Oh hey what not-down?

[Happy Friday the Thirteenth, everyone.

This a special story dedicated in memory of someone. I still don’t understand. I guess I never will understand fully how chemical changes can affect the mentality.

Andd… I didn’t intend it originally, but it ended up as a very clear reference to a fandom. But no worries, it is weird and lousy because of my brain. Or lack thereof. ]

There he was again. Standing in his way, blocking the kettle.

He’d really like a cup of coffee but it can wait. Not with the way he was leering at him. With eyes that whispered “Murderer Murderer” softly in his ear, his breathe cold and sticky, like the blood on his hands and sprayed on his face.

He blinked rapidly, trying to control his breathing, as the smell of blood suddenly permeated through the whole room, as he stared at the lifeless body of the man who was also standing by his shoulder, laughing off his head.

“No…no …”

Under his breath, he started to mouth out his name, his age, his address, his current location that was not the blood soaked room –

“..re you alright?”

He finally looked into the brown eyes of his sister. Kind, sweet, dearest sister, with warm brown eyes that now stare with worry. Why was she worried? He wouldn’t hurt her. He wouldn’t hurt anyone.

Except he did. He’d killed someone.

And he’d dreamt of more.

He made a smile, and reached out awkwardly to sort of rest his hand slightly on her shoulder, in a pat of sort.

“Everything is fine. Nothing to worry.” He tilted his head. “Weren’t you working on your art project? How’s it so far – show me?”

As he watched her hesistate to tuck away her concern, he followed her out, ignoring the whining pleas of a man that shouldn’t be there – that wasn’t there.

-   -  -

The noise was too much, the smell was too much – it was too crowded.

Everywhere, in his head, in the room, in his lungs, beneath his skin.

He needed them to stop. He wanted them to stop. He needed to just, just STOP feeling, stop seeing, stop even thinking – He needed freedom.

He didn’t know when he stood up, or when he even crossed the room.

He found himself in front of the window and pulling out the grills. (No, no wait, no, it shouldn’t normally be possibl – high adrenaline, pressure, mental stabilli – )

He shut the rush of buzzing noise in his head, the static voices out, out and tossed away to the harsh wind that tousled his hair, and nipped his nose.

There was no one below, there would be few people walking by – no one, precisely.

No one more to confuse him. No more things to hurt him. No more things to hurt. No more things he could hurt.

He leaned forward.

And.

He let go.

    He could finally reach peace – or the closest he could get. Silence. Nothing. Emptyness.

No more.

[AND I fell sick again.

Seriously. Even I have a hard time believing my luck.

(continued from the entry of 10/9/2013)

AS the world grew splotchy red and black, she struggled to chain her consciousness from floating away, fingers finding the wound on her shoulder and pressing in deep. The sharp lances of pain slashed through the fog and her brain cleared enough for her to see the beast still up on four legs and heading towards her.  Oh hell no, she still had that date with that particular tub of ice cream and it had her name on it in big red letters. She wasn’t going to leave it waiting in the cold dark recesses of her freezer.

Her blood was spilling rather thickly and slowly now, no longer the fresh gush. Huh, that was either very good news or extremely bad news for her. In fact, everywhere was red.

This gave a whole new level of meaning to DIY decoration. And that was may have been a sign she was starting to suffer from blood loss. And the damn creature still w asn’t down.

Pushing one elbow below her to prop herself up, she croaked out a single word.

“Stop.”

Surprisingly it did not. Instead, it decided to quit trying to get the sword out and turned towards her.

Oh goodie.

The Growling Machineator pumped up its menacingness and raised one giant paw to stalk forward before a leap to chow her down as lunch time –

Except its single step forward caused the age-old chemical-worn floor to finally give way, and crumble down to the endless abyss below. As bricks and old dust slowly slid down along with it into the widening hole, the confused and terrified mewls it gave out were kind of endearing to her ears, a perfect harmony with the falling gravel and bricks.

Until she noticed the cracks growing further up and around her.

[Y’know what? This is sort of turning into a semi diary, with what I’m gonna say next but toodley-whoo, no one cares! Am having a dinner-date with my god-mother tomorrow, with the Brother and his significant one tagging along for who knows what. I certainly am not a light bulb. ]

With one more leap she plunged into the thick plumes of smoke, and quickly darted towards the left. Just in time too, as the monstrous beast roared in place from where she’d been just mere seconds ago.

Moving slowly, carefully, cautiously, she placed each step softly and crawling over the fallen cement blocks with ease and familiarity. She could not see the beast, except for its occasional silhouette cast upon the shifting smog, but she could definitely hear it and that was more than enough.

She knew this ruins like the back of her hand and better than so, she knew all the vantage points, the crumbly areas, and the best exits.

Drip. Drip.

But oh yeah. One teensy problem she’d forgotten. The huge tear that covered the entire of her left shoulder and part of her lower back. Damn that lion-pig-bear thing of a monster.

Said monster let out a roar that shook her to her bones and damn near made her heart seize up and her breath freeze in her lungs.

Biting back her fear, she crouched down.

“That the best you got? I could have sworn I heard a mew in there.”

She leapt up the moment she felt it move, arms raised to swing her saber down.

Please don’t let her miscalculate and jump right into its waiting claws. She can’t die now. She hadn’t even got the chance to collect her paycheck yet.

A wave of heat rolled below her, flashing red fur barely brushing the tips of her boots. Twisting mid-leap, she dived down and used her entire body weight with the aid of gravity to force the entire sword down to bite deep into the neck of the creature.

Horrified, horrifying reactions instantaneous.

The beast screamed and twisted and writhed, its claws scrabbling over gravel and dust as it tried to buck her off its back.  Each painful jerk sent a train of pain through her body, but what felt bad for her had to feel a thousand times worse for the beast. She tightened her hold on the hilt and pushed downward, leaning forward until her arms were straining with effort and her elbows threatened to pop any moment.

Just as she felt the bone about to give way, a single jerk from the beast below smashed her face into the hilt of her own saber, making her grip slacken and sending her flying off the back of the beast to land in a concussive heap on the debris. 

[9/9/2013]

[Welp, second day of a project and I. Fell. Sick.

Funtastic.

It wasn’t even much of a physical sickness though most are, it was more something I do not know how to diagnose and ended up with hours long of concussive sleep that did not really do much.

He’d never seen the point of sentiment.

Yes, sentiment usually was one of the key factors that allowed him to see further in dept the mindset and the habitualities of a person, and judging from the way the man before him was seemingly subconsciously rubbing his thumb over the initials engraved on the casing of the phone, the initials might be that of someone dear to him, the phone, not just the initials. No, the model was too flashy and up-to-date for someone who dresses in well-worn trousers and refused to dispose of the old leather jacket despite it being cracking in areas and no longer the current fashion. No, the phone was likely to be a –gift? , a … discarded old belonging, probably loaned to him after replacing it with a new phone.

Not materialistic. Or at least towards technology. "Well, bit different from my day." Clearly not one who follows the latest technology advancements. 

The man regarded him with slight curiosity and slight alertness in his gaze and set of shoulders and arms – probably military – slight tan line at wrist and neck, newly introduced – maybe recently returned from military assignment – Afghanistan?

But – something, no something still not right.

Guess he’ll have to talk.

Bother. "Afghanistan or Iraq?"