novel

Life
"Who are you?" Saline asked with a little bit of apprehension. Perhaps at the answer she knew she was about to receive. Silence.
The being that was before her was a silent monument to mystique. A nameless wonder that was always there when she needed it, and never there when she wanted it. About six feet tall, maybe a hundred-fifty pounds, dressed in black and red. A chain around his neck with a sterling dragon pendant dangling from a ring attached to it. A white dragon, shimmering and breathing flame crawled up his side, on his jacket of course. It was the only part of his entire ensemble that didn't scream secrecy. He didn't wear a mask, but he was nonetheless unidentifiable, to her unmistakeable. He had a beautiful face. It was so soft, gentle, but unyielding. Adorned with hair that didn't really have a nameable colour. It sort of shone with a silvery light, but also seemed to have highlights of black, blue or copper depending on the angle at which the light hit it. His eyes were deep and dark, an encompassing blue and so gentle that not even the maladjusted outcast who called herself Saline could feel threatened by them.: ~
Two days earlier, he had appeared to her. He had come out of nothing, yet gave an aura of one who has felt everything. Experienced beyond belief, and scarred by his travels.
Saline was standing on the edge of her balcony, the one that came off of her room in her apartment in an upper class suburb in southern California. Thirty six storeys above the world below. She was a shy girl, nineteen years old, and unimaginably beautiful. She had no friends. People were so taken aback by her appearance that not even the most bold and self assured amongst the cattle of civilization would venture to approach her. She had no family. Her father had been the only relative that she had ever known, as her mother had died giving birth to her. It was through her beloved fathers generosity that she had come to this apartment, dangling on the edge of oblivion. He had left her a more than ample savings account, only around a hundred twenty million dollars, to see her well off for her entire life. He had passed on when she was fourteen. Grief stricken, alone, and hiding from the false sympathies of child services, she made her way to California. There she found the tallest apartment building in the area and rented one of the penthouse suites. Promptly, Saline had made her way to the balcony and clamoured into the position that she now faced again. Staring at the inept masses scurrying about below her, trying to muster enough courage to go through with the process. She had taken a deep breath, looked straight ahead and seen the setting sun. It was the most beautiful sunset that she could ever remember. She sat and stared at it until it was finally dark enough to trigger the harsh mercury vapour lights, which drowned out the magic of the event. From that day on, she sat out on the balcony every night, hoping she would see a sunset that incredible again. It never came. Now she was on the ledge once more, contemplating misery, wishing for something beautiful to appear to her again. It was then that she felt a cold hand on her shoulder. Ordinarily, she would have been so startled by the encounter that she would have fallen from the balcony regardless of why she was there in the first place. For some reason, however, she didn't even flinch. She looked up and saw a sunrise so perfect that it put all memories of things beautiful to shame. Saline fell back and into the strangers arms and he held her while she wept, until eventually she fell asleep.. She never saw him that night, simply felt him holding her and felt safe, watching the sun disappear. When she woke up he was gone and she was shrouded in a blanket. For the first time since before her father had died, she didn't feel so alone.
So I sat there watching her and I felt her breathing against me. She was shaking from the effort of crying her tears, but her vibrations were not so violent now. We sat there watching the sun set between the distant mountains. It was a scene far to incredible to describe in any detail, but the sky was painted with colours so unimaginably beautiful that I could not have even dreamt their existence. After a while, she had calmed and I sensed her lips starting to move. I gently placed my hand by the nape of her neck and felt the words ceasing to wish departure from her elegant lips. Gently I caressed her neck, then my hand moved up, over her cheek bone and covered her eyes. They were closed and I don't think that they ever opened that evening. My fingertips traced down her cheeks, following closely the path her tears had traced moments ago. Tears dry rapidly, but I could still feel the damp, cooling effect they had on her gentle, flawless skin. My fingertips were nonetheless bone dry and poised on her moist lips. They trembled at my touch and she brought her hands to mine, grasping it gently as if it was a dream and clasping it with too much enthusiasm would chase it away. She held my hand there for a moment and then softly, oh so softly, kissed it. Her lips felt so warm against my icy hand. The energy from her body drained into them readily. It was then that I fell in love with her. I felt the gentleness in her soul and a pain so like my own it was unbelievable. I never dreamt that I would find that. She brought my hand down her body and placed it on her stomach. It was bare because it was the dead of summer and warm enough for her to wear a tight fitting tanktop. She gasped at the icy bite my touch brought, but seemed thrilled by it just the same. She clamped my hand tighter against her body, then she fell asleep. I stayed there for hours, just taking her in, then finally worked my way free without waking her. She was so angelic. It was chilly in the night air so I carried her inside and placed her on her bed, wrapping her in a big down blanket I had found. Then, I left.: ~
Saline spent the morning hovering about her apartment in a more than mildly catatonic state. She felt so alive. She could not imagine ever not feeling this way, but she was lost within herself. The outside world did not even matter anymore, not even him. He didn't matter out there. He was in here, with Saline's deepest fantasies, and he was accessible now. Around lunchtime, she was able to draw herself back to reality, but found it harsh and cold as compared to her earlier dreamlike state. She could barely stand not to be there, and soon realised that she could go back again... If she could find her angel. Saline ravenously searched the house, but to no avail. The mysterious stranger to whom she owed so much had left no evidence that he had been more than a dream, except for the blanket and a touch. She could still feel those arms around her, the aura of sincerity, his hand that she had held to tightly to her in loathing of letting go. Had the stranger found it that traumatizing to let her go? Saline had banned all religion from her life, but chose now to pray to anyone who would listen that he had. Her life from that point on was to exist inexorably linked to his. Nothing could disrupt it, nothing could break the bond. And for that she was grateful.
I sleep during the day. The night is where I shine. The shimmering stars that I have sought for so long seem so much harder to find during the day. I always rise to watch the sun set though. There is always time for that. It was one night ago now that I first saw her, and one since I last touched her. It seems a span of time far greater than that, and I do not think I can hold out for the sun to turn completely red before it sinks to the horizon. I am dressed more darkly than normal. Basic black, nothing wrong with that, but I cannot force myself to be completely open with her. As I so long to be. I've been alone for so long, sheltering myself from the world. It's hard to let go. She'll understand. Saline. Bitter, but with the potential to purge disease from the flesh. My personal disconformity is one of the soul, though. She'll save me, I'll save her. A bond is forged and can never be broken. I'll go now.
Whenever I leave, I take with me my dragons. They are what I sometimes feel to be the only link I have to my past and I cannot bear to be separated from them. One is on my side, the other dangles protectively over my heart. It is an emblem that was realized in a dream. A nightmare that I had when I was four. In it, I was being marauded by an unseen hatred and could do nothing to defend against it. I felt so helpless. Then it was there. It has no name, just a feeling I associate with it. I feel it. I breath it. It becomes me. It saved me by letting me know myself, and the daemons were gone. Deep shit for a four year old, but I think I could comprehend better then, than I could have had it happened ten years later. I carry with me it's emblem. One representation close to my heart, one tattooed on my body, protecting my soul. My father said it was my angel, come to watch over me, and that I should never forget its gifts to me. I never have. As well, I have never forgotten my father's gifts either. He passed on when I was twelve. The only relative that I had ever known, as my mother had died giving me life. He left for me all the material goods I would ever need, put in trust. I still remember saying goodbye to him, the cancer finally claiming its victory. I watched him die as he watched me grow, and never seeing his dreams for me coming to fruition. He felt so cold. I had placed my hand over his eyes, and traced the path of his tears. My hand stayed bone dry, and poised on his lips. They trembled at my touch as he brought his hands up to my own. Grasping it softly as if it were a dream and holding it too enthusiastically would chase it away. Then he kissed my hand, and I felt all of his energy drain out of his body and through mine and fade out of existence. Then he was gone. Heavy shit, no matter how old you are. I grasp my dragon, holding it against my heart, and pull on my jacket. It too has a silver dragon, clamouring up the side. I look around my dwelling before I leave to refresh my weary heart by approaching her again. It is a silent monument to mystique. A euphemism for a sorrow filled existence, but there is no hatred in this dwelling. A dreary overtone is far better than ever feeling that hatred again.: ~
It was around eleven thirty when Saline felt her angel again. She had gone for a walk through the park near her apartment. The park was really a large garden, overgrown with trees which embezzled the sunlight from the smaller more delicate flowers they towered over. She was never afraid to venture out into the park after dusk as she would have been in almost any other city. It was a refuge from the tribulations of the outside world, and for some reason was respected by all. As if the criminals of the area recognised it as a sacred place where any violation of its sanctity would be punished by the resident gods. She loved the park. Now she was approaching her spot. It was a rock on the banks of the tiny manmade babbling brook that coursed energetically through the centre of the park. She crouched on her rock and looked around. There was a trail down to the pond the stream terminated in, off to the right. It was the beaten path if you will, leading to the inevitable congregation point of all of the ordinary visitors. Saline chose a spot that didn't have a trail leading to it. Once again, she had discovered it quite coincidently on a day when she was feeling unusually masochistic. Contemplating how to satisfy her insatiable hunger to inflict some physical pain upon herself, she had taken her eyes from the ground momentarily and seen it. There were two majestic oaks growing by the side of the stream. Both were about forty feet tall, with absolutely massive trunks and spaced about twenty feet apart. Each had an exceptionally large branch at corresponding heights, pointing towards to other tree. These branches met halfway, and crossed, minor branches melding together and intertwining. It was like they were holding hands and were never going to let go. But cradled in the "V" that was formed, was the moon. It was full and a stunningly bright silver, and remarkably the exact size so as to appear to be supported by the massive trees. The moon beams crashed onto the leaves of the oaks, but travelled unobstructed through the "V", casting a heavenly beam of light. The beam was cool, but nonetheless appeared almost identical to the way movies portray divine individual standing in a pillar of light. This beam however wasn't falling on a person, but rather on the stream. That phony looking manmade stream. She looked to where the beam of light terminated, and saw the shimmering of gold. Saline had approached the stream to see what it was, and found a golden carp floating in the water. It's mouth moved rhythmically, open and shut, open and shut and it seemed that it was singing a song that only Saline was meant to hear. The fish glittered again as it gave a violent swish of it's tail and disappeared out of the light. Initially Saline had felt disappointed at its departure, but kept admiring the divine beauty of the moon's reflection in the now murky water. The sediment stirred by the fish was settling out rapidly and as the water cleared, she could see something silver start to appear. There was a ring staring out at her, a miniature moon trying to imitate the glow its larger counterpart was casting upon it. Saline picked it out of the water and admired it. It looked a great deal like her mother's ring, and indeed it bore the initials of her mother.
R E P, Rain Ellone Phallyn. She had lost the ring almost a decade ago when she had been at a beach in Virginia. She had been devastated and mourned the loss for years. It was the only thing she had to remember that she once, indeed, had a mother. It had seemed she had found it again after so long, when she needed a memory to inspire her to keep on living.
Now she fingered the ring as it dangled from the chain around her neck. She didn't want to wear it as a ring, fearing that it might somehow dishonour the memories her mother and father had together. It had been their engagement ring once. Her father had been an unorthodox man and had chosen not to get the traditional gold and diamond engagement ring. Instead, he had it custom made, in Istanbul, specifically for his love Rain. He had told Saline that there was a special symbolism and meaning behind every aspect of the ring that only he and Saline's mother could understand. He had always refused to tell her what the symbolism was behind the ring. It was far from flashy, or expensive looking but held more romantic intent and love in it than a manufactured one with a huge diamond. It was primarily silver, with platinum accents and a single star sapphire set deep in the metal. Her father had Rain's initials embossed into the inside of the ring. R E P. The one Saline had discovered that night was so identical to the one she had lost that she was thoroughly convinced that by some strange twist of fate she had found the original again. Indeed she had, but she would never know by what means it had come to California with her. She contemplated the unusual coincidences that had occurred that night to let her find the ring again. Walking by that spot, just as the clouds cleared for thirty seconds, the only time they parted at all that night. The clouds clearing in only that part of the sky. The branches blocking all but that one ray of silver moonlight. The moon being at just the right height in the sky to illuminate that particular spot. The carp, glittering to draw her attention, then removing the sediment from the ring with a whisk of his tail. It was unbelievable, almost divine if she believed in something higher. Again, Saline's thoughts drifted back to her stranger, her saviour, her angel. Then she felt an icy hand on her shoulder.
She nuzzled the hand against her cheek. It was so cold, but it felt so delightful and refreshing and loving. She closed her eyes, so that the only thing that was real to her was the touch. His hand caressed her cheek, then covered her eyes. He pulled his hand up over her forehead, a gesture for her to open her eyes. She did, and saw the moon filtering down through the trees, illuminating the river, the gold glittering of the carp and the tiny silver moon on her chest. He brought beauty with him whenever he was near her, feelings more incredible than her fondest memories. He kissed the back of her neck. His lips were WARM!! So incredibly contradictory to the iciness of his hands it was undescribable. He was crouched behind her, one hand on her back, the other now streaming through her hair. He started to stand and Saline instinctively stood too. The stranger (though to Saline not really a stranger anymore, but she could not think of a temporary name to suit him.) stood with his arms around her waist, her hands on top of them, holding his touch to her. He cuddled into her hair, and her back against him. He gently kissed her again on the top of the head. She was nearly five inches shorter than him, but he seemed to be taking advantage of that, rather than lamenting the fact that she was not at an ideal height to kiss on the mouth. He turned her towards him, and Saline saw the stranger for the first time. He was beautiful to her, both physically and in every other aspect. Saline was crying, not tears of joy, but rather tears of every emotion one could feel. He kissed her tears away, bitter saline solution coming from an angel ironically named Saline. His lips tracing the path her tears were taking. Tears dry rapidly, but there was a fresh supply this time, and they streamed all the way to her elegant red lips. They kissed, together, for the first time and Saline could not remember a stronger feeling of joy and peace.: ~
I had left the apartment earlier than usual for this time of year. I could hardly contain my excitement at the prospect of being with her again. It was around eight thirty when I roused myself to leave my sanctuary, and it was still quite bright out. The other nightcrawlers would not be out for a few hours yet, which meant that I would have to avoid a much more paranoid crowd. The children of the night, mostly young twenty-somethings out for a good time, have a tendency towards acceptance of unusual things as a source of entertainment. They would embrace me if I would let them, but they are too childish. The people who thrive in the sun however, are a little untrusting of me. A testament to the sad state of America today. They are the yuppies, the aging baby -boomers hurrying along the busy streets trying to get home before dark. They seem apprehensive of my presence, which has a tendency to make anyone uncomfortable. Especially me. They stare at my hair, which is a myriad of colours. I achieved the look by dying individual strands a slightly different colour. My hair is almost silver, it has been since I was born and as such, is the dominant colour. I dress interestingly to them. Not in a mesh of bizarre fabrics, or in trashy clothing, but certainly not in a manor they would dress for their middle-management jobs. Suit and tie for men, short skirt and blouse for women. They stared at her too, for not conforming to their bland socialistic mannerisms. That is why I had first noticed her. Not for her physical beauty, which certainly didn't hurt matters, but rather because she stood alone in the crowd. Surrounded by others, she alone was entirely isolated. The other people on the street would stop and stare, and she would look away. When at last she had wandered out of view of the daily commuters, they would turn to the person nearest them and make some sort of comment about wanting to "do her", or about her standing out so obtrusively, or just plain "wow." It was sickening. Before I even met her, however, I knew she was not just some run of the mill loner. She was something more. I followed her back to her apartment, trying to stay as unobtrusive as I normally am, staying in the shadows, looking away when someone's eyes were focused on me. It was difficult, as I couldn't take my eyes off of her. I would walk into things, and not notice the people staring until I had already made a spectacle of myself. Fortunately, she only looked up when she was about to cross at a busy intersection, and even then she was not expecting to be followed. When she stopped in the apartment complex foyer to get her mail, I lost my nerve and decided not to approach her. Instead, I stared at her for a moment and memorized every detail that I could from that distance. She was about five foot six, which was her actual height as she was not wearing those now fashionable but undeniably tacky platform heels. She was wearing loose fitting khaki pants and a black, tight fitting tanktop with a dragon breathing flames across her chest. She sported no piercing that I could see and had raven black hair. I loved her hair, It was so pure and flawless and deep. I could get lost in her hair for days, and only come out when I got a look at her eyes. I couldn't really see what colour they were from my vantage point, but I could tell they were dark. It was the expressionism in her eyes, more than the colour, that drew my attention. I could see the pain in them, but there was still a quiet, self-assured confidence in them. But somehow I knew something was going to happen to her. That was what had given me the nerve to follow her to her apartment, when moments before I couldn't even force myself to approach her. That was when I had first fallen in love with her.
It was dark by the time I reached her apartment complex, nearly two hours after I had left. It wasn't really that far, but I don't wish to own a car, and I categorically refuse to take the bus. I decided not to go to her apartment right away, but rather had the uncontrollable desire to go to the park a couple of minutes down the road. So I did. There were few people in the park after dusk, perhaps they all thought that they would be in as much danger there as in Central Park in New York City. They were wrong. It was actually a very peaceful place after dark, with few disturbances. In fact, I couldn't even remember when I had last heard of any crime bigger than petty vandalism being committed. I passed two middle aged city dwellers, trying to get out of the park before bad things like werewolves started popping out of the bushes. They gave me a knowing look, as if they were positively certain I was a sexual predator on the prowl. Ordinarily I would have laughed to myself at their bias and ignorance, but tonight I could barely manage to look away without crying. Deep near the centre of the park (it was really a garden overgrown with trees stealing the light from the tiny flowers they loom over), I found her. She was wrapped in a blanket of silence as completely dark as her raven hair. She was crouched at my favourite spot. The place where the moon would filter down through the trees at around this time of year. I looked up. It was quite cloudy, but seemed to be clearing. Tonight was the full moon. July twenty sixth. A Friday. I have the ability to be stunningly quiet when I want to be. Most people would have found it unnerving, but I never have anything to do with other people, so why worry about startling them? I drew near to her but she never heard me coming. I placed my hand upon her gently curving shoulder and she instantly livened at my touch, coveting me hand against her cheek. She felt so much happier and in tune with life than she had that night on the balcony. I could almost see the joy running through her body, and I in turn was thrilled that I could make a difference. I looked in time to see the moon peeking through the clouds and illuminating the stream, making the body of the carp that had been sleeping there shimmer with a golden hue. Her eyes opened at just the right moment and I could sense her revelling in the beauty of the scene. I turned her towards me and she saw me for the first time. Basic black, too dark and secretive for a moment like this, she didn't seem to mind though. Saline said nothing to me after we kissed, which is what I had been hoping for. We were already so close that words were not needed to express moments of extreme emotion, such as this. She smiled at me and stared into my eyes. God, her eyes were gorgeous! Such a deep velvety blue, that they were like sapphires, with stars glittering in the centre. She pressed herself into my neck and breathed deeply. I could feel her warm breaths against my bare skin. I kissed her again on the top of the head, tasting, smelling, blending with her hair again. We stayed like that for a few moment, and then, silently, walked back towards her apartment.: ~
Saline and her mysterious angel walked together for the short journey back to her apartment. It was now well after midnight, the moon hovered almost directly over head. The two said nothing, only enjoyed each other's presence. Hand in hand, hearts beating in sync, they neared the exit.
" Either of you two love birds got a lighter?" came the voice from deep within the shadows off to the left. They stopped, and Saline withdrew a bronze Zippo from her pants pocket. She didn't smoke, never had, but it was her fathers lighter. One more memento she couldn't stand to be without.
"Thanks," said the man, obviously a street dweller trying to find a little bit of solitude within the park "I've been dying for a smoke all night." He sparked the lighter and brought it to the Marlborough perched awkwardly from the corner of his mouth. He handed the Zippo back to Saline. "I appreciate that Pretty Lady, and I promise that if I ever get the chance, I'll repay you." Saline, not one to speak even if spoken to, could only smile shyly and avert her eyes to the ground. If the man had only known how difficult it was for her to offer him the lighter at all, perhaps he would have been grateful she would even give him that much acknowledgement. Saline and her stranger continued walking towards the park exit, while the derelict stood by dejected that his attempt at flirting had been for naught. The air was shattered by an exceptionall loud crack as Saline's angel spun around violently and collapsed to the ground as the slug from the Colt .45 ripped through his body. Saline screamed and turned to face her assailant. Apparently the street dweller had taken exception to the couple's silent nature. "What's the matter Pretty Lady , my promises not good enough for you?" he shouted at her, bits of froth flinging erratically from the corners of his mouth as he yelled. "I'll repay you for your kindness whether you want it or not." he stated with a sly grin as he suddenly darted at her. Saline screamed again and turned to run, but the vagrant was already clutching at her shirt. He toppled on top of her in an awkward show of force. Saline couldn't believe the amount of strength there was in a man who had seemed too malnourished to even blink three times in rapid succession. He had Saline pinned on her back, and was now ripping at her shirt and at the same time trying to kiss her. "Pretty Lady'll appreciate this." he screamed at her as he leaned in for another attempt at kissing her on the lips. She pretended to not to resist for a second, and when he got his lips close enough to hers she opened her mouth and clamped on. The vagrant screamed in anger and pain and recoiled. Saline could taste the filth from the man's scruffy beard mixing with the large quantities of blood in her mouth. He stared at her with unhuman malice in his eyes, blood dripping down from where a large portion of his lip was missing, and drew his hand back. "Bitch!" he shouted at her. Saline closed her eyes and prepared for the blow she was about to receive. It never came. She opened her eyes, when she felt the man's grip on her breast loosen. She was expecting to see a gun pointed into her face, but it wasn't there. Instead, she was greeted with the sight of a beheaded corpse sitting on top of her. The wounds on the man's neck looked like lips grinning at her, as if the stump had taken over the role of the missing head in taunting her with evil looks. The body slumped over sideways and she scurried out backwards from under it. She sat for a moment, catching her breath, when she saw the head about ten feet away laying at the base of a tree. She stood, and started staggering towards it when it dawned on her that her angel was nowhere to be seen. She looked back down the path where they had first encountered the street person, but he wasn't there anymore. She had a vague memory of him falling after the gunshot, but didn't remember seeing the bullet penetrate. She started shaking as the reality of what had just occurred started to sink in. Where was her saviour? She felt the desire to beg for him to come to her, but what was she to call him? Then, without thinking anymore, she felt his name passing her lips...
"Strife?" she called pleadingly into the night. Then she felt a cold hand on her shoulder, and fainted
~.
I awoke face down on the floor. It took me a minute before I was sentient enough to realize the oddity of that fact. I ached all over, especially me right shoulder, which throbbed with an icy persistence. I rolled onto my back and opened my eyes, and found myself staring at the Saline's ceiling. I was to the right of her bed, feet pointing to the headboard. I touched my shoulder with my left hand. My shirt was torn raggedly, and felt crisp around the fringes of the hole. I could smell that it was burnt, but how? I felt around the area, but couldn't find any wound and it wasn't sore to the touch. It just hurt like fuck, sort of in the way a muscle pull hurts, but a whole fucking lot more extreme. How had I gotten to Saline's room? The last thing that I could remember was us leaving after Saline had gotten her lighter back from the... the drifter. It was all coming back to me, except what had happened after the gunshot. I remembered hitting the ground, and that was it. But what had happened to the wound? I remembered the pain as the bullet hit me, like someone stuck me with a red hot fork, but there was no wound. What had happened to Saline? The thought struck me suddenly and with incredible urgency. I sat upright with a bolt. Not the wisest idea I've ever had, considering the pain I was in. I grimaced and closed my eyes tightly as I rose, but I managed to get upright. I sat there for a moment, eyes shut, breathing heavily trying to work through the agony. When I had regained my composure, and the presence of mind not to make any rapid movements, I placed my good hand on her bed and started to pull myself up. I was able to get to my knees before I had to take another break. I stretched my arm over the mattress to rest my upper body on the bed. I was startled to hit it on an object that was lying there. Surprised, my eyes shot open to see what it was and to my immense delight, Saline was there. Again, without thinking of the consequences, I bolted upright. A spasm of pain shot up my back and into my shoulder. I winced with the agony, and collapsed onto the bed. At least I was where I wanted to be. I had to stay there for a moment, but managed to put my arm around her. I cautiously sat up again, fortunately, I was getting used to the pain. In a short while I would cease to even notice it. She seemed relatively unharmed, and was breathing regularly. There was a large quantity of blood on her, but I figured that it probably wasn't hers. There was no way a wound that could produce that much blood would have closed on its own, and it was already quite crusted. Just to be sure, I gave her a quick physical. She didn't seem to want to be woken, perhaps she was passed out. I didn't really have the medical expertise to tell. Either way, she didn't wake up as I removed her tattered clothing to make sure she wasn't bleeding. Most of the blood was soaked into her clothes, so I could see that there were no gaping wounds on her. There were some minor scrapes on her hands and arm, probably from falling. It looked like road rash, which was nothing to be worried about. The worst wounds she had were probably the bruises on her left breast. There were five large dark bruises, most likely representing her assailants fingers where he had been squeezing greedily at a fistful of flesh. The spaces between the marks were turning yellow. Pretty painful, but probably not something that would cause her to require a mastectomy. Then it dawned on me. The torn shirt, the unzipped pants, the types of wound she had... the mother fucker had tried to rape her. But how had she gotten away? And what had happened to the vagrant? My head whirled insanely while I tried to repiece the scenario in my mind, but I could think of nothing to explain all that had happened. My thoughts were growing foggier with each passing moment, maybe I had sustained a concussion, or was going into shock, I couldn't tell. All I knew was that I was in a shitload of pain, and I could hear sirens in the distance. Sirens... were they in my mind? They meant something... A moaning next to me brought me back into reality. Saline was awakening. I was overjoyed. Then it dawned on me why the sirens had interested me. They weren't just in my head, and they were growing louder. I knew what that meant. Someone must have reported the disturbance in the park, and the police were coming to investigate. From the amount of blood that was on Saline's clothes, and mine, I knew that they were likely going to be canvassing the neighbourhood for witnesses. I certainly looked suspicious, whether I appeared to have been in a fight or not, and I could not afford to have the police stop me for questioning. They tend to look upon people who, legally, do not exist with suspicion and certainly more than a little bias. In the narrow minded opinions of the police, why would anyone choose not to exist unless they were out there committing crimes of a most dastardly nature? Saline stirred again, which garnered my attention towards another question. What about her? I certainly couldn't stay with her and risk being arrested by the police, but I couldn't leave her either. She appeared as incriminating as I did. She, at least existed in the eyes of the law, and I definitely couldn't carry her all the way back to my abode. I wasn't even sure I could get all the way back to my apartment without passing out. I decided to carry her to the bathtub that was adjacent to her bedroom. I set her down in the pink porcelain basin and started running the water. I looked about the bathroom quickly, hoping to find some sort of bath salt with which to rouse her. I spotted some blue crystals in a jar on the sink. Saline moaned again, and I turned to her. There was a lot of steam coming out of the tub. Shit, I had only turned on the hot! I ran back over to the tub, slipping on the bath mat and banging my knee on the tub's side. It rang with a hollow reverberation. I turned on some cold, and turned off the hot. Saline moaned again, but wasn't awake yet, so I went back to the sink and picked up the jar of crystals. It was just an ornamental jar of plastic beads, definitely not the Epson salts that I needed to wake her up. I dropped the salts back onto the counter top and went back to the tub, this time being careful not to crack my knee on the side. I heard a knock on the door. My heart skipped a beat.
"Miss Phallyn? You in there?" came the voice through the door. I started breathing again. It was just some neighbour, stirred by the commotion in the park near the apartment complex. The police probably wouldn't be around knocking on doors until after nine A.M., but they would probably begin searching the area any time now. I had to get out of there fast. Saline started sitting up.
"Wher..." she started. I kissed her on the lips suddenly, and she moaned delightedly. I could taste dirt and blood on her lips, certainly not as sweet as they had been earlier that evening. I finished our kiss, and she opened her eyes as I drew back. She smiled at me, and then saw the now cold bath water. It was blood red. Her eyes widened incredibly at the sight and she opened her mouth to scream. I put my hand to her mouth and stifled the sound, she scurried a bit more upright in the tub. I made the finger to mouth signal for her to be quiet just as whoever it was knocked on the door again and shouted.
"Miss Phallyn? Are you home yet?" Saline seemed to get the idea. I turned the cold water tap off and prayed that the nosy neighbour hadn't heard it. "I hope you're alright." I heard through the door. Then there was silence. I kissed Saline again, despite the metallic taste of blood and filth that I knew I would experience. Sadly, she didn't seem able to make the journey home with me, definitely not by the route I was going to have to take anyway. I opened the bathroom window, letting air from the alley below vent in. I turned and smiled at Saline and waved goodbye as I climbed out of the window. Sadly, I was going to have to let her sort things out for herself for a while. Then I was scaling the wall onto her roof.
~
Mrs. Larkinson was a responsible landlady who was always on the lookout for a responsible tenant. She was well into her seventies and had inherited this apartment complex from her late husband ten years earlier. He had been killed by a mugger. A pleasant old woman, she was indelibly faithful to those whom she felt deserved it and tough as nails with those whom she felt weren't quite up to par with her high standards. There were lots of the latter, and lots of the latter had lots of money. Sadly, those were the type of people she had to deal with in order to keep her husband's dream investment from going under. People had a tendency to think of her as a bitter old woman, bent on screwing them out of their money, but that was actually just the contrary. Her rates were among the lowest for a similar building on a similar property in the country. A mere two thousand, three hundred dollars, monthly. Nearly four hundred dollars lower than she could have charged them. Then, four and a half years earlier, she had been approached by a lovely, but almost pathetically shy young girl named Saline Phallyn. Ordinarily, she would have been rather suspicious of a fourteen year old looking for a penthouse suite in a complex that catered to the socially elite. The girl, however, had payed for one months rent in cash, up-front. There was something about the young girl, who had obviously not been in California very long, that made Mrs. Larkinson humour her. She had given her the finest apartment, second only to her own, in the complex. A corner suite, with an incredible view towards the west. She had often had compliments from the previous tenant that one could see the most incredible sunsets from that apartment. The ocean reflecting the already incredible palate of colours with a deep, almost metallic hue. She had mentioned this to the girl as she escorted her to the apartment. It was then that the Saline had spoken the only non-business like comment that Mrs. Larkinson had ever heard her utter... "Really? I hope so. I've been searching so long for something beautiful, but that something is just so hard to find." After that, the two seldom spoke, and when they did it was never just idle chit-chat. Miss. Phallyn rarely left her apartment, when she did, it was usually just for a walk in the park or to get he supply of groceries. Mrs. Larkinson did her best to unobtrusively help her out. She would turn away the solicitors and door-to-door vacuum cleaner salesman that so loved to pester apartment buildings. It was clear that Saline recognised and appreciated her efforts, as she anonymously left gifts for Mrs. Larkinson and donated to all of the old landlady's favourite charities. Mrs. Larkinson still knew nothing about her however, and was determined to find out the processes that had brought her to the west coast. Through creative work on the Internet, Mrs. Larkinson had been able to find out a bit about the young mystery girl. She discovered that her father had been a reclusive millionaire. Robert Partidge, the only child of wealthy industrialist Albert Partridge. He had married an orphaned girl named Rain Phallyn, whom he had adopted as a troubled child after his parents had passed on. There was no history of Rain Phallyn before the orphanage, although documentation had stated that was her given name on her arrival at the church where she was raised. Eventually, when Rain was old enough, she was wed to Robert Partridge, who then adopted his wife's name. When she had first discovered this, Mrs. Larkinson had been appalled. It was like father marrying daughter, but upon closer inspection she realized that the age difference between the two was less than that of her and her lost husband. A mere four years. Rain had been fifteen when a nineteen year old Robert had adopted her. She was too young to be legally responsible for herself, and he had just been declared an adult in the eyes of the law. No doubt, Robert Partridge's social clout had expedited the adoption process, and he had done so simply for legal purposes. It was likely that he had never intended to be a father figure, but rather her lover. In those days, until she was adopted, Rain Phallyn was the property of the orphanage, and adopting her was the only way they could ever be together. She also learned of the mysterious Rain's passing at the time of Saline's birth, and of her millionaire father's demise at the hands of cancer when Saline was only fourteen. She truly was alone. That is why Mrs. Larkinson felt enough concern about Saline Phallyn to rouse herself after midnight to find out why she had heard the young tenant's door slam. If it had been any other apartment, Mrs. Larkinson would have simply dismissed it as being one of her rowdier tenants come home after a night of binge drinking.
She had entered the hallway with a little bit of apprehension. She didn't know exactly what she was going to find. For all the saintly old lady knew, Miss Phallyn's apartment might be under siege by some violent robber, coming down off of a meth high and desperate to get finances for his next fix. An individual like that would not think twice about blasting a hole through the head of an innocent looking old lady. Mrs. Larkinson sort of wished she hadn't sold her husbands old twelve gage to a seedy looking individual from Indiana. The old woman was quite fearless however, and knew the proper procedure for dealing with criminals, if that was the problem. Her apartment was on the far side of the elevator in relation to that of Miss Phallyn's , which was three doors down, opposite side of the hall. She passed through the threshold and into the florescent oblivion beyond. The hallway was silent, but the landlady moved forward cautiously, trying to avoid having her head blown off. She had her back against the wall, shuffling as silently as she could, across the space between her door and the elevator. She passed in front of the elevator door, being sure not to accidentally press the button to open the door and alert anyone who might still be lingering. She ran her hand over the panel so she could identify and hopefully avoid the buttons, when her hand passed over a warm sticky fluid. Mrs. Larkinson's heart beat faster, she knew that it must be blood. Saline Phallyn was definitely in trouble. She could clearly see her tenant's door now. It was closed and she could see from here if it was being opened, but it was drenched in blood. She drew away from the wall and briefly examined it, being sure never to take her eyes off the door for more than one second at a time. There were six deep, parallel gouges carved into the wall and blood splatters everywhere. In some places, the blood dripped out of the gouges, giving the impression that the wall was bleeding from its gaping wounds. Obviously, whatever instrument had made the scratches was quite drenched with blood. There were oblong red patches on the plush carpeted floor, most likely representing the killer's footprints. Mrs. Larkinson had to find out if Saline was alright however, as she was now feeling an almost maternal instinct to ensure the young girl's well being. That was when she had knocked on the door. After getting no response, she decided that her best option was to call the police.: ~
I sat perched on the edge of the roof of Saline's apartment building, staring vacantly into the empty night. The hectic night life of the city cast a variety of shapes and shadows into the alley. Another police cruiser blasted by, sirens wailing, the lights dancing crazily through the darkness below. The city lights reflected off of the low cloud cover, bathing the night in a hazy orangish glow. I stood and looked for the best route from which to leave this rooftop and travel to the next. Unfortunately, it was equidistant the entire length of the building, nothing projected out slightly to cut down on the twelve foot jump. On top of that already formidable obstacle was the fact that the building I had to get to was also about two feet higher. I frowned at the complication, but it was the only way I could go. There was no other building I could cross to, but the one I was planning on at least had a fire escape so I could climb back to street level. I took a deep breath and ran the short distance to the edge of the building. I couldn't have too much velocity, otherwise I would simply bounce off and plummet to the concrete below. The next thing I knew, I was flying through eternity. Everything became slow motion. I had the time to stare at the cracks in brick wall grow bigger and clearer as I neared them, and see the places where the rain water had stained the red bricks. I felt my arms coming forward, lining up with the ledge, fingers ready to clasp around anything they could. I exhaled explosively as my body was smashed against the wall, the pain in my shoulder screaming its way up to my lips. I almost cried out, but at least I had made it and seemed to have a fairy stable grip. I heaved myself up and rolled over the slight lip, and laid there for a moment trying to catch my breath. My shoulder felt like it had a spear made of ice sticking through it. Fuck I was going to be sore tomorrow when I got out of bed. I closed my eyes and took another deep breath. It was then that I heard it, a low melancholy growl. It was certainly a sound no human could make. I froze completely; could there be a dog on the roof? If there was, my best bet was to play dead. Then I heard, as well as felt, heavy padded footsteps coming towards me. Whatever it was, was hovering over me, I could feel its awesomely overpowering presence almost pinning me onto my back. A wave of stagnant heat washed over my face and I heard the sound again, only this time it was more than a growl. It said something that sounded unintelligible for the most part, but there was one unmistakeable word. Strife. I felt something blisteringly warm drip onto my cheek and my eyes shot open. There was nothing there but the clouds to greet me. I exhaled. I had been holding my breath the whole time. Something else dripped onto my cheek, it was starting to rain. I reached my hand up to my cheek where I had felt the searing liquid burning into my skin. It was tender, but otherwise seemed uninjured. I looked at my fingertips. They had some sort of bizzare, but familiar fluid on them. It felt like a drop of death.
~
"Go!!" the shout echoed through the hallways as Saline's apartment door was bashed in. Three uniformed SWAT team members rushed through the shattered door, guns draw and ready to shoot anything that moved. One of them ran to the left of the door, his back to the wall; another officer did the same to the right. The third passed straight ahead, the flashlight that was attached to his gun sweeping the room in a macabre search for something to kill. "Clear!" the man screamed. As he did, three more men entered and paired off with the first three. The two on the left charged into the open kitchen, glasses and pots reflecting their lights so the kitchen looked like a disco. The same had been done simultaneously into the main bathroom. The two teams both shouted "Clear!" at exactly the same moment, blasting the message to the pair in the living room in stereo before retreating back to the entrance. They moved up the wall by the kitchen so they would have a clear view of the bedroom door. The main team then darted across the living room to the balcony. The ledge was vacant except for a couple of pigeons. One of the officers slid the door open, enticing the pigeons to flutter off in a whirling flurry of down and dirty gray feathers. This startled the officer so much, he pointed his gun into the night and pulled the trigger. Nothing happened. He'd forgotten to take the safety off. The man casually flicked the safety and glanced to the street below. "Clear!" he shouted back inside the apartment. The other officer's attention turned back to the bedroom door, giving the officer on the balcony the opportunity to cross himself. Strange how making one horrible mistake had actually prevented him from committing a worse one. Three of the men, including the guy who had almost fired into the night, neared the bedroom door. On each side of the door stood a man, the third set himself up to kick it down. They were really fucking up an exquisitely beautiful apartment. The guy's foot shot forward, heavy, black leather, steel toed combat boots breaking the door jamb to splinters. Little bits of wood sprayed the bedroom and slid across its cold, green ceramic tiled floor. The door guy swept the room directly in front of him with his light and then sidestepped through the doorway. "Clear!" he called to the balcony guy and the other man who had been covering the door. The two promptly followed him into the room. The only door left to break down was the on that led into the master bathroom. It was the only room they had encountered that had a light on and the faint noise of a dripping faucet could be heard. The light was far friendlier looking than the blinding beams that were coming from the SWAT team's excessively bright, gun mounted flashlights. There was a bloody pile of torn and tattered clothes on the bed, and a variety of bloody patches all over the room. The room was rife with evidence; they would have to be careful not to disturb any of it. The team leader, the guy responsible for destroying all of the doors thus far, set himself up to obliterate one more. As before the door flew open with extreme ease under the force of the officer's kick. Splinters flew across the room, and the door was thrown open with such momentum that it managed to embed itself in the gyprock wall behind it. The man peered scrutinizingly into the bathroom. "Call an ambulance." he whispered. One of the men behind him fell to his knees and vomited.: ~
I fell asleep quite rapidly when I got home; I felt like I had expended three days worth of energy within the span of a few hours. The trip home had been, fortunately, uneventful. I'd stuck to the back alleys, which I happened to know extremely well. I had encountered no one, and even if I had, it was much too dark for them to have seen any blood. It was pretty safe, it was just a matter of avoiding the suspicious eyes of the police.
The moments before I fall asleep greatly affect the outcome of my dreams. I had been absently contemplating how the entity I had encountered had known my name. As far as I was aware, I was the only one who knew it. The only, though by no means most comforting, thing I could think of was that I had been hallucinating. It certainly wasn't the best sign of mental heath I could come up with, which I found concerning. Then again, I had been through an awful lot that night, which I suppose would be enough to make almost anybody hallucinate. The encounter in the park definitely had not been a figment of my imagination, the blood was proof enough of that; but what had been on the roof? And how had it known my name? I adopted my name after my father died, as he had refused to name me until he got to know me. Up until then, he had just called me son, or boy, which incidently worked well for those few short years. After he was gone, I decided that I should name myself by what I felt inside and what I felt at the time was clear: strife. My dreams that night were different than usual. They are usually quite colourful, but that night they were dark and cold. That night, they weren't filled with anything beautiful, but were rather drenched in scenes of ultimate destruction and I could feel the presence of the entity. All that I could hear was the low, unearthly growl that distinctly spoke my name over and over again. Strife.: ~
When Saline awoke, the world was moving beneath her. She could vaguely hear sirens , although they were growing slowly stronger as she reenter the waking world. She heard a faint beeping, and someone whispering "She's coming to." although she was not fully able to comprehend what it meant at the time. Then she felt a hand on he shoulder and someone saying "Lie still." The voice didn't sound familiar, but it was nonetheless comforting and soothing to her. She tried to smile faintly; the voice was so nice. She started to drift back to sleep, the faint beeping and the distant sirens soothing he back to sleep like an abstract lullaby. And the voice was still there, yammering away to a deeper, slower voice that was also quite comforting, but not so comforting as the first. She couldn't understand what the voices were conversing about, it all sounded like Latin, or some other dead language. She felt herself smiling faintly again and found that she was inanely trying to decipher the hidden meaning behind the siren and the beeping. It didn't really seem to matter all that much anyway, didn't matter as much as her angel. She dreamt about the last time she had seen him. He had been looking down on her as she lay in a tub; he had looked haggard, but still beautiful to her. She smiled again at the thought of him, but suddenly remembered seeing a look of alarm on his face. Why had he seemed so upset? She heard the sirens again in the background. He seemed unsettled by them... sirens, sirens, sirens... it meant something. He was leaving because he didn't want to be there when the sirens came. The sirens... the sirens.... THE SIRENS!! She heard the beeping sound grow faster and more insistent as she was suddenly jolted back to reality. Her eyes shot open to be greeted by a white ceiling. Saline made an attempt to right herself... why would she be in an ambulance? The woman attached to the voice stayed her progress and a hand on her shoulder pushed her back onto the gourney.
"Whoa, calm down," said the female ambulance attendant "It's alright. Just lie still." Saline thought the voice sounded more harsh and condescending now than it had earlier. Far from the soothing, melodic tone it had been. The beeping grew steadily faster; it was right beside her head. A heart monitor. The clip on her finger betrayed her, telling them she was weak and upset. She clawed at it, but it seemed to be taped on, refusing to relinquish its grasp on he index finger. The hand on her shoulder became more forceful now, the voice more aggravated. Saline surrendered, she couldn't organize her thoughts enough to put up any real resistance.
"Can we give her anything?" the male attendant inquired.
"I don't know what's wrong with her yet. There doesn't appear to be any physical trauma that could cause her to pass out, so we should probably shouldn't until they get her through the MRI." After that she couldn't understand much of what they were talking about anymore. She closed her eyes and started to drift back to a place where she could be with her angel again. For some odd reason, she was positive that his name was Strife, and that name began to ceaselessly course through her head. It was a beautiful name, she thought, and smiled faintly again as she conjured up an image of his face.
"She sure is pretty." she heard the deeper voice say.
"Yah, but in some sort of special way that I can't quite place." said the girl. Saline smiled faintly at that too, and drifted back into a more pristine world.









Metamorphosis
From:"Apathy" 2000
Have you ever stopped to think about what you will become?
Dreamt of something higher?
Prayed for salvation?
Only She can save me, mystic and cryptic, protect me from myself
Only She would pray for me, longing and dreaming, shelter me from the world
I would be her angel, silent and unseen
I could be an angel, She'll repair my broken wings
Down here on Earth, where many fear to tread
Only She can see what will become
Foretell the aftermath of all the lies now come undone
Not too tragic to look at, not forbidden to touch
I've prayed for something to live for, not realizing it was too much
An angel has come to me
Despite my failings, She loves me
An alabaster saviour of the finest perfection, She mends my broken wings
But through it all, She's been there, standing by my side,
Saving me from the shadows
Thrusting me into the light, forgotten is the night
So dream a little, let your mind wander
Relax your hold on earthly tribulations that you so love to ponder
My ring of thorns bears witness to my martyrism
She protects me from the bland effects of life, but absorbs the force herself
I wish it wasn't so, that one day soon I'd realize I'd have to let her go
I can see the sorrow on her face, the thoughts of something ever after
Gone are days of blissful nights, graced with flights of laughter
My angel is fading and I can do nothing to stop the shadows from consuming our bliss
In a final gasp we stand, hand in hand, to face the coming metamorphosis













2
Metamorphosis
I woke screaming. The street lights filtered down in a tiger stripe pattern across my face through my lacquered Venetian blinds. I scratched at my eyes, trying to flush out the harsh irritation of the light. They were moist. I had apparently been crying profusely in my sleep, but for some reason I couldn't figure out why. It seemed impossible for me to remember anything about what had just happened in my dreams that could have made me react in such a manner. Obviously I had just had a nightmare, which was odd itself, but why couldn't I remember what it was about? I hadn't had a nightmare since I was five, since I had found my guardian angel, and chased away my daemons. It was very disturbing. My hands were shaking, and I was having trouble breathing. Nothing had ever affected me like this since I was able to face that fear, but that terror was gone and was never coming back. I pressed my palms against my eyes, and dreaded falling back asleep. I didn't like not knowing what had transpired, I found it unnerving. Without knowledge, my mind was left to wander over rather abstract possibilities. Maybe it was back, and haunting my dreams, and maybe it had come after the shooting... perhaps I had passed out when I hit the ground... I hit myself in the thigh annoyingly hard, hard enough to give me a severe charlie horse. Things like that didn't happen to me anymore, and they never would again. I decided it was probably best to get up, it was two AM. I had only gotten about an hours worth of sleep. I rubbed the sleep from my eyes as I swung my feet around the side of the bed and stood up. I needed some pain killers in a very serious way. I was right the night before when I predicted that I was going to be sore when I rolled my sorry ass out of bed. I strolled across the cold hardwood floor, which was stained black to match the blinds, which were lacquered black to match the furniture, which was purchased black to match the walls, which were painted black because, go figure, I like black. I walked into my bathroom to get some pain killers. It was black too and had a red florescent light, to help preserve my night vision. I pulled open the medicine cabinet and rummaged around for some aspirin, scratch that, something the equivalent of morphine, only in chewable pill form. All I could find were some throat lozenges and a bottle of Flintstones chewable vitamins. I put the throat lozenges back, although my throat was sore, just the wrong kind of sore, and opened the jar of vitamins. I loved the damn little things, I'd been addicted to them for years and was seriously beginning to wonder if I could launch some sort of law suit against the manufacturer. Something not un-akin to what people were doing with cigarette companies. Smoking isn't supposed to be addictive either. I snickered slightly at the thought and popped two Barney's and a Pebbles into my mouth. Then I closed the cabinet.
A giant monster launched itself at me, teeth bared, claws ready to rip my heart out of my chest. I felt it's massive body slam into me, my shoulder screaming in agony as it knocked me back into the black porcelain bathtub. My mouth snapped shut on my tongue convulsively as the back of my head smashed against the wall. The being pinned me on my back, my legs dangling over the edge of the basin. I couldn't breath, I couldn't open my eyes, and my entire body was erupting in riotous explosions of pain. Then I felt a wave of stagnant hot air wash over my face... was this the being I had encountered on the roof? Then I heard the low, throaty, unearthly voice in it's abnormal, melancholy tone speaking to me in words that I couldn't understand, but nonetheless seemed to hold some special spot in the dark recesses of my mind. Once again, I picked up one word, and only one word. Strife. The weight lifted off of my chest and I opened my eyes. As before, there was nothing there. The blood from my tongue flooded over the corner of my mouth and down the side of my face, I tried to swallow some of the blood, but found that I couldn't swallow. I gagged violently and rolled onto my side, coughed twice, then vomited. I had choked on Flintstones chewable fucking vitamins. I spit and wiped my mouth on my arm, vowing to give up my almost life long addiction to children's vitamins the very next day. "What had just happened?", I wondered as I righted myself in the bathtub, being careful not to put my hands in the pool of vomit that had mixed with the blood from my mouth. I must have fainted and fallen into the tub, and then dreamt of the monster. I felt something warm on my right arm, and looked down, startled. It was drenched in blood. The blood, I discovered was coming out of my right shoulder, where I remembered getting shot. It seemed that the mysterious wound had chosen to make an appearance after all. I applied pressure to the wound with my hand, which caused me a great deal of pain, but at least seemed to help stop the bleeding. It had clotted momentarily. I stood up and walked over to the medicine cabinet. The mirror was flipped open, revealing the sparsely stocked inside. I hesitantly put my good hand on the mirror and braced myself for another attack, just in case. Whatever it was had seemed to come from the mirror. I took a deep breath and started to swing the mirror/door closed... nothing happened. No appalling creature jumped out at me, no mystery wound appeared, just my reflection staring vacantly back out at me. Jesus I looked like crap. My hair was caked with dried blood, and a fresh stream was making its way down my face from my mouth. I opened my mouth and stuck my tongue out. It wasn't too severely damaged, just bleeding more than it aught to have. I spit out some more blood as I pulled my tongue back into my mouth and then turned my attention to my shoulder. It had stopped bleeding by that time, in fact it wasn't even really that large of a hole, but it stung. The bullet seemed to have exited out the other side, I didn't even think it was going to require medical attention. What I couldn't figure out was why the wound had disappeared and then chosen now to suddenly reappear. I frowned disapprovingly at the development, and then glimpsed some movement behind me through the mirror. I spun around insanely fast and then felt a searing pain flash across my back and neck. I screamed and turned back to the mirror, which was split up the centre in a jagged crack. The shards of glass that had filled the crack were what had caused the pain in my back. It was going to take me hours to pull all the glass out, and even more time to tend to the rest of my wounds. Then something about the mirror caught my eye... the crack was bleeding. I felt my head start to spin and my thoughts would only focus on one thing... what had just happened?: ~
Cristyn was on the steps in behind the local supermarket, surrounded by a multitude of people she didn't really know. The sweet smell of marijuana, smoldering in a mystic sort of way, the embers glowing thoughtfully as one of the men she was with took a long, deep drag. It came her way again, the paper it was wrapped in crinkled slightly as it came to her lips. She inhaled sharply, felt the burning in her chest, but was consoled out of minding the pain by the knowledge that it was all going to be gone really soon. It certainly didn't taste as sweet and appetizing as it smelled. The slightly built seventeen year old exhaled slowly, and repeated the process three more times. The roach got passed on to the next individual, a seedy looking man who already appeared to be quite wasted. He was missing two front teeth and seemed to enjoy repeating everything everyone else said. He smiled absently as it came into his possession, it was probably the only way he could cope with being that incredibly pathetic looking. It was good shit, Cristyn was already beginning to feel it's ethereal grasp clasping her soul. She sat down, and leaned into the stranger she was with. He pulled his loose jacket around her and zipped it up, and then wrapped his arms around her waist. She had met him that night, only about three hours ago, but already felt somehow connected to him. He was about six feet tall, but she couldn't gage his weight because of his loose fitting clothes. He had spiked blond hair, with black streaks throughout, and said he was nineteen. The stranger felt warm to her, except for his hands, but she just attributed it the fact they were exposed to the chilly night air. The stranger that was holding her had neglected to tell Cristyn his name and didn't seem to want to be asked, so she was just thinking of him as Will. It seemed to fit him for some reason, she wasn't quite surewhy though. Will seemed awfully deep to her, which was odd for Cristyn to feel, because she was certainly more philosophical than ninety eight percent of the populous. On top of that, he spoke Latin, which was great due to the fact that she had a compilation of Latin novel excerpts that she thought sounded cool, but didn't really understand. All she was able to translate from them was the general tone, the one on page five, for example had been very sensual. She wanted him to read that. The joint came to him now and he sucked down a few thoughtful drags. Even that seemed special to Cristyn, she really was stoned. At least her feelings for him were real, she had felt those before these other people had invited them to come out back to split a joint with them. She had her greatest moments of inspiration when she was high, one of the poems Will had already looked at she had conceived when she was on an acid trip. He had said that it was one of the most incredible pieces of writing he had ever seen, but maybe he was being influenced by the fact that it was written across a background of pressed flowers in tiny zip-lock bags. Will had put his arm back through his sleeve in order to receive the joint, but was now finished with it and it was Cristyn's turn again. He put it in her mouth and pulled his hand back inside the jacket. His hands worked up and across Cristyn's chest and then up through the collar to grasp the joint for her. She took an unnaturally long, deep drag and held it for a moment. Will pulled the roach away from her mouth as she exhaled. Cristyn felt his firm forearm resting in the crease between her breasts. She had been too stoned to realize it until now, but found the warmth and softness of his skin was soothing. Then it dawned on her, if she was feeling the warmth and softness of his skin, caressing her chest, he must have his hand up her shirt. She should have been alarmed that someone she had met three hours ago was being so forward, but instead found she was becoming quite aroused. Will brought the joint to her lips again, and Cristyn found it amusing that her nipples seem to be hardening simultaneously with her toking. She nuzzled her head into Will's neck, and exhaled down the jacket. Will passed the roach off to the other girl that was there. Cristyn sort of figured she was a hooker, despite the fact she looked fourteen. Will pulled his hand back down through the jacket, and rubbed Cristyn's firm nipple between his thumb and forefinger as his hand passed over her left breast. Cristyn new for sure that he was going to get really lucky that night. At the same time though, she found it odd that the weed was acting as an aphrodisiac; maybe it was laced. Then again, maybe she actually felt this way about him.
When Cristyn awoke, she was cold and quite naked. Her clothes were lying in a very neat little pile a few feet to the left of her head. The watch that she had been wearing sat perched upon the pile, the face with its iridescent numbering and hands pointed towards her. It read three-twenty seven a.m.; nearly two hours since she had first decided to get wasted with three total strangers and Will. That two hours was all missing time, which was odd, because weed didn't usually make people pass out. The marijuana must have certainly been laced, she did after all, recall it tasting exceptionally harsh. The dried vomit taste of the weed still lingered annoyingly at the back of her throat, but seemed to be mixed with some sort of alcoholic beverage, maybe rum. Maybe that was what had made her pass out, it was possible that it could have made her forget getting drunk altogether. She didn't have a headache or anything like that, but she felt incredibly tired. All she could manage to do to find out more about her situation was to roll over. On the other side of her was Will; his blonde hair glistening in the little bit of light that had worked its way in from the street. He was shrouded entirely in a rather large, but dingy, down blanket. The bastard had pulled the sheet off of her and was hogging it for himself. Cristyn wasn't really alarmed that she was waking up in a bed, naked, lying next to a virtual stranger and with no recollection of the last two hours. She had honestly expected to sleep with him anyway, but was sort of dismayed that he would take advantage of her inebriation. He certainly wasn't the man she had initially thought he was. Cristyn tried pull to a bit of the blanket off of him, but found she still felt to out of it to do anything that forceful. Instead, she blew on his ear, which in her experience was very effective at waking people up that she didn't really want to touch anymore. Will made a slight, muffled sound of protest at being jarred back into reality, but rolled over without much hesitation.
"You passed out." he said in a rather condescending, matter-of-fact tone.
"What was in that." she asked, not sure she really wanted to know.
"PCP."
"Oh."
"You sensitive to it?"
"Makes me nauseous."
"I noticed. I washed your clothes for you. Sorry, I don't have access to a clothes dryer." Cristyn sort of felt guilty that she had thought he had taken advantage of her. It was quite apparent his motivation was much more noble. She rolled back to her stack of clothing and placed her hand on it. It was certainly wet, but didn't quite feel clean.
"Where are we?" she questioned.
"My place."
"Which is..."
"An alley behind the building on the corner of fifth and main, near the park."
"Oh..." she started, although never really intending to finish the thought. She wasn't sure that she felt disappointed by the fact, or comforted by it. She herself had been living on the streets of Southern California for over two months. Superficially, she wished she could fall in love with a well to-do-gentleman, who would save her from a life of misery; but deep down, she was glad she now had someone who had endured some of the horrors she had been forced to deal with. A person like that, could share with her pain and they could bond through the shared traumas they had endured. A person like Will. "That's pretty far from where we were; how'd you get me back here?"
"Magic."
She didn't doubt it. She'd seen a lot of weird shit in her life.
"Drugs don't do a lot to me. Not even enough to make me bother paying for them. I don't think it's even physically possible for me to overdose."
"Must be nice, the no overdosing part anyway." The look on his face when she said that, vague and distant. She could have sworn that somewhere in the back of her head she heard him say "You'd think that, wouldn't you."
"Anyway, it wore off fully enough to let me competently call a cab within half an hour. I sort of figured I should take you someplace safe"
"How'd you pay for it?" she asked.
"Magic." he said again, a sly grin on his face. She smiled at that, and then remembered she was cold. Almost as if he read her mind, he placed the blanket over her. He leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. He certainly smelled cleaner than an ordinary homeless man. She made a slight sound of delight at his touch and rolled over to smile at him. He was stark naked and blushed when he felt her eyes upon him. He was shy! Cristyn found that incredibly adorable. "Sorry for stealing the blanket on you." he said, still blushing, "I don't practice at this shared body warmth thing as much as most people."
And innocent. It only added to his charm.
He pulled on a pair of pants, and did the buttons up, a thoughtful look on his face. Cristyn found it oddly unnerving.
"I've gotta take a leak." he whispered as he leaned in to kiss her again. "Try and get some more sleep, you look like you need it." Her lips curled up, revealing her flawless white teeth. Will was surprised that they would shimmer as they did in the dingy night air. "Come back soon." she said, hushed tones making it sound like an attempt at seduction. Will wouldn't sleep with her, nor anybody. It wouldn't be right.
He didn't bother putting a shirt on, for it he wasn't really bothered by the cold as much as most people. He winked at Cristyn as he folded back the tarp and took a deep breath of the chemical filled night air. Then, he was alone again, alone in the night. He rounded a corner and entered the terminal end of the alley, the cold brick wall that faced him was emblazoned with vast amounts of graffiti. Most of it was meaningless: insincere promises of eternal love, adopted gang names of the local scum, abstract symbols of the neighbourhood love affair with various forms of hallucinogenic agents. The most popular design, by far, was a tilted, almost oriental looking, magic mushroom. It's gray eyes slanted and evil looking. The most important piece art, however, was a little symbol in the lower left hand corner of the wall, hidden behind a green city dumpster that hadn't been emptied in years. It was a cross, but not one inspired by religion. It was composed of smoothly flowing, interlacing curves, which combined and intertwined together to give the overall impression of a cross. It was red. Will had put it there a mere two nights earlier, but the design was not yet complete. It had a companion shape, similar, but with very angular, almost razor sharp lines. As, well, the other shape was inverted in comparison with the first. He wiped the blank wall where the new image was to go with his hand. The filth from the air flaked off and crumbled to the ground, leaving a streak on the wall that, even in the almost total darkness, was visibly brighter. Will remember reading somewhere that breathing the air in Mexico City was is the equivalent of smoking two packs a day. Spending as much time breathing the air in that particular alley as Will did was probably the equivalent of four, and there were worse places he could think of in that city.
He leaned against the dumpster and slid to the ground, as his hand searched his pocket for the small clear vial he was carrying with him. He held it up in his right hand, admiring its surreal beauty as it gathered a miraculous amount of light from the dark surroundings and refracted it into his eyes. It was sad. He really liked Cristyn, she was someone that he could fall in love with, which was unheard of for him. If only the pain wasn't so great. It was always there, nagging at him, day after day. A black thorn, penetrating deep into his mind and muddling his thoughts into one unutterable impulse. Tonight was going to be bad. He felt like crying for Cristyn, and he had never felt like crying for anyone but himself. He opened the tiny vial, he could almost feel the warm embrace of oblivion swallowing him before it got too painful to bear. He pulled his lower left eyelid away from the slick orb that it was charged with protecting. His eye started watering the moment the vial started moving towards it, a learned reaction worthy of Pavlov and his dogs. The chemical stung slightly as the first drop made contact with its moist new haven. By now, he had learned to stop crying and flushing it out before it had a chance to be absorbed. He thought again of Cristyn, of how innocent she was, of how special he knew she must be to pull at his heart so, of how he knew she was destined for something better than what she was forced to live with. He could have helped her fulfill any dreams she had and held her hand as they both rose towards a higher existence. If only they could have met under any other circumstances.
Cristyn woke up again. She was still cold, but felt much stronger than she had the last time she had woken up. She reached behind her, groping for the blanket. Will must have stolen it again. Her hand fell upon the blanket, but not on Will, as she had expected. She opened her eyes and looked at her watch. It was after four in the morning, which meant that Will had been gone for about half an hour. No one took that long to piss, which Cristyn found unnerving. He should have come back by that time, and the rest of his clothes were still there; so unless he was wandering around town half naked on a night as cold as it was, he must still be nearby. She decided to put on her clothes, which were still wet and stunk of vomit. She couldn't really blame him for that, one could only get clothing so clean in a gas station sink, which was where most homeless people did all of their laundry. That was, at least until they gave up on what many view as a pointless endeavour after their first six months with nowhere to go. It was her own fault for being stupid enough to get high with total strangers. She buttoned her top as she pushed aside the degrading plastic tarp that made the door of the tent. She had a sensation of deja vu as she peered down the alley, maybe from all of the horror movies she watched as a kid, back when she still had a happy home. She could almost envision an anxious little girl shouting at her through the TV screen in a vain attempt to remind her it was probably a good idea to get help first. The little voice inside her head was screaming and pleading for her to turn around and run to safety. Indeed, it was probably not the best idea she had ever had: going down a dark secluded alley to look for someone who had gone missing, that someone being a street dweller; a favourite target for sociopaths everywhere, because no knows when they're gone and no one misses them. She had visions of tripping over a bloody, misshapen mass that used to be Will and then seeing some evil form lunge at her through the shadows and... Her thought trailed back to the task at hand as she banished ideas of the worst case scenario from her mind. The graffiti, with the whimsical, slant-eyed magic 'shrooms, seemed to be moving as she walked by it. The walls gave the false impression of being alive. Again, the tiny voice and the girl on the far side of the TV screamed at her to turn around while she still had legs attached to her body, but instead she found herself growing ever bolder. The task of finding, and possibly saving Will becoming a surreal obsession. Cristyn was pretty sure she was in love. She sure as fuck wouldn't do shit this crazy for anyone she wasn't willing to devote the rest of her life to. She pictured Will as her unorthodox angel: too kind and loving for Earth, but too eclectic for heaven. A misfit, like herself. Cristyn neared the corner, where the alley took a turn into the deeper regions of the city, and where sound was not likely to escape from. She cautiously backed against the wall, rotting newspapers rolling around her feet as a fear-ridden breeze was funnelled off of the street. The wind reverberated through the alley, metal and plastic rolling noisily, adding to the disturbing cacophony. The wind sounded like it was growling at her, menacing her into turning away, but she did not falter. Her deep brown hair whipped about her face as she poked her head around the corner and into the void beyond...
~
There was a cold piece of a reality Saline didn't belong to pressing hard against her arm. It was a messenger from another place, come to retrieve her for its master. Her eyes were scorched as a sharp ray of light pierced through her eyelids. She winced and turned her face away from the onslaught, and it disappeared momentarily. The remaining dark was cool and refreshing, but was being interrupted by a mechanical humming noise she couldn't readily identify, then the light came again, seeming a hundred times brighter than it had before. It hurt her eyes enough to cause her to moan in protest. "Ahh shit... she's waking up." said a new voice, angrily, though it seemed the anger wasn't directed at her. "Didn't you fucks tranq her?"
"We didn't know what was wrong with her... we figured she'd stay out."
"Well you figured fucking wrong didn't you!"
"But..."
The conversation was interrupted by a much smaller and supple voice telling her to lie still. She did, without protest; it seemed appropriate at the time.
"We're almost done, honey, everything's alright." Saline didn't need the reassurance; right now, aside from the light, she was perfectly contented to stay right where she was. It seemed more appealing than being out with the angry voice, who was still yelling nonsensically at some other mundane voices.
"There... it's finished." said the small voice. The humming halted and the light stopped attacking her eyes. The small voice redirected itself and became contrastingly authoritative "Jesus, John! We're finished! No harm done!"
"Fine!" the voice snapped back "This is going to be reported!" he said to the other voices there. They mumbled under their breaths as they left the room. Saline felt herself moving as she was slid towards the direction her feet were pointing in. She felt a clammy hand on her forehead as a thumb pulled her right eye open and a new light shone in her eye. It was annoying.
"Do you know where you're at?" the small voice asked.
"St. Andrew's, in the radiology department."
"Saying 'the hospital' would have sufficed."
"Am I right?"
"No."
"So I'm having difficulty with my cognisance?"
"You probably didn't know that the MRI has it's own department here."
"I've never been here before."
"There you go... How you feeling, generally?"
"Tired."
"That's all? No feeling of vertigo, no pains in your head, no nausea, Nothing?"
"Just tired."
"Feel up to telling us what happened?"
Saline thought back on the evening; it didn't make sense to her yet, it would probably sound stranger to someone else. "No."
"The police are interested in you, and they won't tell us a thing. Makes it hard for us to figure out what's wrong with you. Fortunately, it just looks like shock, nothing we can't fix... the MRI should tell us more."
Saline wasn't surprised that the police were looking for her; she wasn't sure about what she was going to tell them. She wasn't sure what she was going to tell herself; she didn't really have any idea about what was going on. She wished Strife was there with her, to help her understand what had happened.
She looked at the nurse who was looming over her, thoughtfully scribbling away at a chart. She was probably writing down what Saline's responses had meant in relation to confirming the diagnosis of shock. The nurse was a plain, but pretty woman who appeared to be in her forties, with dark brown hair that matched her eyes. She looked worn, but pleasant enough: as if she were a person who was paid to be nice. She'd probably spent her entire life perfecting her bedside manner.
"I'll finish up in here John, you need to get some rest, you're becoming irritable."
"Fuck you. I'm in a good mood right now, thank you." the man replied tartly.
"Then go home numbnuts, I'll see you there after my shift's over."
"Fuck you." he said sarcastically as he leaned in to kiss her. "I'll see you at home."
"Don't forget, your girlfriend has to be out before I get home at three; and change the sheets this time." The two smiled at each other as John left the room.
"Sorry 'bout that." she said, turning her attention back to Saline "He worked double shifts today. He's tired."
Saline just nodded empathetically. She just wanted out of there; it was hard for her to be in a setting where there were so many people who wanted to know every detail about her.
"When can I go?" she asked as she glanced at the clock: it was just before two AM.
"We'll have to keep you at least twenty-four hours for observation." Saline didn't respond, just looked away and shut her eyes as the tears started to seep past her eyelids.
"I'll take you to a private room." the nurse whispered softly.
~
There was nothing Cristyn could see that could harm her down the dark, dead end path, but she spotted a puddle near the far wall. Without as much hesitation as one would expect her to show, she ventured forward to examine it. The wind had died momentarily, and now the silence that remained was more disturbing than the imagined sounds of an assailant who's movements were concealed by the wind. She neared the puddle, and crouched in front of it, but it was too dark in the alley to identify it by sight. She reached her hand to it, felt its stickiness grabbing at her fingers. It was ice cold though, which she supposed was a good sign, because blood spilled a mere half hour ago in that quantity would have retained much of its heat. She could not quite identify it by its texture, though it seemed strangely familiar. She brought her hand towards her nose, hoping smell would identify it. It was by no means intense, or overpowering, but she recoiled at the sheer oddity of the smell. It was so sweet as to be acrid, smelled so strongly of death that one could expect life to spring from it. It was bizarre! Then Cristyn lost her nerve and turned to walk back out of the alley. Immediately, as she turned, the wind roared back down the alley, its unearthly growl filling her ears with such vigour that it hurt. Debris streamed at her so forcefully she had to clinch her eyes shut. She sensed some imposing force near her, as if some massively powerful animal, snuffling at her feet and contemplating its hunger. She managed to force her eyes open to face her assailant. She didn't see a form, but rather the motion of some unreal being launching itself towards her. Cristyn recoiled, arms braced in front of her to absorb the force. It never came, but she flew backwards from the mere expectation of being hit. She skidded across the asphalt, her wet clothes being attacked by the shards of broken glass on the ground, and in turn tugging at her skin in protest. She felt the impact as she slid into the wall, but bore the force in her hands rather than her head. Now, she was on her side, face in the acridly sweet, sticky puddle and in a fair amount of pain from the fall. Her eyes refused to open in dreaded apprehension of facing whatever was out there. It was then that she felt something drip on the skyward side of her face, and she opened her eyes. About six feet above her, hovered a human body. It wasn't fastened to the wall, it was floating in mid air. The body was floating in the crucified position; feet crossed, hands open and held out to the sides bent slightly backwards. It was parallel to the ground, facing upward, with the night sky glowing orange above it so that all that could be seen was the silhouette surrounded by a freakish orange halo. It was Will.
The wind had faded again, but it was no longer so silent as it had been. The unearthly calm was intermittently disturbed by the sound of the sticky fluid hitting the ground as it dripped off of the suspended body. Cristyn was shivering convulsively, the shock of what was happening finally being manifested physically. There didn't seem to be anything else in the world, just her and Will, and the alley; and these seemed to exist in a suspended frame of time. The shackles and constraints of a moment, temporarily removed from her reality. The slow-motion theatre reverberated with each involuntary flitter of her heart as she pushed her arms under her shoulders and started forcing herself up. The sticky puddle seemed to abhor the idea of releasing its bizarre clasp upon her face. It permeated every pore, choking the oxygen from her skin, its unusual surface spreading out over her face and into every orifice. She could taste it as it worked its way into her mouth; it tasted just as it smelled: so sweet it was acidic and so full of the unmistakeable flavour of death it was like the aura of an entire graveyard concentrated into a single drop that was trying to force its way down her throat. It dripped off her chin and nose and back into it's home puddle, the dripping noise matching the drops from above almost exactly. Even in the abstract reality Will and Cristyn were engulfed in, they were in sync with each other. She gasped in a deep river of air as her body realized it couldn't remember the last time it had allowed her to take a breath. Groggily, shaken from the fall, still in the grips of an abstract slow motion reality Cristyn struggled to her knees, her hand braced against the crusted over brick wall for support. She stood and turned, facing down the alley again; it was just a dream, a melancholy nightmare to her. She could feel her heart pounding fierce against her chest, it seemed it was only beating once a minute, each pump was forceful enough to keep her supplied with blood for another sixty seconds. The air felt thick as she gasped again, her back scraping against the krylon laden wall, and Will above her. The orange halo rippling as if she was watching him from below the surface of a lake while he sank to the bottom. Her mouth moved in absence of something to say as she moved closer to her unorthodox angel. Her ivory hand, dyed to ebony by the lack of light, reached ever upward; reaching towards God, drawing closer to her angel. She felt her hand brush against his cold face, his smooth skin belying his purity and she couldn't help but smile. Then the moment was broken.
~
Saline was laying alone in a private room, the lights dimmed and the curtains drawn. An ancient looking digital clock glowed absently through its hazy, scratched plexiglass front. It was just before four in the morning; she'd been there nearly two hours, but couldn't sleep. All she could do was think about Strife and when she would be near him again, feeling his warm embrace contrasting with the sharp iciness of his hands. The doctors had confirmed that it was indeed shock that had incapacitated her so. That was comforting, she already felt better, but they had insisted she stay the night. She couldn't leave on her own anyway, the police still wanted to talk to her and were going to take her down to the station for questioning once she was one hundred percent. In all actuality, she was a hundred ten percent at that time, but the nurse who had been looking after her since she got there had convinced the cops that she wouldn't be up to questioning for twenty four hours. She was grateful for that too; people always seemed to want to help her. Fortunately, most of them realized that it was much better to do it as unobtrusively as possible. It was just easier to deal with that way. She wasn't sure what she was going to tell the cops. She was certainly aware of what had happened, just as she was aware there was a police guard outside her door. There was undoubtably evidence that would connect her to the crime scene, and they probably already knew that she was the victim of an attempted rape. They probably thought, however, that whoever had killed the vagrant had been the rapist as well. That definitely wasn't the case, but she didn't know what to tell them about Strife. She wasn't sure that he existed herself, they would probably be very interested in talking with him. There also must have been something interesting back at the apartment that would have exited them enough to enter her dwelling to find her. She squeezed out a few more tears as she rolled over and closed her eyes. She wished her angel were there to take her home. The dark seemed to get darker as the prospect of never being alone with Strife again entered her mind. She could feel him near her, his presence commanding respect and admiration which she was more than willing to give. The world seemed silent as it always did when he was around, silent and beautiful. Her tears rolled down and off of her chin; she was so taken with him that she was hallucinating that he was there with her. Fortunately she was happier with a hallucination than with nothing. Then, he was gone, and she squeezed out another tear. The silence was annoying now, not beautiful, not him and she smelled something putridly sweet, almost metallic in the air. It was an odd smell, one that was not unexpected in a hospital. It was the smell of death, but it was very strong, like an entire cemetery concentrated into a bottle someone had dropped in the hallway. It was interesting enough to make Saline sit up in bed. The excessive dark she had experienced earlier had not been a figment of her imagination, the lights from the hall were no longer seeping in from under the door. The silence was still present too, she hadn't noticed its smothering oddity a few moments ago; and she thought she heard something dripping. Saline swung her feet around and off of the side of the bed, which creaked as she dismounted it. She almost wanted to tell it to shut up, but stopped herself as she realized how ridiculous and pointless it would be. The tiled floor was cold and smooth against her bare feet and felt as sterile as it looked in the light. Silently, she shuffled across the tiny room to the door. She placed her hand on the doorknob; it was warm, which she wasn't expecting. Cristyn closed her eyes and started to turn the knob, she could feel a cold, oppressive presence hovering on the other side of the door, beckoning her to open it. The power she felt was not a force one could say no to, but it was so cold... and didn't seem as pure as her angel...
BANG!! Saline flew backwards across the room and slid across the sterile tiled floor. She came to a stop resting against some unnameable machine that didn't seem to be on. The door was still closed, she had jumped backwards and fallen out of shock and surprise at something hitting the door. She lay there shaking, not daring to breath, wondering when whatever was out there was going to make another attempt at the door. She couldn't hear it, but she could feel it moving around outside her room. Her eyes had adjusted to the almost absolute dark and she saw that there was still some light in the hallway. She could see the beings' shadow dancing across the tiles. Then, it was gone. She remembered to start breathing again, the air felt friendlier, but still stunk of death, which frightened her. She was sure, though, that whatever had been there was gone. She grasped the brass doorknob again, and this time found it pleasantly cool. She turned it without hesitation and the door swung into her room gently. Light that somehow seemed to be making it all the way to the centre of the hospital from the street cast shadows that looked eerily like people lying all over the place. She stepped into the hallway and looked around. The silence was threatening, far to still for a busy city hospital. Where were all the people? unless... she approached one of the person shaped shadows, but stopped as she felt warm fluid squirming its way between her toes. She could feel her heart pounding excitedly against her pretty, nineteen year old chest as she knelt beside the shadowy mass. She reached her hand towards it, slowly pressing ever closer until she could almost feel the police badge of the guard, who she knew it must be, pressing against her fingers. She stared sorrowfully into the perfect dark of the body, it seemed to be absorbing what little light there was. Then she was greeted with a vacant stare as cold and dead as the winters of Antarctica. She screamed and fell backwards into the puddle of blood she had walked through. The lights were on. Salines' breathing was jagged and hurried and understandably afraid. The body of the police officer lay in a bloody heap on the floor. He had been thoroughly eviscerated. There were pieces of blood and small intestine splattered on the wall he was pressed against. His face was grey, his eyes and mouth open, and his tongue lolling awkwardly past his lips. He was laying in a puddle of his own blood, tongue resting in the macabre pool as if he had been lapping it up when he died. The other three bodies in the hallway appeared to be in a similar state, Saline didn't really want to check. She stood slowly, trying not to slip in the pool of crimson fluid that was so thoroughly staining her clothes. Saline hesitantly started down the hall, away from the centre of the hospital. She tried desperately not to look at the carnage, but it was impossible not to catch glimpses of the mangled remains of the hospital staff; they were, literally, everywhere. There were slick, red tendrils of skin and organs clinging to every available surface and she had already lost her footing more than once from stepping on slippery, dismembered body parts. All she could do was look straight ahead, and that was difficult enough; now she was nearing a corner. The lights were starting to flicker again, a trippy, strobe-light effect that hurt her eyes. Saline was still breathing raggedly as she was about to round the corner, but it almost stopped when she heard the sound of something moving. Once again, she felt herself being drawn out by some surreal force, but this time it felt more like intuition than possession. She crept past the red over white wall and out into the open, she couldn't know what to expect. Somehow, she managed to summon the courage to face whatever was there, and she turned and smiled. Her unorthodox angel had found her again.
~
At around three thirty in the morning, I had finally finished pulling the glass from my back. There was a surprisingly large amount of it embedded in my flesh, and I had undoubtably missed quite a lot of it. It was going to have to do for now though, as I had now had to find a way to contact Saline. I really hoped she was alright. Undoubtably, she was quite scared, and I couldn't bare the thought of her feeling afraid. I was tired, a robot almost oblivious to all but his own desire to be with the one he serves. I sat down on my bed, it looked like a dark tiger with the pattern cast upon it from the light making its way through the blinds. I could almost feel it purring as I sat down on it. Trippy. I lit a candle that was sitting on my bed stand; a monstrously large, poppy red candle laced with the scent of jasmine. It's flame glowed distantly as it cast a comforting haze across the room. My shoulder was bandaged, but didn't hurt anymore. My back had been disinfected and had stopped bleeding. It was a good thing I slept on my stomach. I found myself staring into the flame, its light melting into my eyes and leaving its ghost on the back of my eyelids. I ran my hand up my side, tracing the outline of my tattoo, my dragon. My cold hand caressing it steadily, lulling me into a trance. The flame seemed to deepen, it became all I could see, all I could feel. It became me as I faded out.
~
Fifteen years earlier:
"C'mere son." Alex Knight shouted from the back door of the large farmhouse he lived in. "I got something for ya!"
"Coming Pa!" I shouted back across the field. I was looking for snakes that liked to hide amongst the rocks that graced the immense parcel of land. It was a grazing pasture for our horses. I loved horses, they were so powerful, but so gentle; yet they still seemed to need us to keep from being afraid. I dashed across the field as fast as my four year old legs would carry me. It was but a small portion of the land my father owned in Montana. I didn't know how much he had exactly, but I knew that it would take me years to explore it all and I was more than happy to commit my time. That was when I fell. I tumbled forward , arcing through the air as only the small body of a four year old would do. My hands reached outward to break the fall, and took the full force of the blow as I slammed back to the earth. I skidded across the dry ground, flesh folding away from my palms as they were abraded by the multitude of sharp rocks in the soil. I rolled over and somehow ended up kneeling as if I was about to pray. I looked back; I had tripped in a prairie dog burrow. My attention then focused on my hands, they had blood streaming from them and trickling down my wrist in elegant curving arcs. The skin was curled away from the largest wound on my right hand, I could see the fibrous nature of the muscle as it moved convulsively. The blood felt sticky and warm as it flowered outward from the gash. It spurted slightly with each beat of my heart. I stared deep into it, as with the candle; it became all I could see, all I could feel, all that I was. Then it sealed. It shut itself tightly, the wounds refurbished with fresh skin, as the damaged flesh sloughed off in thin little flakes. I wiped my hands on my dirty jeans, the blood staining them beyond repair.
"You all right?" my father called to me.
"I'm ok Pa." I answered. "I'm coming." I reached the patio and found my father sitting on his oak lounger with a large box on his lap.
"I've got a gift for you." he said gesturing to the box. My eyes widened with delight. I loved surprises. I scrambled over to him and placed my hands on the flap of the box. My father looked disapprovingly at my pants, but said nothing, just fell silent and looked thoughtful. Such incidents as the fall were common and he always had that same far off look when they occurred. I looked at my jeans self consciously. There really was a lot of blood. The box rustled, startling me and bringing my father back to the state he'd been in before he saw my pants.
"Go ahead, open it." my father said energetically. I hesitated before realizing what must be in the box and flipping back the lid enthusiastically. A brown and white puppy stared out at me with a sad look in her eyes. She backed as far into the corner of the box as she could and shook with fear. The poor thing was terribly confused, and probably pretty dismayed at being taken from its mother and siblings. I reached in, the smile on my face at least a mile wide, and grasped the puppy. It yelped at my youthful exuberance, but was too frightened to try to struggle free. I brought it close to me and held it against my chest. It shook harder and whimpered slightly, though it seemed to calm slightly when I started petting it's head. To my father, it was quite apparent that his gift was appreciated.
"The Moore's dog, Shana, down the street had some puppies. It's a springer/ lab mix. It'd make a good hunting dog when it grows up."
"Thanks Dad!" I said, cradling the tiny mutt in my arms. "I'll take real good care of it."
"I know son, otherwise I wouldn't have gotten her for you." I started walking towards the doorway, droopy eared dog falling asleep in my arms as I walked. "Son" my father said.
"Yah Dad?"
He paused a moment staring at my pants and then at the puppy in my arms and then at my face. "Make sure those get in the wash, ok."
"Ok dad." I replied quietly. He looked scared.
That night, I took the puppy to bed with me. She had acclimatized quite well to her new surroundings, and now seemed happy to be with me. I climbed into bed and put my arm around the small dog. "We're gonna be great friends, aren't we?" I said as I kissed it on the top of its head. She licked me on the chin and then pawed at my face. I giggled, then yawned. The puppy yawned too. Soon we were asleep. That night I had a nightmare. I could never remember what they were about, only the feeling that came with them. Absolute hatred, and the terror it brought with it. These nightmares were common, and usually followed by something bad happening. We were accustomed to getting phone call about a friend or relative dying after particularly frightening dreams. After my worst nightmare, my father had found one of his favourite horses, an exquisite Appaloosa named Mace dead in his stall. He never talked about it, and I was forbidden to mention it to anyone for any reason. All Dad ever told me was that it hadn't been killed by a coyote. All I knew about its nature, was he took the body out in about twenty garbage bags, and he hadn't taken the time to cut it up. On top of that, the barn door had been locked when he got up in the morning. A coyote wouldn't lock the door. For some reason, after that, he started staying awake long after I had gone to bed, and checking on me before he bedded down for the night. I assumed he was afraid that whatever had gotten the horse would get me as well. The nightmare I had that night, though, was much worse than the one that preceded the horse incident. I couldn't remember the nightmare itself, just the terror. I shot up in bed, screaming loud enough to bring my father running to find out what was wrong. My bedroom door flew open and the light blazed on, temporarily blinding me. I squeezed my eyes shut and rubbed them.
"Keep your eyes closed." my father said coldly. I didn't. There was blood everywhere, thin strands of soaked fur clung to the walls like macabre spider silk. The largest portion of the body lay in a sickening pile on the floor beside the wall; it lacked a head. I spotted it in the corner beside the dresser, the puppy's eyes (eye actually) were open and staring vacantly into my soul. It's adorable long ears and wrinkled face made terrifying by the deluge of blood. I couldn't breath. I just slid off of the mattress and slowly started walking towards the door. Blood dripped off of my chin and onto my bare chest as I walked.: ~
The present pulled me back with exceptional ferocity, which was fortunate, because the past only got worse from where I had been. Much worse. The candle flickered slightly from some distant draft that had made its way inside. I reached my hand towards the flame and took a deep breath. My fingertips were to the right of the flame, as I started to breathe slowly and deeply. I stared into the flame again, only this time not to experience the past. The orange glow bent to the right, then flickered. I drew my hand back slightly, envisioned it following my hand. It did. I put my right hand down and repeated the exercise with my left. The fire followed my hand obediently and flickered as I drew it away. I cupped my hands around the flame, and made it dance in a steady circle. Next, I put my hand about six inches above the flame, which then livened slightly before suddenly arcing into a ring around my hand. The flame spiralled around it, licking at it, relishing my skin before I forced the energy through my palm to extinguish the fire. It died with a melodramatic, sad wisp of smoke. Then I was enveloped by the perfect dark.


3
Angels
Angel
From: "Anthology" 1998
Halogen halos, glow above the visage of a stainless steel angel
Her star adorned eyes twinkle mischievously in the light cast by her crown
As I walk towards this creation of an unknown sculptor, I step into the frame of her shadow cast upon the wall of this run down, roach motel
The one that exists in the back of my mind in the forgotten dream of this ghost town
A dove lands upon the angels' wing, his white body appears black from the shadows
His ebony counterpart on the wall pecks at my fingers as they caress the air with a gentle persistence of a god who has worked too long on something he can not know
I stalk this flat, monotonous form, but it seeps through my fingers like so many grains of sand
The dove, startled by this sudden accost on his twin, takes to the air
Again, the angel and I are alone, as I trace her face with my eyes and the longing in them begins to show
I walk towards the eyes that twinkle in the light of the halo, but I stop
Why do I want to touch this molded goddess? What can she bring to me?
I reach my hand towards her face with a longing to touch the statue that I have never felt in the hundreds of times that I have walked past, but ignored her
My finger barely brushes her face, and the halo erupts in flame and anger, and I recoil in fear and mistrust
The fire extinguishes itself and I am left alone in the dark, cold recesses of my mind, with my back against the wall of an old, run down roach motel
And I can't see the angel anymore.







Angels
Cristyn was cradling Will's head in her lap, cold sweat coursing from every pore on his body and onto her. He was resting now, fitfully, but resting nonetheless. When she had first drawn him close to her, after he fell from the levitation that had grasped him in the alley, he had been shaking profusely and rambling nonsensically about monsters coming to take everyone. It seemed like he was having a bad trip, but bad trips didn't make people float. The night air was dense, now, and deathly cold, and Will seemed to be caught deep within the grasps of some drug induced nightmare. She could barely imagine what horrors must be playing out behind his ashen eyelids. It seemed enough just to hold him until it passed. The sickly scent of that death inspired pool still clung to her, and haunted her senses, but she couldn't quite formulate a train of thought complete enough to try to reason out it's meaning. It just tormented her as being the harbinger of Will's fall from grace, and the precursor to the fear he was dealing with behind his shrouded eyes. She hated it, and she didn't even know what it was, what it meant, what it's purpose was. It just constantly persecuted her senses with it's nauseatingly sweet smell and acrid flavor. All that death in such a concentrated form. Cristyn was being driven insane by it's presence on her flesh, but was kept from faltering by the love she had for the angel she cradled in her arms.
"Who are you?" Cristyn asked with a little bit of apprehension, perhaps at the answer she knew she was about to receive. Silence.: ~
He was crying now, almost as if he had heard her through the haze, yet was afraid to answer. Saline cradled Strife's head in her lap, he was cold and sweat was pouring from every pore on his body mixing with the tears that were finding their way out from his dream world. The being that was cradled in her arms meant more to Saline than she could ever have dreamt possible, yet she was dismayed to find she still didn't know who he was. Perhaps it was better not knowing, the mystery being part of the attraction. She lay her head against his chest, in longing of feeling his heart beat warmly against her cheek. It beat rapidly, almost hectically, pleading to her against its bone cage to set it free. Saline felt so much sorrow and pity for it, it seemed so overwhelmed, and its confusion overwhelmed her in turn. The tears that came were unexpected, yet not quite uninvited. Their warm moisture caressing her face, arcing majestically over her cheek and onto the tender flesh of her lips, where they hesitated for a moment before making the leap onto Strife's chest. The wanton lust which destruction had for that place meant nothing to anyone for just that one flittering moment. The wreaths of blood that lay about the remains of those fallen didn't make Saline want to die for but that one moment in time. The silence was golden.: ~
Fifteen years earlier:
"Alicia!" The word careened from Will's mouth, mixed with crimson flecks of blood and the foam from the white water they were both trapped in. Alicia seemed lifeless in the cold grasp of the rapid. She was pinned against some large rocks, the water holding her there as though she were a child thrown against the wall by an angry parent. "Alicia! Please! Don't go!" The four year old's pleas were answered only by a lifeless cringing of his fifteen year old sisters face as the water slammed it mercilessly against the rocks. "Alicia..." Will was underwater then. He could see his sister's face scrawled across a backdrop of furious water. Her angelic face glowing in the golden rays of the summer sun. Her hair catching the light as only that of a higher being could. He could remember learning to walk because of his desire to go to her loving young arms. He could feel himself cradled against her shoulder the night of their parent's funeral. Everyone sobbing around him as he looked at his parents. He remembered not knowing that they were gone, but knowing that from then on, it was just him and Sis. It seemed Alicia had always known Will was different. She knew he was different enough that she had to raise him entirely on her own for the past year. Deep down, Will had known it too, but pretended to be oblivious. She had always been afraid that someone would take him away. Will had never understood why. He just stayed with her wherever she went, did as she said when he needed too. Cherished their time together as they drifted from place to place looking for answers to questions no one else would ask. She had been a very special person herself. She knew everybody. Probably better than most of them knew themselves. Yet she had always seemed in awe of some secret special thing inside her younger brother. It seemed to Will, she had been trying to cultivate it since the day he was born. This enormous spiritual potential. A guardian angel that had provided him immunity from harm since birth.
Somehow, Will didn't understand that his sister was gone, but he knew that from that point on; there would be no one else. He could feel the warmth of his tears for her, even through the chill of the water.
~
The night air burnt Cristyn's flesh with it's harsh coolness. The orange haze in the night sky making the whole world look sickly and weak. She had been too afraid to try to move Will, and she didn't know how long she had been holding him for. It seemed both a moment and an eternity, but the night was quickly drawing to a close. The oriental mushrooms leered patronizingly at her, daring her to challenge their control of their wretched alleyway domain. It was eerie, but it was definitely her imagination this time. There were no more visions of the little girl in front of the TV pleading with her to leave. It was so quiet, so very lonely. She wished Will could comfort her. Then she got her wish...
Will bolted upright with startling speed. It happened fast enough that it seemed he had been brought to his feet by momentum, rather than the desire to stand. Cristyn's face lit up as she jumped to her feet and into his arms.
"Oh my God... Will... what happened?" Will looked at her, startled, then his sullen face was cracked by a smile.
"How can you still be here?" he asked energetically. "This has never happened before..."
"What do you mean?" Cristyn asked, confused by his enigmatic response.
She could see Will struggling with his mind as he tried to think of a reply. "Blacking out just from smoking some weed. It's never happened before." Cristyn was disappointed by his secrecy, and that he would lie to her like he just had. He knew something about what had just happened, but he wasn't saying. She knew he must have his reasons, though, and decided not to press the matter further.: ~
I could feel Saline's gentle energy everywhere around me. Her infectious aura as it permeated my own. Her sweet smell as she flooded into my head with each breath. I could feel her, but I had no idea where I was, or if it was real or merely fantasy. I awoke a little bit more, enough to be sure that it was indeed real. I could feel her energy and all the confusion it bore. I took a sudden breath and opened my eyes slightly. She was there, silent and beautiful as I remembered and obviously overjoyed at my awakening. I was confused though; the last thing I remembered was being in my apartment a little before four, hoping the nightmares wouldn't start again. I definitely hadn't been with Saline, I had left her, begrudgingly, in her apartment while I avoided the police. I had no idea what had happened to her since then, but I knew I wasn't in her apartment, nor was I in my own. I truly had no recollection of what had transpired to bring us to wherever we were, but I wasn't complaining. I had an angel to comfort me. But I could feel my angel needed comforting herself. I began to open my mouth to speak, but Saline had other ideas. She was kissing me passionately before I had a chance to make the slightest noise. I could feel the incredible warmth from her body, the youthful firmness of the thigh my head rested upon, and the confused trembling in her fragile lips. I was too confused myself to do anything but taste her and love every second of it. It was then that the blood on the walls crept into my peripheral vision. It was absolutely everywhere, and I could see the broken remains of what must have been a nurse at some point to my left. I scrambled upright, jarring Saline's chin with my own as I went. She recoiled spastically and slid up against a wall, bringing her hand to her mouth as she did so. I too skidded backwards until my back was against the wall opposite to where Saline was. I could feel my eyes widening with shock as I realized just how mangled the nurse on the floor actually was. Her once gleaming white uniform was stained a deep poppy red with her own blood. She was on her stomach, face turned towards me, once sparkling blue eyes dulled and sullen. Her face was an undescribable ghostly white, flecked with fragile looking spots of crimson red. Tears of garnets. Under her face was a stainless steel tray, on that once held multitudes of sharp instruments destined for some now forgotten car accident or shooting victim. Now the sharp instruments were embedded in the floorward side of her face. I could see the gleaming tip of a scalpel protruding through her lip ever so slightly from inside her mouth. It pulled the skin around it tight, giving one corner of her mouth a slight upward twist. The slanted smile even had slight laugh lines to complement it. I presumed though that the hole the scalpel created in her cheek to get into her mouth in the first place did not look nearly so whimsical. I didn't want to find out for sure.
"Mmph..."
I heard Saline mumbling to herself. She drew her hand away from her face and looked at her fingertips. I could see from here that her lower lip had blood gushing from it. I must of made her bite her lip when I jumped back and hit her on the chin. It started to drip down her chin and arced through the air onto the floor. Then everything went dark...
~
Fifteen years earlier...
It had been about two weeks since... the puppy had died. I was still weakened by the sorrow and sympathy I felt for the tiny and fragile animal that had met such a horrid and inexplicable end. It was odd how something that I had known for such a short span of time could be so loved. I missed the puppy terribly; I hadn't even gotten to give it a name. The salty taste of tears had been a common flavor since that dark night, and it seemed it would be for quite some time, for what happened that night would make me want to cry every moment of my life from that point on...
I don't think my father had slept at all since the night the puppy we had gotten from the neighbors had died. Realistically, I knew he had, but he couldn't be getting much rest. He was always awake when I went to bed, and he was always awake whenever I got up. For the most part, he had just been sitting in his old leather recliner my mother had given him for his birthday shortly before she died giving birth to me. He just stared out the window as though he were patiently waiting for a date who had stood him up, but whom he was convinced was still coming. Silent and thoughtful and always with something of vast importance being plotted out behind his weary grey eyes.
It was about three in the morning, and the July heat had forced me to get up in the middle of the night to get a glass of water. My father was not in his recliner as he usually was, but I could here his hushed voice coming from the kitchen. Silently as I could, I crept towards the kitchen where my father was. I didn't dare venture in directly, whether for fear of being lectured about being up so late, or for the thrill of being sneaky and secretive. The rebelliousness that I felt from doing little things a four year old shouldn't do, but does anyway. It made me feel brave and important, like a fabulous hero on a quest to save the world. The kind that I knew only existed on television, but I fantasized about being anyway. I reached the line where the hallway ended and the kitchen began; and there I stood, with my back pressed against the wall and my heart beating ferociously. I could hear him clearly now. His voice was quiet, but worried, and I had no idea who he was talking to at three in the morning.
"Yes, Sheriff McCullogh, I understand. Uh huh. Where were they seen coming onto my land? By the river bed in the northeast corner? Uh huh. Ok. But that part's fenced off. It's a trouble spot for flash floods, I lost three heads of cattle there a few years ago and haven't used it since. Uh huh. Yeah, there are warning signs all over the place, sheriff. I just pretend it isn't there for the most part. Who was up there to see these two kids going in anyway? A geological surveyor? Doesn't he need permission to be on my land? Oh I see. Why didn't he stop them? He did? Which direction did they run in? Southwest? Well if they keep going straight, they'll come right by here. Well, they'd be about a day away from this part of my land on foot, but a least there's plenty of watering holes in that corner. Uh huh. Yes Sheriff, I certainly will look for them. Okay. Bye."
My father set the handset back on its cradle gently, stared longingly out the window at the full moon and shook his head disapprovingly. He then went into the front hallway and started putting his boots on. My head already swollen by the fact that I had listened to an entire, and private, conversation without getting caught, I decided that it would be a good idea to go with him. My sneakers were in my bedroom, so I silently padded down the hallway to get them. I fumbled around in the dark until I found my shoes and hurried to slip them on. I was still too young to know how to tie them, so I had to be careful not to trip on the dangling laces as I walked. I gently eased the back door open and started creeping to the truck my father would be driving. I could see in the garage the beam of a flashlight darting around purposefully. My dad was looking for something, but I didn't know what. I figured that my best bet was to climb under the tarp in the truck bed while he was occupied in the garage, and I did so with great speed and efficiency. I was beaming to myself with pride at the fact that I had gotten this far without getting caught. I felt that I was destined to be a secret agent with the sneaking-about-skills that I already possessed at the age of four. That was, if I survived the cold. Even in July, the temperature in the almost-but-not-quite-desert areas of Montana can drop to near the freezing point. And I was only wearing my pyjamas to protect me from the harsh elements. I curled into the fetal position and hoped for the best. I heard my father approaching the truck, his heavy boots crunching menacingly in the gravel. He would have been furious if he knew I was hiding in the back of the truck, but I heard the door open and shut behind him and the engine rumbling as he started to drive into the night. So far, so good.
I don't know how, exactly, but I managed to fall asleep on the cold steel of the truck bed as the vehicle bounced noisily across our land. I wish I hadn't. I had the most excruciatingly painful and terrifying nightmare of my brief, but entire existence. And I had some severely horrible dreams before that point. I awoke to find the rumbling of the truck engine had stopped. I heard the driver side door slamming shut and my father's familiar shuffling footsteps walking away from the truck. When I felt it was safe, I peeked out from underneath the tarp, only to have my eyes berated by the harsh morning sunlight. From the sun's position in the sky, I figured that it was probably around five. It had been nearly two hours since I had crawled into the back of the truck, and I was realizing just how drained the nightmare had made me. I couldn't even move, until I sensed the most incredible sense of anguish imaginable. I shot upright, sending the tarp flying to the other end of the truck. I looked in the direction I had heard my father walking in and saw the boy. He was my age, and sitting with his back against the horizontal trunk of a once mighty oak tree that had been knocked over by the most recent flash flood. He had his legs pulled up against his chest and was staring blankly at the muddy flat he was sitting on. Blood and earth were mixed into his hair, and he was almost naked. He did not look up as my father approached him. I was fixated with him. I didn't know what I felt at that moment. I was simply focused on him. I was confused, knowing I should feel pity for this hapless one, yet knowing that he didn't deserve it from me. Then he looked at me. Our eyes met and locked onto each other's soul. Suddenly it became clear... I felt utter and complete and unbelievably enveloping hatred for this forsaken creature. This destitute refugee of another plane of reality. I felt a hatred that spans all space and time and all preconceived notions of reality and fantasy. I knew he had to die by my hands. Or hands that were part of me that I did not always control. The same hands that came to me and choked the life from me in my dreams. The hands that caused the gruesome harm that followed me everywhere. It's hands...
My father reached his arms towards this boy, and I knew I had to stop him at any cost. I saw a tear creeping down the boy's face, and then everything went dark...
In the next instant, I was in the nightmare world, looking down on my father and the small boy. The boy was looking at me, but my father was reaching for him. MY father... not HIS!!! The thought of my father helping this thing on the ground oblivious to my wishes infuriated me. I brought my massive clawed hand back, ready to strike. The power of all reality focused into me, ready to punish my father for helping that. It had to be done. That thing had to die, or it would destroy me. IT!IT!IT!IT!IT! DIE!!!!!!!!!! I was blinded by a sudden and powerful light, and when I could see again, my father was laying on the ground about ten feet away from where he had been moments before. He seemed unconscious. The boy was in the air, parallel to the ground as if he had been crucified against the sky. Some liquid that reeked of death was dripping off of him, and onto me. Although, I felt, it wasn't just me. Something else was in the form with me. And it bore incredible animosity towards that boy, and whatever was sharing his body. It had a hatred that was too concentrated to be of this world. It was a hatred that had been a part of me, a hatred that had almost made me kill my father. It was a hatred that I knew had to be banished.
I gasped sharply and painfully as I awoke from the nightmare world. I was still in the back of the truck and my hands were my own. My mind was a convoluted entanglement of feelings, and it felt like something was missing from me. I looked up to where the boy had been in my dream, only to see that I wasn't dreaming. He really was hovering in midair, and my father was on the ground a few feet away from him. More importantly though, I could see the being that I had been a part of moments before. I couldn't really visualize it as much as I could sense it. It was familiar and very angry. It was preparing to strike, but something drew my attention back the the suspended body. I could see a glowing light creeping from the boy's chest, I felt it was something powerful, but not intimidating. In the next instant, I could see some incredible form emerge from the boy and swoop towards me. It was in the form of a dragon; I could feel the apparition I had been a part of pulsating with agonizing anger and hatred for it. Then there was nothing. For the first time in my life, I didn't feel the fear that lingered around my heart. There would be no more nightmares. Just me and my dragon, and my memories of that frightening chapter of my life.: ~

Will gathered his belonging hurriedly from the small tent he'd constructed, as Crystin did the same. It would be the last time he would ever sleep under that dingy down blanket. If things were progressing as he knew they must be, he'd be dead within the next fourty-eight hours. It was so close, and would dissappear so fast; yet somehow it didn't bother him. He packed only what he would need in the next short while; some warmer clothes, his rain coat and some food. The air felt heavy and laden with static. It would rain soon, it was just a question of how soon. He surveyed what he had for food, and glanced over at Crystin. It seemed she only had the clothing she had on when they first met, and he knew she'd be hungry as well. He surveyed what he had.. and it wasn't much unless you'd adapted to it. A diet designed entirely for bare minimum survival; a couple of bottles of multivitamins, mostly those cheap flintstones ones he'd always been addicted to, and some shoplifted candy bars. Just calories and vitamins. The two of them would need much more to do what they were going to have to do. He reached his hands into his pocket to see how much money he had left, certainly not much after the cab ride back here. Will was far too proud to resort to panhandling; all of the money he posessed he'd gotten from the unfortunate individuals with whom he was forced nightly to share his sad fate. Those individuals were seldom in posession of much themselves, wealthy industrialists, unfortunately drew too much attention. Though they likely deserved what Will was responsible for handing out much more than the people who finally recieved it, the attention would certainly jeapordize his task. As his hands fumbled excitedly through his pockets, his fingers moved across the remaining vials of diluted LSD. It had been his drug of choice for releasing the being within for a decade and a half, but he knew he wouldn't need it any more. Will paused and looked to Crystin again, and as if in response to feeling his eyes upon her, she looked up. He stared deep into her dark brown eyes, saw deep into the heart of who he now knew was his true love. It was all coming true.. every last detail. The nightmare was almost, finally, over; and it made Will's heart swell with bliss. Crystin suddenly looked down, shyly, and continued to gather up what little had been in her pockets, as Will finished shoving what he was bringing into his mangled back-pack. He pushed aside the tarp and stepped out into the night, the cool moisture condensing on his skin and in his lungs as he took a breath. Crystin followed him out and wordlessly took his hand as he started to walk into the light beyond the alley. They walked briskly, towards the centre of town. Will knew that they had to hurry if they were going to accomplish what needed to be done before the being that he knew now dwelled inside of him could grow. Crystin just followed, clinging to his hand as if never to let go. After a few minutes, though.. she slowed, then stopped. Will turned to look at her, smiling comfortingly; knowing that this must all be terrible for her to bear. Knowing that she did not know, but that she was willing to follow him regardless. Knowing that with as much love as he felt for her boiling out of his heart, as much if not more flowed from her heart towards him. Their eyes locked, as he took her beautiful hands and Will saw a single tear trickle down her cheek. Softly and gently he kissed it away, feeling the fear that dwelled within them both melt away as his lips touched her flesh. Feeling himself melt with the flow of love that flowered out of her as their lips met, as he breathed her breath and she in turn breathed his. Her dark eyes carressed his body as they moved up to lock again to his, and they both smiled warmly at each other.
"Where are we going?" she asked
"Breakfast" Will answered politely. Her head cocked slightly to the side and a smile parted her lips at this light hearted reply.
"And after that?"
"To visit a friend..." he said, his smile growing to match hers "to visit and old, dear friend."
~
Saline brought her hand to her mouth, tasting the salty metallic flavour of her own blood. She'd bitten her lip when her angel had bolted upright so suddenly. She didn't mind really... he was here. She looked across the hallway to where he now sat; his eyes locked to hers, then to her swollen lip. Then, he was gone again. Fainted away, dead to the world. Saline frowned crookedly and started across the hallway towards him. They had to get out of there fast, and she new it. She brought his head to rest on her lap again and began to slap his cheek lightly, but insistantly. She opened her mouth to speak.. to beg him to rejoin the waking world, but before the words could begin to creep past her lips his eyes drew open and stared up at her. She smiled as he began to sit up, slowly this time, and take in his surroundings. His face was ghostly and pale, his eyes scared and searching. What questions were being asked behind those eyes at that moment was a mystery to the young woman, but she new the answers he was finding were not the ones he'd been hoping for

The Wretched
The Wretched
From "The Fragile"
Written and performed by Trent Reznor/ Nine Inch Nails
Just a reflection
Just a glimpse
Just a little reminder
of all the what abouts
and all the might have
could have beens
another day
some other way
but not another reason now to continue
and now you're one of us the wretched
The hopes and prays
the better days
the far aways
forget it
it didn't turn out the way you wanted it to
it didn't turn out the way you wanted it, did it?
it didn't turn out the way you wanted it to
it didn't turn out the way you wanted it, did it?
now you know
this is what it feels like
now you know
this is what it feels like
the clouds will part and the sky cracks open
and god himself will reach his fucking arm through
JUST TO PUSH YOU DOWN
JUST TO HOLD YOU DOWN
stuck in this hole with the shit and the piss
and it's hard to believe it could come down to this
back at the beginning
sinking
spinning
and in the end
we still pretend
the time we spend
not knowing when
you're finally free and you could be
but it didn't turn out the way you wanted it to
it didn't turn out quite the way that you wanted it
now you know
this is what it feels like
now you know
this is what it feels like
you can try to stop it but it keeps on coming
you can try to stop it but

There is an immortal soul, that has little effect on the physical world, but absorbs souls from the peaceful afterlife to sustain its own. It seems harmless enough in the physical world, but is really damning the conciousness of the dead to a dark and forsaken oblivion. It was originally present in Will, but was transferred to Strife at the age of four. It has limited control over the hands of fate, but can mildly effect the surroundings of its host body. It usually does this to acquire a particulary special soul, such as that of Will's sister. It lay almost completely dormant in Strife until it was excited and released by his love for Saline. It now seeks its original, and more suitable host. The dead have a very slight physical presence that cannot be absorbed by this consciousness. As the spirit is seperated from the matter, what cannot be absorbed is condensed into a fluid that drips from the pores of the host body (Strife or Will) It was interpreted by Strife as the soul of an all powerful and benevolent dragon. His interpretation of this presence is inaccurate, but he chooses it to represent him. The tatoo and pendant of a silver-white dragon.
There is a corresponding immortal soul that needs to kill to sustain its presence here on earth. It is not maliceful as it sends the souls of those it kills, no matter how impure they might be (re. the drifter) to a peaceful and pleasant existence. It was originally present in Strife until it was drawn out and into its own body (which is composed of pure energy) by its hatred for the immortal soul, which destroys souls. It may seem to be maliceful, but is really doing good by releasing souls from this world. It was forced to reside in Will after the immortal soul posessed Strife that day at the river. Since that day, Will has had to release control of his mind (usually through drugs) in order to keep the immortal body from driving him insane. Once released, it kills prolifically until the drugs wear off and it has to go back to its dormancy within Will. It is extremely protective of its host and those important to its host (which is why it has not killed Strife, Cristyn, Will or Saline.) and grants the host immortality. The human mind cannot interpret its benevolence, and so, is unfortunately tormented by nightmares as the host mind struggles to comprehend the presence of this being. It is interpreted as the presence of a large and hostile animal.
Both of these apparitions are more comfortable in their original host, although the immortal soul was dormant for fifteen years. Now that is has awakened, it is attracting the immortal body and at the same time, trying to get back into Will. The immortal body is correspondingly trying to get back to Strife. The primary focus of each soul is to make it back into it's original host body so that it's powers can develop fully. The souls have actually traded hosts, and are drawing towards the final battle. Eventually, the immortal soul will begin to develop a new and terrible power: the ability to absorb the souls of the living, spelling an end to reality. The immortals and the hosts are symbiotic. They can separate from each other, but only for a short time. As well, they think and feel independantly, but can share consciousness at times of extreme stress. For the most part, they act through the host body and use it as an addition to their own presence. ie, the immortal body has the form of a large energy based monster that can exist on its own, but usually develops around the host body.