secret writing sideblog (+jeffposting)

Clank. Clank. Clank.

Missy slowly blinked away the darkness. Well, she tried. Upon opening her eyes, she was only met with more darkness. Her head throbbed with the fury of approximately 7 ½ mallets.

Where am I?

Initially, she thought the constant sensation of movement was her head spinning, but now it felt as if the ground was moving instead. Her paws shot out, feeling about. Whatever she was lying on was metallic and cold.

Something warm trickled into her eye.

"Ehh..." she reached up and flicked it away. The reek of copper told her it was blood, but whether it was hers or someone else's was the question.

She reached outward once more until her digits brushed against more frigid metal, what felt like a vertical pole to which she could not feel the end of. Further investigation revealed several more, spaced tightly and evenly around her.

Like a cage.

She thrust her arm in-between the bars, twisting it slightly to avoid getting it stuck. She caught the end of something like fabric in her claws and yanked on it sharply. There was a gasp. The cage jolted, briefly sending her into the air.

The enclosure stopped moving.

"She's awake…" a voice sounded from above her. It sounded oddly distorted, as if they were trying to speak through a fan covered with a wet rag. However, regardless of vocal alteration, there was clear worry being conveyed to some other silent party.

"If it's so important to you that she remains unconscious," came another, deeper voice, with the same distorted quality as the first voice, "you can hit her over the head again yourself. I'm not doing it again."

So, maybe the blood really was hers.

It was quiet for a few moments as the cage started moving again.

"I just wish we could give her a little bit of the Yellow… Just a small dose…" the first voice said again, quieter this time.

The second snorted. "You know very well why we can't do that."

"I know, it's just…" the first voice trailed off and did not speak again.

The cage seemed to move quicker after that.

Missy drew her limb back in. Her sense of smell was impaired by the heavy curtain of her own blood, so she had no way to know what kind of people she was dealing with.

She gripped the bars of the cage and snarled. "I don't know who you freaks are, but you're going to really regret doing whatever the heck this is really soon."

No reply.

She swatted in the general direction of the voices, eliciting no reaction other than grumbling from the second voice.

"On second thought, maybe I will put her out again. Give me the bat."

"No! There's really no need, we're almost there, look at that."

In the murk in front of her, there was a faint vertical crack of warm light. Missy squinted as they got closer. The crack was asymmetrical and almost wavy, making it look more like a fissure in a cave rather than a gate or a doorway. Were they in a cave? She couldn't tell from her captors' muted pawsteps.

As the orangy light neared, vague silhouettes became visible. Cloaks came into view. She strained her neck attempting to get a look at the owners of the voices. Their faces were hidden by white masks with red and gold streaks. One's face was distinctly canine, the other's flat and snoutless. The snoutless individual turned their face down at Missy, and just as quickly turned away.

They appeared to be carrying the cage via two beams attached to the bottom of it, like some sort of palanquin of doom. The cage itself was rather large; she could easily stretch out and move her tail side to side. The floor of it had some sort of seam in the middle that did not budge upon pressing against it. The bars were forged out of a different metal from the floor, textured and darker in tone, the top being made of the same material.

She poked at the seam curiously. It looked a bit like a hatch door. Escape could be possible if she could manage to pry it open somehow.

This train of thought was cut short when the cage stopped moving. There was a clank as the masked figures set the cage down. The canid-faced one stepped forward, making a beckoning gesture at the other. The other tossed something at them, which the canid caught. They walked ahead to the crack, and after pausing for a moment, inserted the object into a notch in the adjacent wall.

A dull whirring filled the silence. The crack began to widen at a crawling pace, filling her eyes with aggressively clementine beams. Surroundings became clear as day as they were bathed in light: the dried blood caked into her snowy fur, the walls of the rocky cave tunnel she was being transported through, the draped figures of the masked freaks, and a ripped-up photo of a man in heavy eyeliner tacked to the ceiling of the cage.

The snouted individual returned silently, nodding to the other. They both took up the cage again by its beams and moved into the light. She hissed quietly and recoiled from the oppressive brightness as she was immersed fully in it. For a moment, all that could be seen was an endless sea of orange fog. The reek of citrus in the air sliced through the curtain of bloodscent and she clasped her paws over her muzzle.

"It'll be over sooner if you're quiet and still."

She whipped around. The flat-faced one, who was supporting the back end of the cage, had leaned in slightly.

"I don't do quiet and still," she hissed back.

"wellmaybeyoushouldreconsider," Flat-Face muttered hurriedly under their breath. Dog-Face shot them a look.

Thick orange mist started to clear as they ventured further, revealing the steep cliffs that formed walls around circle of rock surrounded by a chasm. The chasm was long and vast, stretching at least 25 tail-lengths from the edge of the circle to the wall.

The chasm itself seemed to be the source of the orange lighting. An evil glow emanated from the unseen floor and wrapped the entire cavern in its citrusy claws. Blurry shadows lined the walls, and she realized that they too were cloaked, masked figures, looming stock-still on the ledges.

There was one last resounding clank as the cage lowered onto the rocky circle. Flat-Face and Dog-Face stepped away, both reaching into their robes and pulling out small corked silver bottles.

They uncorked them and unturned clearish-red liquid on the ground in a circle around her enclosure. Stray droplets flicked onto her forearm and she bit back another hiss as it stung, burning off small tufts of fur.

The two knelt in front of the circle. A low growl rumbled from their throats. Straining her ears, she could just make out that the growls were words in an unfamiliar tongue, sharp and jagged in shape and flow.

Voices from above gradually added to the chant, becoming louder and louder with each new adjunct. It echoed around the cave, evolving into a hurricane's roar, quickly becoming deafening. Missy slapped her paws over her ears.

The circle of red liquid seemed to vibrate. Slowly, it began to creep upwards, as if it were pouring in reverse.

The chant halted abruptly.

"The Gü makes Itself known to consume the sacrifice!" Dog-Face threw their arms skyward. "Accept this token of loyalty, O Viscous One!"

A wall of warmth appeared behind her as the scent of orange assaulted her snout once again. She was about to turn to face the horrible presence when something caught her eye.

Flat-Face had lifted their head. A trickle of clear fluid dripped down from under their mask. Through the holes in the mask, there had been a glint of gold.

Buttercup gold.

The room was dim, lit by a single hanging bulb whose sickly yellow light couldn't completely clear the shadows from the concrete corners. A hefty wooden desk squatted fortress-like on one side, the man behind it just as imposing as the bulwark he sat behind.

"Tom," he drawls, voice quiet like the rustle of shuffled bills, "It's been nearly a year since you've converted a new recruit. You've been withdrawing from the church and avoiding your Auditor. Care to explain why that is?"

Tom Cruise shifted his body and his gaze uncomfortably. The chair in which he sat groaned with the movement, sounding almost as nervous as he felt. He had been called in by the Church of Scientology because his peers suspected he was becoming apostate, a repressive person. The truth jumped to his mouth but he bit down on the reply, holding it in his mouth uncertainly. In truth, his grip on this futuristic faith was fading and a new one was blossoming to take its place. The Illuminati. The golden triangle of the Eye of Providence that pointed to knowledge even the Scientologists couldn't fathom. It had visited him and shown him things he didn't understand and now could barely remember. Confused and tangled as the vision was, Tom couldn't forget the feeling it left him with. Euphoria. A taste of true freedom that hinged on the promise that enlightenment could be his in exchange for devotion. As he plumbed the depths of his strange new interest in the wake of the Eye's revelation, Tom found he was loathe to display the jewels of his old faith when he had come across a pearl of far greater value. Until now, he had been holding back, unwilling to fully make the change. However, now, when faced with the stagnance of remaining as he was, Tom decided it was time to make the leap of faith.

"Well?"

Tom blinked at the man and set his jaw in a wordless answer. No excuse, no denial. Just meek acceptance of whatever his new found devotion would cost him. The judge raised a heavy brow at the actor's silence, but asked no further questions. Perhaps he could see the truth written in Tom's eyes, eyes that now saw through the gaze of the One Eye. That kind of illumination couldn't be dimmed and needed no admittance.

The other man rose from his seat behind the desk and stalked over to Tom, footsteps heavy as a falling gavel. As he approached, Tom lowered his gaze and shut his eyes, trying to push away the fear tangling around his nerves. He knew what happened to people who started slipping away from Scientology. He had even helped organize retribution to whoever his former faith declared was in need of "a correcting rod." How ironic it was to be on the receiving end of Scientology's jealousy after he had been blinded by the light of the All Seeing Eye. It would be worth it. Whatever they did to him would be nothing compared to the reward he would reap from the Illuminati. It had to be.

The metal door behind him creaked open as a heavy hand fell on his shoulder, making him flinch sharply.

"You know we love you, Tom. This is why we have to do this," said the man, his tone too sweet to be anything close to genuine, "I wish we didn't have to do this, but its for the best. We don't want to let you go."

***

The floor was white.

The walls where white.

The ceiling was white.

The lights were white.

Everything was blinding.

Everything hurt.

The "Recovery Room" they called it. Such a tranquil name for such a God awful place, Tom thought. Back when he was wholly and blissfully blindfolded by the promises of Scientology, this process had been nothing more than a concept. Every new member was taught that about this tough, but loving procedure to bring the repressive persons back into the fold where they belonged. First, the wayward were called in, heard out, given a warning. If they repented, a small period of punishment was prescribed, at the end of which their peers would welcome them back with all the warmness of a father for his prodigal son. However if the guilty turned down repentance and refused to heed correction, then redemption was forced down their throat. Mantra and doctrine poured into them like they were dry desert ground and Scientology was their life-giving rain. Thus catechized, they were moved into the Recovery Room. A place of peace, a place to reflect, a place free from distractions so one could meditate on the true doctrine they had attempted to forsake. It had seemed like such a mercy when it had been explained to Tom all those years ago. How wonderful it was , he thought, to have people who cared enough about you to confront you when you were about to make a grievous mistake that would hurt you and break the hearts of those around you. Oh how wrong he had been.

The screaming had gone on for hours. His fears and sins had been pressed against him like white-hot brands; those tender spots of insecurity and vulnerability violated over and over again. Barbed words hooked underneath his skin, their entry coupled with a back-handed blow to drive the point through his soul. Tom had pleaded and begged and wept, but his cries fell on ears deafened by zealotry. He might as well have been trying to placate Daniel's lions without divine favor. Only when his mind was numb and all his tears run dry had the accusers ceased their assault. The silence came on so suddenly his ears rang and the catatonia evaporated. For a single, precious moment, he felt like he could breathe. Then the sweet flavor of relief immediately turned bitter. Hands shackled him, pulling him to his feet. From the deafening darkness he was dragged and into the muted light he was shoved. The Recovery Room. Silence filled his ears like water pressure, making his head hurt. Tom shouted, he cursed, he screamed, but the weight of it would not be lessened. Jagged white shapes covered the walls and ceiling, devouring every sound Tom attempted to make. No matter what he did, he was powerless to break the silence. His heart's terrified rhythm pounded in his mind, promising to drive him insane.

An eternity passed. Face down on a thin mattress, Tom whimpered and ground his face against rough white sheets. He hugged his arms around his head to block out the light of the merciless florescents, but it was of no use. He had been doing it for hours and his limbs now trembled weakly with the effort, too spent to be able to seal his mind away from the harsh environment or the truth he found there. Scientology had no love. Not for anyone, not for him. Here in the crushing quiet, he had nothing to do but think about what he discovered too late, and be overcome by emotion. Despair washed over him like the tide, and he could do nothing but feebly fight for air as it threatened to fill him totally. Abandoned, shamed, broken. He had given and sacrificed so much to the cause: money, time, relationships. The best years of his life had been drained from him in service of something he thought could fill the hole inside of him and others. Lie, after lie, after lie, after lie. And just when the Eye of Providence had come to him and shown him just how dim his enlightenment had been, Scientology had caught him like Prometheus and now he was left torn open and without the fire of knowledge. The tragedy of it all hurt almost has much as the blows he had received.

"Tom."

His eyes flew open at the sound of his name and he drew in a sharp breath of surprise as he was met not with the dazzling white of the Recovery Room, but rather cool, featureless darkness.

"Hello?" he replied warily, coughing as the ragged noise clawed at his throat.

A glittering golden spark appeared before him, growing and sharpening until a shape emerged, solid and wonderful. The All Seeing Eye.

Tom collapsed to his knees, not realizing he had even been standing. Tears blurred his vision but he quickly scrubbed them away so they wouldn't obscure the blessed sight before him. The golden triangle hovered over him, the eye in its center looking down on him in what he hoped was favor.

"Tom, my new proselyte, you have been pressed and yet did not recant the knowledge I shared with you. Well done. "

Looking deeply into the well of its pupil, he gave the Eye a watery smile and replied, "I couldn't. You showed me too much. I can't thank you enough."

The eye floated closer, closing its lids and pressing them up against his forehead and Tom closed his own mortal ones in reverent contentment. Thoughts trickled into his mind as the Eye pressed into him, an embrace of the mind that felt a lot like love. Knowledge, answers, concepts he couldn't even grasp drifted around him in a dizzying reverie.

"You're mine now," the Eye whispered in his mind, its lashes brushing against him as it rolled behind its lids, "You will give me all of you. I will become your only love."

Tom nodded, leaning forward against the cold golden triangle in a silent plea for comfort.

"Scientology will try to break you, but you will not yield. True enlightenment is for the strong alone."

"I understand," he croaked, finding his voice at last, "I will try not to fail you."

"See that you don't. You are always under my gaze."

The big night had finally happened.

They'd dressed up, said the big "I do", and danced until they dropped.

And now, Tom Cruise lay next to his beautiful sleeping bride, still wide awake. He turned to look at her, watching her side rise and fall as she slumbered happily, carelessly.

He fe. Despite his fight to be better, a committed partner and friend for life, he knew he could never love Scientology as much as she loved him.

He gently slipped his hand into hers, trying to feel any of the warmth that he felt when he was with the Eye all those years ago. She reciprocated, leaning into him and twining her fingers around his in her sleep.

The cavern got bigger.

The quiet roar of the city outside slowly became engulfed by the steady drumming of rain as the massive nothing engulfed his chest.

He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to imagine himself happy with her, doing the laundry, going on dates, having children.

Images conjured in his mind of picnics and picturesque family photos. They could be so happy and live contented normal lives, so why wasn't he happy? Why couldn't he be happy? Why did he have to be so selfish?

How could did Provi do this to him?

He realized that he was squeezing Scientology's hand a little too hard.

Scientology shifted, her glassy sapphire orbs blinking awake.

"Mm... You okay, my champion?" she mumbled drowsily.

He hoped his cracks wouldn't show as he looked into her soft gaze. There was nothing but love there.

"It's nothing, Sci. I just... had a bad dream is all."

She grinned at him, hoisting herself up on her arms. She bent down over him, administering a gentle kiss on his lips. "Peace, my beautiful star. That'll keep the nightmares away."

A pang of agony struck him deeply. He couldn't stop himself from imagining her lips as Provi's supple, hair-rimmed eyelids.

"I... I love you, Sci," he whispered hollowly.

"I love you, too," she breathed back, nesting back under the sheets and falling back onto her pillow.

Thunder crashed overhead. Sometimes he thought he could see familiar triangular shapes in the flickering shadows as light flashed through the windows.

He chanced a glance at his clock.

3:08 A.M.

3:08 A.M.

He threw off the covers, sprinting down the stairs and wrenching open the front door.

He barreled out into the empty rainy street, splashing his heart-studded pajamas with the murky road water.

He faced the sky, not even a fraction as tormented as he was, and screamed.

He shrieked his agony to the blackened heavens in harmony with the roaring thunder until his voice gave out and his teats became undistinguishable from the rain.

He heaved, fists shaking, dropping to his knees with a splash. He sobbed hoarsely.

"Please," he cried. "Kill me. Provi, if you're listening... Please kill me already... Don't leave me like this..."

He curled up on the ground, not caring about anything that happened to him, or anything at all.

Tom Cruise shot out of a dream-tainted slumber, heart racing. He glanced heavy-lidded at the digital clock on his bedside.

3:08 A.M.

Typical.

He sat up still in bed, reminiscing about the sweetly forbidden visions he'd been roused from. The glow of the clock bathed the room in a soft red, casting odd shadows and figures.

He pulled his knees up to his chest, crossing his arms over them and heaving a heavy sigh.

He thought about Scientology, his beautiful girlfriend, who he had planned on proposing to months ago. He kept telling himself, 'tomorrow' or 'next Sunday' or his personal favorite, 'sometime soon'. He just couldn't bear it if he brought the shame of an illicit affair into his marriage.

He heaved a heavy sigh, burying his head in his arms as his guilt at the longing drove him crazy inside.

"Something wrong, handsome?" a familiar voice purred from the shadows.

His breath hitched as the deceptively dulcet tones struck his heart, slowly lifting his head to look up.

The lithe, angular shape of The Eye of Providence floated into view from out of his closet doorway. His stomach dropped as he realized it had probably been lurking in there all night, waiting for him to wake up.

"What do you want, Provi?" he mumbled sullenly.

The corners of The Eye's eye crinkled in derisive amusement. "Isn't it obvious?" It floated closer, more red light illuminating its form. "You."

Tom felt a tug of want, but shoved it down, steeling his expression. "No. I'm going to propose to Scientology soon. This can't go on."

"Now, is that so... It seems like you've forgotten that you're not the one in charge here," the Eye replied, its voice low and dangerous.

"Don't you know that you only belong to me?"

Before Tom could retort, the Eye leapt forward, pinning him to the bedframe. He gasped, struggling under its strong hold and predatory gaze. "No! I'm a changed man! I won't do this anymore!" he cried out in vain.

"Oh, dearest Tommy," the Eye breathed sweetly. "You know deep inside, you'll never change. You'll wake up on nights just like this one, craving me, the knowledge I've shared with you, the enlightenment that you'll never feel again."

The Eye closed its eye, lowering its shut lids to Tom's lips.

It growled telepathically into his brain as it kissed him.

Tell me, will you imagine my lids when you're kissing her? Will the regret and shame eat you up inside? When you wake up next to your precious Scientology in the middle of the night, will you weep for what we had?

Brief flashes of the answers to humanity's biggest questions ran through his vision as the Eye kissed him deeply.

The Eye eventually relented, pulling away from his lips and leaving him gasping for air. He heaved, emotions swirling dizzyingly through his head as he grasped desperately at the images the Eye sent through him.

"Pr-Provi..." he panted weakly.

"Shh," the Eye silenced him reprovingly, holding his mouth shut. "You've lost the privilege to call me that, Tommy. You will refer to me as The Eye, if you must speak of me at all."

It let him go, dropping him into the pillows and leaving him heaving.

"You will never see me again. But know this..."

It bent down to his level, whispering into his ear.

"I own your soul. As long as I function, you will never be free. Every time you use a dollar bill, I'll be there. Every time you open a geometry textbook... I'll be there."

Its lashes fluttered against his cheek as it hovered next to him.

"I'll use your heart as a plaything until the day you die. And when you do shuffle off this mortal coil, I'll rip your heart out of its cavity and keep it forever. Even in death, you will feel the sting of my loss."

It withdrew, floating to the open window, not even turning around as it said its last words to him.

"Goodbye, Tommy. To never and forever."

It turned horizontally, slipping through the window slats, never to be seen again.