The Girl and the Grandfather

I am alone.
Where am I?

Her name is Wraith.

Light. The tower ahead. There's rubble to either side. An archway in pieces lies to one side, studded with skulls. It's very dark inside.

Light. This room has been cleared out. Four pillars rest between the eight walls. Dead spiders line the corners. To the left, a curtain has been drawn.
She approaches, more curious than afraid. Then pauses. Her eyes widen. There is a knife on the floor.
A fat cloth woman bursts out, shrieking madly. Wraith jumps back, falling to the floor, screaming, covering her eyes and throwing up a hand. A wall of light springs from her fingers. The cloth woman crashes against it again and again, nightmarish wails slowly fading. Wraith stands, but she doesn't look. "You can't touch me," she whispers.

Light. Mirrors line the eight walls. Four crystals, red, blue, yellow and black, lie overturned on the floor beside their individual dias. A beam of light falls on a circular platform in the center of the room, cracked painfully in half. A doorway leads onwards. It is very dark beyond.

Light. A golden staircase leads upwards. The Straw Golem stands stiffly, eyes unmoving.
She takes her first steps up, facing the creature. It stares blankly forwards. With a small sniff she curls her tiny hand into a fist and, bracing herself, punches the demonic scarecrow. It rustles but does not otherwise react. She strikes it again, refusing to stand down, and gradually its dark shirt folds outwards, becoming a black tunnel. The tunnel becomes a blackness. The blackness becomes a man.
He's smothering her. His arms wrap around her, and she's too afraid to move. "You are mine," he hisses. His breath is foul. It's so dark. She can't breathe, she can't move. She is twisted around. The arms wrap tighter. Something pokes into her back, moving downwards.
"No!" She kicks, she struggles, but he is too strong. "No!" she screams. She's trapped, she's trapped...
The door flies open dramatically, crashing into the wall. The man drops her, perhaps from surprise or guilt, and she runs to the light outside. Its arms envelop her, but she welcomes it. "DO NOT TOUCH HER," commands the light. "I WILL DEAL WITH YOU."
The man bristles. "LEAVE HER," suggests the darkness.
"SHE MUST SEE THIS," states the light, "OR IT WILL HAUNT HER FOREVER." The light moves towards the darkness.

There is a voice.
"Everything is a lie."

Light. There are no arms. She awakens on a tall black stool, underneath a hanging lamp. She stands and walks. Soon she is back on the golden staircase. It is not long before she reaches the top.

Light. A tall shape stands in the middle of the room. The platform is surrounded by a circular wall of light. Beams lead away in four directions. The room has eight sides, four with doors. She exits through the one on her right.
Time passes. A sphere rests in a hole. She lifts it out. The red beam flickers and goes out. She returns to the central room, places the sphere at the base of the platform. Stone grips wrap around the sphere, dragging it into the ground. She takes the second door.
Time passes. The second sphere. The blue light goes out.
Time passes. "Do you know what you're doing? You should stop. You don't want to do this. It won't end well for you." The third sphere. The yellow light goes out.
Time passes. She is moving slowly now, so slowly. There is darkness. "Everything is a lie," she whispers. The fourth sphere. Slowly, so slowly. As she lifts it the black light splutters out. The rooms begin to tremble.
Darkness rushing. Roaring.
She places the sphere in the final dias and steps back. The shields are gone. He is there. He is watching her. He is waiting.
The beast howls. The child screams. Chains break, walls smash, eyes find light again.
She stares, transfixed. Nothing separates them. He does not move, does not step towards her. He does not beckon her closer. She stands. Her hands clench into fists, then relax. A smile begins to play across her face. She leans forward.
A cold hand lands on her shoulder. She looks up into the face of Skeleton. "We must go. Now."
Running. Footsteps in darkness, stairs. It's ever so silent. It's not meant to be this silent, surely?

Then, daylight. Nine figures leave the castle. Whisk droops in Prophet's arms, Lank and Styx lean on each other, Wraith huddles under Skeleton's cloak, Clarence rests in the haich's massive arms. Only IMPACT walks alone. They pass the broken arch, walking back along the winding road to the shore. "I'm so tired," gasps Clarence.
"Be still," hushes Skeleton. "Rest. You have been through [a great ordeal.]"
"YOU SHALL NOT REST." A voice booms from the mountain. "I AM HERE. YOU WILL NEVER KNOW REST, NOR PEACE, NOR FULFILLMENT. I AM HERE, AND I WILL HAUNT YOU... FOREVER." It lets out a final, hissing breath before falling quiet.
Skeleton breaks the silence. "It lies." They left.

This is just to say

I've been acting strange lately. Something's up. I think it's the weather. Whenever the weather changes I get a lot of headaches. Probably has something to do with it. It's warm and sunny outside and I'm stuck here because the light and the construction noises make my head hurt. That and I have to clean the house today.

Went shopping yesterday. Bought some things for camp. I now have a sleeping bag that packs down to a quarter of the size of the old one and takes less than ten minutes to roll up. Something of an improvement, I think. Also a paddle, a tiny air mattress and a pillow that doubles as a bag. All handy stuff.

I think I'm just about getting through this I'm-sad-that-I-don't-have-a-girlfriend phase. Glad that's over. I just get lonely, sometimes. But you know that. It doesn't help that even Chase has a girlfriend now - and he's a girl. The world being what it is, and all. I stop dwelling. I'm fine.

Mini-soiree went well. Shame we were late. Got held up in traffic over a bridge. It's nice to see what we can come up with when we don't have any great limitations. This was mine:

The Robot’s Pilgrimage

A robot was working the quarry one day
when he found himself strangely perplexed.
I wonder why we eventually die
and what can I expect to come next?

So he tried to forget, but now he had thought
things he’d never considered before.
It seemed that his life contained nothing but strife
and his chips longed to find something more.

So the robot went to his Master,
and he said, My lord, please listen.
I’m just a machine, I’m not meant to dream,
but I feel that there’s something I’m missing.

And the Master said, I understand,
it’s right that you have your say.
There’s a wise man deep in the Devil’s Keep
who can help you find your way.

So the robot crossed the river S
and he found the Devil’s Keep,
he could feel the hate as he crossed the gate
but downstairs he began to creep.

And deep in the darkest dungeon there
the wise man sat in his cell.
And the robot said, Master and friend,
can a robot find Heaven, or Hell?

The man slowly lowered his long hash pipe
and his eyes rolled out of his head,
as the smoke disappeared he opened his beard
and this is what the wise man said:

Robot, you won’t ever get sick
and your parts can be replaced,
you don’t need heaven, you can live forever
just as long as you stay safe.

The robot replied, I give you my thanks,
I can go back to working in peace.
I’ll be well looked after while I’ve got a Master,
I’ll eternally stay in one piece.

So the robot went back to the deep, dark quarry
and although he was safe from hurt,
he began to detect the advice was suspect
as his circuits filled up with dirt.

He was never fixed, and he knew he’d been tricked
as he breathed his last virtual breath.
You see, the Devil pays the Master’s wage
for each servant he works to death.

The moral of this story
can be found in this last rhyme:
Everyone lies and everything dies.
The robot just wasted his time.

I think it's garbage, but people seemed to like it. That's generally the way with my work. Maybe my standards are too high.

I miss you

It's nearing the end of the year. All of Visual is hanging up their graduation paintings. The whole school smells like paint. It's going right to my head.
I'm sick of the stupid grade 9s on my bus who talk endlessly about sex and drugs. It makes me want to do something I'd later regret.
I'm going into withdrawal again. I need a hug.
Sick of being in the same room as people my heart still aches for. But I don't want to be alone. But I also can't stand the constant reminders of people who don't love me any more. Or never did.
I can never say what I'm really feeling.
Just sick of it.

...I'm lonely.
I've still never met a multiple. Never face to face, and never one that I could freely talk to. That in addition to the voices, the visions and the demonic ancestor. I've got no one I can relate to. Some come close, to be sure, but still. I want someone I can be with without having to say anything. Without constantly holding myself back for fear I'm going to hurt them. I want someone to hold. I want someone to tell me everything's going to be okay.
I want, I want. My keening echoes.
I'm just lonely.

It would be nice, I think sometimes, to lose myself.
But no. No it wouldn't. And that's not the kind of person I am.
Isn't that up to me, I say.
No, I say. No it's not.

Purge

Shutting down.
External systems now on automatic. System checks now active.
Blackouts may occur. This will probably hurt.
But you're used to that, right?
Shadows. Motion. Boulders bursting like cysts.
Four-armed monster pounds on the shields. A burning hand melts through and grabs it by the neck. It turns to ash and blows away.
Pus-filled flowers ripped out by squirming roots. Cooling foam fills the cracks.
Dark flecks and chunks float on the ankle-deep water. It's becoming toxic. All of it.
Burn it to the ground.
Twitch. Twitch.
Hammer splits one open. It unfolds, meat-red.
Not enough fire. It hurts, it hurts.
Analysis complete. This will take some time.
Just cover up the small ones up top. We don't have the time.
Rebooting complete. Well... complete enough.
Wake up.

Still sick. Horrible feeling. Sometimes detachment from reality is a good thing.

Dull

When I say nothing happened today, what I mean is I read the most poorly-constructed paragraph I've ever seen, wrote a storyboard for a trailer for flying rocks, ate an experimental muffin, introduced everyone to my new stress ball (proving much more useful than I'd hoped =) Thanks), rendered my teacher temporarily speechless with laughter after taking his instructions too literally, and assisted in getting my lit class to try communism for another year. But although each of these are stories in and of themselves it's just... not relevant to me. Everything feels like it's coming from very far away. I hope I don't lose hope. I also hope this headache goes away. And this tiredness. And this darkness.

Deep Burning

I hunger.
It's hard to concentrate. My head hurts, and I'm exhausted - much more so than usual. Everything is fuzzy. I've been dreaming.
As I lose focus I become more and more shapeless. What was once my face now droops. My arms are swollen and blobby. I need to get it together or I may end up as nothing but a smear. We are scattered. Trapped. So close... but without light, we are lost.
We faced nightmares in that tower. But something has us. What?
Wraith stayed behind. Perhaps she is our only hope.

I have some memories that are not mine.
There is a memory I have of dancing with someone in the rain. I do not know who she is. I remember her face, dimly. She was smiling. I have never gone dancing in the rain. Some day I hope to.
I remember a woman, tied down to a table. Brown-skinned, naked. Someone lowers a spinning blade onto her face. Her screams haunt me.
I remember falling. Falling so very, very far.
I remember lying slumped against a brick wall, cold rain falling onto the bleeding ring on my chest. Was it a broken bottle? Seems to be.
I remember something painful. It does not bear repeating.
I remember a wedding.
I remember so very, very little.

She was right, you know. I do think I'm beyond loving. And why not? In my eyes I'm a parasite - I worm my way into a person's heart, eating them from the inside. I don't want to hurt them, of course... but who would knowingly live with a worm? I create a happy fantasy and destroy everything. Only a few times have I had a kiss that wasn't stolen. I've made it clear I don't have much to give, but even that's been spread so thin I don't know if anything beats in my chest any more.
There are... a few people I would give my heart to. If I thought I deserved them. Maybe when I can stand on my own two feet I'll be welcome a pillar to lean on.

Such bloodlust... I can't go on like this. If I end up hurting someone I swear I'll kill myself. Skeleton will be even less forgiving. At times it's hard not to see people as meat. I'm losing.

My mother doesn't understand why I'm upset. According to her, my depression is under control, and since I just have "a few mental problems" I shouldn't really have that much to complain about, should I? Those questions that are not questions, which serve less to convince me and more to guilt me into agreeing. To her, it's a small thing. These are the people who are the most discouraging, the ones who can't grasp the big picture: It. Never. Stops. This is not just an occasional problem, it is my Life. I am always haunted by lost memories, by power struggles and identity crises, by almost overwhelming fears and angers. In an objective world that description isn't good enough. When I fall, people tell me to get up. There's really nothing I can do to express myself besides bursting into tears (which I've been conditioned not to do) or attacking someone (which I must never do). You see my dilemma; I cannot simply get over this as most people get over a bad attitude. It's like a physical impediment, a deliberating disease. I am a multiple. I am an invisible cripple. I am the rightfully oppressed. I cope, just about... but still, you know?

Oh well. You have to laugh. I suppose.

Festival Haiku
Smoke in the night air
Dancing, feasting, cruel laughter
Blood in October

Darn

Well, that could have gone better.