that once ran through his veins; it only takes a few minutes and he’s completely drained, my only companion gone in so many ways but still inside me.
The other I recede back into my mind as my posture become normal again, and I remain silent as I think of him as ashes, blowing in the rapping wind, and becoming the birds he once so urged to eat. No words are spoken, but they are thought as he becomes one with the wind, blowing into places he hasn’t seen or ever thought to be, but staying in me where I will remember him forever and beyond the day I die. His yelp ripples in my mind, joyful and anxious to meet his new play mate, and I frown as I pick up the pencil feeling the familiarity of her blood’s taste when all I want is to purge it from my mind, but I know where I have tasted it before: Olivia.
- Location:moms house
- Mood:
creative
soooo i have chnaged my mind about the posting things so one can read it and LEAVE comments becuase it would be better if one would leave comments here than any other place becaase the is where i mosty check and i like them here so i can go look back and see what to change and improve on so yeah here is chapter eight, i have done jamie's poems for the next chapter and all i have to od is tranfer them and and write like a little bit more in Darwin's ( relfection's) POV and then i don't think i'm going to be another POV after the main ones becuase the next one is going to be Boy and all i realy have planned for him is when Jamie goes to sleep next but i may or may not add him on to this becuase that won't e happening for a few more damn chapter. And the next chapter will be majory short becuae it's mostly poems so yeah... i took out a lot and i like this way of Jamie a hell of a lot more than the other Jamie though she will come back as she comes to pass with the thing and all that . here you are chapter eight !
Chapter Eight: Heart “One must eat when one has desire to use one’s power, for if not then one will surely perish, and I won’t be a fault.” Alise, witch
Here in this place I can feel his feelings, hear his thoughts, and see his sights, but none of it pertains to me. All of it is his, and there is nothing I can do to fend off his emotions as they radiate in me, and his vile thoughts consume my mind with toxic hostility. But there is no pain in this place, all is numb and free here as I observe the swirling of hues and the drunken colors collaborating into an incomprehensive mixture. And I can see the entire majestic hues slur and collide, can see Jamie gazing over at me in curiosity and horror, can see the years fading away into nothingness as time draws behind us, but I cannot feel anything; I cannot think my own thoughts, and I cannot budge from this stance, it’s as if twine is knotted around my wrist and ankles, bounding me in this gaze. This isn’t me; this isn’t what I think; this isn’t what I feel in the presence of people, but the reflection is feeling an immense loathing towards Jamie and wants to murder her. He wants to leave her a crimpled pile of blood and bones… he wants to kill Lillian also; what have I done? I must find a way to be myself again, to sever the attachment the thing has latched onto, and to be a normal person under my circumstances. How, how am I supposed to find such thing? His thoughts are lacing around me and cooing my own into silence; I want to kill Jamie; I want to kill Lillian. No, but I do; I yearn to murder the weeds of the world and leave only the blooming flowers; I want to, and I will. I can’t, I won’t, but I will. Alien emotions are now flooding through me, brimming with his metallic loathing, and sour sorrow of another… another that isn’t him nor is me but Jamie; her emotions are coursing through us, fading the line between me and him, and her. We are one; we are different; we are everything. Sorrow, loathing, joy, and numb- they all claim parts of my being with envy for more, all of their taste saturating my absent tongue. The twine binding me constricts further as the lines become more muted, and we are all becoming one; there is no pain, but emotions are slashing around me, and I know the ones I should be feeling, horror of being violated by these savage emotions, and my own despair over how I will be me again, but I cannot feel those, for those are me, and I’m not myself. I’m everyone but me in this beldam of emotions carving and gnawing away at me, binding the twine further into my stance, as it should be leaving imprints on my flesh, biting into me veins and drawing blood. Pain would be a luxury right now, but I feel them; I am them; and I am nothing.
All I want is to murder and to eradicate the undeserving; all I want to do is become him, and I cannot defy his thought or emotions. They are a monarch in my mind, pounding me with legislation without considering my own aspiration, and then binding me to them by magical oath. There isn’t way for me to think my own thoughts to sever him from me and him from me, and the twine continues to bite into me with no pain, forcing a perfect posture from my slouch, and burrowing into a person that I can’t call myself but I have to. No tears are capable, but I know I should be sobbing, know I should loath leach I’m attached to, but I can’t hate myself: he won’t let me. Joy spreads through me, a burning inferno of joy, but all I want to do is reject it, and I can’t… I just can’t. Jamie’s time is dwindling as the colors continue their majestic dance, for once this done I will kill her, and it will be beautiful.
In the crevasses of my mind I can hear the infant attempting to defy my thoughts and emotions… and her emotions, but there is nothing he can do but feel and watch the events. My loathing of her is still being obscured by a queer feeling she radiates, like an alcohol in the air I pant it obscurers my judgment, causing me to contemplate if I should murder he or should she remain on this planet. Encompassing us are flanking years in this infant’s room; light and darkness are a routine here as they both transpire in a pant making the light pulse in the eyes like a rapid beat. As the years flow no one occupies this room, and the dust of accumulated years is wafted off with the breath of youth: everything is becoming rejuvenated in hues. What was once a wan periwinkle is beaming into an exuberant Persian blue, and the maroon botches of mildew are rippling inwards into a pristine sky above; the physical appearance of the room is drenched in youth and joy, but the filthy soot of decay still lingers in the future and is embedded in the past, pending the fury of Fredric and Lillian to enable it to manifest and consume the house and this room. An absence of emotion from in the room over the years spawns a sordid presence here, and the room appears the qualm its presence here as it is restored to its optimal health, and a window appears on the adjoining wall, streaming in rays of sun light for the carpet to engulf, but it wasn’t there when this started… or was it just shattered or too laced with grime and dust to see through; Lillian and Fredric haven’t entered this room for eighteen years, and it’s starting to decay into rapid disrepair. But now it’s flourishing with the flamboyant colors of infancy, carpet shimmering, ceiling painted with swirling cobalt and teal: restored but only for a winkle in time.
A mobile attached to a toddler bed, adorned with pale stars and stripped fish, starts to tread out a soothing melody like it would be playing on a piano, but the mobile is turning backwards instead of forwards, and the melody is becoming more forced, ending on a high note when the mobile halts its movement. There is nobody here, and he mobile moved on its own accord and created such a soothing melody, but something about it strikes my senses of wrong. Something is horribly wrong with the absence of emotion or motion in this room as the air slithers around us, and the light breams through us. Almost unclenching our hands, Jamie leaps up and takes a faction of a step forward and whispers,
“Wow.” That’s pitiful girl can only articulate one word while I could do many, if I could stand up; for this journey is developing into an accident that may be fatal to the person I am not.
Blaring pangs of wonder and bewilderment batter against me, and I can’t impede the wince that seeps out my battered, bruised, and busted lips as I become more intertwined in her and her emotions, becoming her and something I don’t want to be. After being someone different for eighteen years I cannot bare being this, for this is undeserving of life, and I am all but that. Still, her emotions and slight swaying motions are etching themselves in my woozy blood and cramped and enraged muscles, spawning on the pain I desire and gorge on, but this body – his body – is complaining of this multitude of pain. His body is and her emotions are blurring my identity, eroding myself and my dignity as I want to reject the pain, want to become one of them and not of me, and I almost do, but the colors shiver in fright and crumple into an embrace of comfort as my eyes burn with adorable passion of life and anger, and loathing, and deserving. Jamie’s expression becomes one of fascination and more bewilderment, and she stoops down to me – her movement flexing my whining triceps – to only further intoxicate me with her own emotions and the feeling of… infatuating that is radiating off of her. I want to reject it; I want to vomit it upon her face, but my intentions vanish once she looks into my eyes. Murder her, she doesn’t deserve anything; a feeling of melancholy is omnipresent under the putrid false joy she is attempting to choke me with, and I should be urging to obliterate it from my presence, but I can’t… I just can’t do it. Those emerald eyes are emanating a calming toxic from their irises, and her false smile is grounding away at my own thoughts and feelings as a hint of fright mingles in the mixture of her emotions. Everything is becoming obtuse with her emotions swarming into me, and everything is muted for only a moment when she shuts her eyes and trembles in breath. With that breath her fear, infatuation, and curiosity are abolished; she is regaining her stamina, but the rancid taste of her melancholy comes spewing forward like rapid water, chocking me for a moment, and then vanishing when her breath becomes stable once more and her eyes flutter open to witness the hues own melancholy. Ash and beige clash around us in harmony, unable to focus themselves into wonders of color, and unable to settle into any other form because they are perfect as they are, but she doesn’t see that; all she can see is the drabness of this place, and all she can see if her and I depicted in this scene as we are, and I can’t say no. This is I as I am now, weary and feeble, and impeded by this vermin attached to me, nothing but a weed in a forest as I continue to touch her and feel her emotions, and think as she does.
My heart is faint and pounding, but my energy is depleted, and the reserves are nonexistent; these colors aren’t able to keep exhaustion at bay, and I feel the tug of torture severing me from this world and back to it. I can feel the infant gazing upon this time, and I can feel him desperately trying to woo me over to torture, but I won’t go back. Never. Even though he can’t feel disappointment, I know he want to feel it- knows he should be feeling it- but he can’t: all he can feel is her emotions and mine. Our emotions are besieging him, as they are me, and they are the only thing that is warding off the exhaustion I feel, but as the colors intensify their glare and intensify to a powdery white, my attention is gathered again. The color is almost blinding, but it gives sight, for the colors are starting to cling to things, and the room is defining itself. A sharp ripple of torture goes through me as this place is reminiscent to the abyss I have lurked in for so many years, but it has the opposite appeal: every wall is bare of anything sentimental, and the power white is adorning the walls with one ocean of reflection fastened upon the wall- all else is bare. On the floor I now lay upon there is checkered beige linoleum and various bulbous medical machines anchored to the ground and strapped to a patient above: Lillian. Jamie gawks at the disheveled Lillian, pale with sweat and panting vigorously as a pale young man with tousled black hair and scruff stubble standing neck to her with apprehension plastered upon his face; I can feel the fidgeting of his emotions, and I want to pound him for such things. Lillian’s legs are spread wide apart, and she is in a hospital gown placed on a comfortable hospital bed. Another moments of silence passes and she winces and grasps Fredric’s hand and tries not to wail from the immense pain she is enduring –we’re enduring. Pain is obvious on her face when she yanks Fredric closer to her, clenches her teeth together, and says,
“Where is the damn doctor? I’ve been in labor for eight hours, how long do I have left?” And she trashes him aside, leaving him baffled and trying to calm her, but she is too distressed to allow him.
“He’ll be here soon honey, just wait. I’ll take care of Derik for a few days while you recuperate for a few days,” he leans closer into her reach, “everything will be fine.”
Lillian’s fury, fatigue, and slight hysteria are all pricking into me, and I chuckle a bit in her hysteria as she slaps him across the face, glaring at him with wisdom in her eyes; my chuckles stop when Fredric’s tender pain and anguish collide with my own joy and Jamie’s astonishment, and the intoxicating mixture that is Lillian. Who am I, and why do I exist? Beneath me my purchase on the word slips, and it’s difficult to restore my balance on this new place. Both questions are still glaring at me in my mind, for in the hysteria I am suffering from nothing is clear as to who I am and what it me, and how will I become myself again. More and more I wonder from the exuberant colors of reality as torture looms over my shoulder, daunting and cackling as I approach.
You exist only because I do. The infant thinks as the final wasps of color evade my vision, and neither exhaustion nor pain is the culprit in this seceding from reality. It is my fault, for I cannot control the emotions I have come to adore and cherish, but I will return; the infant will not reign supreme over me. No! One word I want to wail, release all my breath into time and let the pain follow as the golden lights fade then mute into the abyss. Even as I try to dash toward, it continues to evade me, and I remain where I have started, never going anywhere but the place I have put myself in.
He doesn’t tap my shoulder, and he doesn’t speak, but I can feel his somber presence next to me, feel his self-loathing aura swaying around him and threatening to coil around me, but I know that isn’t me- who ever I am. My remnants of emotions are waning from us, and his slight bewilderment and weariness are seeping into us as my sight scuttles to his concerned sight of the array of reality before him. There is nothing I can do, for I am bound to this torture with a fierce twine biting into my flesh, forcing a straight posture and view of his actions, and to feel his repugnant emotions. But when I come to my life again, I will murder that thing, along with Lillian who is constantly in a state of hysteria… and I can’t, can’t ponder the ways of death, for the infant is taking away my thought along with my pure emotions. All I can do I watch as the undeserving walk the Earth and as life continues to be wasted on them, but only until he slips up again; then they will all perish, the cute one first. As the thought occurs to me I know I cannot take it back; he won’t let me, and in the confines of my illogical being, I know it’s true, and I hate it as he strides away into reality, baring one glace back to me before reality greats him with open arms, leaving me nothing but himself in his mind and his emotions, and his thoughts, for now I am all of him and none of me, wishing to hate it but having to endure and love it… never deciding if this is me or if there can ever be a me.
When the twine rapidly uncoils itself from my arteries and veins I feel nothing but lubrication in my joins and a dominance in my own emotions, but the real sense of pain still eludes me. We are both in my clothes now, but I’m seeing him from my vision, and I’m seeing the invisible twine wrap around him and forcing him to have correct posture whilst gazing upon the thing he only desires: life. Blood still consumes our faces, but our expression are still differing as reality’s plethora of passion, color, sorrow, rage, and joy swoons over to me with an enthusiastic explosion of color, like wings of color flapping open upon this abyssal canvas; I know he can’t see the wings gesturing towards me, but the color still illuminates the pallid blood on his face, and I can’t help but see the shattered expression upon his face, my emotions and his battling for ground in his being, but I don’t care. He has tortured me enough and has thought about murdering people I know and care about enough, and he doesn’t deserve to live, I just have to keep him from doing that again. I turn towards the wings again and start striding away from him and towards reality as the wings of effervescent color swing around me and resurrects the exhaustion and pain I have been feeling almost instantaneously. But once here I can feel the baggage the reflection was carrying when his longing to be here was extinguished; I’m feeling everything the people in this room are – hysteria, grief, rage, amazement, sorrow pain, astonishment, and anguish; they are all injecting themselves into me, warding off exhaustion, but this is real torture, and I can’t stand it.
My body wants to sob in sorrow, flame in rage, and gasp in pain, but there is too much for me to do, and my body is wasting more energy deciding what to do first; pain and sorrow are dominating me as Fredric reaches back to Lillian to say,
“He’s coming, don’t worry.” She just glares at him as another contraction hits her and me; we both gasp and clench the hand we are attached to us and tears stroll down our cheeks, mine erasing he caked on blood but only touching the surface on my grime.
Jamie now looks at me in frustration, and I can feel her apprehension tightening her chest and her heart pounding at the sense of my pain, and before she can pose her question I just shake my head slightly in annoyance to my slumbering body. I’m finally here; I’m at the start of the feud, but why am I at my birth? More tears are gracing down my cheeks, but not in the pain I am feeling from the half-healed wounds I have and not from Lillian’s pain, from the emotional pain these emotions are carving into me like in the abyss I can feel nothing but other; I am all of them and nothing of me. But I know who I am… I know who I am… I can’t feel myself, but I know I’m here, and Lillian’s hysteria is only furthering my confusion. Beside us a door swings open and a man with white scrubs comes walking in with platinum hair and sapphire eyes… the face. At the sight of him a fear so sharp and immense shoots through me it obliterates every other alien emotion with my heart starting to flare and my pupils breach their borders into the white of my eyes in horror. What is he doing here? Tears I once was crying in sorrow only continue to come down with fierce determination in fear of what he has to do with my birth. There is nothing I can do to stop the freezing tears as Jamie leans over this time, her concern gnawing away at my fear – me – and asks,
“What’s wrong?”
How can I phrase this; the emotions in this room are erasing me, and the man who walked in here has been the subject of my nightmares since I was born, and he’s not of this place… he comes from somewhere else as does that other young woman, but nothing comes from my mouth- just more light sobs with light pain. With her immense concern and my dwarfing horror my mind is clear enough to see the face has made his way over to my mother’s side, checking some charts and machines, and then checking something underneath her gown; I flitch as I watch him do so. Once out he says,
“Well, you are full dilated. It won’t be long now.” Lillian breathes a sigh of relief now, but some sort of transaction is going on between the cold eyes of the face and Fredric- both the same hues – and I can see him becoming flustered, can feel his stomach churn as he becomes nervous and shuffles over to the front of Lillian’s bed, hesitant before saying,
“I’m sorry.”
“What?” She is confused as I am now, but her puzzlement phases with another contraction, do does mine.
“You’ll see Derik soon, but we have to take him for a few days.” At that he gazes over the face and shuffles back to Lillian’s frantic side. No reaction comes out of her until the face starts speaking his words of magic; she slams Fredric in the face with her fist, slaps him, and tries to disconcert the wires attached to her, but can’t. Even with the hospital muting powers, a flame combust on her hair as she hollers,
“Don’t touch me! Don’t touch my baby!”
But her words are slurring as she pants for breath and slides back down upon the bed, lids dropping like anchors in an ocean. Fredric wraps his arms around her hand and kisses it slightly, whispering another apology as the face whispers more words to remove me from my mother’s womb. We both gape at what’s happening, the face chuckling his word, Fredric letting Lillian free with one carrying gaze, and finally a wailing cry – me – coming forth from the womb; the rest is a blur to me as Fredric takes me in his hands and cradles me in his arms like he is protecting me when in reality he is not. The last thing I see before the scene ends is him smiling with joy, the face smiling his cruel smile, and Lillian laying in a deep slumber, without a doubt dreaming forever of the face and what he has done to her, and the last stints of tears flow from my eyes as the sobs become ragged breath and the tears still sticking to my scarlet face. At that the colors of the past collapse into one another unlike the wings of reality, and my body is slowing down as my heart and other organs are becoming more exhausted from the lack of energy. And my exhaustion is gaining berth now that emotions are scarce, but Jamie’s emotions and motions are enough to ward off the pursuit of slumber for now as the colors bleed life, becoming bleak and like the abyss the reflection waits and watches, and feels, and thinks for me. Little light is simmering in the oil of night, becoming nothing more than a replica of the abyss sans the numbness of pain and regular emotions. Neither sorrowful nor mournful is Jamie as I lay beside her, hands clutches in this oily ocean, but the visions from my birth are plaguing us both, giving us rage and question. I can say nothing now with my energy so little and my powers still draining more as the color swirls around us; it takes only few moments for them to stop and start to cling to define themselves upon the objects they lust for. Oils and fires cling to everything in moment giving everything a sheering clarity; for I remember this darken room: this room was in my vision earlier.
Few lanterns pinned against the wall shine against the darkness consuming the room, and the freezing cement floor to this room makes me shiver more even with this cold/flu thing. In the center of the room is a hovering metal hospital gurney with just enough light in the room around it to see its defined shape and the things encompassing it. Adjacent to it are two metal trays filled with skin-pricking needles and test tubes waiting to be filled with liquid; something about those instruments are causing fright to course through me. A moment later a door opens, flooding the room with light until two men are occupying this room, and the door closes quietly behind them. Fredric and the face are here, and Fredric is placing a slumbering just born me on the frigid-looking gurney; I shiver more as I see the baby me squirm at the lost of the warmth he was generating. Beside him the face waits as Fredric straps me down to the surface with metal clamps and twitches with every clamp. With every clamp my heart pounds a sob and slows, my hearing diminishes, and spots in my vision start carving away at it. Without looking away from me he takes an unbalanced step backwards once finished and asks,
“Can I do the first prick Dominique?”
The face stars at him for moment then nods saying,
“Sure, but this is my project. You can’t have all the fun.”
And with that Fredric takes a fresh syringe from the metal table, lifting it lightly letting it glisten in the wan light, and incline towards the baby me, heading straight for my delicate rosy flesh, exactly where my jugular lay. Right as the metallic prick of the needle reaches my flesh, my heart stalls, and everything is lousing clarity as I’m becoming unable to draw breath and the oil is covering me and lacing me with its sight. Now I cannot see, hear, or feel anything; now I am dying slowly a slightly pleasurable death the world may approve of, for he isn’t interfering and is contemplating gathering the steeds to come gather me on his iron bridge, but I will never know, for now there is nothing to me to gather up.
Death is approaching the me that isn’t me, and the mistakes of the past have proven to be fatal to me that isn’t me, but to the me that is me there is nothing he can do to prevent this death, for he is lost and dazed in this torture, even as the twine is releasing its fangs on me. No light from reality is beckoning for me to arrive where I should be, no swarm of thought or emotions are becoming of mine, for this is the mistake that I can’t fix, and this is the mistake that will be fatal to other is they do the same or let me live.
Walking in the soggy ash from my burned birds I continue to feel the rage and hostility that feels the sky tonight at the wielding of someone’s intent. Lightning is illuminating the forest more vigorously no, leaving the trees disoriented in its wake, and the thunder threatening to shove them over as well as other structures in the forest. Wind is brandishing the limbs against my cottage, creating an eerie scrapping sound along the windows, but I try to block everything out and shut my eyes stooping down to the ash covered ground to mediate. Frigid and glowing the ground is as I reach it the soothing numbs the charring embers on my flesh, but something else causes me to flinch as I breathe in, something that isn’t supposed to be here.
“Have you been naught or have you been nice? Elle, I hope you have been nice,” Those words resurrect a fear I haven’t felt in three hundred years, a harsh voice I haven’t heard in three hundred years, and as my eyes flare open a person I haven’t seen glowering before me in three hundred years: Dominique. His hollow eyes and flaring hair are slightly more prominent than the last time I have seen them, but here he is, in my house, starring at me. No words come out and so he inclines saying, “Do you know where the child is?”
What child is he talking about, but all I manage to do is shack my head, and he smiles like he knows I’m not lying, and with one wink at me he’s gone. I want to bolt from this place; I want to leave this world, but I know I can’t, for I’m stuck until he decides to make a decision to. My heart is pounding, and my hands are fidgeting with the cooling ash beneath me; how long has he known? But I cannot answer that question, for I know if I try there will be more wondering, and I cannot afford that, not when things are so bad, and not when things are good, and not now when things are horrible.
- Location:moms house
- Mood:
blah
okay i change my mind about my writing for now
but for now i'll not be posting my chapters anymore, no one reads them anyway and i'm sad to say it's just like fictionpress on here JUST LIKE DAMN FICTIONPRESS i'll write for myself and nobody else and if people odn't understand they can fuck off. i'm threw with this. enough.
i'll be back later.
- Location:house
- Mood:
calm
enough, enough !, enough with me and my falseness becuase i'm tired of acting like i'm hapy and i'm really really really NOT
okay i know for a fact that my writing sucks, does one want to know why my wiriting sucks, well i don't care one is going to listen to my reasoning any way.
1.) I can't get anyone every to read it, everyone is always so busy (durring summer) and when i do get people to read it all my hopes go clashing down becuase it's confussing. Well it's confussing becuase my wiriting it's blunt! I use methaphore for a lot of things and it really irrates me when people don't get that, but that isn't there fault its all mine. Mine. Mine. Mine.Mine.Mine!
2.) If i would acutaly not hold up a minimal stnadard of how many pages i would need to write THERE WOULD BE NO STORY AT ALL i'm not joking that's why i have to write for pages becuase i cannot elabroate other wise. Everyone else is good at this and after six years of this i cannot do it still. I hate it, i hate myself, and i hate everything that has to do with writing at the moment. I cannot make a proper story like everyone else in the word, and when i try i suck and it's confusing. What a grand day for us all! So happy-making and gleeful and YAY. enough.
3.) I give up. I give up on trying to have good grammer becuase when i do i just make eveything worse. Everything, i cannot do anything right with grammer so i should just stop even trying to do anything it. I should just stop writing in genral becuase that's how much i suck anyway. Forget about what i really want in life and do what i don't want to, maybe do some math. Yeah, math can be soothing. But i'm not good at math, i'm not good at anything so who cares.
4.) Spelling. Now i have thought i have gotten better at this, but i know i haven't. I suck at everything- more so math- and i shouldn't even try this. It even caused me to get "held back" in first grade, so i should know by now that spelling is lost to me and i shouldn't even be trying with it. I don't know about math, but i wasn't very good at that either, probably another reason i was "held back" in the first place. "Held back" is just a nice phrase for " you suck at everything, so we are going to do this so you don't fail and suck at everything." well it didn't help for me becuase i still fail and suck at everything! Even driving test i suck at. I fail! I fail majorily. Smeyer can write better than me. Everyone can, why do i even try.
5.) The nonplot of my stoires. There is no plot what am saying in the earlier post that there is a plot. There isn't, and i don't think i'll ever be able to make a creative intrecate plot that actually works instead of the horrible things i call plot. I hae them; i hate then all. I... can't say anymore.
6.) My charecters, they all are mary-sues. All of them, i don't care what one says they all are and stupid and irraiting and don't make sence most the time and aren't relatible at all, and they all should just die. I hate every charecter that i have ever writen becuase they are all stupid and don't make sence and are too saphsiticated for their age or too emo or too mean.
7.) Decription. Apparently my decription sucks and one can't use hyperpoles on decription, can't be dramatic, and can't have fun. No, i should have known that but i guess i suck at everything so i couldn't have. The one thing i thought i was good at, well i suck at it more now!
8.) What am i kidding i have no eight but i suck! and i'm never writing again, i quit, i'm going to burn eveything or shred it- throw away the jumpdrives and move on. i hate what i write, and it seems that everyone else does too.
- Location:house
- Mood:
crushed - Music:no damn music! i suck
He’s chuckling as whistling a sweet tune as he ambers away from me on the ragged shells and rocks, the only remnants of the once mesmerizing forest. And his tone is becoming muter as the light in this vision wanes with every year I’m stuck in this frozen river, bruising from the blows he sent me. There is nothing left of this dream, nothing left of my home, as I avert my eyes from his jolly trot to the ice… waiting, waiting for it all to end but never receiving what I want. The dream fades into a collaboration of pastels until it fades into nothingness like the veil of sapphire light; a more distinct pang of despair ripples through me at the extinction of my home, but it only lives for moment because when the colors dissipate so do I.
A sluggish moan is emanating from me when my eyes flutter open slithers to a vacant room with suffering from an affliction of death as the abyss appears to have manifested itself into reality. Both the wrap and scarf are frolicking in the air, and I feel like the nails are pounding me with their frost again, but all I can do is shiver with the potent wrap infested air abound and the drabness here. I can feel the blood pounding in my numb ears, hear it, and I feel the molten blood slithering down my backside leisurely scotching my bark with its fire: I like it. Other blood is trailing from me, but I feel no pain right now, for my haze has returned to me, my beautiful haze that knows no treachery. Just the scotching rivulets of blood on my moist skin are what I feel in this abyssal room- naked for all to see and dying from massive blood-loss and this flu/cold thing. Still the world isn’t jubilant over my crumpled form, labored breathing, and faint pulse, for I have my companion the haze, and the haze mutes all pain to me. Dying a death with the haze at hand would be a pleasurable death, and as the world observes me in skeptical observation, he scoffs at the Earth for implying I may die and sends word of my arrival through as he whispers through a glistening web clinging to the intricate iron bridge he adores. In response the web brightens with a shining light of radiance, the pulses the information down to whoever the world’s malignant thoughts has conceived. No one is waiting this time, not even Jamie; they have finally given up, and I’m not saddened by it: I wish they would have stopped trying sooner.
More blood is pouring from my head and for some reason my nose now, and my mouth is starting the brim with rancid – tasting blood, a vortex forming as I have no energy of swallow and have a pulse as the same time. What I have of vision is warped and distorted in this abyss whilst my hearing is verging on nothing, for I do not hear the pounding feet of someone when he/she slams open the door, brining the room back into complete radiance. If I could react somehow I would wince, flutter my eyes maybe to regain vision, but my energy is gone, and all the light does is further make me disoriented and nauseas. But I cannot vomit, my muscles and stomach won’t allow such movements, and the vortex of blood would block the bile’s proceedings. What I can do instead is shut my eyes, wanting to sleep but despising my dreams, and a spawn of a sigh and moan escape me as my lids drooping further every year, until the haze starts melting away by my semi- consciousness. Nothing is what I feel now, and nothing is what I see and nothing I what I hear, and a smile almost draws on my face, but nothing is responding, and I’m not caring enough to try. Although something faint is penetrating the haze, a feeling, and it’s dredging me begrudged back into consciousness under the haze’s meager strength. Without the haze my fatigue still claims me, but I can feel the pounding migraine that dominates my head; I can feel the splintering of my spine and the unfathomable pain that accompanies it; I can feel the fracturing of my nose; I can feel the extreme bruising of my jaw. It all screams pain and hurt… I’m just too tired to do anything about it, to give a sign of pain. My lids flutter open halfway into the blazing light to see Lillian’s frantic face right above me and her hand slapping me over and over again. No tears are staining her vision, but I can feel her guilt as it lay plastered on her face every time she strikes me, with greater force every time, but to no anvil until she notices my risen lids and does not smile – so sight of joy graces her face – but only blares something I cannot hear. Why is she trying; why does she continue to heal me when I vary between moderate pain and excruciating pain; why does she keep secrets from me? Her magic’s frigid touch isn’t enough to summon a response from me, but neither is it enough to dissolves my qualms about Lillian and Fredric and the truth, and the feud, and the thing spawned it. She didn’t want to tell me a few hours ago… she just said he did something, but I want to know; being in abyss of knowledge isn’t helpful to anything. The one thing she can heal me, the one thing I want, the one thing deciphered from their cryptic tellings of the past – of the three days – could resurrect the smile that died so very long ago, but my mother will not save me… no one will, and they have finally caught up to the fact that I don’t want them to.
As her death magic pricks at my flesh, inflicting more pain than soothing qualities, the pain is ebbs from me slightly, never completely receding from my neurons, leaving whispers of pain in my head and tufts of pain in my vertebrae, but my exhaustion is resolute, and my pulse is still faint in my ears. Every breath is exerting the precious energy that has been conserved throughout my eighteen years, every beat siphoning this crude oil fueling my body, every though more difficult to produce as my lids commence their descent again. I can tell my wounds aren’t completely healed, for the remnants of pain are potent enough that if my exhaustion wouldn’t be claiming my being I would still be whimpering, but the threat of the refection waiting for me in dreamland isn’t suffice enough to even attempt my lids from closing, plunging like the world’s rage at the sight of life and further torture of being left in the abyss, of forever being befuddled over my own birth and history. For eighteen years they have kept the secret from me, and now I want to know, but I don’t want to know- I want them to tell me without having to force it out of them; they will never help me, they never do. Not at finding about my power or finding about myself; I’m just a wandering shell that has no history to tell, just nothing, like the reflection/ voice. Although he has something to fight for; he wants my life; he wants meaning; he wants to understand; he wants the impossible, and I want it too, but the difference is I know it’s impossible. And I do nothing to get it.
Numb, shivering, and freezing I can hear her faint words as are the faint whispers of pain that are still impressed on my being, and they are saturated with doubt and misery, for the pain is still here, and it remains after decades of whispers from my mother and a gradual decent of my lids. She doesn’t notice, but I do because dreamland is beckoning me over, the gleeful rasp of the reflection/voice panting, waiting for me to enter the dreams I cannot have, waiting for me to succumb, and waiting for me to see the exit. I see it; it’s right here, right here in the tundra of dull nails and limp being- I just have to reach for it, just have to fade away… just like I want to. His raspy pant beings to envelop me, and the whispers of pain are finally receding from my being, but it’s not a natural feeling, for nothing is there once it is gone, nothing, not death’s breath, or the aching of my being. Nothing. All is silent; all is wan; all is nothing, but I can still hear Lillian’s words faint in the distance, and there is a queer feeling about me, like I’m severed from my being but still here. But the pant of the voice/reflection cannot be heard now, and my vision has also been revoked; all I can see is an abyss like the room once was. There is no feeling of pain, but for some reason I can feel s slight tingle of joy in me as something taps my on the shoulder; I can feel it not, but I know it’s there: the reflection. Before I can turn around I know it’s him; there is no mysterious feeling, it’s as though I’m looking through his eyes. Through him I can see that have draped a frayed white towel around me and that immense purple and black bruises scale down my back side, like a snake coiling down me. Patches of my hair are stained a flamboyant scarlet, and the wounds on my back are flaring and scaly, far from healed, but the pain is muted… did my mother just mute the pain because she couldn’t heal me complete? The reflection chuckles at my thought as I turn around to see him in the same state I’m in, but he has a sly smirk, and I don’t. Still seeing through his eyes, I can see my face is covered in red soot and scars unhealed, lips busted, and dark botches of flesh scattered around my face. He’s still joyful, but I can find no such joy in me; I can find nothing of me in me, just his dominating joy and smile that I am fashioning now. But I don’t want to smile.
Few attempts are given to remove the smirk, and all attempts are met with failure with me as I can only see from the killer of the trees and the freezer of the river’s vision. How can this be happening?
“You didn’t want to be a part of the world any longer, that’s why I’m here,” His words are my words as we say them in unison; I try to stop, but it doesn’t happen. Somehow he has this grasp on me, everything of his is mine, and everything of mine is his. At that the reflection chuckles before slightly striding away; I have no choice but to follow him. Not even begrudged I am, just happy, an adherent joy clings to me as it does to me. This isn’t me, and it never was. “All of me and none of yours do you mean?” Again, in unison we say, but I attempt to clinch my teeth in rebellion and only result in biting my busted lip; there is still no pain in this domain.
It’s as though I’m lost and alone the way I’m hesitantly following him as he continues to meander toward the indefinite. Could the world be allowing me to die in such a way, a leisurely death, one that is pleasurable death? No, the world scoffs, but this will not be tolerable. With every stride the peering gaze of the world is obscured with a dingy fog, and the Earth’s concern is draped over with the joy of the reflection. Below me the abyss is changing into a silky texture, and the adjoining sides are morphing into a whirlwind of color; every stride goes by like three decades. Nothing can be felt, but I know I should be feeling pain now as the colors become more sharp, more intense, to the eyes – his eyes – as if we are balancing on the color spectrum itself. Balancing on a thing that isn’t tangible in a place I should be, and a time that is undefined is we now. It’s like the colors are sharpening their blades to come after us with the world’s intent. He doesn’t give me any instruction or any words, for all I can do I follow and watch through his eyes, and his eyes are beaming now as I become further behind from him, and only his colors are becoming diamonds. Now he turns around to notice me dawdling behind, and I can see my colors remain the wan abyss as his sharpen into reality, can hear my mother words, and practically see the blinding halo of light illuminating the room, but only form his eyes. Everything else is a blank for me, as the killer of the trees and freezer of the right water turns away with a cruel face smile and continues to stride away at my expense of following but staying in the same place.
At last his colors leave me, abandoned me with the abyss of numbness, abandoned with myself. They drain from their florist hues gradually with a soft glow, and then the mouth of reality leaves me with nothing to do, nothing to say, and nothing to think, for all of this everything rejecters to me, his everything to my nothing, my nothing to his everything. A fragmented piece of joy reaches me, but it’s not mine, and I don’t want this. All I want is to know why he is there, why I am here, and why these things are happening to me. Why is my life just a jumbled mess of actions and mistakes, and confusion? And why does this mistake have to be so large? More warmth is soothing me, but I don’t want I, but I can’t reject it, and I can’t take it, and I can’t accept it, and I have to. I fall into the abyss wanting to cry, but all I can do is smile as the joy relishes in me, and takes the part of me that I once thought was mine only, but has always been shared by another- another that I cannot have but have anyway. His words are mine, his emotions are mine, and his thoughts are mine, but his actions will never be mine. I just need to get out and into me again, but how? How when everyone is powerful and I am weak? No way, and I feel his warmth coursing through me, feel his lush feelings and this soothing thoughts, and I have to find a way, and I will.
Here, I am here finally. And here I will stay, but Lillian’s words and her sorrow feelings are polluting my entrance into this world. Her words are laced with the unknown, and her face is crumpled in distress, ridges forming on her flesh as her emotions start bashing away at her façade. Wrinkles are carving away at her flesh in stints, and her hair is turning into a wan grey. She is crumbling right before my eyes, and it’s disgusting; her putridly sordid emotions pricking away at my joy. They are savage things, but I can’t do anything about them, for I remain exhausted as Derik was, almost paralyzed with my eyes open to the new world but wanting to be shut. Lillian cannot say anything more, defeated, and with my body halfway healed, she takes her hand from me and gazes at me with her wan eyes, amber dimming in her depression. She doesn’t even try to disguise her abrupt change in appearance to me; she just leans back away from me and wipes her face with her hands, once revealed her rapid aging is more prominent as if she is about the die this instant. Her pain strikes me, her guilt, her sorrow, her physical deprivation and aches all penetrate me, and I wince at all of her pain, but I am also wincing at my inability to do anything about it. I’m stuck wincing and coughing violently on this carpet, chocking on her unrefined emotions, blood spewing from my mouth and glorious pain shooting through my body as arches and the wounds flare from my movement. She’s at my side at a moment, worried and frazzled,
“What’s wrong?” So many of her emotions are caving into me, making me her, and I don’t want that. Derik’s cold/flu is still plaguing me, but I manage to subside the coughs, and to relieve her emotions once she is composed again coming closer to me to say, “There is something I have to tell you Derik, I wasn’t going to tell you, but I think you should know.” Again her emotions of doubt and sorrow start pricking away at me, and I see her flesh trying to regenerate, but something isn’t allowing it too as another sob ripples through her and pangs in me. But she can’t get further than that. No words come from her mouth as her body morphs back to its regular appearance. Lies, I’ve had enough of the lies these people speak every day.
“You bitch,” even saying little words causes numerous aches to ripples through me, Lillian is perturbed by this saying, but just remains silent as I spew my loathing of her out, looking straight at her, “I’m coming after you first, you have no right to live with all your sorrow.”
With my words her eyes flare, and she is scooting away from me, frightened and panicked. She has no words, only worse emotions that are casing my eyes to water and vision to blur. My concentration is becoming more difficult to grasp as another pair of emotions come lumbering into the room, carving into me , slashing me, and making me them, making me undeserving as the tears flow from my eyes with lead pain and corrupted intentions. All of their emotions - pity, sorrow, guilt, remorse, and self-loathing - are bashing against me as more tears coarse down, purifying my dingy face, as I attempt to move towards Lillian and the foul Jamie, but only end up gasping for air and hitting the carpet with substantial pain. This isn’t me, it’s them, but it doesn’t matter with their forces and emotions plunging into me, ceasing any remnant of me in its tracks. They are breaking me; this is a mistake, but they are purging me from my world as all the energy is me becomes vacant, and the tears stop, and the world just vanishes from sight as unwillingly succumb to the exhaustion, but not before hearing,
“Where are you going? You can’t leave! Wait!” That Jamie is pouncing after Lillian, but she knows of her mistake, and even if an accident I will be coming after her.
Not there, but here in the abyss, I can see Derik right before me… and I can see me, only me and nothing else. I’m back. I’m suck. I’m here. But this isn’t my home; this is my prison; this is my torture, but people in my home are as hostile as my torture; I hate them. They are just as ignorant and foul as Derik, with enough self-loathing and self-pity to corrupt me, but doesn’t, for hold strong to my place. Even after Lillian and Jamie, I hold strong to my place, but the time isn’t right. Before another day goes past I will go back and fix the accidents and become among the right and murder the wrong of thought and emotion. Just until this accident relapse of time is rectified, then I can live in life and not in a shadow. Now I can see me and him, but he cannot see himself. No one can see themselves when their thought lies elsewhere and heart is among the mysterious and doubtful, and I can see myself clearly as I stride away from him and into the whirling colors of reality, while he pants behind me and goes nowhere. Nowhere he will go and nowhere will he stay, forever until he becomes me and unscathed by his actions and thoughts, and the way he is given things. Forever will him lye in my torture, and forever will he be himself, if forever is nothingness catches his fancy along with his ignorance.
Still exhausted I awaken to find my towel removed and Derik’s clothes on me once more, Lillian must have done this before leaving, and that Jamie resting adjacent to me, her hands interlocked with mine and her gaze intent as I flutter open my eyes. Her retched hand is stuck there until I gather enough energy to remove it.
“You should be sleeping,” She says irritation is audible in her tone.
Sleep isn’t living, and I would rather be exhausted then sleeping with Derik infiltrating on my dreams with is ignorance and sorrow, and I would adore leaving you a crumpled pile of blood and bones, but I can’t because I have little power to do it. Her presence alone is forcing an abnormal joy down me, and I can’t help but to embrace it and bring a smile on my face. What am I doing? Confusion is billowing in my mind as I say,
“But I don’t want to.”
We smile at each other, though mine is a painful smile, for I don’t want to do it… it just spouts on its own. Everything is muted by her radiant joy, but something is sulking in her ravine on emotions, something crude and dank. But I cannot feel it, for a massive explosion of pain bashes into me, causing both of us to convulse and shout. I love this pain, but she doesn’t, and she is blubbering as it continues to swoon over us. All of my senses of keen now, though fatigue still dominates over my being, and everything is sharp and clear as the feeling as being stripped away from the universe continues to pounds us, her pain slithering through me like acid, putting a foul taste in my mouth- something of remorse. No, she is undeserving; I do not feel remorse for things like her, but I do, and it brings more pain to me than anything else – a pitiful pain I want to reject but can’t. She’s doing this to me: accident number two. Everything I am feeling, she is doing to me. How is she doing this; how is she degrading me into Derik when I’m not? Her death is becoming more immediate as she continues to wail whilst my glorious pain in tenfold hers. And hearing her scream brings more remorse to me flanked by my burning rage, how can this be happening to me? For few moments more the pain collides with us, and then it severs itself from us, banishing Jamie from its presence. We both pant as the pain subsides, but as the colors around us start to blur my energy plummets even further. Every muscle and tendon of my being is betraying me, and it feels as though I am being dictated what to, what to feel, and what to think back in the torture place. It feels like the days of ignorance and the nights of confusion have resurrected themselves, and I’m their subject of torture.
My breath is shallow and my vision is crippled, but I know what is happening: we are time traveling. The infant wanted this, he wanted to see what happened to ignite the feud with his parents, and now I will watch and he will listen. But I have no energy left to feed this power, and we have just embarked on our journey. I will not die at his hand or her hand; it will not be, but now I’m not myself, and what I am can die, and that won’t be an accident.
okay sorry for being late but i did finis it ! okay there are lots of new things in this chapter and i like it WAY more than the old one becuase the old one is stupid and guess who appears and has a narration in it even though he's no supossed to have one until way later can't say but he does and it lke realy chnaged the chapter soem events i didn't ever know happened and some that i'm trying to stick to the original plot is happening but think i might have to move away from the first plot just a tiny bit , ut anyway here it is in all of it's glorry
- Location:moms house
- Mood: calm
well i finshed this :) and i have to say it i much love it more that the other chapter six, they are almost unrecornizable becuase in the other chapter six i rambled on about pain for like 14 pages ( trying to get my word count) and in this one things actually happened and i like all the elements that i had in this one that i took out of the other one, i added a dream and the dreams are becomign more and more mehaphoric for the charecters life they should and not just the same valley over and over and over again i think those might change but i'm not sure yet, i'm still in the first hundred pages though i'm getting really close to breaking out of the first hundred pages and then i will do a little dance of celebration for you all ! but anyway here is chapter six and there isn't a boy or girl in this chapter i do two and then a skip a chapter ( i think) so here you go commnet please , don't be like fiction press
More than decades have passed in the wake on my thrashing about, for I can feel it in my joints and in my throbbing head, but I cannot open my eyes to see: the wrap and scarf have found me once more. But I can feel the icy water of the ocean drenching me as I slowly meander my way towards the lights, if they are here. This is odd seeing that the magnets would have found purchase on me by now… Why would they not now? Every pain to me is mute; I can feel my lungs fidgeting and my head throbbing, but the degree of pain is absent to me, like the world is too enraged to care about me any longer. Though there is blood seeping from me still, the warmth of the metallic substance warming the immediate waters around me, causing me to be in a delicious haze; haze is nice; haze is good. Being exhausted and dying, and bleeding, and stiff, and almost numb isn’t a problem for the haze, for all is everything, and everything is nothing. Not even breath can interrupt this haze, and it doesn’t as I drift in the oceans lethargic currents, missing the magnets with every year that passes in the abyssal blinks.
Tendrils of voices can he heard from here, but nothing more in this haze of everything as if the speakers grow weary of talking when they open the conversation, and I can slightly feel other things nudging me in my mind, but the feeling abandons any hope. Though the magnets have finally found their inspiration and start tethering me closer towards something, but their gait is sluggish and woozy like I, like my metal has been eroded away by the times I have been in this ocean. It is possible; I have been here many times. In many years I breach the surface of the lights with a plop, albeit I’m still facing the water when the wrap and scarf uncoil around me, and my eyes flutter open. They are still feeling the aches of pain, urging me to succumb to a dreary slumber when the ocean’s stomach is reviled to me, stray rays of light shining down into the intestines until there is nothing to be seen, nothing to be heard, and nothing to live. Why can’t I just stay here? Why can’t the ocean just swallow me once and for all? Because the world doesn’t like to grant wishes, I will remain on Earth until I die a most unappealing death- death by music wouldn’t be nice.
Still here my lungs release the stale oxygen they cherish in brief gushes until nothing remains in their hollow carcasses, sending bubbles to be devoured by the ocean’s maw. There is nothing in me, and the haze is starting to evaporate with the absence of the scarf and wrap, so pain is tickling my skull and my spine, nail pain that is so brief I would arch my back if I could, but I can’t. I feel nothing but the pain, everything else is severed from my body as I lay here wobbling in the now crimson waters, drunken kittens swaying before me in a waltz so orchestrated it makes me want to cringe, but I can’t. And they envelop me with their metallic burns and moist fire when they enter my nostrils; with no air entering me my lungs are suspending their fits for nourishment, and the haze grows- leaving only few tangents to my being. Even as it grows the magnets become disgruntled at my lack of enthusiasm and tug at me again, but it does nothing as the light from above starts to wane, severing the swaying rays of light from the ocean’s feasting stomach. They are desperate to catapult me away from this ocean, but I have no feeling, no nothing as to do so, and the world is fuming down from his iron bridge, clutching the railing so that it bends to his rage; he isn’t straddling his stead, for he does not want me to die. What am I his entertainment? None of the pain that was gaining berth on my being can be felt as other strands of light are discarded from the light, but the magnets are persistent on getting me through this, and they seem feeble, for they aren’t able to gather me into their anxious grip and force me through the lights. For some reason the haze has infected the magnets too, as they can only budge me for a moment before succumbing to fatigue. One last splurge of breath comes through my purpling lips, and I see every bubble come into existence and then perish right before my eyes; it’s sort of watching life and death: we’re here for a moment then gone without explanation.
With that final breath, the haze consumes me, and I almost feel a warmth coursing through me like Jamie’s, but the frigid waters and the flu/ cold is the solstice of winter, and summer is months away in the darkness that is spawning in the light of the moon. But I don’t start plummeting into the greedy depths of the ocean, for the reaming vigor of the magnets sprouts forth from nothingness and is flinching with my burdening weight as it hovers me out of the ocean’s maw when the embankments meet each other in a tight smile; they saved me from a pleasurable death with the haze, thanks magnets. When the water dissipates dandelions sprout from the ground, and the magnets warily tug me to another direction before fainting, leaving me to fall upon the knee high dandelions; my tumble is cushioned by them, but the hazes charm is shattered when I’m out of the ocean’s grasp, and the pain from every fiber of my being is besieging once more, forcing me to breathe. An exasperated moan flows from me, but there is no more energy to continue as I lay here weeping in the pain in the dandelion valley. Tears are beyond my control, and only one death’s tear can be conjured in this pain, all else is silent weeping in this dense foggy place. Can it please just end? No! Somewhere in my frazzled mind I hear the voice say in outrage, but his commentary doesn’t bother me here, and I’m surprised he has any energy to commentate as well. Through my weeps I can see a glaring sapphire glow right before me, like a veil of light gliding right before one’s eyes. Could this be another entrance to the ocean, but I know it’s not. It’s something else as the circumference of the miniature veil is grooved and barren of any dandelions, and the water can be heard licking the sides of the bank. Wanting to take the land back from, wanting to engulf the world in water, that water is unlike the ocean, for it’s ken to the water I adore- the water I swim in constantly. That water would be nice to be in right now, among the fishes, but I’m anchored here, a fish on the sun.
Suddenly, the water gushes and swoons over to me; it’s warm and soothing, and I enjoy it, and there is a trashing of water like kids splashing in a pool along with a desperate gasp for air, like I when I come here. Drenched with tendril of water falling from her, a woman my age saunters from the water as though she is prey; her tattered peach dress barley covering as her sodden night hair drips in the semi- light. Panic is plastered upon her circular face, botching it with rosy splotches, when she turns towards me, but sees nothing- again I am invisible to the people who can help me. She is clutching a stained wooden picture frame to her breast as she pants,
“H-ha-have to g-go to La-Lavenderville”
There is something wrong with the name she says, for Lavender is just Lavender; there is no ville attached to the end of it. Her words are indifferent to me though as she limps toward something backwards of me; I attempt to move but the pain is too much to bear, but she treads back toward me with a frown impressed upon her face.
“I have to go. He’s almost here.”
She starts to move once more, but there is another sloshing sound from the waters, gurgling like one does with mouthwash, and it’s as though she has her own wrap and scarf. All I can see is her frantic breath as it comes out as more vapor. But she is only paralyzed for a moment; swiftly she skitters around towards the other side of the waters, kneeling down into the dandelions until nothing is left from view. I can barely hear her breathe now in the dreary setting; her breath taking a stroll instead of the prey it once was, completely obscured by the swelling of the water. The woman peeks up when nothing comes through for a moment, but as another gush of soothing water splashes upon me she plummets back down into seclusion, grasping the frame with all her might like it steals her breath and the tears she’s fighting to control. Something isn’t right about her reactions, something is terribly malignant is in her eyes when something splashes forth from the waters with ease. No panic, no gaping, just the ease of composure searing of the being as its first snort for breath is audible for many miles in either directions; the woman is panting through her nostrils, but none can hear except for me. A pearly hand grasps upon the tamed weeds, pale with fatigue and bewilderment as droplets of water cascade down the visible bone and veins. The blood is pulsing underneath the skin; I can see the hand, see it right before me as the indigo-looking veins pulse and move slightly with every ragged snort the person makes. Another hand grasp the land – indicial to the other but this one appears to have blood streaked on the knuckles and bones misplaced- and they both tug the being upon the land as it grunts. And this is the nightmare, for this is the face gazing right before me, exhausted and youthful he is, but the features are pending to become the cruel ones I know of.
Still, he is as to tranquil as the woman is to panic, forcing himself upon the dandelion ground until he owns it. My whimpers of pain turn into whimpers of fear your mother will not help you, his word reiterate in my mind as his drenches mess hops upon the ground beside me, and he’s right: my mother will not help me. Though there is nothing peculiar about him besides his face, for he’s wearing a leather jacket, jeans, and a white shirt; something about his attire doesn’t seem right for the face. Nothing seems right about him when he chuckles at the trees with that cruel smile plastered upon his face, the abyss just waiting for him the speak so that it can devour me. Before saying anything he turns back to me, his eyes grazing me for moment like he knows I’m here, but they avert before I begin to tremble in fear, inflict more pain on myself. I can feel the woman tense under the weeds when he crouches down with his smile broadening at the sight of the rippling waters: someone else is approaching the surface, for the waters are swelling and gurgling once more. And he only slaps his tongue at this, shaking his head in disgust as the waters ripple more furiously. Letting out his chuckle at the sight he places his hands on the film of the water, shutting his eyes to the world and to me, though the woman I still cautious with her breaths when his eyes are shut, and he is vulnerable. His mouth moves with a bewildering agility that shouldn’t even produce words but does, words that I can’t comprehend, but they are sharp in his tone as he piers down on his own work with admiration and cunning achievement. The waters – my waters – are shriveling up, becoming the weed as the shore continues to swallow up the rebellious waters. A part of me breaks at the sight of the veil dimming into a pastel, and then wanes further into an effervescent air current before leaving the air completely. Everything is gone - my water, my life, and my sanity – when the final sloshing of the water is taken from my ears and gives happiness to the youthful face. Bastard, but I don’t say it because it can’t, and I won’t… he’s too near. No one will be coming from the waters again, someone is stuck, and someone is dead. More of the repulsive dandelion weeds spew forth from the ground with another combination of words from the face, but all is becoming into the haze again, for sections of my body are starting to feel severed. My eyes are becoming lead as my breath has no meaning to me any longer; the haze has returned, the pain banished, but fear is still striking me. Fear is the essence of the face, and the face is starring right at me with his hollow face. Like he can see me, like he knows me, and like he despise me. Now I want to run, run to my mother, but I know she won’t save me, no one does, and no one will.
For a moment I want to bolt from here, but my wants are becoming obscured by the haze and my vision dimming like the veil; nothing can get me to budge now, now even the face. But the face isn’t looking at me; he’s looking at the woman; he can’t see her completely, but the dandelions aren’t suffice protection from his gaze. Her panic remains calm when his pure sapphire eyes dart to her, not furious, and not hostile, just relaxed. He pushes up from the ground without making a sound treading away from this place whispering more words and phrases I haven’t the knowledge of knowing, but he is forever gazing at the plumes of indigo smoke mingling with the silver sky clouds from… Lavenderville. Almost jumping with excitement he finishes his words then smiles at the polluted sky,
“When smoke clouds the eyes, there is nothing to see but plenty to learn.” And then he shoves he hands in his drenched jacket- not bothering to dry himself- and trots toward the ravenous forest fringing this valley, towards the Lavender of the past, but how far in the past?
Without stopping he trots away from the weeds until my haze cannot view him and cannot hear me; it takes the woman twice as long to emerge from her captivity, and then she is carful with stealth, never fully emerging from the weeds, and never glimpsing towards the face went. She stops when she reaches the cluster of dandelions where the waters once more, kneeling as if she is in a haze, her knees hitting with a thud. The look on her face is no longer of panic but longing as she swipes away the dandelions, forging through the dirt to see if there is water beneath the topsoil: there is none. Then she sighs and places one of her hands upon the barren hole – the other fastened on the picture frame – and hesitantly whispers words of sobriety. Nothing happens to the ground, but the waters stream down her left cheek as she sniffs and tries again, hand getting covered in the dirt as she applies more pressure to the ground and the words she speaks. Still nothing, and a heart retching expression comes over her face at the realization that she must use both hands; her hand is shaking when she detaches the frame from her breast and onto the soil, glancing at it to make sure nothing takes it before firmly pressing her hands upon the soil and arching her back while saying the words, more streaks of teas proceeding. She continues like this for a few minutes before the face appears again and remarks,
“Give up, it won’t let you in.” His newly fashioned cunning smile still terrifies me as it does her when she fletches back, grasping the frame as se gapes at him, stammering ,
“H-h-h-h-ho – ” But the face doesn’t let her continue and raises his hand.
“ I’m powerful, you’re not. I’m not looking to kill – so don’t let me find you again. Ari won’t see me for a while, and I don’t want to see anyone from it!” Those last words slash into her, and she fumbles whilst crawling away, but he says a few words and is gone again. Sickening, he’s real and he can do that… witches don’t have that sophisticated of words yet.
With the face gone the woman creeps back to her spot blowing a kiss to the dirt before saying,
“I’ll be back. I promise.” There is nothing more for her to do, and she pushes herself up gazes to the mountains with a frown and then back to Lavender with bleary eyes, and starts striding over to Lavender, limping, always keeping an eye around her, and the frame to her heart.
The haze consumes me then, taking my vision as the wrap and scarf coil around me, the ocean’s maw opening beneath me- other water tickling me as I plunge into the freezing stuff. Once again the kittens are dancing around me in their drunken stupor, but it’s only for a moment, for the ocean shoves me out and on my back to be greeted by a sparely lit room with an infant crying in the back ground. Nothing else is visible in this room- no décor, no paint- just a subtle tint of light in the room off towards the side, but nothing more as the crying of the infant increases to a wail, pounding my head and threatening to shatter the haze around me, my comfortable haze. It echoes and expands on the invisible walls of this place and pounds against me again; my energy isn’t enough for my eyes to stay afloat much longer, and they start to drift down when I hear a voice warped in rage,
“Shut up! This takes extreme concentration, and I can’t do this when you’re balling.” Such words only cause the infant to shriek higher until my haze crumples and the pain from everything comes thrashing down upon me.
Something like a stab is heard and all goes silent, but I manage to think before my haze is reconstructed and my body becomes numb once again. Did I just hear a murder? But I have no answer before the exhausted magnets force me down with no breath and no thought, watching the kittens dance before the world as I know it dims like the veil and like the rays of light when the waters were shrieking, but it’s nothing like that, for my vision wanes away as I feel further detached from my being, until the ocean slips away from me, but I’m still here.
Amber and sliver are swaying at each other once more in my dreams, but their wafts of fury aren’t as lethargic as they were last time; no, they are hostile and eager to wound one another, but their bodies only clash together again and again until all is the pristine white of nothingness and death. Blinding and mysterious it is without my haze to obscurer it; here I am naked, naked to everything and waiting for injury, to feel something that I was, and feel something that is bad, but nothing comes in this blinding place but a queer silence of a different time. Not the time of yesterday and not the time of tomorrow, and not the time of today, but a different time of peace; for my life has never been peaceful. The face does not linger here, but his words do your mother will not save you, shattering the silence that I have immersed myself in, causing me to back away from his vile voice but to go nowhere at the same time. His words boom and boom around me again and again slashing at me, leaving more gashes in me than before, letting the blood splatter across the blank canvas that is this dream, but I feel fine- like nothing is being ripped from me, nothing is happening as the years transpire and I continue to back away from the voice: going nowhere, getting lost. Every word slashing into me adds tons of weight upon me, and I try to fend off the weight, but the pressure bends my knees, forcing me to bow down to the words. I’m falling into the nothingness with the world straddling me in joy, hollering occasional insults to my lack of speed, and the words continue to bash until I suck up the words and scream,
“Shut up! She’s better than you.”
My words do not stop his, his become most hostile, but I still feel nothing; I shut my eyes and imagine I’m swimming in the river right in the forest, letting the good waters glide warmth through my cuts and bruises, let the waters lather me in joy, and let the water take me in its current. Warmth is felt around me first, then the water as I open my eyes to see the murk depths of the river and the drunken kittens in rehab. Everything may look like a deep shade of burgundy, but here I feel at peace as I rise from the waters to see the forest surrounding me on either side of the bank, lush and towering over the fat rolling river.
“All that’s ‘missin is the fish… and my clothes.” I crack a smile over to the back and splash absentmindedly at the water, but when I feel something tap on my shoulder I pale.
I turn around, frown already present, to see the reflection; his dead eyes and stone face fracture the dream, things are becoming distorted and not soothing; the water is freezing me. He doesn’t give me time to pose the question when he interjects,
“This could end, if you just give up your body. Float away into your subconscious,” now he smile like the face and splashes me with nails, “wouldn’t you like that?”
Here there is silence for a year, and in response I pluck more nails at him, “No.” he doesn’t respond to that, but it feels as through the nails in this water are boring themselves into me, gorging away at the little uncared flesh I have, but there is no scarlet trail to be seen. All is silent until he floats from the water and kicks me in the jaw; my hand flies to my jaw as my head jolts to the side, for I felt that- felt the bone his bone and fracture. Before I can do anything else, he bends down to the river and freezes it and then jumps over the forest and stares his dead stare until the entire forest is withering into a white ash, bowing down to him until there is nothing but barren gravel for forever. I spit out a glob a scarlet spit, messaging my jaw but it still aching in pain when he returns. Again he stares at me with his dead eyes and bearded chin and says,
“I’ll be waiting, there is more to come from your choices infant.” Pure loathing is radiating off of him as he ascends again, and I tread away from him in case he attempts to wound me again, but he’s too fast a slams his fist into my nose, chuckling as we floats to the banks and walks freely on the raw shells and jagged walk of a once beautiful forest. Everything is dead, dead like my dream, and dead like my life, for he will just keep on infiltrating my dreams until I succumb to his authority. For a moment I toy with the ice around me, even trying to break free by force and my metal fire, but I can’t wield my dreams like he does. My dreams have forsaken me, leaving me alone with my death, but my fire is still burning, and it will not be defeated by the killer of the trees and the freezer of the right water.
- Location:moms house
- Mood: creative
well this chapter certianly threw me for a loop becuase i added some scnenes and took a lot out but for some reason it's longer than the original chapter five, but i like this one better expcially the added thing that i'm not going to say one will just have to read to find out :) and i like the kissing sence better in this version. I find my wiritng has greatly imporved since the dark days of last year, sirously what was i thinking? Today i wrote somthing from lillian's pov and i like it :) it MAY be the end of one of the stoies of the prequals but i woudld add more if it it becuase i found it depresingly short but i loved the ending , i may post the other thing i wrote in sasha the other day some time but for now it's chapter five . five. Tommrow is chapter six , i'll need tripple shots to do that one... i hate chapter six
Chapter Five: Faces “Hear the voices, be the voices, and see the voices young mind readers, but safeguard ones sanity, or become one of stone.” Alise, witch
My question remains in my mind, but it feels as though I have spoken it; why is she here, this place hasn’t been ours for eighteen years? Her amber eyes widen in confusion as they lay upon me and Jamie, and her aura about her seems to quench in some sort of fear as it her burgundy curls seem to pale in this dandelion light as her sun kissed flesh appears to have mold and ridges in it, but only for a moment. Being a witch, my mother has the advantage of having the fountain of youth on her side, and even though she is forty-five she appears to be only eighteen. What could make her so weary that her youthful appearances fade for moment, however brief it may be? Something tells me that she isn’t happy to see me, but before I can ask to why she is here, the wrap coils around me; the scarf on holiday elsewhere. There is no feeling; there is no thought; there is no life in this embrace, but the magnets from the ocean aren’t tugging at me, and the maw of the ocean isn’t gnawing me down into its frigid stomach: pain is what I finally feel when the freezing of my being is complete. A pain that is subtle at first, but as the moments grow into the hours it feels as through my flesh is ripping from the seams, like when the nails of water were shredding me just hours before this.
For once I am not paralyzed, and I can breathe the stale air of this cottage; ghost of furniture lay abound, and there are various blotches of mildew and disrepair in on the ceiling, but it’s comforting as the pain intensifies, and I moan crumpling down to the floor. Freezing from this flu- or cold or whatever it may be- and I feeling as though my blood is not in me, my breath becomes shallow… then I feel my once healed injuries flare to life once more, blood spewing from my nose, blood trialing from my backside. Blood everywhere, the vortex not in my mouth yet, but soon to be if this continues to be so; Jamie backs away from me slowly, but not in horror but in amazement, amazement that I still sustain such injuries when just moments ago they were healed. How is this possible when the woman healed me; why are these things continuing to happen to me when things are already horrible? I know why; the world I still perched on its metal bridge, gazing down at me with adoring hatred: it will never stop until I am dead, which I was almost mere moments ago. So close, but yet so far, and now it’s galloping down with its steed again, ignoring Lillian’s frantic strides as she plummets down to my crumples state as I wince, and shiver, and wince, and the moan from the pain of everything bombarding me. Somehow it feels as though she feels guilty from all of this, and somehow I believe her.
At my side again is Jamie, as she places her hands on my shoulder, and I tremble in pain… something else courses through me at her touch, something smoldering and icy at the same time, nevertheless my reaction causes her to retract such motion.
“Is he going to die?” She asks Lillian.
She doesn’t answer for a while, for in silence they are- save for my moans- as Lillian places her hand on my shoulder and the other on my face, covering my vision, but everything is a blur anyway. Hours pass, and without concern for my pain, she is shoving me with all her power as if that will assist her with her own magic, and murmuring the words I haven’t heard the woman speak, more powerful they seem, more deliberate, and more yearning is in them.
“ Medi ominio, medi omino, medi omino, medi moi.”
All of those words don’t make sense to me, but I know they may work… but I know they may not; magic never always works. They are in silence as now, both gazing down at my purple and light blues that are slowly claiming my body, as more injuries come about, more that I didn’t have before, and more making my body frail and decrepit; my veins sag and my heart grows weary of pumping like the peach in the afternoon twilight.
“Shouldn’t we get him to a hospital?” Now Jamie has fright in her voice; it tremors and threatens to shatter her composer.
Still, my mother does not answer, still she murmurs the treacherous words, and her feelings of guilt and doubt are in her words now as she says one final word, a word I know isn’t used for medicine but for repairing,
“Repario!” That word means something to her, a word laced with disgust and pity, and the magic starts to work, but not the warming and soothing passion of things… the world’s breath and saliva are on me, more so than before. And he is enraged at the working of this magic, for he has finally arrived to take me, and I would still take his gnarled hands and go onto the intricate iron bridge to be no more of this place; the ancient soot would be a pleasure to see.
It is like the woman’s magic yesterday, how is felt like she was actually killing me, and how I thought she could be the enemy after all, but this is my mother… why is her magic so absent, so distraught? They remain silent for hours and years when I blink but see nothing; the pain is subsiding, but it’s still eager to capture me in its grasp once more, though my moans have ceased. Lillian seems to have noticed this, for her pressure and hands are removed from me, but the world is still a multicolor blur, and I feel the world leaving me as my shut my eyes and nothing is what I see, but I still hear the last words of Jamie before I drift off into sleep,
“Is he going to be okay?”
“Never, but this will be good,” Lillian replies, frightened and worried for me, but she doesn’t want to show it: she is.
Cold and dying I drift from the cottage into the clutches of dreamland, into my life, smiling bleakly before I reach the border of the world and life.
Here there is the ground, but the ground is not here; it’s something translucent and effervescent: silver. The sky is here, but the sky is not here; bleak and opaque it is, morbid and livid is it: amber. In-between the two is nothing, but they appear to be grasping for each other, trying to claim the rights to this dream but failing each time; the battle isn’t hostile but lethargic. Both hues entwining together until only one shade of bland white covers the dream in radiance, but the ground still is none, nothing for me to find purchase on, nothing for stability, and there are no words or feeling, or thought here. Just the silence like when I was dying, but this silence isn’t intimidated by other words, for they aren’t any…just the silence… just me is here.
Only for a moment is this dream here, for another one is spawned from my memories, a dream that I haven’t seen for many a year; the whiteness is still present, but a face is being carved from its dimensions, a face that is soft and cruel. Its eyes are oval and sapphire, in contrast to the white they appear to be floating oceans; the hair is platinum and is cropped short on every side; the lips are rosy pink and are inflated lightly, but the teeth they harbor are camouflaged in with the dream, but I know they are daggers of hatred; the jaw is acute, and the nose is fattened. His appearance may not be sinister, but I know better: this is Alden; this is the man who cannot be trusted in dreams. Those eyes strike fear in me, germinate the fear that I once had in dreams when I was a toddler, for he was what I dreamed of; he what took my life from me on regular occasion, and he is doing it again now.
“Get away from me,” I choke out, but my voice has no power here, and I begin to shiver in fear from this face as his maw opens to expose the razor sharp teeth and the abyss that waits to consume me.
No, I will not be ruled over by childhood fear, and so I ball my fist and summon my anger to fend off the face, but it feeds the face; the face grows and grows larger until it dwarfs me and the dream around me… nowhere to go… nowhere to hide… and nowhere to live. And my fear is consuming me until I can no longer stand with my shivering, and I lose my stamina and fall shivering to the ground, the wrap and the scarf, and the world all awaiting for me to do so, and they coil around me with vengeance. But I am not me; I am my four year old self, crying and sobbing at the face as it approaches with nowhere to go, the abyss of death expanding past his inflated lips and coming to me, coming to me without hesitation, wanting to eat me, wanting to take me from this place that I hate so much but would rather stay instead of going in there: going into impossibly. Sob and sob ripples through me as my four year old self blubbers,
“Mommy save me, she saves me.”
“Your mother will not save you!” The face booms, causing the little joy I had left to evaporate as the tears stain my face, breathing becoming difficult with the sob, and the trails of snot from my nose burning my nose. Though there is still one I think of, “Daddy?” I question, but the face only chuckles and gives no answer; I don’t need one. The abyss takes me, feeds on me, and continues to laugh his sly laugh as I fall into the nothingness and my sobs stop, for there is nothing to cry about now, only what I know has come true: no one will come save me when I need it most.
With that realization I become my eighteen- year – old self once again, but still crying, still wanting to die in this dream, and still falling into the abyss. But not alone, never alone, and the reflection is by my side, with rage and revulsion printed on his face. No words are coming forth from his mouth, but no words are coming from mine, nothing is coming from mine; silent crying is better than loud crying anyway, but it’s still crying. Here the rules of sound are nonexistent, for he still looks at me as if I have committed come horrible crime, I have, but I don’t want to admit it.
“You will pay for this,” He says, but I ignore it, what can an image in a dream do?
Before he can do or say anything else, I shut my eyes in the dream, and it feels as if I’m being tugged back to reality, back to an unruly life. Everything is dissolving, and coming together, and sound is coming to m ears again, but I don’t want to hear it, and I don’t want to open my eyes to anything else. I just let the world evaporate from my sight and from my ears until I feel nothing else and the world has me in is paws again and purrs at my comfort in there; Earth is awestruck at my compliance, and she is contemplating if I will stay, but I don’t care, for nothing is what I see, and nothing I what I do.
Aching still from the healing of my wounds, I grunt when a flash a blinding light flares to life, forcing me to squint or else be blinded for life. Still freezing and a bit woozy from this cold, I have no desire to sit up; I am the rustic heap of metal the ocean’s magnets detect before dredging me into its maw- lifeless, want less, breathless, and sightless. But there is a faint warmth I feel beside me, something that melts the hinges of my eyes, and so I open them a slither to the harsh light to see Jamie still waiting beside me in earnest, and when I look at her the coils of the wrap and scarf appear to vacate my body for a brief moment, her wan smile gracing her face, but the moment is too brief to consider doing anything with it. Lillian is at a cobalt painted wooden door, slightly fighting as if her grey cashmere sweatshirt and jeans are constricting her tightly; she is whispering something to herself, it almost sounds like a melody that I once knew, but the way she is singing it doesn’t fill me with joy like I know it would, something is askew about it, as is her. Everything is silent again, save for Lillian singing her semi-depressing tune. Dream, dream, dream a good dream, and don’t be scared by the fairy queen. There’s nothing to be said for people who are scared in bed. Dream, dream, dream a good dream, there aren’t any queens. Fight, and dream, and love, and never bow down to the queen. That’s all I can really hear of the song, but it doesn’t go on for much longer before her words stop with almost a clatter of sorrow, though I can’t tell. Slowly she turns from the door to look upon me with her slightly happy eyes but mostly monotonous in this light, which is waning by the second, but at her movement it brightens again. She draws no smile for me as she ambles over with no haste, just Lillian in her essence: exhausted- looking and worn on emotion. Then why was she singing that song? Songs take emotion to sing, and to me it appears she has some, but not the ones she wants.
Lillian knees down to me and caresses my side, and I offer her more of my vision, but nor much more, for this is just exhausting for some reason. Stupid flu/ cold thing.
“Are you okay?” The glow to her skin in absent and her hair appears to be frazzled as her expression is one of concern, and her tone is one of apprehension.
Beyond these walls a clashing of sky is heard from us all, Lillian looks toward the door in faint worry but it soon back to me as I clear my throat and respond,
“Just a little tired, might be better later.” To further show my answer I yawn the grizzly yawn I have fashioned lately, though stretching is impossible, for my arms are limp.
It appears that she isn’t buying my act, though I do feel better than before the dream and during the dream, this isn’t that much better. Still caressing my side, she says,
“I think you should stay here tonight. You don’t look well, and I don’t want you to be alone if they open again.” When she says ‘them’ I know she’s insinuating my wounds, even now in this semi- warmth I can feel them bruising still. I’m going to be a purple and blue pekoe- doted mess tomorrow. Sara might be worried a bit, but I doubt she’ll go off looking for me after one night’s absence; even the nice landlords don’t do that.
Without pondering it over I give her a slight nod, wanting to drift back to dreamland, but not wanting to go back to the dream I just vacated from. Such a conundrum I am in.
“Umm,” Jamie speaks up from behind, “… can I stay too?”
For some reason Lillian is hesitant to answer before she gives her a tight nod along with a yeah in her direction,
“But I don’t have a place for you two to sleep,” She says almost defensively, but with too much exhaustion to tell, “ The couch here was incinerated eighteen years ago; it was a gift from Fredric’s mom. So… there is only the floor and a toddler bed in here.”
Those words spark my interest in the new room that I find myself in, all around us are scattered toys with visible layers of dust upon them, encompassing us are walls plastered with a periwinkle paint, and below me is a shaggy olive carpet separate from the rest of the cottages scarred wooden floors. This would have been my room, this could still be my room, but it never was, and it never will be. A shadow of sadness crosses my face at the thought of such things, much like the exhausted look of Lillian, and I can see it in her eyes as she looks at me; she knows what I’m feeling and feels the same pain. Another clash from the sky actually shakes the cottage, lighting flares outside, but there aren’t any widows to see here, and silence urges to come back after nature’s fury, but Jamie is persistent,
“The floor is good,” she shrugs then says, “ I’ll go take a shower, it’s in the room next door right?” Another tight nod from Lillian and Jamie staggers up, waving to me as she opens the door and closes it behind her.
Alone together silence reigns supreme over the room as she gazes over to the other side, still holding to me, but the lingering thoughts of her obliterating the couch when the feud erupted into being eighteen years ago causes me to speak out on something I have been wanting to know for years, as to why no one would save me when I would need it,
“Mom,” now that snaps her attention back to me, “ why do you and,” it takes every ounce of my energy to say this, “ dad fight so much?”
There is a silence in her eyes and a silence coiling around us as years transpire as she looks at me in almost a plea to retract my question. What could be that horrible? So much pleading is in her amber like eyes that I want to close my own, go back to the nightmare that I once wanted to extinguish, but I can’t, and I won’t be taken aback by such emotions. Could it be my adultery theory; the words are lead on my tongue, but I speak them anyway,
“Did one of you guys… you know, cheat –” From the look on her face, the sudden flush and rage, I know I am incorrect, but her words are still needed for clarification.
With the up most calm, she takes her other hand and cups my hairless chin, her words sharp like the teeth of the face,
“No, he just did something baby. That’s all you need to know.” And with her final words she takes her hand from my chin, and starts to push herself upwards, but I still have one more question. The question that I thought right when we got here: why is she here? However cryptic her answers may be, is still want to know why she is here, and why if we still own this why doesn’t one of them live in it; I would like the forest if I lived in it. My family is so complicated, too much of a conundrum for me. Before she’s completely up right, the words launch themselves at her in a riot,
“Mom,” again, it catches he attention back to me, “why are you here?” My words are like lead and she’s an ocean; they sink her down to me as she realizes why she is here,
“Love, this place is a symbol of your father and I’s love. We lived here three years Derik and… and I can’t stop coming back,” her emotions are fringing her words and I can hear her ultimate sorrow, “He even owns this place… but I can’t not come. That’s why I’m here” Those last few words are difficult for her to say, and I feel bad for asking, but why wasn’t I told about this place? I’ll keep that to myself for now and probably forever. “I think I’ll go now- to my room I mean- call me if you need anything.”
All crippling emotions aside, she grasps my hand and then kisses my cheek before rising up and treading to in and out the door. I’m only alone for a few minutes (lights slightly still on), for Jamie comes gliding into the room, hair soggy and tousled and skin moist, in the same clothes as before she left; I don’t think she remembered she wouldn’t have any clothes when she volunteered to shower first. Still, she doesn’t seem bothered by it when she comes sit by me; the warmth that she radiates fends off the freezing cold that wraps around me. Everything is a dull ache, but there is still pain, and I still have no energy to really sit up right, but her warmth defrosts my joints as I become more disoriented when I grunt a force myself up off the carpet and against the periwinkle walls. Why do you do such thinks? My muscles wail as my heart aches and my mind pounds from the physical exertion. I have to take a few deep breaths before the room is sort of balanced, but all feels like the dream- nightmare- where there was no balance. And with the constant bashing of the sky and trembling of the cottage, I see no stability in the future. She gazes at me with those emerald eyes, and a smile spreads with her deflated lips – not like the face at all – that makes more of my frost melt from me. This feeling aids my flu/cold, but the fuzziness of my vision cannot be helped.
“So, you okay right?” Another person who is concerned about my welfare, but I answer her with a nod, not much up for talking.
Even though she is the one who asked to stay here, I can tell that she is feeling misplaced, a crystal among coal, in this situation; nervously, she laughs, and her finger tips brush up against my own. Sparks and fireworks shoot through me as everything is erased from my memory over the pass few hours, and I can see the fire in her eyes when she leans closer, and closer, and closer to where our foreheads meet and our breath is an inferno in each other’s mouths.
“What are we doing?” She whispers, but I don’t have an answer as our lips get closer and closer and more if forgotten when our tender flesh meets again, but on our lips. Like burning friction is what I feel like as our exchange goes longer, transcends to peck we both had in mind, and becomes something more. This feels right, better than the making out couple who was beneath me today, but my muscles aren’t swayed by this feeling, not even the ones connected to my lips, and I sever our attachment as things come into a strange clarity. We are still connected at forehead when another clash from the sky threatens to condemn the cottage; Jamie chuckles and looks up to the ceiling out the corner of her eye,
“The goddess of love isn’t happy with this, did you ever date her?” Unable to speak I shake my head a bit as to no sever or attachment there; her heat still feeds my clarity. “Then I guess she wouldn’t be happy with this either.” And she kissed me again, but on the bridge of my nose- where the blood has been washed away- and then lightly back on my lips.
“I need to take a shower,” Is all I can say when she finishes, and she chuckles at the remark, but it’s true.
Exhausted as I am I give her he hand to help me up, and she pulls me up as we separate, he warmth leaving me as I stride away from her saying,
“I won’t be long.” It’s true, I won’t.
But she doesn’t answer me, and I only concentrate on walking in a straight line and walking without crumpling in on myself, for I am still not recovered from my injuries, even with magic. Slow with gait, I manage to make it to the door within a year, and I don’t bother in closing it when I go through it, but I do bother with the bathroom door. More blinding light greets me here, and I wince and squint my eyes as my head throbs in rebellion to the harsh light, why do lights do such things? As I blink away the gaping holes in my vision once the initial blindness has lapsed I start undressing myself mechanically starting as I fling my stained and ragged slip-ons off and watch my jeans slide off when I exhale every breath I have-no socks for me. There isn’t a place for me to place my clothes in here, just a beige shower/tub with a drab shower curtain, charcoal covered walls, toilet, and a wooden cabinet listening to one side precariously, the plastic sink and faucet stained with rust may have something to do with it. Shirt flung somewhere and boxers under me I lean over to the shower curtain and fling it aside, turning the nozzle for hot water all the way. There is nothing for a while until a groan from the in disrepair pipes and then a vicious spray of water comes from the shower head,
“Whoa, this has more water pressure than Fredric’s apartment.” And I flinch away from it for a moment before jumping in, closing the curtain behind me.
What I find in there is cold, freezing, the wrap and scarf infested water which causes me to let out a holler when I reach it and it pounds on my face with nails of snow. There is a feeble knock on the door not a minute later: Lillian,
“You okay?”
“Yeah, just the water,” Nothing more, nothing less, and she is gone as I back away from the spray to get the bar of soap on the back ledge.
“Didn’t I say you would pay, infant?” The voice remark, but that would mean he’s the reflection, was it a dream or a vision?
I have no time to answer before it’s as if I’m in the rapids of water once more, and the nails are slashing against me, but there is more pain, uncontrollable pain that makes me convulse, and I’m trashing around the tub shrieking from the pain, shrieking from me. In me the voice chuckles as I stop convulsing, but I watch as crimson rivulets trickle around me, my vision blurring as the nails continue to slash me… the face smiling at me in the trails of blood. Your mother will not save you, it mocks. Maybe she will, but I don’t feel like toying with maybe right now; I want defined answers. Blood is pouring from me again from my head and from various another places, and I’m downing in it, drowning in my own life, when the door slams open and Lillian comes frantic and unstable. My vision is all a blur when she reaches me, and all I can see is orange and the outline of the face as it comes nearer and near and then has me in his abyss, and then I scream, but nothing comes out.
They all stare at me while I sleep all of the birds I have made through the years and other animals too… even some giraffes, but I don’t want their gazes on me, so I don’t sleep tonight. I look out into the sky instead, where this is an astonishing show for m viewing pleasure. But I can feel the rage searing from the clouds, feel the animosity from the flashes and bangs, making it a horrible sight, for I know who is making this sight, and I wonder if the person who has made him this enraged is dead. No, I know the person is dead; it’s in his nature to do so. As I ponder such thoughts another angry flash illuminates the entire forest, for a minute all the forest is, is a great streak of chalk. And then I see his face in my glass, and gasp flaying around until I convince myself that it’s only my mind. Still, I glance behind me to make sure he’s where he’s supposed to be, and he is, but I cannot look back at the sky. Instead I whisper into my hand,
“Ahh” It summons a flickering flame to my hand, and rise from my seat on my bed to the peering birds, hand a flame. I touch one and watch as the emerald paper gradually chars and crumples, and smolders with amber embers leaving a delicious and painful tendril of smoke in its wake until nothing is left but ash and the string I hung it with. Then I do another and another until a billowing cloud of smoke is around me and a whining sound from my computer asks me if I would like to turn on the sprinklers and tears bite my eye, tears of remembrance. All of them char, sending dangerous amounts of flame upon my floor, but the flying fire mesmerizes me as I fall back upon my bed and cry and cough as a monsoon of rain is conceived in my room. Washing away the animals, washing away the feelings, but there’s still a problem: I’m still here. I need to get out, I have made a promise, but I can’t, not until he does…which will be never. I open my eyes to see the giraffe staring at me, unscarred by the rain of flame or the rain of tears, just staring at me from the ground.
It tells me to move, it tells me to try, and it tells me to breathe, but that’s easy coming from it, from her. But my tears stop and I breathe, whipping away the tracks from my face because even though it hurts, the pain of doing nothing is worse.
comment please :)
- Location:moms house
- Mood: bored
okay i have been having this problem with this word for a while now, not the meaning just the usage of it in general. For some reason- a reason i cannot fanthom authors are stuck on calling the male love intrest beautifl, which irrates me a lot. Every time I see it somthing goes off in my head like a big siren saying WRONG WRONG DAMN WORD. Becuase even though there aren't really any masculin and feminin words in the enlgish like there are in french and spanish and other langages, beauitful is more of a feminine word in english without it being said so. Don't belive me, immagin telling your best girl freind beaituful and then imagin telling the boy ones likes beautiful, lets replay the conversation shall we,
"You're beautiful."
*Boy looks at one wierd with shifty eyes* "Ehhh Okay."
Becuase i don't give a shit what boy one is talking to, i don't think they will be very pleased being called beautful, it doesn't fit right in any context. Now there are some other other words one can use like hot, gorgeous ( for some reason it fits i don't know why, but it does.) , and handsome. Handsome being my first pick becuase it has more meaning to me, hot it just a word used like everyday, and gorgeous is melodramtic, but it can be used when swooning over somone :P.
Now, why WHY do authors make this so,is it becuase i am mostly reading female authors- male authors are HARD to find in the YA section let me count i have here 16/31 of my books are of male authors so maybe not SO hard but lets see how many are from a boys POV 33/116 and 7 of them are the hp books. So it is point of view? or is it the author ???
thoughts people ? i need your thoughts!
- Location:moms house
- Mood: blah
so i was reading chapter five today sicne i needed to read it to re-write it and i am doing it i have made little progress becuase i was trying to listen to a playlist and i needed to download itunes and that took forever but i have gotten to a place and i'm about to introduse "the voice" aka Darwin but i migth end up changing the title of the chapter but i don't know yet and we will see after i finsh wriitng from "girls" pov i know her nam ei just don't know when i'm going to reveal it.
so anywa, back to why i may just gag, i was reading and i was like now wonder i don't have that mnay readers becuase my writing sucked at the time and i think it still does but i have imporved GREATLY from the horrible things i use to write a year ago, so much change can happen in a year i neevr knew so much possible. Any way i was appaled at how i wrote the romace between Derik and Jamie-=- i think staying up until way too late listenign to pop music had somthing to do with it but i don't know
anyway all i could think while i was writing it was I CAN'T BELVIE I AM WRITING LIKE MEYER AND THE WOMAN WHO WRITES EVERMORE sirously it was that bad and i won't even comment on the now infamous line in my head " What ever happens derik, don't forget me" i just want to kill myself when i think of that line want to kill myself right now when i think of how horrible the line is and why would i write such a thing it's not in this chapter but i know it's in the chapter when they time travel becuase jamie's all melodramtic when that happened back then
but now she's not like that, she is watchign deirk die with lillian trying so desprety to revive him with her own magic ( but you will see why her magic is so not reliable later, in memoies :) i love that damn chapter it's my favoite out of all my chapters i ahve ever writen ever!) and she isn't crying or any of that but she starting to show her emotions through that veil that she used to use to protect herself with and to to worry her family.
whiloe lillian isn't breakigndown either, even though she knows that her magic isn't going to work very well, ,she knows thta she is the balme for what is happening to derik she knows a lot of thinks that is making it hard for her.
as i talk about lillian i have a surpies for everyone ... i may write some prequals becuase i loved writing memoires realy loved it and like i saw how much they loved eachother when i was writign it and... i don't know might just make what if chapters but i want to see what happened before all of the derik stuff ( and the after math right after) i have a little proluge for the first one in my head, so i don't know if i'm going to wrtie it or not... but i want to opinions ! tell me if i should, wich would delay every other story i have on the grill EVERY OTHER STORY keep that in mind.
but i have finished chapter 5.5 :) going to post it tommrow since every time i post i go back and change the pov at the end a little... i'll let it simmer for a while
and then tommrow is goign to be my rant on beatiful iv'e been waiting to write about that for a while
- Location:moms house
- Mood: calm
this was suposed to come up yesterday but i didn't save it right and it got delated , much the same as how i had to re-write a few pages the other day becuase i didn't save them right, i was mad so i didn't immedtly re-write it iv'e been reading so i havn't been editing but i have finished the books i have right now and i make it a law that you must go read them RX by Tracy Lynn, Wikcked Lovely, Ink Exchange, and Fragile Eternity but Milissa - Marr i make it law! now go read them Fragile Eternity made me cry last night :'( i can't wait for the next book ( i'm thinkign there is going to be another book i tried going to the authors site but it's under constuction grrr) anywy go read them as i might have noticed Wicked: Resseraction isn't on here and neither is Blue Moon so... u don't have to read them :p ANYWAY here you go .... almost forogt what to explain what this is sorries its a re-write of Boy's pov for chapter four sorries again :)
I am with her, in this dreamland again, but it is neither time for night nor the time for sleep. Something is keeping this Jamie from awakening, something is keeping her from enjoying the light of surrender and the warmth day, I just don’t know what. Here in this dream with enraged skies and placid waters there is nothing but the murmuring of her silent words and the shivering of her being next to me. She is sobbing in her sleep, sobbing with horrid silent sobs capable of many things but is inhibited by her blindness, by her ignorance. There is something about her that beckons me over, something I cannot answer for many reasons, but still I crawl evasively towards her in this silence, for anything could awaken her in this state, and I haven’t an urge to witness what could happen when she awakens without desire. We are dangerous; we are unpredictable; and we need to be eliminated, as other species with far too much power have been over the millennia. Beside her, her breath is labored and hurried, like she is the prey instead of the predator; tendrils of lighting are flaring on her finger tips as her breath becomes more ragged and unpredictable: like her and me. My own breath is becoming worried- concerned- for this Jamie, for is she worried her power will manifest quicker then need be, well my need anyway. I stoop down to her covered ear steadily, trying to give reason for her power to lash out at me, and ask,
“Are you okay?” No answer, nothing, as she continues to shiver and sob in silence, nothing like the silence I once knew six thousand years ago, but the silence of something fractured and shattered, something that she is and she is showing me.
No tears are coming forth from her eyes, but the salty tears from the enraged sky are seeping from its impassive face, attempting to preserve the dream as it is, but Jamie’s power is seeping in this dream, seeping out eagerly but impeded by her own scorn for her anvil. They are begrudged tears, and they do not flow freely from the sky, slow is their decent when it reaches the placid water and on this plank of ice. The only thing I can comfort her with is music, and so I attempt to make a string of song that will abolish the thing clinching to her thought, the thing that has made her deaf, blind, mute, and dumb. My result is a symphony that is almost mute, almost gone from this dream, but is audile enough for my ears- her ears- but it isn’t joyful: it’s mournful. Plagued by my own thoughts of death and sordid memoires the music is scornful and mournful to the ears; a pure white in hue to blind the white of the ice plank, and it only intensifies Jamie’s silent breath and misery: I can feel it. Her misery, the swooning- loathing- feeling casting its affection to every thought and action she has, numbing and livid is the feeling, death and life, but the content of death tips the balance its favor. And so the feeling severs the time of now and dredges the time of yesterday into her mind, leaving her paralyzed with no ability to do else wise; this feeling is potent in her ragged breath now, casting spores of the reached feeling into the air as the enraged sky threatens me with its own scorn once more, banishing the music for moment but then exile is revoked for torture to the ears.
“What have they done to you?” Asking is what I want; I want answers as I observe her twitching and shriving for warmth, her mouth open but nothing coming out, her ears attentive but nothing coming in, and her eyes closed, shut from the world and to herself.
Everything that cloaks her from this dream is embedded in her so meticulously that is appears that my power here would be ineffective, and as the presence draws near to me- the shroud of nothingness- I can feel what she feels: aggression and sorrow, but they aren’t as they are; they are warped beyond belief. Tears from the sky are now flowing freely as her eyes would be open and her tears would be cascading down her rosy cheeks. Wind is a fury gashing and jabbing at my scars and gashes, ignoring the music barely audible as my own music is used against me: this dream isn’t going to end nicely.
I let go of the music that tortures my ears, allow it be eradicated by this dreams fury as the tears become mesmerized by wind, bowing to its command against me… and her. She still remains oblivious to the world beyond her lids, and as I place my hand in her hair for mental purchase I stab of remorse goes through me, not pain, but the emotion is enough to make me wince. Emotions can be violent at times, used a weapons, as I have come to learn. Maybe I can help her get over the thing that may or may not cause her to become cruel and murderous when the… the thing manifest. That slight hopefulness beams on my skin as it does around it; damn it, I thought I had the emotions under control, oh well that can be addressed another time. As I breathe in the tears and rapid wind I feel the strands of her indigo hair as they become soggy and drenched as I, as the feeling plaguing her and urging to enter me, the thing that can and will cause her to become instable… in time. But this isn’t about that, something in me tells, I want to help her, I want to make her feel okay, maybe I can actually do something right with this power instead of other thing that always seem to happen instead. Her mind isn’t protected against invasion as first glance, but when I shut my eyes and attempt to enter searing, fatal, not acquainted pain bombards me in every sense. A sudden whip is brandishing me and my scars as it forces me from Jamie and onto the edge of the ice plank, again, and again it hits as normal function becomes impossible: no breath. My lungs are stagnant and urging, bleeding, to have breath as my esophagus is burning and then is crushed by an invisible weight, which is impossible any other time except for now, stupid dream logic I curse you! But that’s my last logical thought as the pain probes another places in me, pain in fluxing in ways that I haven’t felt in centuries… since Olivia.
Bile in my stomach boils and brews sending rancid smells and taste apparent to me as she- no not her something else- causes me to become nauseous, and the dream louses it orientation to me as I roll over to my stomach, ice picking my scars there and everywhere else, but I cannot move further, leaving me stranded in the puddle of my own stomach. The brewing stomach acid finally erupts from my stomach, burning my throat and charring my mouth as it spew like little crystal stream from me, luckily I have not eaten anything lately, but the pain is exhausting every resource I have against the… the other me. Now, disoriented and breathless, and nauseous, and pain abound it me, I can’t move. Above the sky flares and roars, but still cries under the dictation from Jamie, pounding us with now concrete tears.
Murder.
Die.
Torture.
Kill.
Right on cue the other me is crying in my mind, crying for me to strike back at the person causing me pain, and my barriers for him are crumbling, as I lay on the ice gasping for the air I need and I want but the other one isn’t letting me have. It’s not just the pain that the other one is inflicting, that would be very naïve and juvenile of the other one; she wants me dead, and so she is shutting down parts of me I need to live. I’m losing control… losing myself without the concentration I need as everything becomes a blur of hues to me, and the other me becomes in control. First things first, I sever the connection to me- all pain lost as the sky is astonished at my growth of strength and flares once more, but this isn’t me- not at all. Music is me, and this isn’t music. If it weren’t for that pain I would still be in control right now, but I’m not and I need to be; I don’t want any more death to be caused at my hands. Before I can attempt at fighting back control from the other me, I jump up in a predatory stance with a cruel smile plastered on my face, my scared teeth ( yes, even my teeth are scared) shimmering as the sky flares again with blinding light, like the white that once tortured my music and ears. Her dream isn’t keen to me as I approach her stealthy again, but as I don’t enter her mind the other one doesn’t hurt me… doesn’t sense me, for the other one hasn’t manifested yet, only in dreamland.
Don’t hurt her.
Why?
Because I don’t want to.
No, she is a danger to me.
She is as much as a danger to me as I am to myself.
Don’t try that, riddles won’t stop me from killing her, and it will only confuse me. It’s time to kill them off before they have a chance to kill me.
No.
Yes.
I clash with myself, and clash again, and again, separated in thought- the elements still bashing against us- I cannot continue to walk, for if I do I stop myself in mid-stride; it’s like my body wants to do it, but I refuse. Deep breaths and the absence of pain and her other is rewarded in me in control again, the hues coming back together to form my vision again. But that can’t bring me happiness as I walk to her, kneeling at her shivering side, for I cannot help this girl- this Jamie- with her emotions, with the things that will surely impede her judgment and ability to think clearly in few days. For some reason it brings me supreme sorrow not to aid her, and I know why… and that has developed into something that I can almost not elude.
False, everything is false is what I have, every mortal- and not mortal- has real things that I have not. Even through the six thousand years I have walked this earth I have found nothing of real compassion and love, just the false passion I have forsaken for only few years, single digits compared to my four digit life span. Albeit it is refreshing, and at times lovely; there is nothing left to it afterwards, nothing that I want, and nothing that will offer me companionship throughout this life I have. Witches may be able to live beside me for a thousand years, but their time beyond that is minute and expires in mere years. Nothing I have is real- besides Adam, he is a close I can have real companionship, though his natural life is smaller than humans. This isn’t my thought, but hers; her emotions are entering me in a disquieting riot, making me think such thoughts as her lids flutter, and her breath becomes normal. I should leave, but I don’t want to; I cannot help her with her misfortune or with her future very much, but I want to stay until this dream ends. For nothing more than to have companionship in the dark of light, and in the light of dark.
Leaving her to dream in her dream I meander over to the edge of the ice, watching the swelling ocean and feeling the freezing salt rain pound against me, and her feelings brewing as I plunge my black jean covered legs in the wan waters. I’m already drenched from this rain, what’s more water? The water lurches to my feet like it’s been awaiting them for centuries, caresses them in emotion far from the sky and rain; it brings I sly smile to my face distant from the cruel one from earlier.
“Maybe this dream won’t in disaster, I would like that.” And before the smile can stay I’m thinking about that Jamie and glance over my shoulder to still see her sleeping, and shivering. Hmm, maybe I can fix her dreams. Jamie you aren’t cold.
As the power burns in me, it only burns and doesn’t course, for it remains in me: Jamie is still shivering, which brings a blossoming frown to my face. Tears seem to be pounding against her worse than me and the flashes of the sky strike the water near me when she whispers,
“Help.”
Just her words aw me, this is the first time she speaks in this dream, and she ask for the thing I cannot give, in the dream anyway. Those words force me from the water, back onto the freezing ice, where I respond,
“I’m… sorry…. I can’t.” Such words fill me with unworthiness as I avert my gaze from her crumpled being, though the dream is becoming more aggressive as she speaks again, this time as is frightened,
“Help, I need help!” Her body is no longer parlayed but now is flailing at something invisible, something attacking her.
Before I can budge the ocean become hostile as the ocean, tsunamis fringing out ice as the flaring sky chares for assault; she continues to sheik, shaking the dream and shattering the ice as we fall through into the water’s maw,
“HELP! SOMEONE HELP, PLEASE!”
I lurch to her, but the sky’s flare strikes me, and the maw of the ocean devours me, and then dissolves as the dream flinches then ends. Even though it’s over I can still hear her deprivation in my mind through the chaos of thoughts from others in my mind, hear her distress, and feel her misery.
Adam awakes me with a bark and a growl, but I moan from yet another scar from lighting in Jamie’s dream, and from the stench of vomit around me. What happens in dreams doesn’t stay in dreams, I just never thought of this. With the sizzling on my back from the lighting and the acid somewhere around me – or on me – and drenched, I don’t feel like doing anything as I roll over and prop myself up on my shoulder. He growls at my friendly, then walks over to lick my face with his long slobbery tongue that ends up kissing my too many times- counting this time.
“Okay, okay Adam I’ll get up. Jeeze, what do want to do- off to the valley to chase the birds or do you want to help me find someone?” I push him away and ask, but once I’m done he licks me again and treads over to the opening of the cave and howls. Valley it is, I guess Jamie can wait for a minute; he just likes to chase them for a while, he tires easily. That dog is my only companion in this world for now, and I don’t want to anger him, so I push myself up from the ground and walk over to the opening. With every stride I fell as if my energy is leaving me, though Adam is yelping at my side in joy, until I have to lean on the cave for support, then it comes: the vision and I’m senseless once more. There is light, but it’s hemorrhaging from the world at a vicious pace, leaving things as they were three hundred years ago, and leaving things to Olivia.
The vision leaves me with an absence of breath as I’m gasping for it and a steep drop of temperature; Adam is gazing at me intently but in silence; he still wants to g chase to birds. This is serious, I just had this vision yesterday… It is close. No valley, I stoop down to Adam and ruffle his coat of fur sorry to say,
“Sorry Adam, we can’t go today,” as if understanding me he whines a bit, “ I know, I know, you wanted to go, but if you help me you might get someone new to play with.” Ha, but that’s enough for him as he waits for me and I’m still him envisioning Jamie from her indigo hair to her lean figure, trying to see where she might be, but seeing nothing.
Nothing.
I see the valley instead, the all-consuming dandelion valley, and are there instead. Adam is joyous as he barks around at the swaying weeds, but I’m disgruntled, for I feel her towards the east, her misery and pain, towards Lavender, where Olivia once lived years ago. What is it with that and place the others; it’s like a breeding ground? Such place as painful memories, especially the encompassing forest, so I let Adam play for a while; he deserves it, but soon we’ll have to go, go into Lavender, and go into possible peril.
tommorw, sadly is the return to editing in which i will have to re-write chapter five in what in what speed i wrote this today i hope it won't take long and then its the dreeded chapter six : drepressing valley in which i will do major carnage , i don't even like the title ! evil chapter evil!!!
and i did it right this time karina ! now POST UR DAM CHAPTERS.
- Location:dads house
- Mood: calm
took me alll damn day to do and i was more than half way done at some point and i didn't save it at the right place and that ended up making me have to redo two pages which is a lot and took me like an hour to do in my current situation and now i have like two more chapters left to totattly re-write and i don't know how i'm going to do that... i guess i will get my answer soon so here you go and lets hope for the non cracked out font
Chapter Four: Unexpected “Past is just as valuable as future, but seeing through false past is what really matters.” Alise, witch
Just four words make me want to spew out my secrets and blot from this room, that and the upwards of fifty faces staring at me. But the wrap and the scarf are still warped around me, the pain paralyzing me, and so I’m stranded here on an island where the natives stare at what they have just witnessed. Why did I did I come after I teleported? Yes Derik, why? Because I have never known a physic that teleporting into their visions, for that would be abnormal; I came here with the thought of me being slightly normal- or maybe normal enough that I didn’t think of this. Normal will is reserved for my ancient past, ancient past? I’m not even old enough to have an ancient past. It’s ancient because of the hours and days, and years that have passed since discovering my power, the horrible days that only grew worse until the day of the peach- Tuesday.
Submerging myself in the crystal wants of my mind helps me with the excruciating pain beaming off my shoulder and upper back, and the haze of the flu is botching my mind and my vision as the cold of it aid the wrap and scarf. What a great time to become sick. In thought the pain is numbed, almost completely waxed away from my being as though it has grown frustrated with my empty ducks, on search for a more suitable host. My paradise dies in birth, which brings the world joy, when someone taps my shoulder with a jackhammer shattering thoughts, letting louse a Pandora’s Box of pain once tranquillized. One touch does that, and it feels as though my life is lurching from me with every wheeze and stab of pain. Every breath the pain comes clamoring on silver chariots as my eyes bleed with muddy blood, eroding what’s left of my vision until the kaleidoscope is back. As always dreamland is eager to grasp me in its gnarled clutches, but before I can summon its mangled hands a voice I heard behind me as well as gasp from the crowd at the sight of my death, a voice of a trainer, their trainer,
“More, I need more.”
More, what more does he need, more pain? This is separating me from the piercing eyes of the world and the safety of dreamland, its mundane nature and hollow population the only thing capable of shielding me from the world’s hostility. Pain rages through me and cascades down my spine, until my consciousness succumbs to my dreary eyes, and my aching breath; my slow decent into dreamland is in no doubt the tangents of the world’s power trying to reach me but I’m out of its bounds as I slip into an abyss. Would anyone call a grey fog of nothing paradise besides me no, for they have real lives, with real people, and real love? I have none, and thus my dreams are my life, and my dreams are my only love- though recently they have yielded this anti-dreamland weirdness. Is the ability to have dreams lost when one has more than one power? Are my dreams – my life- gone forever… no science supported evidence can be found on this, for as far as my knowledge goes I’m the only one with this condition, but in me I know my dreams have been captured by the world, my life eclipsed by the hostility. How… why… but I can’ complete my misery; it just trickles into dreamland as cobalt fog. Cobalt is the only color that can symbolize my loss of nirvana, my life gone and impossible to be erected once again. It continues to seep from me, almost like silk, and the fog is lifting, the growling of a current of water to become audible to me; my dreams aren’t gone after all. Louder and louder the growl becomes every second that passes before me, and I blink three times to see id after a year my mind has been purged of such sights, that the world isn’t intruding in my dream state and planting an illusion, the cruelest thing it would ever do to me. Opening my eyes into a foreign year, I see the clouds have disappeared and beneath them is a great expanse if silk, pale sapphire silk stretching beyond my view. An ocean, my entire being writhers and dies from the insides, then it’s set a blaze and blazes an oily black in the night of this day. For the world has penetrated my life, and morphed it into a vision as my mind lay nestled in a corer unprepared for a rouge attack from anything. Just water and clouds and this Ocean of Answers as I look down there is no ocean but ivory streams of furious water tumbling down to rapids and crude ragged rocks.
Deadening and enraged the rapid waters streams down like white tears in reality, but my dreamland logic of floating in midair is still present, as if the world is awaiting for the perfect moment to drown me, and finally be done with me. But that wouldn’t be fun for it, wouldn’t be exciting enough, so I wait for it to happen, wait for my imminent demise of sanity and world. Gravity restores its ignorance, shoving me down once a waft of stream burn away at me as my life still drains away from my back, but the landfill magnet has found its uranium waste infecting the environment and kills with haste; the wrap and scarf are coiling around me again, their silk texture like my cobalt fog and their temperature like the blood in my veins… before they enter my heart and lungs. Neither lungs gulp down their precious air; they just flame like the rest of my organs. Pain from a bulging mind and swollen back is lapsing away at my vision, and my pupils widen at the tumbling waters advancement, but they are chained to my eyes with the scarf, the wrap elsewhere. The water captures me with its porcelain hands; the pain is… is explosive.
Victory is declared over my body by the world, for the null water of a zillion facets is flowing upon me. Every drop is ripping away the flesh seems in me, one string, then another, and then another string of wool thread falls victim to the water; a wheel of blood now revolts streams from my back. Along with the trails of blood, blood is now coming forth from my nose, and the null water seeks entrance and does with vengeance. With the wrap, scarf, and the burning sensation going up my nostrils my body is in mass shock, sock that is amount of pain is bombarding me, emotional sock that the world is this tedious in its effects to condemn me to death. Torture of the pain is to keep on besieging me, but neither a whimper nor a tear can escape my face, for the world doesn’t pardon such things when in its grasp; why torture me then? Why be so malicious to the people who configure you, to only toy with them and send them insanity then; no answer is spoken by the world, but the ocean’s magnet has found my heap of waste once again. And with a jerk, my speed goes forth into the beyond so much so that I mistake the foaming water as fog. All of this water and blood loss isn’t going to be good for the flu….
All pain makes the hours dense, but when I attempt to shut my eyes I find even them aren’t responding to me; why world, why? Again, there is no answer as I penetrate the foaming velvet; velvet that only appears to be granite but is really granite on impact. If pain had a definition before this, then it is going to be revised with a picture of me, for my whole body shatters and snaps in my ears, and my being shuts down, eyes open but light absent.
At first there is only a faint beat of heart emanating from my chest; my mind is slugging behind in confusion. Section after section of my mind restarts until the light returns to my eyes, and I notice that the magnets have brought me halfway to the lights and scarlet ripples of blood sway around me like drunken kittens. If I could feel anything pain would still be pelting me, but I don’t as my lungs are clenched in fright, and blood still spewing from my nose and back forming the drunken kittens. Luckily my breath is constricted by the scarf and the wrap, and so I cannot risk letting free the air that I have little of, and allowing the water to pelt me down like the pain and the world have done so many times on these little voyages, but my nostrils are still open, and water still flares through them.
World, are you drunk? For this is my only joy today: that I am paralyzed and breathless; I think you’re slipping.
Magnets from the landfill have been sully until now, with another ruthless tug they increase my speed tenfold, trails of kittens are left to wonder alone… like me. None of this is helping, for all is does is bring me nearer to a place I rather be banished from, exiled to a dream that only lets fortune flourish and not the world’s itinerary. Not places where memories of agony and misery are abound with every journey thus far, and not a place that will plague my thoughts from here after, for pain imprints not only on body but on mind. There has only been one time the agony and misery were waves away from my nerves, one time when my visions actually aided in my life, and that was the woman’s appearance in my vision-the men, my mother and father, and that… that reflection, none of them could offer any advice or clear telling of my life, all too cryptic. Only she actually helped me, only she was a kind person, who didn’t ignore me or frighten me with callused words and sapphire eyes, but the reflection could have been a dream… or maybe not… maybe he’s me. His words still reverberate in my head as often as the woman’s words, her vow shattered, and now I have no alibi for what my powers are doing. Will the government seize me, put under scientific study, and probe my area; the woman’s warnings only spawn these bleak theories- the worlds theories- for her words were spoken and into waste? Turned into waste, a waste like me, and my own life the scarf and wrap entwine around and the magnet threatens to exterminate. What will they do if I die in this vision; Jamie would take it the hardest considering we talked on the way to class, and I helped her get to class, and she was the one waiting for me when I returned. May not be trustworthy Jamie is, though her face above me when I returned is still imprinted in my mind, dashing away the ruby kitten with year speed. There is something… something about her that is askew but yet desirable, but my thoughts are quickly ended, for the world can peak into the mind and take such things as weapons. Though the world hear not that, for beyond the kittens above there are lights, and I’m quadrupling year time.
If I could blink there would be no years separating me from the lights and when I breach the surface into the valley, happy birthday to me. Magnets grow weary once I’m through the lights, jettisoning to the beaming peach with wings of wax, and so they retire off to their chambers with their cronies the scarf and the wrap. Taking breath comes after the stiffening pain that has captured my breath, and it seems the bloody tears of my back are really glaciers of blood scraping away at me; they all fascinate my nervous system with reports of injury, but I’m all but content. At this point- the arch of my speed- all has a numb quality, even the mountains on the horizon are bleak, as I float motionless, lifeless, and want-less with no death in this horrible valley, the opposite of the bird I once was.
No blinding light comes from the center of the valley this time, nor is there the reflection that would only spew more suspicion her. Though only one has been proven to be vision, the other is still pending a verdict from my mind, but I’m still certain that it was a vision. And the other still rattles my mind with bewilderment; why was I meant to see that shinning light? Does it have any connection to me … or the reflection? So many thoughts are in my mind, but the world hordes all the answers as does it my response, for my vantage point of the valley is seeking its finale as a tuft of pearly color erupts from the mountains, and the magnet sever their finale tangents to their toxic waste, sending all my blood spewing. Without the magnet or the tides of the ocean, no kittens can drift around me so leisurely, and so the molten blood cascades down my back and down my nostrils, bridging off into numerous rivulets when the current reaches the small of my back and the flap of my lip, where the blood seeps through the cement crakes in my life and lands on my pallet metallic and placid. More magnets have taken purchase on me, the magnets of the ground, as they devour my altitude and twat me around like the ancient propeller blades of the air-polluting airplanes. Blood is soaking above my right eyes, the delta releasing rage into my vision; my muscles twinge to swat away the rage and whiter in pain and more pain when I wince only pain, only the world.
A raging vortex of blood is lapsing up at my neglected teeth, and I want to relinquish the vortex, but only more nausea comes about when I think to do so, and the vortex sends a gush of blood down my arid throat. Years and years pass and my vision only declines with the influx of blood, and the load on my lash collapses against my will, still the limp muscle erodes the pain from my brain. Smoldering and frigid against my flesh, the rivulets gorge through my flesh down to my angular jaw, where they drip off onto my shirt. Air slashes at me as the ground magnets become disgruntled and lasso me with dozens of brandishing ropes. Now, now world, I didn’t know resorted to western techniques when angered. The little energy in my being remains from this elaborate vision, and my screeching muscles relinquish control over my left lid with a serge of pain that would send a gasp if I could breathe; my body is becoming limp again until the lassoed ropes and the magnets reign supreme over my being, causing the vortex to botch my teeth and drench my dehydrated throat with acid rain. Every vision the threat of my death comes galloping upon its steed of white, and the pain comes clamoring on its scarlet stallion with vigor from the enriched nutrition from the world, and every dream, vision things only cause me pain, both emotional and physical. And to lie and say I would adore it the world would spare me, would only murder me with my own words, words that have only aided the world in my insanity- who know this might be a dream- but not this time; my words are my own, and I aspire to die, right now. Even the through of Jamie can’t douse my desire to allow my death, for only an acquaintance she doesn’t have the persona or the world’s vindictive nature to deserve being infected with my pathogens of doubt and misery. None of the population should have to be around me, Jamie the most, for she is nice, and I’m malignant.
Could it be possible that a thousand years can past between magnets, from sky to earth, and from life to death because the feeling of eternal drop is around me and only advancing my anxiety for the steed to appear? Friction with the air only intensifies the inferno on my flesh and the fire in my lungs, and my vision blurring with the ruby in its iris as is fades as my mind is too, but the fire does nothing for the frigid feeling in me, the haze of the flu spreading through me. Without the power of my being in my hands, I’m unable to open my eyes from the abyss that I’m floating it, and living it, but years have transpired through this tumble, so much be left to count down.
Sixty.
Fifty nine.
Fifty eight,
Fifty seven.
Fifty six.
Fifty five-
The voices of the world, one whispering to me in my arrival of death, becoming more audible as they gallop on towards me on its stallion along with pain. Gallop. Gallop. Galloping like on a cobble stone road, the pounding horse feet are interrupting my countdown. Like the voices that whisper the gallops continue to expand, but they man nothing to me, and I ignore them.
Twenty.
Nineteen.
Eighteen.
Seventeen.
Sixteen.
Fifth teen-
Again my countdown is interrupted by the varying whispers of the world, but this burst of sound is more than a whisper, more like a shout, and I have neither attention or comprehension at this point. There is no point in resuming my countdown with such minute time left in this fall, and I attempt to unlatch my bloody right eye to see the dandelions embrace me, to see the ground welcome me, but all my efforts as in vanity, for the world isn’t going to allow such a gift whilst galloping to my presence. Not now, but the fire around me tells me that my decent is approaching its finale , and as the curtains draw a hysterical shout echoes in my pounding head and hostel valley, but only gibberish to us both,
“Ser!”
Abruptly the magnets and ropes claimed to me dissolve ungracefully, and the fire is extinguished on my flesh leaving the haze, and my eyes flash open in pain to see the ground to tantalizing in my reach, swaying like wheat in summer days but never to see my body or death. This is a new tactic of the world: to taunt me with my only desire only to be dusted away from me; the world is an ass. Just not because of this fact because of my velocity my neck swings back when my body hovers over its abandoned grave, sending tears of pain down from my defunct eyes, through the tracks, and down to join the other bodily fluids on my shirt. Those tears only spawn an ocean of more in my blood crusted ducts, coming out rouge instead of crystal, but I don’t care, for my sobs against my purposely stagnant breath are the only things that feel like me right now, my own emotions and actions against the world’s minions. Oxygen enters my lungs under the pretenses that it would be only a visitor, but it les to me as my sobs awash with anguish and rivulets of polishing tears. Oh how the world is so cruel to me, why world, why; there is no answer, just the shadow of something is dragged over my like a cloth over a casket. And as a casket I’m shoved into the ground now with no pain as my comfort, but as I attempt to sit up, pain is my crony once more. Well, what did you think was going to happen, magical no pain, my conscious booms against the haze and pounding. Shut up, I respond. Waiting on my abdomen with short breath and gorging tears of a worthless person, a finger is placed delicately on my blood spotted neck; only orange painted fingernails are visible. Assuming it’s the woman I keep quiet, not only for knowledge but for pain.
A dense drab silence follows in its wake as she presses her finger deeper into her artery, and even when done her voice is distilled with grey.
“Things… things have manifested in your life Derik, some things I once thought wouldn’t be so… so rapid, but here we are. I have heard some things. Do you remember what I told you?”
Years and decades must be going frenzy in Lavender with the unprecedented news of my duo, someone must have told but whom? Who started the hysteria of questioning, and what if my parents know… not pleasant for me.
“Remember. But. Other. Know” Again the alien voice takes my voice and places it somewhere else as I cannot produce proper sentences.
Coolness drifts down my being as she shifts from dandelions to dandelion around me, uncertain of her answer until now,
“Why is that, you didn’t do anything did you? Nothing that people wouldn’t forget like perhaps…”
More distraught and concerned than ever, her tone is; I see a silhouette of a woman above me, almost the complete figure, but her attention comes to a focus again before her identity is reviled. No words are spoken, only my own blood laced ones.
“Teleporter. Physic. In. Visions. Today. Class. Saw. Everyone.”
A diluted orange comes awash over the woman, her tone morphing from mundane/ hysterical to hurt to demise; she is petrified for a moment, and then paces away from me with dreary pace, trembling, crumpling, and apprehensive are her words,
“So it is true, and so it is here- right before me that the other enjoy. But not to me, and not to him. There is no time left, and this shouldn’t be spoken near him. He’s dangerous.”
Still on the verge of collapse the woman trails through the dandelions and back to my side, where her whispers are met with my only real question,
“What, happening?”
A simple inquiry I would say, but the kittens of doubt and misery are fencing around her, darkening into crimson so dark in hue the valley pales further into drabness. Only silence and pain are bombarding me, cutting me, slitting my wrist with acid torches into a barrel of oil. My own blood continues to cascade down my backside. Years, decades, and millennia later the world combust in conversion, but only words and not hearing,
“No” lead speaks, “only wealth and greed has plagued you… wealth and greed.”
Further on into the world of silence we waddle until I hear something, something faint, but the woman places her hand on me once again, and an artificial wrap and scarf come entwine around me as my muscles are healed and the charm of silence is shattered by the woman’s magical jargon, for year the wrap and scarf coil around me until her voice breaks, and her finger glides down from my cheek.
“Your welcome.” She says.
But I don’t respond, for I’m still in my mundane oblivion, an oblivion that has been established by the wound for my life and longer… where a whisper can be heard. Whispers that are only manifesting now in my oblivion, whispers of voices I know and not so, but a whisper that mirrors my own. In this silence the mundane world is perched up on its intricate bridge of charred iron, waiting, waiting for my own words to betray my command. But the glass sky above its bridge succumbs to ancient white soot before my words would betray me, and so the silence wedges between us like an iron ax and the wood it splinters. More of the ancient soot comes upon the glass sky as he waits; waiting is a virtue of the world, for he is tender in the mind. Though he must be gleeful of his voices that are swarming in my head, luckily my foe and Jamie aren’t present in my mind, for they would only gawk in strange curiosity. There is a voice, a ragged voice that is separate among the others when it chisels,
“Kill her, kill her now.” Onto my grey matter.
Even through my injuries are long healed, and my pain purged from my being, a shroud is being woven under my vision as the voice only gain berth into my ear canal, varying the line between whisper and talk. Depth perception has abandoned me and there are only orbs of color drifting from side to side now, hues darkening with every stitch in my eye and every remark from the voce… my own voice.
“Go away,” I say to the voice, but it echoes out into the colors and to the woman who stirs at this saying. Almost flinching, her shadow now hovers over me, shivering when she ask,
“What?”
Gone of its original velvety quality long ago, her voice is defenseless against the voice, my voice.
“Kill her, get up and kill her you ass,” the voice in my ears, flaming a fire of haste.
Both I and the woman are weary now, but I for the lapse of sight, but my words only become my own.
“No, I will not” but they woman strides back to my side and crouches down to where I could have seen here if my vision would be here, placing her arm on my pain free shoulder but not pain free voice.
“What’s going on? Who are you talking to?”
Before I can answer the voice severs my words and my concentration, like a novelist trying to write in a car full of crying infants.
“Don’t tell, kill.”
Maybe a whisper maybe a shout I say, with pain flexing my muscles,
“No”
Reduced to ere child’s tone is voice is the woman when she stammers,
“D-d-d-erik…”
Such a frightened tone breaks through the mundane nature of this valley and into my bleeding ears- though the world is almost lost to me as he smiles down from his skeletal iron bridge, awaiting to have me in his final clutches. Ancient soot still loads the glass sky above him, but here there is only an ocean, the woman, and me, and mere words are flowing from my mouth, bewildered without sight and knowing where to go,
“A voice is telling me to kill you. Can you do something about it?”
A world is collapsing around her, a world of perfect, for a single crystal tear is released from her eyes onto my blood strained face; it burns.
“They, how could they? Too soon… too soon…”
How could they do what? What is too soon, did she know that this was going to happen to me? Who is this ‘they’ she is whispering about, what do ‘they’ have to do with me… how long have ‘they’ been in cahoots with the world to invade my mind with the insanity that is woven in drapes of mute. So many questions but my mouth remains mute, and she is steadily walking away from me into drab misery.
“I- I have to go Derik. My magic, it’s all over you, and I can’t… can’t let more of myself be with you. Sorry too many suspicions; I must go!”
Years are transpiring as she wades through her thought and brings it into her callused world that waltzes on his bridge with his woman companion Earth. More gibberish is spoken from her fractured lips, and the world becomes blind to her being, but only for a second, only for a year. The mirror speaks in my mind jubilant and agitated but serene,
“You will kill one day, if you like it or not.”
All desolate, pain swooning over my emending corpse, in the natural valley there is only an abundance of room, for the wrap and the scarf to coil around me in enthusiastic affection as if out temporary department has left them craving me. Taking one brief grasp, ignoring the sting of pain, I shut my eyes from the world as the Earth beneath me becomes like wax at flame, but this isn’t a majestic sight. It’s taking me into the ocean swelling beneath me, magnets have purchased the radioactive waste polluting the valley into despair, and the first wave of moisture expels the subtle warmth from the peach, complete and fierce ancient soot is loading my being in the wrap and scarf. Into the maw I go, and into unconsciousness I sink until dreams reject me.
If possible I have not sustained more pain from these excursions when my mind awakes from this ancient soot and hears a voice hovering above me,
“Come back Derik, come back… I’m going to be dead if he is.”
Still pain is emanating from my being with every year that passes now the wrap and scarf have pried away from me begrudged, and Jamie’s trust in uncertain territory… unable to open or move any part of my body besides my lips I moan in a voice that isn’t mine. In lead breath the world is becoming air, no voice is booming, no wrap or scarf are fidgeting to take control of me, and the Earth obscured in her vision of me whilst the world is frustrated: blood. Blood is hemorrhaging from me as if the woman’s magic is… is reversing and cannot be healed as I open a slither of my eyes to witness the emerald eyes have been replaced by a dark shade of maroon that Jamie’s silhouette is varying with every second; this isn’t Jamie. The trainer. Heart beat a faint my only shock brings gasoline and oil into my veins, withering veins, dying veins.
“No, we have to get him to a hospital, medi” his jargon is plastered on my being with his rough hands but only a faint fire of embers can be felt on me, for he is a shape shifter, and they cannot channel such magic, stupid him in his hysteria.
Earth is watching in somber residence, and the world has me in his grasps as I moan and a rivulet of wan blood trickles down from the vortex onto my shirt, more embers on my nose with steady hands. A separate frigid air is knifing its way into this room, for my hair stand resolute on my neck and so does his; my remaining body ripples with a queer tremor with an abrupt embrace from the wrap, but only for a year- nothing more. Ancient soot is burying me once the trainer grasp me in his arms, sending more pain cradled in his shoulders when he rushes down marble stairs and through the automatic door. Blood trails are being left down the hallway every foot fall, and every year that fallows the invisible blinks. Both Earth and the world known of what is to happen in the next decade but only chuckle to themselves, and to the glass sky they gaze out to. All is disappearing around me as a knifing wind of ice slashes against me and in me, and the absence of the sun is only applying more territory to the world and Earth and their minions the wrap and scarf, but there is still warmth in me when the door to the university opens. Through the sliver of my eyes I can see Jamie waiting on the concrete steps, waiting for something or someone, playing with her hair in the twilight. She looks back to me – the trainer- when she heard his incomprehensible shouts as he settles me down on the ground of concrete, dead, death, and dumb. Jamie grasps my hand fiercely as I’m besieged by a current of ice and lighting, all I can see is the joyful image of my parents in the cottage before the thing… the thing that I don’t know. It extends across my mind, compelling my vision any my words; before the image fades I hear a shriek of pain, but pain is all blended into me, so I know no pain. Just this image, just this joyful three years, and just Jamie who seems distant right now is what I see. Nothing more is plaguing me, nothing, as I fall into an anti-corrupted death. Another clash of acid waves, kittens, wraps, and scarves and my body finally shuts down, but as it does the warmth of the world is doused, and all that is left is… is the world and Earth.
Expecting death to be on the horizon, when I awaken in a blur of color without pain to interrupt this moment I’m bewildered to as where I am, for dandelion light is bouncing its rays off my being and socking into my flesh; Jamie is panting in stints right on my side where ghost of furniture crowd around her and burgundy wall end in abrupt manner to give way to an empty ceiling, with only a few botch marks. Kitchen adjoined is this living room, and I can see that the night is fringing out place, this place. This place... it’s in pictures I know: the cottage. I’ve teleported to the cottage, and I’m healed of all my injuries- but how? I sit up on my knees to turn to Jamie with blood lathered face and inquirer, but hinges stop me. A door right adjacent to a ghost and a hallway opens, and my mother walks out.
What is she doing here?
There is little time for wondering,
there is little time for thought
there is little time for walking,
when this world we live in is such a muck
But walking will not do
when I don’t have a shoe,
though time is at a loss
for the people who have a cross.
There is no time for such thoughts, but this poem reflects my thoughts deeply as I attempt to find the person in my vision, clearing my mind of such thoughts. But there is nothing, nothing as the future is turning out to be.
With an abyss
there is nothing
nothing but hope
false hope
and false hope
that something
will become
of this oil
something
with a
hope
but hope
can only
go so
far.
And that, that is reality, a reality that I’m not ready to meet.
now that my reader is back here is chapter three
vv
Chapter 3: Reviled “Seeing the future is easy young physics. It’s what one does with that knowledge is what makes or breaks one. Get it right or don’t” Alise, witch
Ugh I’m still in dreamland when I recover my grip on reality. The drabness of my dreams is back, and the fog continues to swirl around me in orbs. I feel as I am being pulled into two different directions by the magnet. One I presume is towards another vision, the other dreamland. Though it could be the woman summoning me, but I’ll never know with my visions. Both forces are quick to announce surrender, and the silver orbs are my only company, but they are giving way to reality. Ah, yes it’s decaying into the mold of the world a bit too rapid, before half an hour passes the silhouettes of my room gather around me whilst I blink away the coal lodged in my eyes. A yawn fit for a grizzly bear fallows and I turn sideways in drunken view as a peach settles in the morning sky, yawning another grizzly yawn and ruffling my greasy hair, I prop myself up on my elbow about to commence my morning routine when the events of yesterday come clanging in my memory. The mountains of boxes laugh at me for forgetting and try to intimidate me. It works, stupid boxes. Just the thought of unpacking those boxes forces a sigh from me; the peach has no effect on me. No though of sun and joy come galloping along, not even a trace of freedom comes to me today, which only reverberates the decision that has been made again last night. My vow to stay to the shadows and be in control of my words needs to stay intact. Neither of these things will be as unproblematic as they sound with training due to start any day now.
Shit, doesn’t it start today?
Nobody reminded me that training starts today, not my parents or Sara. How could this happen? I know how: the world is anxious to rage with me. Great, now I’m going to look like a slacker when I’m late… how will I get there? I have no time, the hour glass shattered on the floor, and now I’m forced to rush. Rushing hasn’t been one of my talents in life- the world is giddy for that, so when I jump out of my bed, I end up tumbling over a pile of boxes and landing ass first into a half empty box. The box collapses with a grunt, though there is something about this room that I haven’t noticed. Being that this apartment is one complete room; the other door extends to the bathroom. I’m an endangered species in Lavender, for there is no trace of a mandatory computer in every room, my twin sized bed, a rustic stove that appears weary of cooking, and a minifridge that aches of disrepair. It breathes with the wind as the peach continues to rise, and it gleams at me, but my responding malice doses it jubilation. Couldn’t they just splurge on me once; I guess they decided to be conservative with their fortunes but not with their words. But there is no time for anger right now, and I struggle out of my box, and manage to jump over the remaining mountains to the door, where a surprise is waiting for me wedged between the door and the door frame.
A surprise that I forgot was coming. Greetings from the city comes at me from this card as I take it from its wedge, reading that it’s from the F.P.U (frist time power uses society), and it explains where the classes are and this new branch my life blah, blah, blah. If they really were interested in my personal like there would be some advice for my parents rage towards each other, but it doesn’t have it; all that is useful on this flimsy glossy card is the address and picture painted on it; why waste so much paper. My jeopardy of being late purges such thoughts from my mind as I grab a pencil from a random box and read over the card again before swinging open the door, still memorizing the address- hopefully the world isn’t regulating the subways then I’ll never get there. Fully supplied I stagger out of the door, hearing it squeak shut as I repeat it again.
128 Calendar Street.
Not a thought of awakening Sara enters my whirling mind as my feet pound like hammers on the wooden stairs, almost tumbling down to the floor as my jeans catch my slip-ons- the world’s penalty. Short as the distance is, this sudden influx of labor is debilitating; my lungs flare and constrict with sharp pain as the world becomes a wan shade of grey. Still, I’m repeating the address in my head attempting to place it among the towering skyscrapers of the city that I have passed these eighteen years, what subway will I have to take. Apprehension looms in the distance around me; it’s my cancer, and it’s in my thought- every thought that concerns the repeating of the address. At the door, sweaty with dew from the peach I remember that the training compound is the iron center of a concrete shelter that is the city; I am on the wooden planks of the slabs. With my hand limb on the knob, a sigh becomes of me, why I am drowning, why I am sinking in the sands that have been rejected. All emotions are scatted, but I can feel something coiling around me, something that feels like the wrap right before a vision.
No! I don’t want to have a vision, all they bring is nothing!
Back in my subconscious a whisper of a voice speaks to me, but it isn’t loud enough for me to comprehend it, for the wrap is fancy to the paralyzed feeling of last time. Again, the voce speaks, louder
“Present, myself, present”
Present, what is this? Only a night ago did my own reflection mention a present, could that still be truthful now… but it was a dream. But here is this feeling tangible and abstract in my view, is it real? If not then this present… or something else is infesting me like wheat on fertile ground- paralyzed with only the wrap for comfort. Neither my lungs nor my body are aching out for food, or am I on the verge of oblivion, but my eyes aren’t seeing correctly. It’s as if the hues of the world have merged together, and my pupils are vibrating under the pressure to see beyond the insipid hues, smoldering at the same time. With every hour that ticks away an eruption of lava comes forth from my eyes as the vibrations accelerate that I swear steam is forming. But the world grows bored with such antics, and my lungs begin to stave and bulge, and carve, and shoot. Competition from the magma pain adds more intensity to everything, slicing, dicing, and mincing me; contenders never allow their dignity to wane. Excruciating pain is now searing off my magma eyes causing them to splinter with drops of grey blood. Considering my record with pain, anytime now I should faint, but my body is ignoring my mind- ignoring the pain. There is no control over this thing, for it’s a rouge animal impossible to tame as I attempt to regain control over my body. And so the hours of paralyzed wait commence their stagnant gait towards a nonexistent finish line.
The feeling is like I am severed from my body, like I’m observing a murder from a bullet proof window. For the amount of times I have trashed myself against the glass are uncountable, and the hours just continue to slide off like the skin of an orange.
Well now I’m never going to make it. Stupid powers, stupid me, why do I have to have this, why?
The wrap isn’t as embedded in me as the iron claps of it is; they start uncoiling around me easily, hour by hour until my trashing against the window shatters it I am dictating again. My eyes are the second thing that comes back to my hand, the migraine inducing pain lapsing away from them like a tide at see. Just as the last ruminants of the wrap are dissipated I become unparalyzed enough to notice my surroundings. My surroundings are new, but I know them. No, no, no this can’t be, never. In all history- documented or not- no one has had more than one power, and I don’t want to be the first. Anything, anything could be better than this, but the world is deaf to my pleas, busy corrupting people and issuing insanity.
Now all I want is to disappear, the prospect of training botched by this and my tardiness. Because of this twist of fortune I’ll have to be trained for two powers: physic and teleporter. So much pressure it sags down myself until it seems like I claim the cement steps my home. Not to be trusted, not to be uttered, and not to be acknowledged are my powers and myself. If only the woman could offer some advice, offer some consul to me when it is greatly needed as I say looking down,
“Where are you woman? You’re just going to leave me when I need you the most… well you said not to trust you, and I guess I shouldn’t have.”
Emptiness, that’s my response. The only thing I receive is a glance or two from people running up the stairs where I am.
But where, where am I?
Slowly stepping up the stairs and looking around, the sites catch my eye, but I haven’t been here before the welcoming card. Sounds of doors clinging shut and bells winning in the distance great me on this realization of a bubble tower, glistening in the light of the pear; thought is beyond my grasp as I gape at the monument.
“I’m… here. But how, teleporting doesn’t run in my family either. This is going to be a strange day.” On either side of the building are the stout bronze buildings selling school supplies, guess I didn’t need to bring this pencil.
Meant to be alluring, the building has no charm over me, for the duo powers have chained my feet. What if they know? No, impossible, and my lips wouldn’t betray me like that. Internal battles with me always end horribly, so I stop it before I can start. One step, two step, three step, four step, and five step-all loaded with lead until I reach the ornate glass doors that have the city’s crest embossed on them with tired gold: a spiraling river with two birds soaring over head. All this has replaced the past designers, but one wooden object remains embroidered on the glass door. Ashen and strained the wood states the name of the university “Alise University” etched with anxious. It stretches forty-four stories in the air like a spiral of crystal, but has no affect on me as I stride to the door, and it opens for me.
As I expect the pearl granite hallways are a ghost town, only one frantic pair of feet can he heard. And those aren’t mine, who could be as late as I? Foot falls are a clever distraction for me as I waste more time slugging through this desolate hallway. As I turn into the next hallway- blinding light searing into my eyes. Distracted like my life and unlike the world’s attention, I don’t hear any foot falls or the breath of a hurried gait, and I collide into the feet I heard earlier, sending us to the marble floor. Brief stings of pain come from my ass, sure to be bruised after this, and I chuckle at the pens that scatter across the grey marble; there’s another surprise when I crawl upon my knees. I don’t know why, but I was expecting a guy to be roaming the hallways and it’s a girl, who looks around my age with almond shaped emerald eyes and indigo hair that clings down to her neck. A stray ripple of the woman’s words echo through my mind, and I’m reminded that I should converse with her little, that words are a valuable thing but her expression of deprivation on that peachy flesh forces me to assist her as we pull each other up from the floor. Hair swaying in front of her eyes, it’s difficult to see if she’s looking at me when she feebly asks,
“Thanks, do you know where the psychic department is?”
No! Don’t answer her. She might be a spy
The first impulse my conscious pluses from my mind, and it’s quick to apply such accusations to such a girl with the woman’s words heavy in my mind, so I ignore it and answer,
“Actually, I don’t, but I am a physic” Agh! Don’t tell the enemy such things, my conscious chastises; I frown at the thought, and it appears on my face. She takes no note, for her hair is still in her eyes. “I think it’s down this way; you want to come with?” And I indicate the hall we stand in.
A pale orange brightens her face, for the peach is busy elsewhere.
“Oh… thanks. I’ve been searching for like ten minutes, let’s go.”
How things change when the world is absent from his post, allowing the real people into my life, for mere minutes ago I was panicking about being late- like this girl now- but now it means nothing to me. But with its eagle eyes and keen senses on duty things like the duo come into being, with the heavy artillery that’s ejaculated from the world’s actions, and riffles, and mouth to me. Stop, stop thinking about it for once; here is a girl who’s actually enjoying her life, who wants to get to class, and she will get there. Before we leave she steps down to grasp her forgotten pen that appears to be fatigued and finally removes her hair from her eyes. We walk down the hallway side by side, and as much as I would like to remain silent until we get there, her question can’t be dodged.
“What is your name?” She asks as she turns to look the name printed on the door- nope, not physic.
“Derik,” Gah! When will you learn these aren’t the shadows, and she is not to be trusted, anytime, anywhere- my conscious booms? A bit callused I think, and my frown is still there when I ask, “What’s your name?”
“Jamie,” and she walks away again to another door, then steps to ask, “You nervous about today?”
Well since I can teleport and I’m a physic, I guess you could say that.
It may be temping to answer like that, but I know I shouldn’t even ponder such things, and so I reply,
“Just a little. My parents said it’s going to be different, so I’m nervous.”
What an amusing sentence, I haven’t dared talk to my parents since I was forced to tell them about my power. Even when I did ask them about training none of them said ‘it’s different’, although my mother did mummer soothing about years and a flounder… years and a flounder. But nothing for training, maybe it’s supposed to be a surprise
Ha, not many things can surprise me now though. Again she strides over to another door and waits to respond when she stops,
“Oh, I’m just nervous about doing well.”
“Don’t worry it’s training. You’re supposed to mess up once in a while; we will all make mistakes, that’s what life is, isn’t it.” That was supposed to stay in my head, stupid mouth.
I don’t know where this wisdom and advice is coming from, maybe that another power I’m inheriting from my great-great-great cousin on my dad’s side; I believe her name is Jasmine. Or it can be the wisdom of suffering, the wisdom of the pain I have endured, and the wisdom of the feud I have seen. Then again it could be my desire to teleport back home; I wouldn’t dare do that here. Either way it played a part in making Jamie shed her own wrap, though a warp far less fatal than my own. Again she ambles over to another door, continuing the conversation
“Good advice, I’ll remember it. If you don’t mind me asking, what was your first vision? Mine was something about the darkness coming into the day; I thought it was something about night, couldn’t really tell.”
Great, now it’s time to put up my shield back up, gather up my forces, and head back to the shadows. Worse than last time, my conscious flares at my moronic ways.
Really Derik, I told you, but you didn’t listen! Chilax conscious, it’s a question … or is it.
Might be right … might be wrong that’s all I can think, but why would she make such an intricate plan to crash into me? Things like these questions resurrect my skepticism, but not all is eclipsed, for I create my own story as I come up behind her,
“Um… it was about me swimming in an ocean. But nothing really clear.”
Technically that’s not all lie because that wasn’t my first vision, and there was an ocean indeed in… in that vision/dream, though the shame of lying is pounding me. It remains absent from my face until she turns around.
“Don’t feel bad, my vision sucked too-”
Like her essence has been sucked out of her she halts in her dreary gait, gawking up at the entrance to her class- mine for a past life. Not noticing, I walk pass her, and then hurry back to her stagnant form before a shimmering crystal door that has the physic motto embossed on it: With our wisdom we unify, but with our faults we can destroy, and a crescent moon as their symbol. This door is different from the one at my apartment, for one thing it’s cobalt crystal, and it’s pleads with me to enter. We both stand here for a moment, unsure of what to do but Jamie is first to step toward the door with an invisible handle; it opens by itself, impatient for shaking hands to smudge it. Jamie shoves herself into the room, I bide my time getting in, and I’m surprised at what’s displayed. Class has yet to be started and people are still negotiating seating arrangements in this new stadium style seating. Eager to learn Jamie takes a front row seat. I… I head for the platinum stair quite quickly and to the highest seats, to where the projector sways over head, to the shadows. From this vantage point I can clearly see everything and not be bothered by the light or things I don’t want to see. Like two couples making out the level below me; there’re sucking on each others face like without them they would instantly die. Down on the first level of desk I can see a perplexed Jamie gazing over her shoulder. Her confusion further intensifies in her expression when she sees me and slowly waves. I wave back and when I do she mouths,
“Why don’t you come sit by me?” patting the empty seat next to her.
Something sparks ignites in me, somewhat warm and gentle-wanting- but the woman told me to stick to the shadows, and so that’s what I’ll do, for the shadows are very found of me, and I see not of them. Here on the mountain peek I’m practically alone, save for the making out couples below me, and at least I know they aren’t spies. No you don’t, shut up. Even though I would enjoy being around other people I reply,
“I can’t. Might tell you why later.”
Puzzlement splatters on her face, but there isn’t time to reply, for a bell ring brining in our trainer. Considering trainer attire he’s dressed very casually holey jeans, faded t- shirt, and he hasn’t shaved in day. Most people ignore this seemingly bystander, but when he makes his way to a wooden podium everyone drags their topics to a close. Once everybody is quiet he starts explaining the day, his voice barely audible,
“Welcome everybody today is your first day of training. Are you nervous,” everybody mummers a little except me, and from where I’m sitting I don’t see Jamie’s mouth budge, “Well, today is going to be easy; we are all going to induce a vision- shouldn’t be difficult. Now don’t panic this is only to see how far your power have developed.”
Before he finishes my stomach plummets down to my toes, since the consequence of my failed attempt- or was it- to have a vision last night ended in slumber. Everyone else has a pair of grins spread from ear to ear, turning around to his or her friends chattering about how nervous they are what might happen- except me. Jamie, who may or may not be my foe, is at the bottom, and even if she were at the top, even if the shadows didn’t claim me, I don’t know if I could tell her. Nobody will ever know what’s in my visions, is what I promised myself last night, and now the truth of my decision is unveiled. Time is too fast for u to nest in my cave, for it takes three blinks for a year to pass, three blinks and then a whole year is gone, three blinks and then one is back in the same place- in the same trench- when one blinked. And I blink three times, slowly, and deliberately and see myself alone and abandoned in this seat, alone with empty promises, and wan face, and hollow eyes. That is my result of hording my secrets, and I don’t want that, and neither does Jamie. Now, she deserved to be told the truth, and that brings me into the lecture and his eyes.
While blinking the class has silenced again and our trainer is now giving directions on how to make oneself have a vision. Seeing that I semi-failed I half listen, but his low voice doesn’t help.
“… Close your eyes and block of everything in this room. You don’t need this room in your vision.”
I see people having difficulty with this, and I wonder if he’ll suspect me of anything if I do nothing. My conscious reminds me that I should not be taking chances, for if he does catch me ignoring his instructions he will ask me why I’m not doing anything, and that will draw attention to myself. That alone gets me to shut my eyes and start the exercise, even though there’s a slight fear that doing this exercise will arouse more eyes than not doing it. Every breath, every mummer, and every tick from the clock evaporates from my sense of hearing like a ripples going through a pond. Almost instantly I’m in my own mind, where I don’t want to be. Nothing is happening, and I wait…and wait for an answer.
Maybe the world has accidently gone off its post today, maybe it’s on a mental health day.
But as I said before maybe is a word that loved to warp and twist its meaning, defying diversity, and diversity isn’t in my favor today. Like the world is perched on its stool contemplating to pardon this once of joy and lapse of pain, but before my joy can germinate it blast it with a wrap, a warp I know all too well. My pulse quickens and my lungs start to grab all the oxygen then can, as if they know they soon will be starving for their food, when the clasp of the wrap sever my connection to my body. Before it gets to my arms my lungs feast over and gulp there last drinks of air, leaving me to grasp the arm rest with my waning might, so when ever happens I don’t scream. It flexes around my taros then elongates like an abstract new scarf on my being, but when it reaches my limp arms my paralyzed lungs exhale the remaining air with a frightened sigh, the scarf blankets like the wrap, and in three blinks I’m passing out.
Back in the ocean of answers I am getting rapidly pulled to platinum lights. It’s almost a rapid as my first appearance here. Pain from my lungs starts again, but it’s like they are trying to sever themselves from me. Luckily the pain is short lived, I’m through the lights in less then a minute; this time I don’t fly up into the air, I just bob out from the water soaked and dripping, coughing out stale air. While resuscitating my lungs I see where I am, what surprise; I’m in the valley, though this time there are two men with hiking gear ahead of me. Once again I’m in the valley of dandelions, but this time there are two men in hiking gear a couple of yards away from me. Jogging through the knee high dandelions is a bit difficult, but I manage to get there without tripping; something is wrong with the men once I get their. They are fighting; I try to stop them but it’s normal: I’m invisible. Everything I try to do is falling on death ears and blind eyes, so I just back away and sit to observe this argument.
“We should go back home. I’m tired oh hiking.” The younger, leaner, man complains
“Well you should have thought of that before you came hiking with me.” The older, plumper, man answers
Soon the augment escalades to them shouting to each other , it’s a little amusing
“I want to go home!”
“Seems you have a problem on your hands, we are continuing our hike towards the mountains that are right outside this valley.”
Again and again they rebound there augments until they are only millimeters separating them. Until only seconds separate there words; then they merge into one.
“Omini”
As I sit on the ground I feel it start to shake in irritation, but I think nothing of it.
But they do, and they start walking away from their fighting positions. There’s a groan from the ground, and a blinding line of light escapes from the ground. A second later a shock wave starts making its way towards us, but I’m trapped in a prison of dandelions. Struggling only further tangles me in with the disgruntled weeds, and when the wave reaches me the titanic force launches into the sky. My acceleration slows and slows until I’m frozen in mid air, gazing over the mountains. For the second that I am here I can see everything, it’s like I’m the best thing in the world: a bird. I can even see Lavender’s highest skyscraper, but it’s only a blimp on the endless horizon. I wish I could stay up here forever, but the world won’t let me. The world loathes me and dredges me down with the pinching tips of its nails. Now I’m falling, like the fist time I came to this place. Though it’s different this time, I know what to expect when I hit the ground, and this time there will be no attempts to halt my decent.
Releasing my body is easy, and as I twist and turn in the air I start counting down the seconds till I hit the ground.
Twenty.
Nineteen.
Eighteen.
Seventeen.
Sixteen.
Fiftheen-
At fifteen my eyes catch something happening to the ground. It takes me all but two seconds to realize what’s happening; the ground is morphing into a pool of water: the Ocean of Answers. I’m not fazed by this, for I know that hitting water at this speed is the equivalent of hitting concrete, what a nice joke of the world. Soon though it’s not a joke when the magnetic hand of the ocean grasps me again, fitting me with the scarf and wrap. Never have I noticed how much strength the pull of the ocean is until now, it’s like its hunger is quenched when I’m in the frigid waters, making me descend triple gravity, so much friction on my flesh. Faster and faster it brings me down making me twist and turn more, I’m on my shoulder when I crash into the puddle. Pain strikes their first like lightning and then spreads like poison. But I have no time to get immune to the pain because I’m abruptly shoved back out. Barley able to open my eyes the pain is so stiffening I see that I’m not in the valley but in a room full of softly glowing tubes. Desolate is this room of any life and something gives me the chills like I’ve been here before, but before I can manage to take a breath the ocean slams me under with glee, sending acid water into my starving lungs. Water does not make my lung happy, and they completely stop production. That pain along with the aching pain in my head and on my back should be service to knock me out, but the ocean has another itinerary and keeps me awake by shoving me though the lights again. Right when I am on the other side coughing starts to take over me and I can’t stop until water flings out. In between coughs I look around my surroundings. Now I know this place the cobblestone road, endless oak trees, and the barley floating- brightly lit- brick house; it’s the place my parents spent the three years they were married at. I, on the other hand, have only seen photographs of this place and only lived there for three days, then the mysterious event happened, and then my parents separated. From what I can hear, my coughing has ceased, they are auguring and I can’t make out my fathers side of it, but I can surely hear my mothers.
“How could you do that?!” She shrikes with all her might.
Unfortunately that’s all I am able to hear because the hand of the ocean grabs me, and it fires me back under the surface. Everything returns the pain and more water rushes into my drowning mouth and drowning lungs, but this time I am able to pass out and do, leaving the ocean to return me
Having just crossed the line between ocean and reality when I awaken from the lucid vision; I awake to a kaleidoscope of drunken hues, and all I can see is Jamie’s face hovering above me.
“He’s back!” She yells… yells to whom?
Back, where did I go? A single thought that causes a plunge of a million degrees.
Fear freezes me with its chilling breath, for when I think of what could have happened when I was in a mysterious haze only one thing comes to mind, but my thought is interrupted by an earthquake of pain spiking down my vertebrae like an inferno in a dehydrated forest. Can’t move, can’t think, and can hardly breath, but the influx of pain has cleansed the drunken kaleidoscope, and my mouth and tongue are stuck to my pallet as the alien voice abducts my own,
“Where did I go?”
“We heard you scream in the beginning of class, and then when we tuned around you were disappearing. We’ve been waiting for you for hours.”
Oh fuck did she say disappear? No, I must have heard wrong; they can’t know. Why oh why does the world wage war with me? My shadows have forsaken me, and the woman’s promise is expired, and so I ask
“You saw me teleport?”
“Yes, we all did”
- Location:dads house
- Mood: chipper
review but not really but this is the book that i was talking to you about karina in the comment i sent you or should i say the epic long comment i sent you
sorries for the long comment but my thoughts ramble as my charecters do
speeking of charecters i'm almost halfway done editing chapter four and i don't know if i'm posting three yet, still haven't gotten any views from the people i'm writing for, but i may do it ... we will see
but anyway back to book review thing, i'm not going to make one guess buecase one prob doesn't know this book , but i do so here i will give it away
i have known about this wikced sirese for a few years becuase i read it a few years back and it was pretty good not awesome but pretty good and the book before this one came out like 6 years ago, though i have only had to endure like two years of waiting for this book becuase thats when i found these books if your'e wondering the other four books are combined in couples making the books so damn BIG it's annoying to read but anyway back to this book
at first every things is good, nothing really that cliche and then THEN i remember somthing from breaking dawn that i was like NOO this can't have anything incommon with the book that should not be named. but it does, for some reason it does and i don't like it.
Most of the book is good expcet for the constant jumping povs and the consant jumping of places and the totattly needless drama of who the baby was for becuase i even knew it was for meril ( i'll get to that later) but for the most part it was veyr very very good and i liked it... and still do with this horirble revilation
now to tell one the horrible revilation that links it to breaking dawn and another one that i just found out from my mind while i was thinking about the curcumbstances of the baby' conseption. In the end, it was all about saving the baby from the evil people when BUT meril in evil way more evil than the volturi. But what erked me was that the mother didn't even have an idea of wanting a baby and then loved it after she had it... no that doesn't happen there are many times that babys are just given up or really not carred for becuase the parents never wanted them. Just a little agirvation that i see hapening in books laltey, STOP WITH THE INSTANT LOVE FOR THE SAKE OF HAVEING THE CHARECTER NOT APEAR "MEAN: ENOUGH!!!!
and the second thing that links it to breaking dawn is like meril was inbetween realitys trapeed by his brothers and some how he impregnated nikole... its like how the hell did edward get it up i'm still confused as to how this happened and ... very confused and it demiishes the quality of the book greatly but not down to breaking dawn standerds Becuase there was a great big battle at the end and people died and some redied so it made it go up a little but that little thing about merlin's "spirit" haunting the island and impregnating her (really REALLY BIG THING) is like the edward thing and in harry potter and the dealthy hollowes how the hell did ron leran how to speak parlse toung becuase it's not a learned thing it's an inherited thing and how the hell did they get out of the chambers without a bird or somthing.
WHY, WHY IN ALMOST FINAL BOOK DO AUTHORS BREAK THE RULES OF THEIR UNIVERSE!!!!
though not in every final book does such things happen like The Sweet Far Thing and Specials ( and Extras) and Blue Noon and other books that i don't feel like remebering but not every book just the authors that it appears think they can slide with such mistakes, when in truth they can't!! it's illegal ! i'll make that a point in the writer books. Not saying that they aren't trying... it just appears they give up towards the end
if i ever do that oh wise readers of my stuff ( or am i talking to myself as it seems) please throw some cold water on me and instruct me to snap out of it and write like a writer writes and not like a smeyer writes!
speaking of meyer and most writers in general why WHY are boys MEN beatiful?!!?!?! i'll be back to rant on that later becuase as the days go on i keep on getting mader when i think or read of such things
see you later freinds.
- Location:mawmaws hosue
- Mood:
exanimate
no u have ot guess first becuase i'm not showing you or telling you until you guess
did i guess yet
okay now i'm going to show you
agh yeah!! it;s the seqaul but it was better than the first one besides the cliched charecters the the marry sue who EVERYBOY likes even the evil one but i liked it more than i did the first one becuase the main charecter got some respect from me when she did somthing that breaks the mold of the charecters that i normaly see in books that are soo infautared with love they wold give up anything and everything like bella even though she gets everything in the end
but , so does this charecter apparently becuase she gets a "sighn" that everything is fine and so she doesn't have the gulity anymore and so she gets to be in love with her person which is why this sin't a good book
it's also a bad book becuase the main charcter is STUPID she TRUST the "antagonist" and i use that term lightly seeing that the bad guy isn't really that evil he was just getting his revenge and... well the good guys get there revenge by killing people and no one ever says anything bad about them but anyway she trust him after she knew he was bad and was killing her person and since she trusted him somthing happened that she saved her person but now can't kiss/have sex/ or really touch him becuase of something she stupidly did-- that's when she lost all of my respect and that's when i looked at the author and said really REALLY we have to read a whole book on them trying to find the ancedote for the ancedote are you that despreat for things to write about
and to make it worce she a KILLED the only good charecter in the books-- not literaly killed but made her out to be so money hungrey and down right selfish at the end that i was sooo mad becuase she was the only reason i was reading for the most part and miles
oh! speaking of boys in the books and cliched Heaves boy freind the the essence of cliched Emo ness with his tight black pants his checkerbored tie, white shirt, and studded belt stuff like that i was like WHA AGAIN WITH NEW CHARECTERS YOU MAKES MORE CLICHES!!!
and what i find more annoying is that the main charecters aunt is the SO over-done over protective parent that really loves you but wants you to be safe ENOUGH WITH SUCH CLICHES IN EVERYTHING i mean really, i have enough with such parents.
and her gammer, though i shouldn't harp on it i will. I was even correcting it, and ONE knowes that bad -- yeah i kept seeing you's all over the place and that's one grammer rule i know is that you shouldn't be used except for when talking ONE is supposed to be used for the rest of the time
and she kept on puting stuff in these things- - but without them you couldn't have a real sentence and that's not what they are for, they can be used instead of this, , for things that can be tooken out but the sentence could still make sence or to clarify somthing but not that and it was agrivating me
and nother grammer misatkes i found a fragment in there too though out of all honesty fragments can be found in any book and story becuce no one thinks in complete thought all the time ! ( she confused me once with the word TOO becuase of the - - thing but then i was like ah! she didn't use it right!)
and all in all it's not a very good book it lacks in substence and as far as i can tell it has real meaning besides family is where u belong and i just made that up considering the events in the book and i wouldn't really say that i think it has somthing to do with family but i am not sure
so should one read it , if one wants to for entertainment and to say i can write better than this
should one expect anything great out of this no
should one wait for a holiday to come around to get it yes
should on read evermore no-- but u can understand this one perfectly without it
so in conculsion in give this book a 4/10
i think this is the second to last book but idk becuase it's a seires but they do like that use that word instead of trilogy these days, i don't kow why though
i have other books that i will read before editing again including one that i have been waiting on for a while and never thought it would come out but it has and i'm sort of happy to read it knowing that it will be better than blue moon
sooo see you later!
- Location:dads
- Mood:
drained
well i just finshed applying the edits for chapter three a whole day of edditng and it only took me around 10 hours since i woke up around 11 ha yeah yesterday i woke up at one :P of summer is so grand when one doesn't have to wake up for school in the morning except for the people who have summer school and the people who choose to go to summer school like karina.
where are you by the way you haven't been on aim or live journal ??? you starting to get me worried with this not here thing and you haven't posted your chapter like you said you were, have you gone on vaction where there is no free wifi ? are do you just have nothing to post... any way you are starting to worry me with this not here and i'm no where stuff
so yes i have finhsed edditng chapter three and i have chnaged the title for chapter two, this was after i posted it that i had a sudden thought to change the title stupid me T-T it's named Confusion now instead of Questions and a Dream becuase the dream part is a spoiler that i have been erked about for a while now and have just fixed it so that it won't give that part of it away - if you have read my story you would know if it was a spolier or not and it indeed is :)
i don't know if i should post it on here anymore conisdiering Karina is ... well lost she might be in the cave but that doesn't mean she has to be absent from everything i mean i watched tv and was on here when my laptop was charging and i wnet outside for a second when i wa sbored and it wa charging again and yes it has to charge a lot and i average four pages between charges and that's with like 2 hours of charge... yeah it irrating but iu'm at my dad's house and just remembered that i could use the desk top to write when my laptop is dead or charging, now i won't be here for long, but it will help while i am here
on the sims three i don't know if i want to so bad that i would but it becuase that would mean that i would have to but it myself and i need new books for insperation :) iv'e been reading the Uglies "trilogy" again for like the fourth time and i love it but i need some new books. By the way Karina if you are reading this you need to read those books becuase they are awesome and so we can have more to talk about. A movie is being made and it's actully some news :) it's not going as slow as it was for... more than the three years that i have been in the fandom but now we have a little bit of news so hopfuly there will be big news soon
anyway, u need to read them they are Uglies, Preties, Specials, Extras --- though extras is from another pov and has somthings differnent from the original three but it's still good to read but u need to read them NOW
as for writing in genreal i urge to write, i crave to write somthing new that whole new thing after chapter one was a result from my raw desier to write somthing new-- as you may have noticed i still haven't recovered my love for edititng and i don't think i will even as i am writing this right now i think i'm going to add somthing to the ending of chapter 3 becuase there isn't another pov after the ending like in chapters one and two becuase i liked the ending with it's cliffy and didn't want to tamper with it but now i think i will with the "boy" i still haven't given the name but that's not on the reason that i don't know his name, ii want it to be a surpise when we gives it and i know the girls name too :)
as for the second instalment in the story i have been thinkign about it a lot and recovering all the data that i had forgotten when i said i wasn't going to write another story becuece of ehtical reaons but i don't care about those reaosns anymore so off we go into the sequal and in the sequal i am likinng what i see and what i am going to write I'll give you a hint, somthing that Jamie said wayyyyy in the begning of Life of Lies was forshaodwing to somthing in Consequences ( working title) but you prob won't guess it anyway.
as for the other stoires that i have promcied to write Memoires, Writer story, You books, Uncertain, Trumans, The Story about how school is horrible (almost forgot this one yikes!) The Gay srory--- and some that i have kept to myself as in the revamping of a story that wrote a few years ago ofr enlgish but it will be a trilogy and i can't belvie that i wrote that ending and another little story that i wrote YEARS ago when i was really getting sriouse about writing in 7th grade, it might have been in 6th grade becuase i havealways liked to write always loathed editing and have never read my own work becuase i think it's stupid >.< but yeah reading the story i am talking about really pulled at me to rewrire. As of right now i don't know when i will write all of these as you can see i have a lot to write and a lot to edit -edit :'( i'll have to rewtiee some of memoires when i start it again after Consequences and some of these stroies have more than one installment.! So yeah... busy witht the arts of english
writing hell is hell becuase i hate edititng and thats what i am doign in writing hell and i don't know how much i have done of writing hell but i will see soon , see you later peeps and say if you want me to continue posting
- Location:dads
- Mood: creative
i don't know why i'm posting this since it appears no one is reading it even though one said one would yesterday and never did and now it feels lonely here on live jounral becuase no one is ever on it but anyway here is chapter two revised for all those who will read
Chapter two: Questions and a dream “Take pleasure in dreams, though don’t attempt to decipher their logic young dreamers, all will end in disaster.” Alise, witch
Awaking from the uneventful, drab, and grey blob that was my dream I rub my eyes- thinking about how hours before it wasn’t there- releasing the coal that has gotten trapped under my lids while I slept. Many hours must have wrapped around me as I slept, for in my hazy right-after- waking- up – eye sight I can see the afternoon orange is being eaten by the Earth, giving birth to a bitter sweet twilight. It’s beautiful, the rose and bronze colors blossoming from the ears of the skyscraper dotted sky, but this lovely sight is only preistine for a moment, for soft knocks interrupt the day’s finale. In annoyance I turn away from my window and, in my normal low voice say,
“Come in.”
Who comes in aren’t my parents attempting to make amends with me but a quitter woman who is slowly immerging from the poorly lit hallway. Could this be Sara? Why would she politely knock and wait for a conformation to enter, why would she come at all, most landlords only converse with tenets when they are late with the rent? But I should have known she was different from others by that letter she left for me. It also surprises me is that she is so young. She is pudgy like a plump cup cake, has spotted porcelain skin, and has shabby brown hair. Her box hopping skills are compatible to her beauty, causing her to tumble over the mountains of boxes scatted upon a groaning floor- face first- making me chuckle under my breath as the orange continues to descend into the beyound. No smile spreads and no chuckles erupt from her, for her aura becomes engaged as her face becomes of the blood under it, staying silent… silent like the whistles and the hours. Silently she picks herself up and walks over to my bed as though nothing has happened; faint chuckles are still reverberating themselves through my faint exhaustion.
“I wouldn’t laugh if I were you. I can kick you out for that.” She says lips pressing together all blistered as her sharp eyes drawn to my vacant grasp.
So much is in her tone as in her eyes like the words coming out of her mouth, so alien of form coming forth for such a being: today is full of unexpected things; when will things go back to normal? Never, it seems with her penetrating stare; it’s hard to even contemplate when things were of normal terms in my family, albeit with her pure embarrassment plastered on her face it’s difficult not to feel… remorse for my rude remark, but I refrain from such emotion. Time for remorse comes after allies are met and enemies exiled and neutrals forgotten, not time for now .Something equal as puzzling happens next, her body starts shacking. It’s as if she has gotten a cold and can’t stop shivering, and I start to worry on her behalf. My worry is short lived because her paradox look evaporates into one of joy and laughter.
Hmm it appears things aren’t as unexpected as they are made out to be now that I know-
I stop mid thought when I receive a tough punch in the shoulder, sending sharp pains running down my spine, then turn to Sara wincing with my hard on my bruising shoulder. Laughter is contagious today, and she is lauhing as once I was, but at my sight she stops,
“Funny huh? I’m sorry, but things had to be done. None one laughs at me. So what’s your story Derik, the application form only tells so much”
With only seconds to past she is a gental as a woman holding her new born child, even her eyes have forsaken the alien quality about them. So nice and genuine are they that are coxing me into fortelling my life story, but the woman’s vow is keen to remind me of its presence. Could Sara really be someone else, someone who isn’t as genuine as her eyes appear to be, someone that had another intenrary, and someone that the woman was warning me about? The woman’s vow is reverberating off my mind, and I am thinking… but is thinking enough when I may still choose the wrong decision, where is she when I need her. As time goes round Sara will become suspicious to my remaining silence, and her being wouldn’t good for me. Suspicion is all around the like the billowing cloud in my mind, so my gaze drifts to the groaning floor as the thoughts trickle from my lips,
“My parents are Lillian Glenda and Fredric Sanchez; I’ve lived with my dad most of the time. He’s a genetic scientist and a shape shifter, and she’s a reporter and a witch. Besides that, there isn’t much of my ‘story’.” If one doesn’t count that I’m physic and neither of my parents are.
Wow, looking at the floor really aids one’s ability to display ones whole family history for ones land lord to see. But the reasoning for such questions hasn’t been said or implied throughout this conversation; I’m just Derik- a normal eighteen-year-old, why so many questions. My question as to why is commuting when she jettisons another question at me, eager for an answer,
“What’s your power? I hope you’re a shape shifter; I have never seen one.”
Simple words for a simple question, but the field of sorrow severs the contagious tremors of laughter from me and adapts for the monsoon of silver rain, why wolrd, why this question. Neither would be the answer if I could speak, if I could recite my power or fell my heart beat, for it would say anomaly, abomination, and travesty. Abomination, for this has only intensified the feud of my parents, and their parents haven’t been present for years, but this isn’t flattering for them to hear. Why, why me those were my exact thoughts I had when I discovered my power. Just those thoughts kept me from confessing my power to my parents for two weeks, if it were possible I would have kept it to myself eternally. But as with every eighteen- year -old, I was forced into telling them or one of the government’s mind readers would tell them for me. Of course this has never happened before, but I wasn’t about to gamble with my sanity; mind readers can be a bit rough when agitated. Now it is all passing before my eyes reopening a wound that I had thought healed, allowing pathogens to seep in and infect my veins. What am I thinking? Of course isn’t healed; illusions are brought up for security, and mine aren’t impenetrable. How can I be so ignorant, and how can the world be trying to get to me this hard? I mean it gives other people breaks, why not me, why not me? So much though of not getting one of my parents’ powers, or a family power, sends fuel to the hurricane clouding intesfying until the whips and whistles erode every trace of joy in me. The air isn’t entering my lungs, but they are oblivious to that as my exression numbs, for Sara picks it up with her stuby fingers and apologetic face.
“What’s wrong, I was just asking to get to know you,” She says, but the air is still not here and the beat is afar… the silence taking root on shriving tongue. There are no pleas, but they are waiting, waiting for my approval. And they are satisfied with my pain that I take in with every stint of breath.
Can I tell her of my power and its mysterious origins? No. With everyone else there is no spot, no secrecy, and no air- just me, just me in this battle. Fredric wasn’t shocked when I confessed my power; there was hardly a response, save for a tight smile, but he’s always been calm. Lillian was far more normal about it, bleary eyed and breath short. Like a normal person, she started to ask me questions like… like I have a disease, and she’s trying to diagnosis it. Very, very weird reactions were coming at me. Should have been worried that people would look at my strangely or talk about me behind my back, maybe they both knew this was going to happen or maybe not. What if the reason they are divorced is because my mother had an affair, and my Ferdic isn’t really my father. Could my real father be a physic? No, impossible they would have told me that by now and any way a feud of that origns can’t last eighteen years or could it? That would be scandalous if true, which is impossible since I look like my father so that theory is false. But even me thinking of the theory strengthens the hurricane and I don’t care anymore, neither does the air or the heart beat as the wrap is fitted once more
Gleefuly I allow the warp and the hurricane to merge into one divine death presence ; it reverses the warmth of blood, to become absent. Sobs are audible as the pressure pushes them through my lips, tiny at first they develop like the hurricane until water is plastered on my face; my throute is aching for a cough drop. Like a mother confronting her wounded child Sara puts her arm around me and asks,
“What’s wrong, Derik? Is there anything I can do.”
Poor Sara she has no idea why I am this upset and it’s not fair for me to imply that it’s her fault. So in-between sobs I explain the reasoning behind this abundant depression
“It’s. Not. Your. Fault.”
Just managing to say coherent words decrease the hurricanes’ and wrap’s hold on me, giving air and beat, and speech power. With the air’s power increasing my ability to configure sentences I respond,
“It’s just that I’m neither I-
Before I can finish my sentence I’m interrupted by more of Sara’s sorrow or is it pity. Either way they both assist my attempt to obliterate the wrap’s as it starts to uncoil.
“Oh… you don’t have a power.”
Like I am her child Sara gathers me in a great motherly hug, even though I am eighteen and she is about twenty eight. Only the acceptance of a complete stranger allows the air and beat, and speech to reign supreme over the wrap. And even though I would like to stay in this position a while longer, I know that I have to finish telling the reasoning for the breakdown, so I pull away and continue my explanation again to the floor,
“… no, nothing like that. It’s just something’s wrong with me, I have neither of my parents’ powers, for I am a physic. Everyone knows genetics determines powers… so what’s wrong with me? I look like Fredric, so I couldn’t have been an affair.” A final private thought is spoken as I wipe away the syrupy tracks left from my tears.
For what feels like a decade there is nothing but silence, Sara just stares into open space and I am grateful for silence. For there is no worrying in the silence, no wrap, and no betraying words, just the answers of sweet silence. Nothing, until she answers embracing me slightly in her joking manner,
“Wow you have a lot of emotional stress on you,” She ruffles my messy hair, “and I’m glad that I didn’t bring this on. For a second there I felt bad. Do you need anything because I have a date tonight, but I can always cancel it if you need me?”No, and I shake my head. “You sure, okay I’ll see you when I get back, don’t wake up your neighbors, they can be grumpy at times.”
At the word date, for the first time, I notice not only her physical appearance but what she is wearing. It’s normal date attire for a young woman a low cut dress; hers is a fiery red, and matching high heels that gleam in the orange light.
Now wonder she tripped over the boxes.
The last thing I notice on her is she she’s not wear earrings. One question is blossoming in my mind and splattering nectar on my pallet and vocal cords, but she’s jaunting over the boxes again, slightly unbalanced, and she won’t heat if I ask. By the time her hand fastens on the bronze door knob, my voice is back like a dying star on the verge of life; Sara opens the door.
“Hey, can I ask you something?”
Not a second of hesitation accurse before she answers me.
“Yes, sure but can it be quick.” Her tone isn’t the one that was so maternal; it’s changed. Slippery is the nectar from my cords to lips, and then into the air as the question splatters of my lips and into the air,
“What is your power?”
“I’m a physic.” She spits as she slips out into the hallway in a micro second, slamming the door closed; behind her, the air is displeased.
With that she leaves me to defend myself against the wisdom of the world, but it seems that the world is filing a double knife, for is Sara friend or enemy. The notion that she is physic only strengthens my optimistic view of the future; I may defeat the world after all… or maybe not. But alone is good right now because even though I loath my power, the time to harness complete control over my power ability has presented itself, and being deemed a fool on the first isn’t appealing. To make sure I have sefice concentration I lay back down on my anxious bed, catching the last of the afternoon twilight the tender rose slipping from the tendrils of day, giving way to the oil of a blunt night. This is a mistake that allowes my exhaustion to warp around me like a straving plant. Once I am on my back my lids shut tight, and again dream land is pulling me to its frigid depths as though I’m decaying metal and the dream is a magent is a landfill.
Orbs of grey appear in my dream, just like the last one- floating around in nongravity I expect this dream to be like the last one, so I shut my eyes. But I have not the right ventue, for I see a burst of color explode from a sliver of sight left. Warily I contemplate opening my eyes just to see random splotches of color for the second time on this wonderful day. Tough it intrigues me, so I unhitch my eyes; I am shocked at what I seen. The Ocean of Answers, as the woman proclaimed it, has swallowed me again and is pulling me to anther portal of glistening light. Although something is different about this one; the light is aged and decaying silver and grey like a person’s hair after age and depressed like a dying flower in the mist of spring. Everything else is the same. Even the magnet is but not as rapid, and my lungs aren’t screaming out in pain, yet. Familiar pain starts to course its way though my body, touching every nerve ending. Hours pass and I’m the position I was in hours ago, same place, same deprived lungs, and same ocean- but my enursa has slowed its pace. This only surmounts to my bulging lungs and burning mouth with flaming air, and sordid taste with the grim hour in this dream.
Or is this a vision?
Considering my logic it can be both - impossible. I didn’t feel the hollow shovels of a grave digger dredge into me when I shut my eyes. Maybe the diggers don’t bother with such trivial information; maybe it’s just for important things. “Maybe” that word can drive a person insane if used correctly. And I think I have found one of the ways it can do so, but I know almost nothing about my power, so I will just improvise with what I have. What I have I deduce is this is a very realistic dream. Now, that has been sorted out, I return my attention to the portal that I’m being drawn to. Wow, that’s all I can think the, for in the minute time I have wasted mulling over dream or vision the rustic metal has been dredged up to lights. Their glistening is waning like the moon in days, but something isn’t grasping in my mind. Why would I stop right here? Unfortunately the time for answering is brief and nonexistent whilst my lungs stir and flex, so my arms glide up and part the rippling lights like a thin film as carbon dioxide bust from my bubble.
More and more carbon is exhaled as I emerge from the waters drenched in a warp of moister that adorns me with diamonds of water; the gentle exhale only worsens into a cough. Water has entered the passages of my lungs, and it’s impossible to breathe; I wheeze and double over onto a tickling ground until my throat burns with fire, and a pale vomit slides onto the ground. Barley any energy to spare, I moan while dragging myself over the now imprinting ground, a ground that is familiar to my touch and ailed view in the oil hour. Insanity wants to declare victory upon my mind as does the world, but they aren’t allowed to, for I won’t let them. Though the shroud of night is present with sparse stars, I’m certain that my mind isn’t corrupted, but my certified answer is given when I prop myself up from the ground and survey my silhouetted surroundings: mountains and absence. I have seen this place before just hours ago; I’m in the valley. Questions, questions, questions are flying across my mind like, I don’t want to relive this, why am I here and could this be a vision after all? In vain I start searching for a way out of this dream, but it’s difficult when the sun has left and the cheese of the moon spoiled. Though it’s no use, for the puddle of water that I have emerged from is now nothing but a patch of swaying dandelions, and I have yet learnt how to shatter a vision… or to exit a dream. Well, if I’m going to be trapped in this vision/dream I might as well be comfortable, and so I lay down with a sigh that sweeps joy over me, cutting more dandelions from their waltz. All seems lost when I hear a whisper in my ear. Normally hearing voices would be cause to check into a mental institution, but here it’s time for jubilation, for voices can be informative voices can be helpful, and voices can be welcoming. But the voice isn’t either of them, for it’s mine. Dandelions around me stop, even though the wind is still blowing, pigment of the night is toasted darker as I hear the voice is saying,
“Turn around.”
Simple command, turn around. Maybe he isn’t like the woman, maybe he can’t communicate sentences in a vision/dream… or maybe he’s just not trying.
There goes that maybe again.
Hesitantly, I turn around; I’m not prepared for what’s waiting for me. Right across from me is a reflection of me, only few differences can be cited. He has stubble of a goatee on his chin, and his eyes are depressed oceans of sapphires. Besides those defenses, he’s an exact replica of me, which freaks me out a bit. For him there is no time for silence and he makes his way over to my ear, whispering in it.
“Some day I’ll be you.”
No words could describe the amount of panic that starts reeking havoc with my nerves when he says this. Saying that in my ear adds to my frantic nerves, but I can tell when he takes in a breath that he is going to continue.
“When you return I have a present for you, but don’t go looking for it. It should find you.”
Now I’m really starting to get nervous , but once he says that he’s out of my ear and back across from me, staring at me… just staring at me. Just like Sara, he starts to laugh. Though it’s not like hers, his is empty of joy and saturated with toxins billowing cloud and hurricane. Something appears to be happening to him while he’s laughing, but I have to squint my eyes to see what that is. Vision tuned to as perfect as I can manage, I see that he is starting to turn translucent, joining the air. Now that lifts my mood a smidge. Just out of curiosity I glance down at my own hands to be uber disappointed that they remain flesh and blood, so I just sit here, playing with the paralyzed dandelions. Being away from that reflection makes me happier, but I’m not completely happy until I feel the warp coiling around me. This time around I close my eyes and let go while I take the ride back to reality backwards, passing out along the way again.
When I awake I’m breathing hard and I’m drenched from head to toe, in sweat or water I’m not sure. So far my life on my own has been one filled mysterious and frightening, and confusing events. Nobody will ever know what my visions are about, only that woman if she ever returns. Maybe not even her because she told me not to trust her, though a conundrum I am in I think I can trust the woman. Confiding myself to secrecy won’t be easy since I rather silence than talk. Yes, it will be difficult, but that woman said not to trust anybody, and I will keep that vow. With that thought I turn over on my bed glimpsing the full moon high in the sky as it’s a queen and all the twinkling stars are its followers.
With my hands fidgeting and aching in frustration I gather a bundle of sappier paper from the anxious pile, waiting my picking on my night stand, only the lights from the stars are here to guide them. Under me, the wool mattress opens its maw and attempts to gather me once more, but my hands are in control of me now. Only my hands and nothing else. The air is sweet with honey tonight like the night years ago, the night that continues to plague me, and the night that’s forever embossed in my memory as the paper is connected to my hand. This paper is crisp in my hands, my ancient hands that looks so fresh, but are basking in my false joy, for they remain ivory and unblemished as time winds on. Like my pale eyes, my pale hands are insipid and bore none of the marks of age, just my heart and mind. Silver light glides off the hovering birds I have painstakingly produced over the centuries- scarlet, emerald, lavender, coal, and ivory alike are mingling together in this room, and the gliding light offers only assistance to me as I crease the first fold on this paper, a paper that is rough in my hands, paper that is scattered on the ground like the penguins I weave, paper that is creating something else in my hands. A change that’s unprecedented. A giraffe has replaced my penguin’s place; giraffes were my mother’s favorite animal. I throw the giraffe to the ground, but it gracefully waltzes down against my throw, landing on all four legs to stand right up and stare at me- why. And all I can think is, when will it open, when will I leave?
hmmm it half posted right half didn't don't ask me why it does this.... see you soon freinds
- Location:house
- Mood:
crazy
this is added to the end of chapter one sorries i edited today after i watched something on youtube it may be confussing since u don't know Olivia but thats all the fun right :) okay bye bye
His breath is sour and warm in contrast to what billows around us, and I cannot sleep with this… with this future looming out of my grasp. No light as now, no light like years ago, and no light like me; but I can’t allow this to happen, can’t allow another travesty to occur under my watch. But I cannot do what I must with the little information I have; I shut my eyes to the world, but the murmuring of the people are omnipresent in my mind, and the dreams of some are tethering me into their shows. All of them are captivating to me; the minds of people are extremely complex and are a delight to peek into, but not now, and I take soothing breaths whilst purging them from my view.
My breath becomes labored at the load of thought and dreams that I am processing some refuse to bulge from my view, swelling until a ripple of pain ripples through me, but I don’t gasp. Some pain is easily immuned to, this pain has long been a crony of mine, and I have he’s brandished me tons of times… the memoires aren’t as pleasant. So he doesn’t bother me, just the thought that these things are besieging me, the thought that I am lousing is begrudging me as they continue to swoon in my mind. Go away, go away thy vile thought- my thoughts chant. And it appears to be working, until one dream remains, a mangled dream that isn’t only obscured by distance but by something else. The dream is imperious to my chants and my mental power; it continues to twirl around the abyss of my mind with morbid hues clinging to it. As I attempt to purge the dream with my… power before I can utter the word or summon the power, an inferno consumes me. It feels as if the sun has engulfed me and salt has been injected into my numerous gashes and scars; this pain forces me to scream and convulse. This pain I know, and this pain and I aren’t friends.
My eyes flash open into darkness, but my convulsions have awoken Adam as he is howling and sniffing me as I continue to scream. Something in the confines of my mind awakens, and I know this isn’t going to end will. Now Adam has stopped howling, but now he is winning to see his friend in such despair. There has only been this magnitude of pain once, and her name is Olivia.
Kill.
Such thoughts of homicide are now entering in my mind but not of my own accord, of something that I have contained for more than three centuries, something that can easily control me.
Die.
More thoughts and the dream is consuming me, but the pain on intensifies until I know my flesh is scorched, for I can see the flicking flame on me- at least only the flesh. Adam pounces on the flame on me, but all I can feel is the flame as my eyes gradually close with the waning of my shrieks. This dream is victorious, for I am tumbling into the foreign mind that cast this dream, into an innocent bystander who may perish at the end of this. Here there is no fire, here there are no words, and here there are no infiltrators- just the abyss and something else in here. What could be so important that this dream stimulated my powers or was this it the dream who casted me in this place.
Murder.
Such a vile thought breaches my mind and booms in this abyss; the other object has yet to notice I or my malicious thoughts.
Tortue.
Again a thought saturated with hostility emerges from the depths of my mind, and reverberates in this opaque dream. Above a roar of thunder and an anxious lighting illuminates the abyss for a brief time; the other object turns to face me: a young woman. Her almond shaped emerald eyes are a stark contrast to her indigo hair and ivory blemished flesh. The abyss moans around her with starving sky and erratic havens; my body remains under my control at her gaze, but something about her is causing the thoughts to spawn and fringe my control. So much so that my fingers begin the twitch feebly as I ward of the thoughts, but they are bashing against my control with lead armor. From behind a spiral of crystal water threatens to submerge the girl in black pajamas. With the heavens starving and erratic, water fringing her being it would seem the young woman would be frightened, but she remains a zephyr in this chaotic dream. The only thing here that appears transplanted. Why is she calm as though she has experienced this a million times, why is she so silent?
Kill.
A thought of murder, not mine but same thought.
Below me the invisible ground is crumpling as the confines of this dream are warping and flexing into queer shapes. Though the young woman remains paralyzed as if nothing is happening, I can sense that there is something of fright in her, something of despair and crude nature is burrowed in her. Neither of which pertains to the thought that just boomed from her mind, something that can’t be hers, for her disposition is foretelling none the sight of age. This… this can’t be the spawn of… I thought I had taken care of this.
“Olivia?”I ask, taking on stride towards her, lucky there is no surge of pain, but there is also no answer.
A fragment of the abyss succumbs to the pressure being put on it beneath me, to reveal a swelling wan ocean; the crystal spiral now comes closer to her as the frantic heavens draw near.
“My fault,” She replies absently as the vortex consumes her and the ground beneath us collapse, but I remain a float even in this wan environment, for in dreams anything is possible. But she succumbs to her own pressure and her own dream as the frantic heavens strike her, and again, and again, and again… and again, and I feel it every time. Every time it strikes the excruciating pain flanked with her emotional despair, everything is magnified in her being, in this dream, and in her life. Albeit, the pain is my comrade, so no moaning from me, but in this bleak sky and moaning frigid whistle I hear nothing from her as if she is dead, but my thoughts tell me not as the spiral dissipates, and she plummets to the eager ocean scorched and freezing.
Time to kill, they think, but I refuse to bulge, for this… this is not good.
The ocean swallows the young woman, and she descends deeper into the hollow depths of the ocean. What if I don’t have time to complete the thought before I breach the surface and gasp the young woman from the coils of the ocean, sometimes these powers come in handy. Drenched and freezing as I we breach the surface with her in my arms; she is coughing horribly, and the ocean encompassing us appears rankled that she isn’t in its maw swelling higher as our altitude greets the frantic heavens. They remain disgruntled too… but why; why is this dream attempting to kill its creator? Another strike is evaded but not swiftly. Her breath is returning to normal as the water is vomited from her lungs onto me.
“Thanks,” I say, but my words aren’t audible over the hunger from the sky as it ignites once more; I move, but the strike hits me on my spine. There is no time for anything as the dream dims and finally extinguishes into reality, and I’m numb and falling into my mind, falling into my own with the thoughts in control until my own consciousness is out.
I awaken sore a groaning from the new scar on my back; it sears as I roll over to a now slumbering Adam, releasing tendrils of burning blood- maybe I can make cave drawings out of them. The new scorched flesh from that… that defense is only a flesh wound as the other is, never thought I would be glad to be old, but I am. Still, the pain is raw and savage on my body as the future and that young woman are pounding me with impediments as my head it, for the thoughts are still present and begrudged at my decisions. But they alone aren’t enough to obstruct my vision into the future, but I see nothing but a name: Jamie.
Is that the young woman’s name… and what of the future if it nothing?
- Location:house
- Mood: creative
yeah and the proluge too with a mystery thing at the end. Mystery you say what could that be ??!?!??! Well i can't say you will just have to read to find out. Most of it is different but towards the end is where i got lazy and deicded that somethings could stay the same but besides that i changed most of it, hope u like it and in doing this i made it longer this isn;t good it's supposed to be shorter! but i did edit a lot out of one of the other chapters.... we will see well here u go comment please :)
Prolouge: Lies
Lies, they surround us, they weave among us, and they eventually become us. Everything is a lie, nothing is truth, for truth is banished is a world as malignant as ours. But the truth can still be revealed here, albeit in dire conditions. Why is that, I haven't a suitable answer or one that I desire to fabricate. All i know is that lies are eager to ensure the thought because they are our ken. Though not in blood, for blood in naive and ignorant contrasted to the intricate form of a lie. We are lies, even I. And for that I won't utter my name, all that is to be known is that I'm a weed, a woman weed. So many lies, so many lives, are anything truthful- pure?
No.
Chapter one: Pain: “When in relfection of ones life things should be clear, if not then one has none at all” Alise, witch
It seems that the world has abandoned me, abandoned me in its quest to inflict misery and insanity upon the people of its soil. Though my like isn’t spared with any justice in this maelstrom of misfortune, no my life appears to be the essence of the world’s captivation. Appears? If only that verb could be an accurate depiction of this event, for that would offer some sufferance- or remorse from the, but not it’s not. Unlike the vast majority of other eighteen-year-olds, my parents have omitted the clause in our relationship that dictates they should temporarily ratify their feud and acquaint me with their jubilant smiles… graduation was hostile enough, but my parents shrouded feud reins dominant over my desires, not once has the verdict been otherwise, never. So I should have known this rare occurrence in my life would be botched by them. Not that one could call them parents for the most part one could glace once at them and pronounce them the pollutants of rage and wrath- both are seared into their callused words and pricing glances. Their war eternal in my mother’s elongated life, but only a millisecond in others. Thankfully all I have inherited from them are my father’s midnight hair and my mother’s sun kissed complexion; every other trait I am thankful wasn’t dominant in their genes at conception, save for my mother’s burgundy eyes. How can things so appealing radiate with such mace and hostility when confronted by the sapphires of my father’s. There is no explanation, there never is, maybe the explanation is extinct. Becoming extinct comes with the territory of their feud and crude attitudes toward each other, after eighteen years the flaring of the intensity of it only manifest on my birthdays- to my mounting fright to predict what they are going to do to each other someday. And now there feud has surmounted to the extent that it's conflicting with my departure into adult life in my apartment, where I will stay until my power training is complete, lucky me. For now I wait, gazing out the panels of oily glass at the somber expression upon my face and the running catacombs beneath the city, as my ripped jeans threaten to collapse off my pelvis and into the oblivion beneath me.
As I sit bored out of my mind on this metal a wave of coldness passes over my body like a wave on a beach and I know what is to happen next, but I’ not enthused. I brace myself for the vision- shutting my eyes- that is to come because I have not yet mastered the complex art of having these things, and they are still unpredictable- frightening at times. Now the cold is filling me, suffocating, and I can’t breathe can’t move, can’t think as I succumb to oblivion. The seconds are now melting away, pain increasing with them and now, finally I am floating in a bottomless ocean abyss, the obious crisp waters lathering me with their affection. Opening a slither of my right eye I can see that something is sparkling like diamonds above me.
What is this? I have never seen this before. I think.
Unexpectedly, I am suddenly being pulled to the source of the sparkling as thoug it’s a magnet and I’m a ton of metal. On the physical potion of my being this pain is unpresdented seeing that my lungs have started to cry out for their right of oxygen. More and more pain surges through my body touching every on of nerve endings, making it difficult to not scream out in pain, releasing the little treasered air I have left in my spoiled lungs. This is the situation where my parents’ fury would be accepted and apportiate to weild, their passion unteilding and fatal, though I would rather not become become them: ignorant fighters. Slowly but surely my treasured air escapes from my bluing lips, as the magnetic pull on me intensifies, shattering the glass bubbles flowing from my sulking lips like their pout will resurrect them from peril. But that’s not enough, for vision begins to cloud over like a bloated veil, and I think I am close to faint. Once I am completely blinded the stiffening cold that has arrested my body starts to unlock its cuffs; it’s both relieving and nerve racking. Nerves clench themselves in fright and attempt to abandon me too, but their foe adrenaline sears through their doubts and coils around my heart, leaving it to be emancipated on frantic journey to no where; my head is consumed by thoughts of my dyeing in this vision or is that possible?
Burning adrenalin is pumping through my veins now- that only depletes the oxygen further- but I still can’t move with the titanic amount of pain emanating from my lungs. Luckily, now that the paralyzing cold is abcent, my vision is slowly retuning but at a snail’s pace. Straining to see what’s around me, I see that the glistening lights are right above me still; I am about to enter a place that I have never seen before, but visions are important to be observant of, even the blood curtailing ones, even the truthful ones, though this one seems morbid in projection. But that still doesn’t offer an ounce of comfort, only doubt; I brace myself for what places or livid images await for my viewing the other side of those lights, when I notice that I am still the scap of metal, and the magnet is very enthusiastic. Nothing I can do can slow me down, and now I am through the lights and into an alien time with alien views. Before an instant has come to past the pain that was slashing the inside of me disappears and my vision is restored back to its proper twenty- twenty. Air evades me woth every grasp I inhale desperately, but it offers a cushion of natural emotion in the wake of my inertia’s absence, and my adrenaline still erupting with haste gait. More alien views are here then the ocean, for an unvanquished sky spalwes before the moutian peacks as though never confronted by the cnacer of men. And an ungorven field of wlazing dandelions waves at me like I’m their first viewer, but a sinister grin plagues their mouths. For they know what I’m ingnotant of: the air isn’t evading but burning me as the gound becones me with its magnet, coming closer to intruding on the performance every second.
Panic consumes me, but I am relived that I will hit the water I came out of instead of the ground; water is refeshig in death. The hope of a preferable death is doesed by the sand of my fruitful gaze down; I see the water is departing from the ground, leaving creases and charred ridged in the ground like and controlled drout.
Well that’s great. At this speed the ground will be bone shattering, and if I die I may be stuck here; the world isn’t playing fair today. I ponder though I have no solid evidence that that will happen if I become stranded in this vision. Questions still remain in my concerned mind: if I will sustain any damage from this vision, or if one can die in a vision. All I know is the meager amount of information my parents have given me, which consist of practically nothing. After all I haven’t begun my training yet, though the world will not rest until I am in my death bed.
Idiotic as it seems I start twerling my arms around like like the ancient wind mills on the educational videos, but it’s a complete failure. With the friction form the air my hair is trembling, and my flesh is warming now that my cash of the waltz is imminent, and I haven’t gotten use to the fact that I will be suffocated with pain again. I start counting down until I bones shatter, viens rupture, organs tatterd, and vegetation is pulverized by my ultimate blow, sometimes I mummer the words aloud to a world that is smug in his view.
Ten seconds, too bad they can’t move from me.
At last allow myself to succumb to the magnetic pull until I am on my stomach where I know my faded black t- shirt will not protect me against blow I am sure to receive. Finally my heart is back to its normal pace, ready for the pain... for death. With my body numb again I shut my eyes and go back to counting down the seconds until I shall strike the ground.
Five
Four
Three
Two
… On-
Even though pain is expected nothing can prepare one from this titanic explosion as I become into the earth of this valley, nervous system reporting ribs shattered, legs severed, and sever internal bleeding. I’m drowning in my own life as it seeps into my lungs and constricts the air sacks like medical tape. Most of the images are cornucopia of hues incomprehensible to me as the pain swells around my breast bone- heart feeble in duty- and influxes towards my unresponsive legs. So much pain is like the whispers of ants only a million in magnitude, though I think one is only broken, the other is. Picking up my neck is an impossible task, for the world’s ganlwed nails are anixious to prick me, and I just lay on the ground using my wanning life wondering why my powers brought me here; why would they bring me to my death? Only suffering can make minutes into hours and that is does as the repition of that thought reveribartes around my fractured mind until I hear a faint whisper or is that the sound of death? No, death’s voice isn’t as feminine as the one I am hearing. Either death is an important thing or there is a person attempting to contact me, and it reiterates a bit louder, albeit congealed blood in my ears inhibits my hearing,
“Can you hear me Derik?”
More hours transpire as it takes me a fort night in this condition to comprehend that a kind woman’s voice is talking to me, an oddly familiar one, but why is someone communicating with me in this vision; suspicion is laced in my thoughts as I attempt to answer her. This is pretty seeing that as I open my mouth to speak nothing comes out but trickling blood, a blood that runs scarlet and warms my reoxygenated and bruised lips. Again I hear her reiterate, and I try to find my voice among the blood pools because what ever this woman wants is connected to me in some way. When I open my mouth this time a voice comes out, a voice that can’t be mine, for it is horse and raspery, aching of the elderly, and it’s not mine… this is the voice of death,
“Can hear, what want?” Articulation at this point is nonexistent.
My words fight to get out of mouth, but I manage to keep them from getting jumbled up. Just off in the distance of my mind there is a billowing toxic cloud of mental obscurity, and it looms closer with every wasted moment; unconsciousness is evaded by counting how long her response incubates- this time completely aloud. It takes twenty hours,
“I am here to warn you not to trust every thing you may see from hear on out- not even me. Things… things are going to be changing, remember to thing before you act.”
Things are going to start changing what is that supposed to mean? Such accusations and forecast are perplexing- migraine inducing- to me without physical representation, and where is this woman? With all the life that remains in me I summon the foreign voice and say-whisper, moan,
“Why… not… see… you?” The pain still impdeds my speech, suffocating blood too.
Unlike last time the woman takes about three minutes longer to think of her response as if she is fabricating a weave of deception instead of the wisdom of truth,
“It’s not safe right now another time when I can be sure no one can breach your mental defenses. Time isn’t on the right side of either of us… we are going to have to men your injuries before you leave,” there is a pang of sorrow in her tone, like she wishes me dead, but only for the briefest of moments, “ You wouldn’t want to see me anyway, nothing but trouble” She concludes.
Oh this is nourishment for the billowing cloud as it continues to shower its toxic spores in the crevasse of my mind, dredging thought tangents of tissue and blood vessels. Even her promise to heal me spears to relief, only the influx of pain as the migraines of toxic gas erupt in my mind. Heal me now. All I want now is for this woman to heal me and just let me go back to the life I had before this happened, but the possibility of that is becoming increasingly slimmer. For an hour it seems that she has just taken a breath and will continue to explain things to me, and so the silence begins, sweet silence. Then roughly around two hours there is nothing, not even the wind blowing, and I think I am alone until she speaks;
“Now I must leave you but not before your wounds are mended to prior your trip out of the Ocean of Answers. I’m sorry about the magic is new to me. I’m sorry-”
She cuts herself off because she is about to say something that isn’t safe for me to know now or ever by her reasoning. Too much is traspiering at the same time, amd I’m glad she does so. For half an hour I can hear her voice reaping the gibberish that is soon to be healing me. As her voice disappears from my ears like a waning melody my legs are signaling their defeat from the ground with frigid waves of frost, but the numbness isn’t enough to ward off the billowing cloud or the radiating pain from my body; tears sting my ears- scarlet tears. Cold as a whistle from the mountains, the numbness continues to spread throughout my body, engulfing it until I am afraid of hypothumeria will set in, afraid to feel the wrap a decay any longer. But she is healing me, I chastise myself, and healing is supposed to be a wonderful experience in which one feels rejuvenated after, so why do I feel like mold. Could this be killing me, could this only be an elaborate scheme to have me killed; she said to trust no one, even her, messenger of the message. No, for the numbness is healing the splintered tissues, the shattered bones, and the tattered organs- even the trails of blood are being waxed away from my flesh as the mountain’s whistle blows against my cheek.
The thought of standing up after such a critical recovery isn’t fond to my billowing head, still pulsing in synchronization with my frail heart, but magic is meant to be doubted. A grunt escapes from my lips as I hop onto the ground; the wrap of death is still present as I cut more dandelions from waltzing. Now alone in this valley the wrap still lingers on my being as the real threating cuffs arrest me once more, one appendage after another waiting to suffer the same fait. In a matter of seconds the cold has suffocated me again, and the drought bellow me becomes an oasis again in reverse magnitation; cold water devours me into a liquid night. Before I’m back on the subway the night becomes me, and the hours become it.
When I awake I’m sitting opposite to where I began: the subway’s metal floor. I must have moved around in my vision, and I’m drenched… in unstingy sweat from head to toe. It takes me a while to remember everything and to make since of it, with my head unsettled. I remember everything as the conductor comes over the intercom and says,
“Dreams Street, anyone going to Dreams Street will be getting off at the next stop.”
Hearing that announcement I jump slugishly up and stumble over to the automatic metal door, waiting for the train to stop, looking over my shoulder to see if anyone saw me “sleeping” on the train. To my surprise there is still nobody on this train but me, which is a good thing considering that I had a vision on hear- no telling how long it was. Squealing erupts from the train’s breaks, and in a minute the train stops, and the doors have stubbornly opened, but I linger for a minute to see if I would see the woman from my vision or at least her voice. No nothing, nothing at all, just the whistles and growles of stray rodents; it disappoints me a little. But it doesn’t cloud over my day more so because, as of today, I’m on my own and free of my parents’ feud.Gradulary my gait increases as the wrap uncoils around my being, allowing the joy to bream though the corrupted toxic gas in my mind as I strut up the empty cobble stone stairwell and onto the awaiting street. Here there are people, not many, but there are some. Another little observation I make as I come out from the subway tunnel is that the sun is playing hide and seek behind the clouds, but even that will not make my day cloudy.
It isn’t until I am walking down the sidewalk, drip drying, that I get a little irritated at the sight of my apartment, le petit chatu. As the world wants to get me I have recived the oldest floating apartment ever, the bricks are practically falling off the thing and the roof is almost shingles. Still this doesn’t make me entirely furious, so I walk the rest of the third of a mile- drying completely on the way, down the street to my apartment, walk up the stairs, and knock on the door softly. There is no answer so now again, this time pounding like my head. Unfortunately there is still no answer, so I let myself in; the squeaking of the door sends a wave of shivers down my spine, like the wrap reincarnated. Lights are on but there is not a person in here only a note on a wooden couter top: the note intrigues me a smidge, so I sride to the counter were it lie and stat reading it.
Dear Derik,
I know you are to be arriving soon, but I have to go out for a few things. I’ll be back soon. There is no key for your room; it’s already unlocked, so you can go in it if you would like to and unpack what your parents brought. I’ll see you soon.
This note makes this day better because now I know I have a nice land lord , unlike most of the other eighteen- year- olds. With nothing else much to do I walk up the wooden stair case to my floor, clutching the iron railing. The decorating isn’t much up here- just dark wooden floors, some wall lamps, and a very strange, almost black, colored paint covers the walls. It would make most designers now days scream in bloody murder and maids groan, for a sliver layer of dust coasts this room; these days it’s all about granite floor and metal wherever it can be placed. But I find this… this soothing as it melts away the presence of the wrao, so I walk over to my room, embroidered number one right above the frame in orange. Opening the door is easy, but once I enter I wish I would have just stayed in the vision on the train because of what the world has plannted here. No it’s nothing to do with the design, for it mirrors the hallways, but instead it’s the mountains of boxes that I have to unpack. Now this finally puts the cloud over my day, and with a sigh I jump over boxes that are scattered on the floor- to land on my bed that has some sapphire colored covers on it. Ah, they feel wonderfully good as I jump on them and with the only window right behind my bed makes it the perfect temperature for sleeping. And even thought I have already “slept” today I am exhausted, so I stretch out a little and close my eyes, getting sucked into dream land, but do I trust dreams or they my enemy now? Dreams will tell; dreamland captuers me before I can answer.
Today, tomorrow, and yesterday- what is the difference between the two times and places? Some would say everything, some would be incorrect; the only difference are the emotions people receive and gain, for the antics are parallel to that of everyday. I should know, I know seen the same things from humanity for over three centuries, the same betrayal, the same behavior, but the emotions are always morphing into queer things at the last moment. It’s quite entertaining to watch. But as I listen to the mummers of corrupted thought and pardon the occasional emotion of false compassion, the quivering of rodents and the expanding of the water molecules in the stalagmites and stalactites that bore their expressions into mine in this desolate cave. I can’t help but to know something is absent from me. Something that they have but I can’t seem to capture or influence with my abundant powers, something that my slumbering greasy dog in the holey cont next to me has but is absent it me. What is it? Before I can contemplate it further the feeble warmth emanating from a minute flame eludes me, and my vision is stolen by the powers that are supposed to protect me. The moan of a furious wind enters the cave and slashes at my numerous cuts and gashes, stinging and searing with pain; a cottage appears in my vision, and light is draining lavishly out of it. There is I, cursed with scars upon my peachy flesh, chestnut over-grown hair, and squinty eyes fighting… fighting something that isn’t there… fighting something off.
No.
Not them.
And the vision ejects me from the future, but this can’t happen, it mustn’t. Were there other people there; I hope not? Though if there were, this still can’t happen. Mustn’t, and the wind ravishes my gashes as my faithful companion slumbers on, and the light is suffocated by ice plunging into darkness. Just like the impossible future, the one that isn’t happening.
- Location:house
- Mood: chipper
okay today is when i start to revise again and i have started to read again ( my story) in wich is why i have a new plan
it seems that i cannot read my own story without getting tired... idk why but i get very sleepy when i start reading it, don't ask me why i just do ... i guess i really don't like my own stuff or that since i already know the whole story and everythign about it that i feel no need to do such things, anyway time for the new plan
new plan is just an eddited edition of the old plan , for the new plan is the same plan but without the reading. I remeber a hell of a lot without the reading and i know wich chapters that i will have the edit servearly and those are the ones that aren't even on my computer or jump drive so yeah.... i will have to do that when i get to that hopefully soon and the new plan with that is to edit as i go through whats in my note books. i only have one that is filled all the way so i HOPE it won't take that long, i don;t think it will since most of it will be jamie and jamie is the one that will be changing A LOT since her's is going to be poetry now.
yeah thats all for now , i'll update you on how much i ge trasnfered today and how much i have edited after today aroudn today or after Harper's Island tommrow , i love that show right now- good thing we have netflix or i wouldn't have been able to be cuaght up no i would have been able to i just wouldn't have rembered about the show in the first place.
well bye bye for now see u in a couple of hours or tommorow night
writing hell isn't looking too good for me right now :/
- Location:house
- Mood: crappy
okay i hav ebeen failing at this writing hell thing with my hectic planning and my rabid thoughts and my little time to read and to edit and i haven't edited in a while
but i have a plan
yes a plan don't look at me that way it's a very good plan
i'm suposed to be getting back on monday so that wil be when i start doing eveyrthing again becuase it's too hard to do on the road or on vaction so yes monday it will be but have thought of the stoies all week and have thought up a new one when i was staring at a mirror yesterday in Las Vegas
i have an begining but not an ending yet so it's on the back burner but i have another story and i think it will be my first slash story yeah i think it will be but idk yet but i know it's going to be about war and stuff like that but i don't have a theme yet so we wil see but i am likign the story so far becuase of its dramtic elements :)
i feel as if i am still moving for some reason, it feels weird and unstable but i like it
i went to six flags while i was in cali and i rode my first coaster with loops and a big drop want to go again but i always get nerose when we start going up . i loath the big drops and i wish they would all float into the space
so yeah i will be starting again on monday i promice and for right now i am nreading the histoiran -- it's very slow and dull as of now the narration is irratatting becuase i have NO clue what the narrator looks like or what the narrator is seeing half of the time becuase it's in europe we will see hot it goes
see you soon
- Location:new mexico
- Mood: creative
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