~~War Against the Madness--A Rant~~

I want, I want, I want.

I hate, I hate, I hate.

I need, I need, I need.

What’s right? What’s wrong? What’s going on? As far as I know my mind’s been broken and the fact that I’m alive is in fact barely known. I’m standing beneath the eyes of Figments, the eyes of Gods and Devils. I’m drowning in the Balance, the thing barely kept. My Figments stand in line, waiting for me to be alive. Waiting and watching, wondering when my time to burn will come. And we’re all waiting to burn. We’re looking around us, and we’re waiting for the torches and the pitchforks and the rope that won’t give and the hopeless strength of a wooden stake. We’re waiting for the finality of it all, the end of the fight and the endless night. As the past becomes an unending sea of pain, we stare into the darkness with something akin to hope. And all we’re hoping for is the straight and fast—the way out of this maze, this labyrinth. We know we’re waiting for it. We know that it’s the only thing we want, but we seek to hide our dark desire with the light. We hide our hatred with our love, our weakness with our strength, our grim smiles with our reckless laughter, the incomprehensible logic with the all-encompassing stupidity, and the jealousy and envy with the pride. Most of all, we shield our inner bitterness from the world with sweet words and deeds. And, in the end of it all, who among my Figments is any different from humanity? All of us in the end are the same way. Living for the dying is the only way to live. And only through the pain can you truly learn the lessons that need to be taught you.

I wonder if I will grow out of this, if this bitterness will maintain throughout my life or if it will fade away as I age. Is this life-long feelings, or is it simply nothing more than angst? I am quiet and afraid about this side of me—the side of me possessed by the cold heartlessness of the Madness. The side of me that speaks in song lyrics, dances in strait jackets beneath the unforgiving single eye of a full moon, and drowns itself in lust and depravity. The Madness, her old form slaughtered only to be replaced by wolves and midnight armies, still lives and flourishes within me. So beautiful…..So beautiful….

But then Raphael rises up, harsh and proud and so freaking real that I forget the Madness. At least for a time, my Figments maintain the Balance that is Sanity, maintain the Semblance of normalcy.
And I delight in it for a time, seeking what shelter is available. But there isn’t that much shelter at all.

But it’s the only thing I can live in.

If I fall to the Madness, I become what many people do. I become the fallen shoe at the side of the train tracks, no longer part of a pair but a singular lonely thing. I’m happy enough to be alive, but….But one day I’ll let myself fall.

~~Her: Chapter Nine--Film~~

--Nick’s POV—
I wasn’t surprised when I woke up to find Anita leaning over me. I wasn’t surprised to find her eyes focused on Jamie and I, still lying curled together. I wasn’t surprised to see anger on her face.
I roll to my feet, and look at her smoothly. “Hello, Anita. Long time no see.”
She grasps my hand tightly in hers, and the small woman drags me with her out of the room, leaving Jamie there fast asleep still. “What are you doing, Nick?” She asks, her voice taut.
“You’re my ex-wife. You shouldn’t be asking these questions.” I reply calmly, meeting her gaze peacefully.
She looks at me coldly, her brilliant blue eyes filled with anger, “You are an asshole, you know that? That’s Jamie, isn’t it? The straight kid you seduced?”
I flinched.
She knew?
--Anita’s POV—
How could he think that I didn’t know? How could he think that he could never return my calls, never reply to my messages, and still expect me to not have my ways to find out all about him? He just never thought I was that talented. After that night, I’d been keeping track of him, Logan, Jamie, Ann—all of them. I was a player in the game that eventful night, its ruler.
Why?
That house they had been in that eventful night had been mine.
And I had every last room bugged with cameras and microphones.
Nick and I had been married eight months before he started sneaking off, coming up with excuses as to where he is, why he never comes back until late, late, late at night, and why he was always freshly showered. Sick of being lied to, I spoke with Her, and She and I figured it out. So to catch Nick in the act, I had him followed.
When I caught him in the act, he spills the truth, I divorce him, and he begs for my forgiveness but I never give it. I shove him away, kick him out.
But then a while passes, and She and I realize how messed up our situation is. Her relationship with Logan is failing because She longs for Jamie, and he for Her. Logan and Jamie become tense and distant, still friends and still close but yet far away. And then Ann steps back into the picture, and Logan, hurting and needing comfort, flees right into his ex-lover’s arms.
Her and I speak about this, about all of this, and we decide—One night. One night of all the secrets revealed, every room bugged, every drink drugged. She was the one who had wanted to do this—She didn’t know it would result in Her death.
Invite all of them here, hit the Record button, sit back and let the insanity unfold.
We knew Logan would slip into the closet with Ann, knew that Jamie would come to find him and force him to confront Her and come clean for everything he’s done. That much was expected.
But what wasn’t expected was how Jamie had gone, right before slipping off to find Logan, into the arms of a weeping and broken Nick. Jamie had comforted him, they’d wept together, and Jamie and Nick had eventually slept together. That was definitely not what had been expected.
Was Jamie gay? Perhaps. Either way, it doesn’t matter now.
What we also didn’t expect was what transpired on the balcony that night.
Jamie had forced Logan up there, and then followed him. I had followed them until I could watch the events unfold but not be seen, and hoped that things would go well.
They didn’t.
When Jamie arrived on the scene, things had already been heated. Her and Logan were hurling accusations, insults, almost trading blows. Jamie stepped in, tried to calm things down. For a while it worked, but then Nick came up out of nowhere, told Her what had happened between Jamie and him, and the fight began anew and Logan turned on Jamie, disgusted by what he had done. Jamie pleads for the understanding of his best friend, but Logan slaps him across the face. Nick, enraged, attacks Logan. She tries to stop them, tries to pull them apart. Ann, drawn by the sounds of fighting, arrives on the scene. She sees Ann, hurls Herself at her, accusing her of stealing Logan. Logan accuses Jamie of stealing Her, and the fight goes on.
Eventually, I step in, and calm things down a bit.
But a bit isn’t enough.
Nick, torn and hurting, flees the scene. She, watching Her best friend abandon Her when She needs him most, steps onto the railing. Logan begs Her not to, tells Her to stop, that he loves Her and only Her. Ann flees as well, not able to hear the man she loves confess his love to another. Jamie slaps Logan across the face for hurting his sister, and then the fight explodes again. I try to stop it, but I can’t and neither of them notice until it is far too late that She is slipping forward, falling, falling, falling….
All of them have blocked the memories from their minds. Too drunk and drugged for the memories to be in their minds, anyways.
Nick doesn’t remember coming to my house that night. Jamie doesn’t remember him and Nick, nor the events on the balcony. All Ann remembers is seeing Logan and then Jamie going up to the balcony, and then seeing Her fall.
What does She Herself remember? Perhaps all of it. But me? I just have the film.
--Jamie’s POV—
I almost jumped when I woke up. Nick was gone, and I could hear voices from the next room. Not a good sign, never a good sign….
Especially when one of the voices sounded angry.
I creep closer, curiosity winning easily over my minor sense of judgment, and I kneel by the faintly opened door:
“…a fool. Jamie is straight—you know that. Why do you keep someone who doesn’t love you around?” The voice that spoke was high and flooded with righteous anger—definitely female. I couldn’t place the source, but a bit of me recognized it, remembering some voicemails I’d occasionally come across on Nick’s machine. Annie? Annabelle? Something like that….
“He loves me and he needs me. I can see that when I look into his eyes!” the conversation was starting to shake me—they were talking about me. The woman seemed to be trying to get him to get rid of me, and let me go, while Nick seemed defensive. But….Apparently he knew I was straight. Dammit, I had thought I had been a better liar….
“He’s straight, damn you. I don’t care if he ‘loves’ you. The desire you have for him is not the desire he has for you.”
“What am I supposed to do, just throw him out on the street? The poor kid doesn’t seem to have anywhere else to go!”
“You should send him to a homeless shelter—if he’s been living on the streets, god knows who he knows and what kind of diseases he’s carrying. Do you want a new AIDS virus?”
“Look, Anita, I love Jamie and I don’t care if he loves me back. I just want him to be safe!”
“And what about YOUR safety, huh? I don’t want the kids to have to grow up without a father!”
“With-without a father? Are you kidding me? Just because Jamie is going through a difficult time doesn’t mean he’s an axe murderer.”
“Look….Just get him to someplace where he can properly being taken care of instead of having to pay for his food with his body.”
“I’m not throwing him out. Just because you had no trouble tossing me out on the street doesn’t mean all people are like that.”
And that’s right about when I stop being able to stand to listen to this conversation. I get up, trying to be as silent as I can, and slip back to bed.

~~Her: Chapter Eight--Sweet~~

--Jamie’s POV—
I was back with Nick. I’d missed him, in a way. Not the sex, not the faking, not the constant lies, but I’d missed—him. He was funny and intelligent, and his library and his books and smiles and scent of coffee and old wood and flowers. Nick was sweet and careful, always wanting to please, and he adored me. I was sweet to him, and innocent, and I always faked being easily frightened. I was his sweet, sweet Jamie, young and innocent. He was three years my senior, but he never treated me like a child—he simply treated me as something to be treasured, watched over, held and gentled.
Nick smiles, making me my coffee exactly the way I liked it—double-double with a single shot of orange extract and strawberries on the side. I was sitting curled in a pair of his old pajama bottoms, hair wet from a shower, blinking sleepily. “Oh, Nick!” I cried, hurling myself at the drink, while he laughed and held it carefully so it didn’t spill.
“You’ve been a while without it, haven’t you?” Nick asks, and I wonder at his meaning, but I play dumb and simply say that it had been a few days since my last cup of coffee.
Nick smiles again, shaking his head, and murmuring to himself, “Ah….So sweet. How could anyone deserve something so sweet?”
I merely sip at my coffee, closing my eyes and sighing. Nick curls up beside me with his black coffee, his eyes filled with wonder as I sip and smile, sweet and innocent.
I smile at him, biting my lower lip in the old way—something that had never failed to make Nick smile, and treat me tenderly and carefully, as if I was something that could be broken easily. He slings an arm around my shoulders carefully, pulling my against his side gently, setting down his still full cup and resting his other hand on my thigh. I drink the last of my coffee and he takes it from my hand and sets it down, before I nestle against him and shut my eyes, pretending to sleep. I hear him sigh, and feel his hand in my hair.
I just let him hold me, hiding my fear and my disgust.
And my shame.
--Nick’s POV—
This boy lies well.
I eye him, my eyebrows raised, wondering, What does he need from me? What would make him desperate enough to put himself through this? I only take him to my bed because he begs for it—otherwise I would refuse to make him go through it.
I trace a line down his bare shoulder with a single finger, and I smile when he sighs. I didn’t care that everything he did was a lie—it was a good enough lie that I needed it every moment. I breathed, watching how it shifts his dark black hair. He shivers, and I pause, before lightly kissing him on top of the head and closing my eyes, drifting into sleep.
Coffee be damned, I was with the boy I loved, and that was all that mattered.
Who cares if he didn’t love me back?
--Her’s POV—
Nicky Boy.
I’d actually rather missed him and Jamie’s exploits. It amazed me how little torture, how little sweet torment, it had taken me to send Jamie running into the arms of a man who had lifted him from where he had been weeping at the corner, bruised and bloody from a brawl, and had taken him home and tended to his wounds, without even asking for his name until the next morning.
Nick was someone I couldn’t torture, someone like Ann, who I merely disgusted instead of tortured. He would take more to end, more to murder, more to drive mad.
Nicky Boy was someone I could have fun with….
Jamie and Logan were easy—a whisper, a touch, a laugh, and they were trembling, tortured. Ann was strong and stubborn—she would take a lot from me before I could even harm her. And she had no heart as well—I couldn’t even harm her by going after people she supposedly loved.
But Nicky Boy? He loved Jamie, his sweet, sweet Jamie—and Jamie didn’t love him back. At least, not in the way Nick loved him. And Nicky Boy? Oh, he knew it. You could see it in his eyes and the set of his face—this was hurting him like nothing I could ever inflict.
But he was…special. I knew the ways to torture and torment him—tell him the words that were going through Jamie’s mind. The pleading cries for him to stop, to end it, to go and leave him alone. And, oh, how Jamie hated him…. I would tremble and laugh at the tortured swirl of emotions in the room when those two were together in bed! I adored standing there, watching them pretend, watching them lie. And those two were exceptional liars—but not good enough for the truth to be there between them, seen but unseen, known but unknown.
So how else could I hurt Nicky Boy, other than telling him the truth?
I could make him remember.
He was there that night.
He had not yet known Jamie, not yet loved him, but yet they had been together. Oh, there are many things that night that Jamie did not remember….I laughed aloud, because I remembered them all.
Nick and I had been great friends once. We couldn’t have been closer—he knew about every aspect of my life, including Jamie and Logan, but yet I had never allowed him to meet them. I knew he would fall for Jamie—and that Jamie would break his heart. But this? This torture that Jamie inflicted on him? I could never have expected this. But now that it had happened….
How perfect it was!
Jamie was destroying Nicky Boy—and there wasn’t a thing I had to do about it!
But did Nick know it was my Jamie he took to his bed?
Yes. He knew. Nick was smart—he figured it out even before I came to him and whispered in his ear.
So I smiled to myself and let the boys, the lovers, torment each other more than I ever could.
And then I decide to go, and visit Logan. Remaining here wasn’t worth my time—Nicky Boy was fun to hurt, but yet I needed to kill, and Logan was just crying out for his life to end.
Was it time to make him join me in Eternity?
Not yet….
But there were others that I could kill.
And maybe, just maybe, Logan would die if I drove him to it myself or not….
The death of your entire family tends to destroy you.
--Logan’s POV—
They were not dead.
That was the only thing I could ask for.
That, and new something to destroy.
I couldn’t very well destroy Stacy’s furniture and walls, now could I? No matter how much I wanted to turn those pink walls red, and end see how easily I could shatter her fragile and dainty furniture.
There was one thing that surprised me, though: The neighbors hadn’t called the cops yet.
I’d been sprinting around the apartment, swearing and calling Her to me, daring Her to come and end my life, singing Where’s My Angel by Metro Station again and again.
Jamie rose to my mind, and my teeth clench. Where was he? my mind screams. Is he alive? Is he okay? I swear and scream, my muscles clenching, my eyes dark.
I needed him! I had abandoned him, my best friend! If he died, it was my fault! I had abandoned him to Her! I had left him alone!
I dialed his cell.
He answers, and I hear him speaking to someone named Nick apologetically as he excuses himself, before he greets me. “Logan, hey.”
“You’re alive.” I say simply.
“So are you.” Jamie replies, both of us looking for ways to say the words we needed to say.
Bur we didn’t.
We sat there, and talk about how we were surviving—Jamie explaining to me how he was spending his nights with Nick, and I told him about how I was staying with Stacy, sitting alone in silence and trying not to destroy her apartment while she was gone.
He laughed at that, and we didn’t talk about what he was going through by staying with Nick. Some things you never share, but you just understand.
Which one of us had it worse?
I didn’t care.
But then She came, and I said swiftly the two words he had been expecting to hear ever since he had seen my name appear when the call came, “She’s here.”
I hung up, cutting him off in the middle of wishing me luck.
I didn’t want to hear it.
She brushed against me, whispering in my ear, telling me hello.
And for an instant I forgot Stacy, forgot Jamie, forgot Ann. Forgot and let go of everything but Her.
And an instant stretched into hours, and hours stretched into the night, and Stacy did not come home.
It wasn’t until evening the next day that the knock came at the door, and the policeman stepped in and told me that Stacy was dead while She just stood there beside me, laughing at the expression of horror and grief and guilt, guilt most of all, that flickered across my face.
Stacy was dead.

--Her’s POV—
I just stood there and laughed.
Stacy was dead….
Logan had kissed me, held me, wept in my arms as the girl who loved him more than anything else bled out in an alleyway, disemboweled and her throat slit, just as any whore deserved.
Oh, it had been so easy to manifest myself, to cause that rotten little bum to hate the skinny-hipped little hooker-dressed businesswoman. To want revenge on the spoiled little rich girl. A few choice words and sensations, and he was just itching to get that nice switchblade of his buried oh-so-deep in her honeysweet skin.
I knew the effect this would have on poor Logan—oh how mad he would be driven!
How slowly I would let him drown in his agony—I would make him live for oh-so-long, laughing every second as he loses his mind until finally he leaps from the balcony, committing suicide, and becoming finally mine. Finally mine! Mine for all eternity….

~~Her: Chapter Seven--More~~

--Jamie’s POV—

She was gone again, and I was alone. I was standing on a street corner, sitting alone, tired and sick.

She was gone and I was left behind. Forever? No. Definitely not. How could I be so alone?

She was gone. Why did I miss Her?

I didn’t want Her! I didn’t deserve this….This sweet torture, this sweet agony.

Why did I miss Her? Why did I need Her?

I knew why. I was weak, and I truly knew that I had not killed Her. I did not know what happened 
that night—all I knew was that I did NOT kill Her. I did not kill Her.

But who had?

Did it even matter?

She was dead, She was here, and She was going to make us suffer.

Why?

She enjoyed it.

No other real reason than that.

I looked around. Where to go? There was nowhere I could go that She couldn’t find me—and all I cared about was another visit from Her. It wasn’t like I needed anywhere to stay. I’d find someone to let me stay with, someone I didn’t like very much.

And then I saw him.

He had blond hair, blue-green eyes, pouty lips, cheap jeans and a jean jacket over an old band t-shirt. He met my eyes, and nodded slowly in recognition. “Hello, Jamie my sweet.”

I nodded back, and muttered, “Hello, Nick.”

We had been lovers once.


--Nick’s POV—

Ah, Jamie was here! I smiled, pleased to see him. It had been so long since I had seen him. We had had our fun, our laughter, our nights together. But then that had ended, and I was unhappy. I’d missed my sweet, sweet Jamie….

But now we were sitting across from each other in a booth in a small restaurant off the main, a beer across from each of us, a plate piled high with Italian food sitting between us.

Just as things had been before.

I smiled, touching his hand gently. “You can stay with me….” I murmured, soft and slow. I watched him react—his eyes closing, sighing at the familiar tone. He remembered….had he missed this as much as I have? Had he missed the softness, the gentleness, the idle trust? He knew I loved him—but he knew that he and I had left each other for the better.

“I need to be with you….” Jamie softly murmurs back, looking away from me. “I can’t be alone anymore….”

My heart bled for my sweet, sweet Jamie.

But I knew he lied.

I knew he lied to me. I knew he didn’t need me, I knew he didn’t love me, I knew he didn’t want me the way I needed him. He was straight—he’d only faked wanting me. I’d always known—but yet I loved him. He touched my hand, his eyes dark, focused on mine, his lips parted faintly. He was good at lying—he was talented.

But why did I still believe him?

His hand brushed against my arm, and I remembered.

He needed me, and he was willing to go through hell to be with me.

That’s all that mattered.


--Jamie’s POV—

So I was back to lying. Back to pretending. Back to faking.

Back to pretending I loved him.

Nick smiles, tracing a line up my arm. I pretended to smile, to tremble, to enjoy it. He smiles at me
gently, gently nibbling at the plate of food. I had scarce touched it—no true energy to eat. He noticed, eyeing me carefully, softly frowning. “Are you not hungry, Jamie my sweet?” he murmurs, his voice worried.

I make an effort to eat after that.

“I’m hungry, it’s been so long since I had anything good…” I say quietly, my head down, Nick’s hand gently caressing me still. It drifts to my shoulder and I force myself so shiver, to pretend. Nick smiles and takes his hand in mine, drawing it to his lips for a single kiss.

“Are you okay, Jamie? Oh Jamie my sweet, you don’t look well. Have you been eating?” Nick says worriedly then, noticing when I fail to answer.

“I’ve…I’ve been okay. A bit sick but…getting better.…” Knowing I’m walking on thin ice, I quickly throw myself into the total weakness persona—tiny whimpers, pout, eyes downcast, trembling hands. Nick can’t help himself, and he practically runs around the table to kneel beside my chair, pulling me in for a long tight hug.

“I’m here for you, sweet, sweet Jamie….Forever until the end.”


--Logan’s POV—

I had no idea where Jamie was. I hoped he was okay—but I had the feeling I knew he’d found an old friend to stay with. I just hoped he was okay….

But I had other people to worry about.

I had dialed my parent’s numbers dozens of times, calling neighbors, old friends, people I’d once known, trying to see if they were okay. But no one ever answered.

And, the few times that they did, they told me that they were away. Where? No one knew.

I just had to sit alone, in the dark and in the silence of my lover’s apartment, eyes closed, sighing. That was all that I could do.

But I knew I couldn’t just sit here! I had to try. Try something, anything. The problem was….What exactly do you do when you deal with a ghost?

I swore, slammed my hands over my face, muttering to myself. “Alright, so I’ve got a ghost haunting me. What do you do when you have a ghost?”

Then, the answer smacked me in the back of the head.

An exorcist.

I couldn’t believe it.  How had we not thought of this before? I swore a few times, and ran right to Stacy’s home laptop, flicking open the pink little monster, touching it as little as I could. How she had managed to purchase such a small and cute pink….thing I had no idea, but here it was, hot pink and about the size of a paperback. To make matters even worse, it also had a healthy array of Hello Kitty stickers scattered on it. Well here was a girl who needed maybe a bit of help.

I eventually managed to manipulate the laptop, getting to Google after a bit of delicate fingering. And yes, I am aware of the fact that I just wrote that.

I sighed, and went right to work, trying to ignore the bristling of the hair on the back of my neck, the sweet scent that flooded the room, and the gentle brush of fingertips across my cheek.


--Her’s POV—

I was destroying them.

And now Nicky Boy had joined the game….

One more person they loved that I could destroy.

One more person that was there that night I could end.

I smiled, laughing.

Ah, such sweet destruction I could inflict upon them….

Who cares that none of them had killed me?

And, oh, would you look at that! Logan was looking for an exorcist. Well you had to give the boy
points for finally figuring out a way to fight back, eh?

But of course it wouldn't work....

I was too smart for it, and there weren't many true exorcists. Not many at all.

~~Darkened Wings: A Story from the Mansion~~

A sneer.

A single, harsh sneer.

A choked off shriek.

A mocking laugh.

My father land in front of me, black eyes peering into mine, smiling slowly. "Little one, how fares thee?"

I close my eyes and collapse slowly to my knees, pressing my forehead to the solid oaken floor.

"Little one, displaying weakness....As always."

I feel hands, their grip almost unnaturally warm and strong, tug me slowly to my feet. A long-fingered hand dips beneath my chin, raising it to look dead ahead into an angel's eyes.

"Little one....Speak to me....Why do you seem so weak? Your soul seems...even less vibrant now. You've strengthened your walls, and within the Mansion there is barely any light...Why? What has caused you to flee from the sunlight so?"

"Falseness and lies, as always, father dear...." I say slowly in response, jerking my head back from his tender touch. "Where are the others?"

"Training for the coming calamity, my little one."

"The...coming calamity?"

"The breaking free of your chains, my dearest little one. It seems that the freedom and flight that you have been so craving is coming swiftly. Very swiftly."

I'm not sure whether or not I like the sound of that so I turn from him, and flick my long purple, brown, green, gold, and black hair behind my shoulders as my wings slip through the slits in my shirt, stretching them out. Raphael gasps and I angle my head to the side in curiosity, only to gasp as well: My wings had turned a beautiful crimson.

They had been white....

I remembered them being white, as pure as snow....

"Little one...What has become of you?"

"I've gotten colder....

"A lot colder than I should be."

Raphael walks up behind me, between my crimson wings, and rests his ringed hands upon my narrow shoulders. His arms slide around my neck, and he presses up against me, his chin upon my head. He whispers slowly, "You are not well....You should come with me, the others...The others want to do a Ceremony of the Rain sometime today. You should attend. It will cheer you up--you know it will."

I break free of his arms and walk away from him, looking out the window. I draw my lone hand-and-a-half sword, raising it in my right hand. I twirl it in a slow circle with a rotation of my wrist, before raising my left hand and dragging the blade's edge across my left wrist. Blood pours from the wound, and behind me I hear Raphael gasp--but not with worry....

With desire.

"Little one....Your blood, treat it with more care. You know we dwell within it....You know our magics."

I laugh harshly, and turn towards Raphael. "Of course I know, father mine. I'm the one who came up with all of this--this tragic beauty. This beautiful Mansion is of my creation. Or, at the very least, it is I who own it....Dwelling here within the demonic realm is my choice. I know our magics--the blood of us releases our power. To cut us is to allow our magics to flow into the open world....Pure lust and pure bliss in liquid form. An angel's curse and a devil's bane."

He sighs and taps me on the forehead with the tip of his index finger. "So you intended to provoke me with such a blatant showing of your magic, then?"

I nodded and healed the wound easily, letting my tongue flick slowly over my wrist, the saliva stitching shut the wound. I close my eyes at the taste of my own blood, and walk past him, heading deeper into the Mansion.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"It's time for the Ceremony of the Rain, little one. Will you be attending?"

I raise my head from my reading and look to him. He stands in the doorway, leaning against the wood, his hands shoved casually into jeans pockets. Raphael smiles slowly, straightening and looking at me, his long tipped red onyx hair falling into his eyes. He flicks it back with his fingers, and walks into the room. He extends a hand and I take it, letting him guide me to my feet. "I will go to the Ceremony...Help me dress, Raphael."

He nods and does as I ask, removing my simple armour to replace it with a flowing red, black, and gold gown. Upon it is a stitched in sigil above the heart: An eight-point ruby star beneath an onyx sky. The symbol of the Mansion.

He smiles slowly when we are both prepared, and walk from my room, headed for the Ceremony of the Rain.

And I apologize, dear readers, but that is all the Mansion I have permission to show to you right now....

When the Figments allow me, I shall show you the Ceremony of the Rain, but for now....

Farewell, loves.

~~Love's A Curse for Angels Like Me--Ramble~~

Hate flows through my veins, sweet and thick, intoxicating....

Sweet arousal flows like the gentle brush of hands, causing lips to part and dark eyes to flash with sinful delight....

Love sears and burns me, setting me on fire....

Hate, lust, love....

Emotions that walk and dance hand in hand, alternating like the faces of a three-sided coin...

Love and Hate and Lust.

Love simply gets in the way.

If I must fall, let it be in the flames of lust and hate, not in the tears of love. My wings are tinting red and black, the white feathers of purity falling, falling, like leaves of the purest white snow.

My eyes flash and turn to solid black, before I weep tears of blood....

"Stop me."

"STOP ME!"

"LET ME GO!"

My shrieks echo soundlessly through the darkened blackness, and even though I feel the comfort, feel the love and the feeling of home, I can't find a single thing to clutch...I find hands to hold on to and lips to kiss, but whenever I touch another my body to another's I fade away....

I fade away....

But then I'm dragged out of the darkness and shoved onto beds of pillows and silk, held down with warm comforting blankets, burned at the stake by a fireplace. I'm chained and imprisoned by comforting hands and gentle touches. I'm branded with the touch of lips and fingertips.

Love is a curse....

When you get too much....

And maybe even when you get it at all....

I miss the darkness, the cold aching loneliness when everything made sense, made prisoner by my own silence and through my own desires....I miss how long I would spend dreaming, hoping for better days....And now that better days have come, I long for the hell again....

Give it back to me!

Return me to the days of loneliness, when things had no consequences and I knew how to survive! When I could be happy, and smile without scars....

Give back to me my loveless, anonymous days.....

When I could truly fade away....

But now the world of my loves is upon my shoulders, along with futures....

Ted loves me so, and wants to spend his life with me.....

But....My Master, who I left at the pressure from my friends to leave my cam whore days when HE wasn't the one hurting me but the others, still wants me....And I still want him....I still want him....

I miss it......

I miss him and me....

Love is a curse...

LOVE IS A CURSE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I want, I want, I want what I can never have.......

I hate, I hate, I hate what I am always given....

Someone....

Anyone....

Cut me from the chains of love and let me run.

Let me run from here.

Let me spread my wings and fly.

I'm an Angel.....

I'm an Angel built for sin....

Won't you please let me fly?

Fly so high I catch on fire--a final shooting star across the pink storm clouds of the final dawn?

And twinkle out, a fallen firefly....

I Have No Mouth and I Must Scream

Citizens of Terra! Name where this is from!

 I have recently read this haunting and very disturbing story by Harlan Ellison. In March 1967, he published this post-apococalitpic story about an insane supercomputer who over saw a world war and caused the near-extinction of humanity, save for five unfortunate people.

 The story takes place over a hundred years after the near-complete destruction of humanity. The Cold War has escalated into a world war, fought mainly between China, Russia, and the United States. As the war went on, the three warring nations each created a super-computer capable of running the war far more efficiently than humans. The machines are each referred to as "AM," which originally stood for "Allied Mastercomputer," then later called "Adaptive Manipulator", and still later "Aggressive Menace". One day, the American supercomputer becomes self aware, and promptly absorbs the other two. It then redefines its name as AM as in  "I think, therefore I AM".

Ted, Ellen, Benny, Gorrister and Nimdok, (each with their own back stories which is playable on the 1995 release of the computer game)  suffer at the hands of the godlike AM. They live in the middle of the Earth, in the underbelly of AM. The master computer has an immeasurable hatred for humanity and spends every moment torturing the group with all its power, twisting their minds and physiques, hurting them and not allowing them to die: AM has not only managed to keep the humans from taking their own lives, but has made them virtually immortal.

I wont reveal anymore than this, but I do encourage to read this disturbing and refreshing nightmare fuel. I will write a follow-up soon enough, so wait, my dearies.

Also, here is the introduction to the game, with the following picture read by AM (who is voiced by Harlan Ellison).