The Making of the Malkavian

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Chapter One - The Screw-Up
Chapter Two - My Name is...
Chapter Three - My Second Word
Chapter Four - There's Something About Terry
Glitch - The Unseen Part of Me
Chapter Five - Religious Security

The Starter

Chapter one - The Screw-Up

THE SUN SWIFTLY SETS AS THE DARKNESS ROSE UPON THE UGLY, UNTIDY WORLD. A joyful cry from a noble pride, witnessed by the sense of shame.

In the hospital of London, arose a certain disgusting birth. This paradox of the world hasn't its purpose, yet has an intention to live for what it believes in. Still a monster, as its biological parents given it for name. They couldn't afford to have this eye-sore, not financially but mentally. The family was precisely too rich to consist of a failure, a problem, a junk, a born craziness. Yet they have never thought of the cause of this failure; to be rumoured, it is a punishment from God himself.

They submitted to the doctor that they demand to have this child destroyed, the possibility of that could have been changed if the hospital's donation rise by a million pounds, possibly higher since the family was filthy stinking rich.

Their last resort was to leave him in the orphanage, a place where they can conceal their identity and get rid of their unwanted born at the cost of none. They sent a servant to do their dirty bidding, leaving a child at the doorstep of an orphanage down at Leeds, with a short note and an envelope of donation to whoever wanted the curse.

As it might have been obvious that the envelope was taken by the servant long before anyone had the mind to share a glance at the cursed child. The poor little thing bit himself bleeding in the arms, and his goal was to head for the toes next. Hopefully his bones are still as soft as a week before, otherwise, he can't reach his toes with this teeth. The true insanity lies within this child, not as obvious to notice the flaw from him until he makes a move of silliness.

Easily went three days without washing, without nourishment nor any change of diaper; the smell of him naturally acted as a camouflage, no, a resistance to rats and cockroaches, but no the flies, the king of filth.

The news was soon passed down to the ears of Grandmother Simplicity, the starter of the wig factory. A woman who treasures life more than anything visible on earth. She immediately went out searching for the baby that her son has mercilessly abandoned, to let out and die alone. Not quite, as grandma found him munching down flies inside an abandoned warehouse, far, far away from the cradle they left him.

Slowly, he made gradual progress crawling towards grandma, right hand, then left knee, then left hand and right knee. He learned the organisation of the steps, which led him to the sweet warm arms of his grandmother.

'God bless this child,' she whispered down to her wrinkly arms, 'been bitten by dogs, have you?'

'I don't think it was the dogs.' quickly added the servant beside her, who was somewhat distracted by the outrageous smell and the scene of grandma hugging a monstrous thing called a child, 'Maybe we should get back home before someone sees us. Master would be furious if this makes the front page of The Independence.' She submitted to Simplicity, hopefully to push her back to her small house at Millington.

'What? Leaving his only son at an abandoned warehouse should be on the front page of every newspaper! This is not something that a father should treat his son, regardless of what his son is born with.' She crossed, and clicked clocked her high heels into the white limousine, which was as far as five metres from her position. The sidewalk doesn't deserve her footsteps, really, she is too good to be true.

The chauffeur made his turns and accelerations, then a long, slow and comfortable brake, just in front of the large, distinctive mansion situated in the south of Millington. Although a small town, but the separation between mother and son needs a chauffeur and a limousine, or is that just the rich remark on the word TRAVEL?

The servant opened the grand double laminated doors, the strong smell of new furniture rushed out, and onto the dirty baby. The two had a compact and eventually evened out. 'Mother, what the hell?' said Sir Giansanti, raising with rage from the newly bought bear skin sofa, 'Why are you bothering me with my business?'

'Well, aren't you a good father, leaving your son out in an abandoned warehouse.' She replied.

'Warehouse? I sent it to an orphanage!' He turned to the servant who just came in with grandma, 'Get me Maria, and you know the rest.' His business, in this town, was to keep peace in the whole of York with force and lay hands on the 'criminals' who don't pay their tribute, the trading of illegal goods, the shipment of the shooters and many more. This business soon turned into a lassiez-faire business, where each section of the business reports to him at the end of each month.

'Well, if you can't take care of your own son, then I will.' She declared.

'You will regret it!' He took another glance at the baby and turned away.

'For your information, I regretted a long time ago and I didn't put it in an abandoned warehouse or an orphanage. I am very disappointed in you, Steven Leslie Giansanti.' She made a sharp turn to the limousine, the chauffeur was waiting patiently with the radio on.

Sir Giansanti sat down at his sofa again, turned on to channel 4 for some relaxation, 'she was never proud of me.'

-6th February 2005

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Chapter Two - My name is...

As she took the tiny baby in her wrinkly worn hands, she saw a rather bright future in this one. Comparing to her three other sons, she thinks this one has more potentials, what already impressed her was the abnormality and the survival skills. A gifted child, oh she is going to treasure this baby.

Across the lovely fields of Millington, into a middle-classed accommodation, almost too shameful for a mobster's mother, yet too fancy to be a house for elderly. A two level terrace with an enormous garden, happily lived a wild fox. One night she found it nearly starved to death at her doorstep, she fed it and washed it. They are having the time of their lives.

She brought him home, bathed him, then powdered him well, 'Tickle tickle!' She wiggled her fingers on his ribcages, but the exchange of eye contacts made him cry. Strange, she thought, but reasonable, he was born yet was never seen, nor receive love from his biological parent, 'There there.' She patted him on the cheek and tickled his neck.

There was nothing wrong with having too much passion in life, even for things that could be harmful to her, she had no intention to regret to love live. Her sons disagreed, one made himself into an animal-scientist, mainly to torture life; one made a mobster, killing many without regrets; and the last one joined the military, was sent into a recent war of the century in a brutally hot country, promising to bring in heads and weaponry for souvenirs, he never returned.

A mother always wanted best for her child, especially this one. A mother who loves too much to disagree on her sons' decisions but to sigh quietly behind their backs, weeping in shame that she created monsters, parasites to this land.

'I hope you don't turn out like them, love.' She said, finally remembered he doesn't have a name yet. Neither does he have an identifications, even the birth certificate. His father paid the hospital enough money to cover up this tragedy, they disposed any information of their visit to the hospital. 'You will eventually need a name.' She gave him her finger, which he grabbed on tightly, she smiled, 'I don't see madness in you at all, I have absolutely no idea why did they abandon you.'

The weird thing was, he was a baby, an ordinary baby with no physical disabilities, no visual disabilities, he's just an ordinary baby. Although he doesn't smile much and he twitches once in a while, but that doesn't mean people naturally hates him. This force, this special force that makes people hate him, was deeply buried in his head. As if he was already smart enough to plan his own life by selecting the person who should raise him.

The baby started wiggling to search for a comfortable place in grandma's arms, she finally decide to sit down at her old leather couch, bought on the day she was married. She heard a small knock on the front door. 'Coming.' She said quietly as the baby closed her eyes.

The squeaky door cracked open as she turned the golden plated knob, the safety chain was still attached, she had her right to be suspicious, 'Hullo there.'

'Miss Giansanti, Mr. Giansanti has offered to treat the baby with these goods.' A truck loaded with 'how to raise a baby' apparatus, looked pretty expensive, too. 'Would you mind signing at the "X" representing you have receive and was satisfied with our service.'

'Oh, dear.' She unchained the safety chain, then took a great look at the truck. It was big, yet not impressive.

'Where may I sign?' She asked.

'Right beside the "X" would you please, ma'am.' The deliveryman in this casual grey T-shirt and a pair of baggy jeans spoke, pulling up his trousers back to above the crotch.

'Oh, troubles. My eyesight is getting worst, could you point me to the "X" please?' She requested, closed her eyes to a simply line to see better, and took the clipboard from the man.

'No problem, ma'am.' He grabbed her hand and stopped when the tip of the pen was pointing at the big "X". She signed it slowly and accepted to let the men in to assign the new furniture to their positions.

'Where do you want the crib to be?' A more matured mustached man asked, holding the foldable baby crib in one hand and the other accessories in the other. His muscles twitched when he had to get a better grip of the objects. 'Right next to my bed, if you don't mind.' She suggested after a minute of silent thinking. 'No problem.'

Sooner or later, they have finished the job, the house looked fantastic now, yet old-fashioned.

Now she has fed the baby, clothed him, and placed him in his crib, she had to think of a name for this baby.

She finally found the perfect name, 'I will call you, Terry, to continue your granddad's spirit, the only one who cherish life more than I.'

-9th February 2005

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Chapter Three - My second word

Cold, as the warm toes landed their senses onto the frozen solid ground. She turned up the radiator beside her, probably, it was time to check up on little Terry and his fiddly little hands. The sound of water gushing through the radiator tubes was awfully loud compare to the normal days, Barky the Fox should be up by now and simply barking or hounding for food and water. She found her slippers from under the bed, hung her thick brown glasses on and stretched.

'Wakey wakey, little baby.' She cracked a smile on her face of mountains, hills and valleys, only to find little Terry was missing from where she last placed him. She hesitated, gasped, then panicked; running from kitchen to storage for a child of no age, 'Terry! Terry!' She cried and sobbed, the tears were so worrying that it has a bitter taste to it, with a side toping of ugly saltiness. Soon she has done a complete search, including the front yard and the neighbours'. The result wasn't as pleasant as she hoped. Maybe Gerry has finally made up his mind to take the baby in his own hands, she thought and quickly rushed to the phone. Dialled, yet there was no reply. She wouldn't give up on the hunt for Terry, until she receives details on the whereabouts of Terry.

'Hello, this is the Giansanti Residence, how may I help you?' A maid finally picked up the call after the continuous annoyance of the ring-rings. 'Put Gerry on the phone, right now!' She was rude, yes, but it was reasonable.

'Hold on a second, please.' She said patiently, then the sound of her high-heels impacting against the floor drew soon to the arrival of Gerry Giansanti, 'What is it, mother?'

'Gerry, where is Terry?' She tried to fit the four words into a second, yet it didn't work but cause a float-up of an irritating question, 'Calm down, mother, ask me again.'

'Where. Is. Terry?' She demanded answers, reasonable, too. Otherwise.

'Father is dead, mother, go back to sleep, I have to work.' He attempted to cover the receiver and whisper to someone around, 'Have Mr. Atkinson taken care of, be sure to have the case before his eyes shut.' He turned back to the phone, 'Have you taken your medicines yet, mother?'

'No, I am talking about little Terry, your baby!' She again yelled into the receiver.

'Ha, it's about time that little weirdo disappear, I have no intention to know its whereabouts. And good day to you, mother. I have to leave.' He slammed the phone down, a long 'Do' was all grandma could hear, which broke her heart into million of pieces. 'Oh Terry, where are you?'

She turned and sat on the sofa behind her in the living room, facing the television but she had no interest in any form of entertainment. Suddenly the soft eye-plugs that muffled her hearing fell off, she could hear a baby's laughter, again muffled by a thick shield of glass, 'Aha, doggy.'

It seemed somewhat unfamiliar with the voice and the words, but the blur in the corner of her right eye was similar to the one she saw before she went to sleep. 'Terry?' She ran so fast to her left side that she accidentally banged her face into the glass, then slid the door open, and picked Terry up, 'What are you doing in the garden?'

'Doggy!' He said once more, where she turned and stare, then took a big step back from the fox. She check him for injuries, 'Has it... has it bitten you?' Her eyebrows sunk, the eyes wildered, and found nothing. 'Oh, thank god.'

There was no physical injuries.

'You had me so worried!' tears once again rolled down, but this time, it's sweet and heart-warming.

'Ma.' he spoke. She has never been so happy.

-10th February 2005

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Chapter Four - There's something about Terry

Then on, grandma has been reading him stories and teaching him to read, considering he couldn't enter a school due to the complexity of his illegal identity. Terry also pays special attention to the bible stories, the ones between God and humans, and found several flaws that not even grandma could answer, 'Why does god smite the non-believers while Jesus says love thy enemies?' She hasn't a clue.

Several days later, he asked, 'Ma, when Caine killed his brother, he was punished, but how could he have found his wife when God didn't make anymore humans?' he then thought for a while, 'and shouldn't that be the end of mankind? Adam and Eve didn't have anymore sons and daughters, and if they did, wouldn't that be immoral to have baby's with your siblings?' Grandma wiped the sweat off her forehead.

By the time Terry has mastered his linguistic skills, he was five. By then, grandma has figured out that Terry, wasn't a curse as his parents said, he was a blessing, a smart, maybe a genius that one day changes the world. It was such a shame that his parents has disagreed on having this blessing to be announced publicly. Yet there was something wrong with Terry. Since he has acquired the social skills, he has began to force out his cheekiness among the neighbours, to twist his words into riddles to insult others. He had insulted much, yet the no one caught the meaning of it.

So it happened a new family moved in from Hong Kong, a family that rarely makes their appearance even when they are requested to be in the community centre for a warm welcome. Rumours the last name of the family was Choi, and the father leaves and work outside town until the Christmas, Easter and Summer. The boy lives with his mother and studies at Pocklington School, a private school in Pocklington, a slightly larger town besides Millington.

This boy don't have any friends since he was new to this town, and this country, yet he has his very own entertainments with his compact disc player. One day he sat in the relaxation park with his CD player and the huge headphones over his ears, nodding to the beat on a memorial bench in memory of John Duff, the founder of this town. At three o'clock, Terry was allowed to run out here and play, he runs and found everyone wasn't there again. So he hid himself in the trees and closed his eyes to think, nothing in particular.

Now, parent's wouldn't know but every town has her strongest yet mentally immature person, they are mostly called bullies, possibly, there are two or more people who suck up to them, they provokes and arrange fights for the idiot they suck up to. The town bully, Simon the Incredible Hulk, so he called himself, beside him was a Russell, a Wildman and a Cantrell, three incredibly cheeky and weak little boys, walked into the park from under the tree, under the sign where it says 'The Luxury Park".

They strolled, the instinct of a bully was to bully new kids, or weak kids, and nerds. This one fitted two of the description and has begun to draw his direction away from the incoming people.

'Well, well, well. What have we here?' Russell cheeked, simultaneously checking between the eyes of the boy and Simon, 'A foreigner with oversized headphones. What's the matter, are they the cheapest you can afford?'

'Yeah, but they aren't big enough to cover your face.' Squeaked the Wildman.

'Hey, Simon, shouldn't we teach him a lesson on how to welcome yourself in this town?' suggested the Cantrell, nudging Simon in the ribs with a large smile of uncertainty. They couldn't do much without the muscle.

'Hey! We are talking to you!' Simon yelled.

'Yeah, stop hiding behind the headphones!' yelled Russell.

The boy looked up at them, shook away his long black hair from on his glasses to behind his ears, 'Piss off, I am not in the mood.'

The devilish rocking vibration buzzed the surrounding air. The noise pollution was extreme to the max, if an adult walk pass, they would think this kid has lost his perception, his hearing in particular, to be precise and more specific.

'Oh, are you onto us now?' The Wildman widened his chest to him, with his hands wild like crab claws bending inwards, shaping a side way V, 'Do you want a piece of us?' The awkward silence made him look awfully stupid. 'So?' He repeated himself.

'Oh you are still talking? I wasn't paying attention to you.' the boy cheeked. This time, he was ready to be shattered into pieces and his ashes would mostly be spread over this park.

Across the street, grandma in casual tattling along in her sandals, hurrying to the entrance of the park, Terry saw. She entered the park frantically only to find Simon slapping the headphones off the boy's head, his long hair followed the wavy pattern. 'Stop that at once, you boys!' She commanded, and expected respect.

'This doesn't consult your wrinkled arse, you old hound.' Said one of the bullies.

Snap.

There was something in that sentence Terry didn't like. He couldn't put his finger on it, but he knew, some part of that sentence was wrong, was disrespectful. He'd have loved it if he was to arrange the order of the words, but that wasn't the case. He had to do something. Watching grandma standing in shock wasn't nice at all. He wants the best for her, like she wants for him. Protecting her was included in his daily routine; it was his job, his duty, his service to protect. At an instant he dropped, the time that took him to think and react wasn't an obstacle, which is good, the frequency of him regretting what he didn't do will be less.

A leap of faith, yet faith was the feeling he received after his feet touched the ground. A long hard road down to earth, he would describe it. He landed behind grandma; when he dropped, a rock caught his eyes, the size of his head, and plenty of bacteria, swimming in the rain puddle, that's an extra feature, like a 1+ weapon.

Quickly he picked up his pace, before the moment ends, he had to hurry. Step, step by step the rage rose, he couldn't have been more angry with another human. His emotional side has taken over, blinded him with care and love, only to revenge on a puny human.

He could see, just a step more and he could touch one of their faces. Step. With all his might, he grabbed Simon by the collar and swung the rock hard onto the temple of his large potato-shaped head.

The dents and scratches on his temple was blurry, as the part has already turned into a marshy blur. Blood gushing out from the fresh wound... Yes! This is the thrill he's been looking for. The only substance missing from his educational progress, violence and gore. The process of complexity cannot be completed without a little extra flavour.

The blood rapidly slipped through the cuts. Every dents, every curve of the rock has its print onto the now blurry mess someone could call a head.

Never could a human's temple could stand up to a rock, especially when they weren't expecting it. The blow wasn't hard enough to knock him dead, but certainly did a massive amount of damage to this boy's brain.

The blood loss, the killer vibration, the way he bounced his head on the armrest of the memorial bench with a expressive noise such as POP; he was knocked unconscious.

The deadly silent moment finally ended, everyone has received their spirit from outer space, and eventually catch up to themselves. They terror caught up secondly. They screamed and scrammed in different directions, like the compass, with and extra arm pointing East. When they sprinted, Terry sworn he caught a whiff of poop.

So it happened that grandma woke and finally realised what has happened, and how this bully will be in great trouble if her first aid wasn't performed in approximately an hour, this boy will die. Or so she thought.

"Terry, go home and call an ambulance!" she said, pulling her handkerchief from her trousers pocket and pressed again Simon's head, 'Go!' she repeated herself, seeing Terry had no intention to move or to save a life.

Terry stood still, from either the terror of what he did, or from the aftertaste of victory and excitement. His action was brutal, weak and mostly unfair, yet he has began to analyse the situation here. The bullies bullied the poor kid, but they didn't use force until the boy talked back, and that was only to slap away the CD player. The bullies again used their words to assault grandma, they didn't deserve to be knocked unconscious, even if they should, the worst punishment should be determined by their folks, not him.

A stone, he looked back, on the bloody pile the stone stood in shame, regretting of passively doing the damage.

Nevertheless, Terry thought, someone would have done it, might as well be me.

He thought deeper, no. No way. I shouldn't have been him. A punishment should be determined by a crowd, at least it should be decided after a somewhat trial on evidence and such, then the punishment would be granted. Too soon, he thought, should have waited until he actually did a physical assault, then I should attack him as defense, or to prevent an unnecessary event to occur. Too soon, I reacted.

He then dashed to safety, a place he called sanctuary. It was the house that Barky the Fox lives in, but he was willing to share with Terry, an exceptional friend of his.

Barely breathing, he couldn't control himself from twitching and eventually started to bang his head on the side of the doghouse. He wanted the memories gone, he wanted nothing should have happened, he wanted it to go away...

In the morning, Terry woke, and studied with grandma for three hours non-stop on one of Shakespeare's play, King Lear. He remembered well how Lear made his mistake on the topic truth and regretted it later as his most loyal daughter, Cordelia was hung and he even smote the executer with a sword close by. He remembered well before the lesson started, every word coming out of grandma's mouth was heard once not long ago. as if a cassette being rewind and play again and again and again in the cassette player; each time more clearer as an big exception. Three hours of repeat, yet he had absorbed more information this time, and stayed more focus on the topic without making microscopic airplanes with the corners of his papers.

The clock cooed, and cracked in dry air, rusty as it hangs it looked fine in a creepy old fashion way. This may have been the only reason, the creepy clock, that kids never wanted to pay a visit to this house, not even on Christmas or Halloween.

He hopped up, like he did; and began to walk to the park with a mind full of tricky question on life. Alone he revisited the paths and neighbours that he never speaks to, and grass that he never dares to stomp on.

Along the path, the same pattern of the pebbles, the same location of the cracks, the same air, same view and so he found out, just as he officially enters the park, the branch fell off onto a romantic couple's lap. Never had he found out the person who did it, he regrets not seeing it, and wishes to have another chance, yet it wasn't an urgent call.

He suddenly saw himself climbing up the tree just to the left of the welcome sign, clumsy but efficient by fluke. Leaves fell. The dried leaves touched the ground, but to see feet cursedly trashed the leaves, shredded into tiny bits.

He stood still watching the four boys strolled down the path to the foreign boy, then began to interact with each other. He heard, clearly as if he was standing next to them even though he's six feet away from the jerks and he was thinking, may be six feet, ain't so far now.

Carefully, he observed himself from underneath, and the crowd from far, nothing bad is happening just yet.

Soon, grandma rushed from behind, jogged into him and out, as if he was a type of mystical gas, or mist.

Slap, the CD player went flying into the air and landed, the headphones of parachute weren't much to slow down the crash, scratches covered the player, 'Stop that at once, you boys!' She yelled by his ears, expecting respect.

'This doesn't consult your wrinkled arse, you old hound.' He now knew who did it, the little weasel eye Cantrell, said seriously, then laughed at Simon, who was scared and beginning to shake in fear, 'You really did it this time.' his hissed and signalled all to scam soon.

Grandma was in shock. However, the point wasn't hers, the attention was immediately drawn to himself, and the large rock he picked up on the way to a head bashing journey. Slam. The hulking giant took off, fell to the ground, face first, onto an instant pile of fresh blood.

'No!' he yelled. Zoomed back into reality, he was sitting up the tree, then saw the CD player took off. He jumped down. Grandma caught him by the arm at the moment and he obstructed her view on the fight going on behind him, 'Let's go home, ma.' He smiled.

'Yes... yes, we better disgust this at home.' She caught her breath, and began to walk back home.

Shuts the door behind her, then she began, began to sob, then finally broke into an unpleasant cry. Terry comforted her, handed her a tissue and walked her to the couch. Sat she did, took a couple of deep breath, 'Terry... Terry.' She burst out crying again, 'Your mother...'

'What about that wicked witch?' He questioned uncaringly.

'Don't talk that way about her!' She stood and slapped him silly, 'She was the one who wanted you to be with her! WHO in the world doesn't treasure their own flesh?'

Slightly calmer, she hugged Terry, and continued, 'She's dead.'

'What do you mean she is dead? How?' He asked, after he imagined his life with his mother.

'She took a bullet for your father, and the doctor couldn't save her.' She broke into depressing tears, and sobbed with her tissue over her mouth, holding it with two hands.

'Can... can I see her?' Terry requested.

'I'm afraid not, the police is all over the hospital and you don't have an identification, they won't let you in.' She sobbed, then patted Terry on the head, 'We'll see her later.'

The depression in him arose, the second step he dared to take, to hate his father. Since his mother wanted to keep him, it must have been his father who disagreed. He hates him now, surely, he hates him now.

Soon, he could feel the rage upon his halo, his vicious eyes glared through the window, through the door of the dog house and found, himself hiding inside, banging his head on the side and smiling with a question mark above his head, then dropped tears that represent rage and jealousy.

-16th February 2005

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Glitch - The Unseen Part of Me.

The fair air outside teases the stiff air trapped by a thin puny glass, while the stiff smiles back for the warmth they contains, differences can't be solved.

Irritation remained, the hard tough banging noise of impacts between a wooden board and a haired head. Bang bang bang it remained, the hard tough banging noise of impacts between the wind and the window, the grief was polluting the air. There was something uneasy about the air, yes, there was. Certainly the despicable news had had its fun, to upset; to provoked a shock; to provide a disappointment, and eventually to allow an outlet of air. A mixture, a collision between the stiff and the fair, the shatter took over the minute by a long lasting sound wave of shatter, of broken pieces, of continuation, in repeat.

Terry thought, and thought over again, and again. Every scene he revisits, the same movement he intended to work at, the fist of fury and sorrow to the cold.

There was once, he had a glass within his heart to protect him from his mother. Quite so, it remained as tough as the one he had for his father. Yet silently, every night, he attempts to see through this thick glass that bends, like a pair of thick glasses, it bends and curve the image, and blurs it. Every night he glares and gazes at it, hopefully one day his eyes will adjust to the strangeness, allowing him to visual, to uncover the truth that has been hidden from him. He had no love, no intention, no nothing for anyone, not even his grandma. He knew these feelings will fail him one day, to drag him down, to emotionally cripple his physics, to break him down into smaller pieces as he is now. He witnesses, while he was in the twist, he fractured the glass between his mother and himself. The lens form glass cracked, into million of pieces. The first step he took to be closer to her, he had a good feeling about it, yet the blood of hers has soaked through, underneath the glass.

Now the glass has been cracked, the pieces of glass focused, onto the dead body across. Every piece focused, the further he tried to look away from the centre, the larger, the closer and the blurrier the image gets. Suddenly his brain couldn't adjust to it anymore since it was such a convention, that touches not his heart but to push him away. He wanted to see, he wanted to feel, but it was no longer possible. The more he attempted to look at the thick heartless glass, the more he feels sick, and tired, and the increase of his urge to see his biological mother was involved, surely.

He looked on, but to confuse his eyes, his tears and his mind, which was confused enough as it was. Couldn't see much that he wanted, but a dead body and a big pile of blood. He wanted to look on, but he could not. The close he was to the truth, the harder it was for him to handle. He thought, it was better off when this glass was a whole, at least, he could see things in one and only way, instead.

His mind began to twist, into curves and corners, like a tunnel made of clay, to change shape according to its owner, but also influenced by the environment, the weather and the situations. He couldn't bare to look at the glass, neither could he, the longer he stare at the glass, the more it hurts, the more he wants to forget, the more he feels he couldn't handle it.

He wished all to be well, all to be fine again, like the previous time.

Now he couldn't separate himself from the reality that happened and his imagination, that he is still in.

He wants it all to end.

Now.

Badly.

Is that moment, he woke. Not by a noise, not by a smell, not by the reality itself, but a figure in a black filthy robe, with worn and torn, and a scythe by his side. He floated, above a misty smoke, or clouds from a fairy tale. Its bony face looked sideways to face Terry, who was standing next to the window. It smiled, although it was impossible for bones to smile, yet it managed to forced a face that resembles a smile; or was that Terry's imagination again?

The figure floated to the doghouse, knocked on the door, and took the hand of Terry, and sunk.

He waved to himself, and received a descending innocent grin of a child.

At that moment, he began to think differently. This time, it's much different than thinking logically.

-19th February 2005

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Chapter Five - Religious Security

After the tragic death of his mother, he treasures life more; at least more than before. Being raised by a person who loves life, it's hard to hate life, and just after he witnessed the weakness of life, it's even harder to let the emotions do their damage.