Post by Ira Defaire on Jan 26, 2016 8:26:00 GMT -5
WHEN I WAKE
THE WORLD WILL BURN, ASHES TO ASHES, SKIN TO BONES.
She was spiteful, more spiteful that anyone would willingly give her credit for, while they constantly insist that she was a sweet one. Despite the countless amount of altercations she had struggled with, her ultimate goal was as such--to run and never look back when she was done with the present. She needed to bolt towards the future, precisely because the future couldn't be more despairing than the present, and the present was hopeless compared to the past.
Let her explain why she couldn't be an insect. Ira could assure you that she tried extremely hard to be an insect. Suppose she was an insect, and she felt insulted, and demanded for revenge. The base and necessary desire to vent her spite on her assailants existed. Their innate stupidity allowed her to survey revenge as justice, pure and simple; while in the consequence of her acute consciousness allowed her to comprehend that she didn't believe in the idea of justice, not for a long while.
Apart from her fundamental nastiness, a luckless mouse succeeded in creating a relentless barrage of questions that added to the equation of psychotic hatred and confusion that it inevitably worked up a filthy mess, with contempt spat upon it by the wasps and bees, while the judges resumed their laughter, laughing till their healthy sides aches. Of course, the only thing it could really do was to dismiss it all with a wave of it's paw and with a smile of assumed contempt in which it did not itself believe, and creep ignominiously into it's mouse hole. There, in it's equally disgusting mouse hole, it will remember the injury down to the smallest detail, and every time, it would spitefully throw in another detail, teasing and tormenting itself with it's own imagination.
The sun rose that morning.
The sign on the wall quivered under the weight of the water while she proceeded down the twisty path, strewed with wrath and pebbles. The mouse arrived at the place of destination, in which everyone was awaiting her, with her money, in exchange for the machine in their hands, and a travel that might last a lifetime.
The mouse would then proceed to swallow harshly, it's own breathing precious to it's own ears, while it's repulsive face watched the party. When they waved it forward, it would go, quite willingly, with a brave smile.
"Does it guarantee my life?"
"We guarantee nothing," would be the response handed to her. 'Except for the bloodshed."
Her ears would stop. Her eyes were fixated on the gleaming metal, promising her that she could return in time, and watch the wars, understand the ultimate truth, while everyone could only revolve around their only god--their minds, in their own paradox of puzzlement. Out of chars and ashes, out of dust and coals, the old years, the green years, might leap; A Time Machine! A possibility of a majestic change in her past!
"Sign this form." Something was thrust into her hands. 'We are not responsible for any injuries, lack of limbs, or loss of life."
Still thrilled, her eyes carried a hungry type of light that could only be identified as a thirst, a thirst for that One Change. The mouse would pull on her oxygen mask and close her eyes as she begin listening to the lecture, and watched as different years blazed around them. She signed the form without looking, without caring, for her exhilaration was dragging her into another world that she would be quite unreachable, had it not been for the loud slap across her face.
"That," They would point. "Is the Path that you must use. It floated tens of inches above this accursed earth. Don't touch anything, don't touch so much as a plant, a tree, or a flower--not even a petal! It's anti-gravity, and you can't touch the world of the past in any way. Don't go off the path. Don't go off it for any reason, don't go off it for someone else, don't go off it for yourself. If someone were to venture off it, let them rot! If you were to venture off it, you shall rot!"
"If you kill a piece of grass, do you know what happens? A dying mouse might stumble across it in the first timeline, but now, it wouldn't have a piece of grass to satisfy it's hunger. When it dies, it might be the first of it's breathen, it might be the first of anything. What happens if it's breathen die--do you want to want to deprive the cats, the foxes, and the eagles of their food? What do you think will happen then, when the wilder mammals afoot look for their food, and found no foxes to feast on? What happen when the cavemen couldn't feast on the bigger mammals? What would happen to humankind when something changes, when their ideologies, their languages switch? And you'll be responsible for it." They would breath upon her.
"Perhaps Hitler never existed. Perhaps the future you held in your hands ceased to exist, because you stepped on a piece of grass. So don't go off the path, or rot, rot, in your filthy glory!" They would scream in her face.
Her attention wasn't on them as her eyes became entranced with what she was seeing. The streets were teeming below them; the party and her didn't seem to fully exist, as beings in that world. She became enthralled when she watched a young girl, with dark brown hair and dark eyes laughed nervously. The young girl was an insect, and she seemed to try extremely hard to be an insect.
The insect became fearful, as a fist slammed down on her head, as her father slapped her harshly. She whimpered slightly, with tears welling up in her eyes, but she struggled against wailing, and struggled against the understanding that was she to sob loudly, the consequence would be worse. The mouse's heart throbbed painfully against her ribcage, and before she could warn, before they could move, before they could seize her, she hurled herself.
"Get out, get out, get out," The mouse whispered viciously against her teeth colliding with her lip, causing blood to explode in her mouth. "Get out, get out-" there were tears. "Get out, get out, get out-" She whispered.
"Get out, get out, get out," The insect whispered fearfully, her tears welling and falling down her cheeks. 'Get out, get out-" There was anger. "Get out, get out, get out-" She whispered.
She would launch herself at her parents, as bolt after bolt appeared, throwing themselves everywhere as her body spiraled out of control. The throat, the hands, the ribcage, the eyes, the gut were all covered in blood when she was done, with the insect and the mouse staring at the other, wide-eyed and fearful.
Behind her, the loud breathing of the party could be heard.
She was captured, thrown right into a cage as they screeched expletives at her, cursing her to death, cursing her to death embedded in death, cursing her with torment after death. She stared vacantly at her blood-stained hands, aware and thrilled at what she just did, before reality could get to her, before reality would touch her.
Reality did.
As she walked out of prison, feeble and still mildly happy the next day, she waited for Macht. She called him seconds before she had left, she would see him again and explain her tale of victory to him. She spotted a familiar mop of red hair and she moved towards the giant, grinning widely.
"Macht..Macht.."
He turned around as her heart skipped a beat. His green eyes met hers and the two remained in their state of puzzlement, one delighted and the other confused. He said something, but her grin was too wide to comprehend it, and her delight was too high for her to want to understand. When she did, however, something vanished and throbbed coldly within her.
"Who are you?"
She blinked.
She fell onto the floor, with her fingernails digging into the ground. She fumbled crazily at the thick slime covering her legs, with her blood-stained fingers. Her hands resumed their unearthly tremble, along with her lips as reality, with it's cold, abominable despair that crashed on her mentality, before she could directly comprehend the significance of her actions. She was a fool, a fool, a huge fool.
She ran, stumbling blindly on the concrete as she felt her throat seizing up onto her, making her panic. She yanked out her phone, treating it like a lifeline she had yet to harness, desperate to receive a whisk of oxygen in the slimy ocean she was suffocating in.
Pulling her phone out frantically she dialed a number to a familiar voice, that answered. However, he sounded faraway too, distant and cool.
"Who is this?"
A mouse, her mind screamed. A timid mouse, a confused mouse, a crying mouse, a trembling mouse, a mouse that sought company while pushing it away, a mouse that sought love while converting it into hate, a mouse that wanted things that it would twist when those things finally fell into it's paws, a mouse that wanted everything and ruined everything, all at once.
"A nobody." She whispered.
"The fuck?" Aldritch would mutter. "Who?"
"A small nobody."
Click.
He was gone.
Let her explain why she couldn't be an insect. Ira could assure you that she tried extremely hard to be an insect. Suppose she was an insect, and she felt insulted, and demanded for revenge. The base and necessary desire to vent her spite on her assailants existed. Their innate stupidity allowed her to survey revenge as justice, pure and simple; while in the consequence of her acute consciousness allowed her to comprehend that she didn't believe in the idea of justice, not for a long while.
Apart from her fundamental nastiness, a luckless mouse succeeded in creating a relentless barrage of questions that added to the equation of psychotic hatred and confusion that it inevitably worked up a filthy mess, with contempt spat upon it by the wasps and bees, while the judges resumed their laughter, laughing till their healthy sides aches. Of course, the only thing it could really do was to dismiss it all with a wave of it's paw and with a smile of assumed contempt in which it did not itself believe, and creep ignominiously into it's mouse hole. There, in it's equally disgusting mouse hole, it will remember the injury down to the smallest detail, and every time, it would spitefully throw in another detail, teasing and tormenting itself with it's own imagination.
The sun rose that morning.
The sign on the wall quivered under the weight of the water while she proceeded down the twisty path, strewed with wrath and pebbles. The mouse arrived at the place of destination, in which everyone was awaiting her, with her money, in exchange for the machine in their hands, and a travel that might last a lifetime.
The mouse would then proceed to swallow harshly, it's own breathing precious to it's own ears, while it's repulsive face watched the party. When they waved it forward, it would go, quite willingly, with a brave smile.
"Does it guarantee my life?"
"We guarantee nothing," would be the response handed to her. 'Except for the bloodshed."
Her ears would stop. Her eyes were fixated on the gleaming metal, promising her that she could return in time, and watch the wars, understand the ultimate truth, while everyone could only revolve around their only god--their minds, in their own paradox of puzzlement. Out of chars and ashes, out of dust and coals, the old years, the green years, might leap; A Time Machine! A possibility of a majestic change in her past!
"Sign this form." Something was thrust into her hands. 'We are not responsible for any injuries, lack of limbs, or loss of life."
Still thrilled, her eyes carried a hungry type of light that could only be identified as a thirst, a thirst for that One Change. The mouse would pull on her oxygen mask and close her eyes as she begin listening to the lecture, and watched as different years blazed around them. She signed the form without looking, without caring, for her exhilaration was dragging her into another world that she would be quite unreachable, had it not been for the loud slap across her face.
"That," They would point. "Is the Path that you must use. It floated tens of inches above this accursed earth. Don't touch anything, don't touch so much as a plant, a tree, or a flower--not even a petal! It's anti-gravity, and you can't touch the world of the past in any way. Don't go off the path. Don't go off it for any reason, don't go off it for someone else, don't go off it for yourself. If someone were to venture off it, let them rot! If you were to venture off it, you shall rot!"
"If you kill a piece of grass, do you know what happens? A dying mouse might stumble across it in the first timeline, but now, it wouldn't have a piece of grass to satisfy it's hunger. When it dies, it might be the first of it's breathen, it might be the first of anything. What happens if it's breathen die--do you want to want to deprive the cats, the foxes, and the eagles of their food? What do you think will happen then, when the wilder mammals afoot look for their food, and found no foxes to feast on? What happen when the cavemen couldn't feast on the bigger mammals? What would happen to humankind when something changes, when their ideologies, their languages switch? And you'll be responsible for it." They would breath upon her.
"Perhaps Hitler never existed. Perhaps the future you held in your hands ceased to exist, because you stepped on a piece of grass. So don't go off the path, or rot, rot, in your filthy glory!" They would scream in her face.
Her attention wasn't on them as her eyes became entranced with what she was seeing. The streets were teeming below them; the party and her didn't seem to fully exist, as beings in that world. She became enthralled when she watched a young girl, with dark brown hair and dark eyes laughed nervously. The young girl was an insect, and she seemed to try extremely hard to be an insect.
The insect became fearful, as a fist slammed down on her head, as her father slapped her harshly. She whimpered slightly, with tears welling up in her eyes, but she struggled against wailing, and struggled against the understanding that was she to sob loudly, the consequence would be worse. The mouse's heart throbbed painfully against her ribcage, and before she could warn, before they could move, before they could seize her, she hurled herself.
"Get out, get out, get out," The mouse whispered viciously against her teeth colliding with her lip, causing blood to explode in her mouth. "Get out, get out-" there were tears. "Get out, get out, get out-" She whispered.
"Get out, get out, get out," The insect whispered fearfully, her tears welling and falling down her cheeks. 'Get out, get out-" There was anger. "Get out, get out, get out-" She whispered.
She would launch herself at her parents, as bolt after bolt appeared, throwing themselves everywhere as her body spiraled out of control. The throat, the hands, the ribcage, the eyes, the gut were all covered in blood when she was done, with the insect and the mouse staring at the other, wide-eyed and fearful.
Behind her, the loud breathing of the party could be heard.
She was captured, thrown right into a cage as they screeched expletives at her, cursing her to death, cursing her to death embedded in death, cursing her with torment after death. She stared vacantly at her blood-stained hands, aware and thrilled at what she just did, before reality could get to her, before reality would touch her.
Reality did.
As she walked out of prison, feeble and still mildly happy the next day, she waited for Macht. She called him seconds before she had left, she would see him again and explain her tale of victory to him. She spotted a familiar mop of red hair and she moved towards the giant, grinning widely.
"Macht..Macht.."
He turned around as her heart skipped a beat. His green eyes met hers and the two remained in their state of puzzlement, one delighted and the other confused. He said something, but her grin was too wide to comprehend it, and her delight was too high for her to want to understand. When she did, however, something vanished and throbbed coldly within her.
"Who are you?"
She blinked.
She fell onto the floor, with her fingernails digging into the ground. She fumbled crazily at the thick slime covering her legs, with her blood-stained fingers. Her hands resumed their unearthly tremble, along with her lips as reality, with it's cold, abominable despair that crashed on her mentality, before she could directly comprehend the significance of her actions. She was a fool, a fool, a huge fool.
She ran, stumbling blindly on the concrete as she felt her throat seizing up onto her, making her panic. She yanked out her phone, treating it like a lifeline she had yet to harness, desperate to receive a whisk of oxygen in the slimy ocean she was suffocating in.
Pulling her phone out frantically she dialed a number to a familiar voice, that answered. However, he sounded faraway too, distant and cool.
"Who is this?"
A mouse, her mind screamed. A timid mouse, a confused mouse, a crying mouse, a trembling mouse, a mouse that sought company while pushing it away, a mouse that sought love while converting it into hate, a mouse that wanted things that it would twist when those things finally fell into it's paws, a mouse that wanted everything and ruined everything, all at once.
"A nobody." She whispered.
"The fuck?" Aldritch would mutter. "Who?"
"A small nobody."
Click.
He was gone.
Felix should be there, her mind finally mumbled, numbed by shock. Felix--the one that tried to help when the both were kidnapped by a phantom that couldn't defeated, the one that tried to help her, the one that cared about her, for they were friends, and they would remain so, as she naively thought a long while ago.
"Felix, Felix," She would whisper as she dialed.
Click.
There was Leon, her brain screeched. Leon, the one that might remember her, for he cared enough to fight for her--cared enough to promote her, cared enough to listen to her. It was a brief respite; it allowed her the denial that her situation was different; that her situation would switch for Leon was powerful, Leon was capable, and Leon would know how to rectify the situation. Leon would remember-
"Felix, Felix," She would whisper as she dialed.
Click.
Click.
No, no, no, she wasn't thinking clearly this time. The answer was obvious! The answer was obvious! She dialed and dialed and dialed once more, laughing at her stupidity. He was there; he would help! He seemed fairly kind when they met, despite their drunken state, and he might be able to help. Lexington would respond-
Click.
With a gut-wrenching cry, she smashed the phone onto the floor, and watched as it bounced lightly off the surface onto the concrete, before the screen landed into a million fragments at her feet. It was enough for her--she didn't know what was going on, she didn't know what to do, and she didn't know if she should do anything. She changed the past; the very thing that her life was revolved around, and by doing so, she thrown away what she needed, what she wanted, and everyone that she pursued a friendship, a relationship, a companionship with. She was odd, she was repulsive, she -it- was disgusting.
Click.
Her eyes flew open and she let out a gasp, while bolting upright in her bed. Her forehead, back and neck was embedded in cold sweat as she continued her harsh battle against her weakened lungs, her weakened mind, and her weakened body. She didn't know, she needed to know, she wanted to.
She didn't want to know.
She didn't need to know.
And perhaps, a sickening part of her never wanted to know.
Her yearning to change the past became futile at this point, everyone that was dancing at the tip of her fingers, everyone that believed in her, and perhaps, once upon a time, might have cared slightly, would fail to, and after a while, they would have ceased to exist in her world as well. Grasping tightly would break them; grasping loosely would allow them to fall from her hands. Ira rolled off the bed, and hurled her body against the floor, as tears begin welling, falling and dripping.
She was the jester, forever embedded in the tales of the past.
She didn't want to know.
She didn't need to know.
And perhaps, a sickening part of her never wanted to know.
Her yearning to change the past became futile at this point, everyone that was dancing at the tip of her fingers, everyone that believed in her, and perhaps, once upon a time, might have cared slightly, would fail to, and after a while, they would have ceased to exist in her world as well. Grasping tightly would break them; grasping loosely would allow them to fall from her hands. Ira rolled off the bed, and hurled her body against the floor, as tears begin welling, falling and dripping.
She was the jester, forever embedded in the tales of the past.
2053 words TAG ( S ) : | NOTE: as you can see, some characters on the board are included in here. If you play the said character(s), and do not wish for your character's presence in this AH, PM me and I'll remove it as soon as possible. ( 2ct please. ) |
Pyxis