The Dark: Chapter Nine

So what if you have a little trouble navigating the stairs? Its not like youve forgotten how to walk. Its really not that bad you know. It really isnt. You are quite capable of going to the bathroom by yourself. You have been doing it for years. and nothing has really changed except for the fact that yo have a stupid cast on your leg and a pair of crutches to keep you company. but you can handle that. Youve dealt with alot worse. Remember that summer when your foot got crushed by an SUV?
But inspite of your best arguments your mother insists that if she let you go by yourself she will only worry. and she's tired of worrying. She's done enough worrying to last her a lifetime. And so letting out an exasperated sigh you let your mother act as your personal escort. Talk about a lack of privacy.
Understandabley, it takes you twice as long as usual to do your business knowing you mother- your Mother for pete's sake is standing right outside the door like youre friggin five or something.
Washing your hands and drying them on a hand towel you stare at yourself in the mirror. Almost all the swelling has gone down and your face isnt as mishapen and discolored as it was before but you know you are never going to look the same. The doctors said that they tried their best to twist your nose back into place but you can already see that it is going to heal crooked. The place where it broke as clear as a hot summer's day. But thats not the only thing. There is something else. Something in your eyes. Something that wasnt there before. Its as if there is someone else staring out at the world from them. Youre still there but so is someone else. The lights are on but youre not the only one home.
There is a knock on the door, dispelling all your thoughts.
"Is everything Okay in there?" Its your mother.
"I'm fine." you call back.
After one last lingering glance at yourself, you hop to the door and jerk it open.
Your mother's forehead kneeded with concern, she hands you the crutches without saying a word.
"I'm fine." You repeat and taking the crutches you head for the stairs with your mother in toe.
You negotiate the stairs carefully, your mother lending you a guiding hand here, a word of encouragement there and the more than occasional "almost there." in an attempt to calm your nerves. Inspite of your complaints, youre thankful she's there.
It's not long before you need to take a break and so letteing your mother know, you stop on the landing a little more than half way down to catch your breath.
As tiny beads of sweat break out on your forehead, you feel the three pairs of eyes below peer up at you. You dont have to look at the owners to know what they are thinking.
Pity. Sympathy. And in the case of your father; Guilt. And if their stares could be translated into words they would be saying something like "Poor kid, no one should have to go through that."
"But I dont want your pity!" you feel like screaming at them. But you dont. You cant and so instead you silently take in their silent stares. Trying your best to concentrate on the task at hand: catching your breath. The awkward silence of the moment however, forces you to get moving before youre ready to and so by the time youre sitting safely in your seat again youre virtually heaving.
Your mother brings you another glass of iced lemonade before you have a chance to ask. You thank her as she sets it down on the side table next to you. After a few sips you feel alot better and about ready to talk. As if sensing this Dective Gervaldi clears his throat. As if on cue his partner, a small, bird like woman with thin and drab hair, thick rimmed glasses and a suit that appears two sizes too big sets down her glass of lemonade and pulls out a small notebook.
You know what is coming next.
"Are you ready to continue?"
You exchange quick glances with your parents. They both nod their heads in encouragement. Turning to face Gervaldi you nod your own.
Consulting the notebook his partner has held out for him to read, Gervaldi is silent for a moment. Then looking up from it he clears his throat again.
"Okay. Now tell me what happened once the three of you left the party."

T.E.X.T.H.E.R. (Alex It Isnt Working)

After our lil talk yesterday, after reviewing the current situation, after reviewing the current situation(s) in fact (we all seemed to be going through something) I decided to try and do it Alex's way. I told myself I wouldn't call, I wouldn't text, I wouldn't even speak her name...not until and only until she made the first move. Not until I knew what I was dealing with.
“she's fucking with my head.” I remember telling them. But the thing is, I was letting her. I had always let her fuck with it. It was a fucking vicious cycle of head fucking and I never got fucking tired of it...am I saying fucking too much? cos' I kinda feel as if I am. But no, you know what? I'm not going to go back and replace all those f-bombs with something a lil more...how should I say...appropriate. I should, I know I should; we do have kids on here after all. But fuck it. They shouldn't be reading this anyway. This is all assuming of course, that the intention of writing this is to post it on Facebook...but then to be quite honest, it kinda is.
A minor deviation, forgive me. What was I saying? Oh yeah, so I'm going to try things Alex's way. Though I know from past experience that the success rate of such a venture is usually um...lemme see...um...kinda like nil. In fact, Ive felt compelled to send her a text the entire day. A few more hours and I'll be home free at least...for another day.
One day at a time, they tell all addicts, just take it one day at a time. In my opinion that's some ol' bullshit. A day at a time? You have to be fucking kidding me! That shit is eating me up second by every fucking passing second and you're telling me to take it one day at a time.
“Then fine, just be all nonchalant like.”, I tell myself. Make it look like you're doing you're thing and you've just taken a moment out of your busy schedule to find out how she's doing. Not under any circumstances is she to know that she's been weighing down your brain for days. You did that before remember? and look where that got you.
Just say hi. Find out how she is. You don't have to ask her when you can hook up. She doesn't even have to know that you're even still in town. About to close that multi-milli-shilli deal that you've been looking to close.
Deep breath. I reach for my phone but a second later pull back my hand. Not so fast. Thats only inviting disaster. Pulling yourself back in. you know that. stay on the course you've taken. Convince this other girl (she's great btw) that she's the one that you want and not just some girl whose only significance is to help you get over your overcomplicated ex.
Convince yourself.
But I cant. She has that hold on me. Just like Alex's has a hold on him. Its fucked up aint it?
“Love's a bitch.” I tell myself. It really is. I would love to say that I no longer love her but that just wouldn't be the case. And that kills me.
Just one text... just one...thats it.

The Dark: Chapter Eight

The trees shudder in the chill of the night. Towering above you like tall eerie sentinels. Their wind rustled leaves giving the illusion that they are indulging in a secret to which you are not privy to.
As the old cracked leather creaks beneath you, you shift in your seat to get a better look out the window. The moon is full and bright casting everything in an unearthly bluish light.
You appear to be at the edge of a wood. The nose of your car sniffing at its feet. How you got there you have no idea. The last thing you remember is getting into the car to go to the police station. To go and turn yourself in. but after that...nothing. Nothing but this place- at the edge of the woods. You cant help but feel you have been here before. That it holds a certain importance. A certain hold over you. You dont know how but you cant shake the feeling that this place has somehow left its smudgy fingerprint on the surface of your pitiful existence.
Reaching for the door you step out of the car not bothering to close the door behind you. You take a few steps towards the darkness of the woods, the knarled roots of the nearest tree hard under foot. you suddenly stop, however, as if you have just hit an invisible barrier. Your breath begins to come in short ragged gasps. The palms of your hands sweaty. your throat cardboard dry. You suddenly know where you are. The realisation horrifies you.
Why would you come back here?
Then as if deciding that you are privy to their secrets afterall, the trees themselves seem to answer you. As one. As if it is the spirit of the forest itself answering you. And this alone horrifies you ten times more than the realisation of where you are. Because that can mean only one of two things. that one- you are completely out of your mind or two- all of this is absolutely real. The latter certainly being the scarier of the two.
Refusing to play into your paranoia, you decide to get the hell out of there. Turning, you are about to head back to the car when something stops you. Something isnt right. It takes you a moment to place your finger on it. and then it hits you. you had left the door of your car open. Youre sure of it. You would bank your life savings on it. But unless your mind is playing tricks on you it is now closed. your eyes travel up the closed door to the open window. you feel your blood freeze in your veins.Your breath condense right there in your throat. There is someone sitting behind the wheel.
Blinking several times you make a vain attempt to will whoever it is sitting behind the wheel of your car out of it. You have no such luck. If anything, whoever or whatver it is seems to sense that you are watching them. Slowly but with the gravity of a planet, the person turns to face you. You feel your legs turn to jelly beneath you. Stumbling a few feet backwards you struggle to keep you feet under you. Its Him. Youre as certain of it as you are that you have ten fingers and ten toes.Its the eyes. Glowing as red as rubies formed in the very fires of Hell itself. Only one question belittles your conclusion: How?
Suddenly, a violent wind kicks up, clawing savagely at your clothes, tearing leaves from the surrounding trees, sucking the very breath from your lungs. and then the voice of the forest speaks. A wispy wraith that almost passes over your ears in incomprehension.
"He's waiting for you."
You glance up at the trees. At the knarled fingers of their ancient branches. Then, after a moment, beyond them, at the sky. It is rolling with dark, mean looking clouds. Clouds that threaten rain. That not only threaten rain but promise it.
Your eyes fall back to earth. back to your car.
To your empty car. With its driver side door open.
Just as you left it.
You take a step towards your car but think the better of it. He's waiting for you. God knows he's not one to toy with. Its better you find out what He wants.
And with that decision set in stone in your mind, you turn on your heels and face the woods. The dark, menacing, soul swallowing woods. The wind, changing direction, pushes at your back, urging you fowards.
Unable to disobey, unable to ignore, you take a step forwards. then another. Then another. Before long the wood has swallowed you. There is no longer any escape. There is only one direction to take.
The moon, penetrating the thick canopy above you in shards, lights your path in glimses. A thick root here, a puddle of water there. Making your procession easier but only by a fraction. You trip a number of times but somehow manage to keep your feet under you. All the while the wood has become a muted hush. As if holding its breath in quiet anticipation.
And then you see it. Just as you left it.
It is an old structure. Probably more than fifty years. Even though, it still appears sturdy, strong and if given some time and attention; inhabitable.
The old cabin sits in the middle of a small clearing. The area immediately surrounding it is strewn with gravel, discarded sticks deemed unworthy to serve as firewood by some long gone hiker as well as a number of small to medium sized boulders.
The gravel crunches under you as you cautiously make your way across the clearing to the foot of the porch steps.
The warped old wood creaks under foot as you take the first step up to the cabin. As you take the second step there is another creak. This one, however, is deeper and more prolonged. And comes from above and in front of you rather from beneath you.
You look up from your feet and find the door of the cabin swinging inwards. Opening up on a darkness that you have no words to explain. No words to describe.
You pause. But only for a second. Then gathering your wits about you, you climb up the rest of the stairs, walk across the porch and stop in front of the open doorway.
Peering into the cabin you see nothing. Then taking a deep breath you cross the thresh hold, the door of the cabin closing behind you with a deep and prolonged creak.

The Dark: Chapter Seven

You feel awful. More than awful. Like someone tossed you into a huge trash compactor and let it run just long enough to crush every bone in your body without managing to kill you.
You try to open your eyes but the effort is more than its worth and you quickly give up. and so instead of affirming your long awaited return to the world of the living by allowing it to flood your throbbing retinas, you try to once again bury yourself in the comfort of unconsciousness.
after a few restless minutes, however, you realize the world isnt going to just sit by and wait for you to wake up when you feel like it and so you decide to brave it and hope for the best.
With a will strong enough to bend iron you manage to pry open your eyelids.
You expected the brightness to be a shock to your retinas but had no idea it would be so damn painful. It feels las if someone is poking at your eyeballs with a tiny hyperdemic needle, injecting them with a saline liquid that then pours out from the corners of your eyes in the form of tears.
The tears run down either side of your face pooling in your ears even as you try to blink them away and try your best to bring your eyes into focus.
It takes a few moments but you eventually manage to bring some clarity to the world around you.
Its unfamiliar; pristine with clear cut corners. Slowly swiveling your head from side to side trying your best to avoid giving yourself a sense of vertigo, you slowly take it in.
The bed across the room is empty but obviously occupied. The bed sheets and thin hospital issue blanket are in a tussle, the bedside table giving harbor to a number of 'Get Well Soon' cards and a conspicuous looking basket of fruit. The sight of the peaches and pears and bananas and apples sets your stomach into motion and you realize just how hungry you are. You feel like you havnt eaten in days. Like your stomach has been completely hollowed out, deserted, your body fighting to remember what its even like to have food in its system.
Trying to ignore the hunger gnawing at your insides you continue your inspection of your surroundings.
Your eyes straying from the luscious basket of fruit you notice a number of chairs at the side of your apparent roommate's bed. Only one is occupied. a withered looking woman taking up a semi-fetal position fills it; her extremities sticking out every now and then. She looks awfully uncomfortable and you wonder how long she has been like that; trying but failing you're quite sure to catch a few winks of sleep.
Shifting your gaze from the chair you find yourself wondering if anyone is watching over you. If anyone even cared enough to want to. With some sense of satisfied vanity your eyes arrive on the form sitting in a chair of its own next to your bed.
The form is not as depreciated as the one across the room, nor does it appear to have been there very long. And on closer inspection you realize you do not recognize the form filling the chair at all. The person watching over you is a complete stranger. You let out a small gasp that comes out sounding like the cough of an old dying Studebaker alerting the stranger of your return to consciousness.
The man shifts in his seat. There is no pretending you are still asleep and so you meet his gaze when he brings it to your face. His lips twist into a wry smile.
"Awake are we?"
You dont answer but ask him a question of your own.
"Who are you?"
Your voice comes out sounding like a car driving over gravel. Your throat feels as if you have swallowed some as well.
Instead of answering your question the man stands up and walks away. He's back within moments; with a nurse. She's pretty with a luxurious head of hair. Smiling, she repeats the strangers words.
"awake are we?"
But unlike when the stranger said them you do not feel threatened or the least bit apprehensive by her words. Her voice has a sing song quality to it and more than anything soothes you.
Still smiling she holds up a tumbler with a plastic spoon sticking out of it.
"You must be thirsty, how about a couple of ice chips to sooth that throat of yours?"
You manage a nod.
Leaning over, the nurse spoons a chip of ice into your mouth.
"Dont swallow it whole but let it melt on your tongue." She instructs you. You obey without a thought. After the chip melts you let the chilling water slowly run down your throat. You feel the difference almost immediately.
"More?"
You nod. This one more vigorous than the first.
She spoons in a couple more but then tells you that's enough. You can have some more later. You give her a disappointed look but she doesn't budge.
"Later." She assures you.
Then addressing the stranger, she tells him that maybe he should wait until the parents got there. They have just been alerted that you are conscious. They'll be there in no more than fifteen minutes.
The stranger nods but says that he would like to ask you a few questions before your parents arrive. Just to lay down some ground work. Nothing serious.
The nurse is obviously not sure how wise it is to leave you there with this stranger but then realizing that he wasn't going to budge no matter what she says, the nurse gives in.
"Okay," she allows, but warns him not to over strain you. you need your rest.
The stranger nods, assuring the nurse that he'll take it easy.
Then gesturing to a remote resting next to you on the bed, which you have not noticed until just then, the nurse tells you that if you need anything, anything at all, all you have to do is just press the red button and she or another nurse would be right in.
"Okay?"
"Okay."
Giving the stranger one last warning glance, the nurse walks off. carrying the tumbler of melting ice chips with her.
The stranger waits until the nurse is out of sight and out of earshot before he speaks.
He introduces himself as one Detective Gervaldi. Homicide.
"Homicide?" You repeat. This time as a question.
A puzzled look crosses the detective's face.
"You mean they havnt told you?"
Gervaldi takes your blank expression to mean that no one has.
"I'm sorry to be the one to tell you this but your friend Kelly... she's dead."
The detectiive's words make your heart stop. You close your eyes. When you open them again, the sting of tears touches the corner of your eyes. This time you dont try to blink them away but let them fall uninhibited. Your best friend...gone.
"I'm sorry for your loss but I need to ask you a few questions. About what happended two nights ago. the night of," taking out a small notebook Gervaldi refers to it,
"The night of Spencer Elson's party."
You barely register the detecive's words, they are of no importance to you. Of no consequence. Only one thing registers. Only one thing matters. Kelly. How can she be dead? She was invincible. Death proof. Immortal. It just isnt possible. But deep down you know it is possible. She isnt Death proof. She isnt immortal. She's just like everyone else. Fallible. Fragile. Delicate like a dandelion, easily blown away by the slightest breeze.
After wiping away the tears and clearing your vision, a brief inspection revealing Gervaldi's serious demeanour and no nonsense attitude, makes it obvious that the detective is telling the truth. He has no reason to lie.
"H-how did it happen?"
Gervaldi raises an eyebrow.
"I was hoping that you could tell me. After all, you were there."
Your expression is a puzzled one.
Leaning in, Gervaldi tells you that you were found unconcious just a few feet from where Kelly was. So that meant that whatever happened to Kelly, you were there.
"What about Fifi?"
Gervaldi glances at his pocket notebook.
"Fifi Payton? She's alive but just barely. She was dumped in the woods two, two and a half miles from where you and Ms. Novak were found. She's still unconcious so I havnt been able to get her statement yet."
It doesnt make sense. Kelly dead? Fifi just barely alive? You in the hospital? You dont know what to make of it all. What the hell happened?
And just as youre asking yourself this question, images bombard your head. Relentless, coming in from all corners. Catching you completely off guard.
You quickly close you eyes in an attempt to block out the images but the self imposed darkness only makes the images more vivid. You open them again only to have the images sperimposed ontop of Gervaldi's face. There is no getting away from them.
"Tell me about that night." Gervaldi insists.
You shake your head. Both in refusal and in an attempt to shake it free it from those horrible images.
You close your eyes again. Not only in another attempt to dispell the sharpening memories but also to close out the presence of one Detective Gervaldi, Homicide. You cant handle this right now. Its all too much to take in.
Then as if the gods heard your private lament, you hear a familiar voice. Opening your eyes you spot a familiar face. Infact you spot two. Your parents have arrived and not a moment too soon. You have never been so happy to see them in your life.
Your mother heads straight for your side smothering you with a hundred pounds of much needed love and attention. Planting kiss after kiss on your cheeks, forehead, nose and lips. Your father hangs back to deal with the nusance that is one Detective Gervaldi, Homicide.
Although never laying a hand on the detective, your father makes it clear that his presence is highly unwanted. After a few moments and a promise that he will be back, Detective Gervaldi, Homicide jaunts out of the room leaving you alone with your parents. Your heart swelling you feel as if you have never loved them so much.
Your father's hand on your head and your mother's lingering on your arm you finally feel safe enough to let the damn break. Your vision blurring, you allow yourself to cry in earnest.

The Dark: Chapter Six

The dark circles under your eyes betray you. You haven't slept in days. Every time you try to, every time you close your eyes your head becomes a parade of horrible images, of dismembered body parts and blood, lots of blood, gallons of the stuff. You're not eating either. You cant seem to keep anything down. and even if you could, you're even too afraid to leave your room to get anything to keep down. Afraid that anyone who would see you would know. know that you're a murderer. As clear as if it was burned into the flesh of your forehead. And so you've lost weight. your skin has lost color. You look skeletal. your face is ashen. You know that you're slowly killing yourself but wouldn't that be infinitely better? wouldn't the world be a much better place without a person as fucked up as you are taking up space in it?
You have never contemplated suicide, not even after what happened to Kelly, but you have to admit that at the moment death is starting to look like a pretty inviting destination. Of course you would never actively plan to kill yourself, you're too much of a coward, but what about just letting it happen? just sitting back and letting the waves wash over you, the tide pull you in, the current drag you under? Even a coward like you could do that.
But the question is: do you want to let it happen? Are you so sick of your life that you see death as your only viable option?
You're not and you dont and know it. at least deep down you do.
What you really want is to kill the creature living inside of you. This despicable cancer that is growing stronger by the day. Feeding on whats left of whats good in you. Growing bolder. That no longer masks its existence but flaunts it. Lets you know that its there. That its watching. And that its responsible.
The disapearences of of those people. The ones who were responsible- for what had happened to kelly. Those disapearences were not coincidence. They were not random. You had never believed that they were. You had your suspicions but you hadn't been sure.
Not until now.
Not until those images that were too real and just too fucking vivid to simply be manifestations of your imagination had started flashing through your mind. Had started keeping you up at night. Still do.
They're memories. You know they are. They have to be. You feel detached from them but somehow you know, you fucking know that the blood that was spilled, the flesh that was ripped, the bones that were broken in these flashes are real. A result of your hands. They may not have been under your control at the time but they were still yours. Still are. And that horrifies you because when everything is said and done it is you who is responsible. Because if a weapon is ever found it will be your fingerprints they will find on it. And if the blood soiled clothes that were worn during these acts of violence are ever found it will be your clothes that they will find. and if ever the dead could talk it would be your face they would say was the last thing they saw.
So what are you saying? you ask yourself. That I'm totally screwed?
Well, yes.
Then what are my options? you wonder. If indeed I have any.
You hear yourself sigh inwardly.
You could turn yourself in. Get yourself some help.
You dont know that much about that stuff except from what youve seen in the movies but it sounds like you have that personality disorder. What is it called? A split personality?
yeah, thats it, a split personality disorder.
Is that stuff even for real, you ask yourself.
Even as the thought forms you already know the answer.
You shudder.
Then I have to get help. Otherwise the body count will only rise.
You have enough blood on your hands as it is, you tell yourself.
You glance at your watch.
Its late but you cant wait until morning. Anything could happen between now and then.
Making a decision, you get up out of your chair. Grabbing the keys of the beat up Honda your parents had given you for college, you leave your room for the first time in days.
Your destination: The police station.

To Whom it May Concern...Again (An Excerpt From...)

So this is what it has come to. To writing you this letter. This letter, of which, I have no intention of seeing the light of day. This letter, of which, it is my intention to burn after saying what I have to say. And if through some miracle, through some lapse in thought or through some sort of carelessness on my part, your eyes do happen to chance upon this page, keep in mind that it was never my intention for you to read this. And that I am not writing to you but rather to some version of you that I have conjured up in my head. A version of you that will not laugh at what I am about to set out to say. A version of you that will not cringe, will not pity nor feel sorry, regretful or remorseful.
We made the right decision. Even if it was a coup on my part. Even if I did shove it down your throat.
But that is not to say that it has been easy. A depression has descended upon me like a fog. It is a battle even to get out of bed in the morning. But don't feel sorry for me. I will pull through. Today is a good day. In fact, Mo is coming over. He says he knows just what I need. No doubt a night of drunken debauchery. Anonymous women, sloppy kisses in dark corner booths and even darker corners. Probably not the best solution but he thinks he's helping. And you know Mo, when he gets it in his head to do something, he doesn't let up until he has done it. And so i'll give him his chance at bat, his day in court; even though to me the chance of success is minimal, it's just comforting to know that he cares.
Peter too. They've been incredibly understanding through this entire thing. But enough about that. Mo will be here any moment and this is the last thing I would want him to find me writing. I guess I'll get to burning you later. And when I say “you” I mean the letter, not you. Well, I have to run. It's been um...interesting conjuring you up,


As always,


Lloyd.

Aptitude 4 Destruction/ F.A.I.L.U.R.E

i guess this is one of those days where i hate myself. one step forwards, two steps back.
even before "the talk" i was already feeling pretty miserable...
it's happening all over again. the late nights, the hang overs, the fucking "i want a girl to go home with so who should i call?"s...
i thought i was past all of that. i thought i had graduated on to the next one.
apparently not. auntie Helen seems to think that i'm slowly killing myself. and although a lot of her garble was self-righteous and condescending there was still alot merit in her words.
there IS something wrong with me.
i'm not happy. haven't been in a very long time. i'm twenty-three, one month away from twenty-four and ive done absolutely nothing with my life. I dream, i walk, i slip, i fall, i sleep, i cry, i beat myself over the head, i tear at my clothes, i swallow and spit lie after lie trying to convince myself i'm not some sort of failure. that i'm worth a damn. that i can still turn this thing around.
but now i'm not so sure. because every time i seem to make a little head way, something has to happen. its either this or its either that.
i'm starting to feel as if i'm simply destined for destruction. like its encoded in my DNA. like its inescapable...inevitable. like a vampires lust for blood. its evil, its dark, its loathsome...it is all of these things, it is more...and because it lives in me...it is what i am.
is there any hope? who knows. all i know right now is that i haven't slept in 48 hours and i'm friggin tired. i still kinda feel like i might puke all over myself if i lie down for too long but i guess, all things considered, that i just have to risk it...

Nitey.


listening to;
"warning sign" by Cold Play


(U Kno Who U R...)

24 is Not My Lucky Number But Thank You For Your Optimisim (InterLude)

Its been a while since I last did this. Four weeks at the very least. So excuse if I come off as a little rusty...

So wow...its twenty-ten...and everybody's talking about how this year's gonna be the year...
"I'm taking this shit to the next level homes."
Ronnie in a half drunken daze, while swinging his bottle danderously close to my head.
"Less talking and more walking, my nigga. That's how I'M goin to roll this year. So take one last look at my balls, homie, because this boy is about to blow up."
and then he proceeded to unbuckle his belt and pull down his jeans. I stopped him, luckliy, just in time.
"what optimisin.", i thought as I put him on a bajaj, paid the sour smelling dude who I was entrusting to get my boy home safely and watched, hands in my pocket as they headed away from the vuyos that is Kla on a saturday and into the night...

*cue the music (i'm thinking something like "Simple Little Melody" by B.E.P)*

P.S. lemme know if you disagree.


In any case, once they were no more than an insignificant blip on my radar, I pulled out my phone and made 3 different calls to 3 different girls and got 3 different answers. It was the third and final one that was the clincher:
"Youve got fifteen minutes." she said. She sounded tired, a lil drunk and not all that in the mood but who gave a fuck?
"i'll leave the door open."
Hanging up, I pocketed that little bitch, my sleek and sexy MTN Lite (dont hate on me if you werent able to get one), jumped on a bajaj of my own and warp speeded my ass over to buffy's place...I so had this in the bag; hook...line...and sinker...

*Ahem*
So where was I? Oh yeah, So everybody's talking about how this year is gonna be the year...but the year for what exactly? To finally bang that African Woman model? you know, The one with the rich boyfriend and the tendency to look down her nose at any homie less than 6 feet tall and any nigga who still uses a taxi as his main mode of transportation. and Marlin, dont you dare pretend you dont know who i'm talking about.
Or how about the year to finally start that business youve been starting for the past three years but keep making excuses as to why it is nothing more than a good idea that you want to implement somday. Even if it is someday soon. Yes, Boozie, I'm talking to you. A lil less booze might actually help you with that, you know.
My point is this, everyone always enters the new year with all these resolutions, all these goals and all these expectations that only fizzle out by month three; march or there abouts. so my question is this; whats the fucking point? I mean, youre only setting yourself up for disapointment after all.
my solution? That's easy; drink...be merry...have sex...burst someones cherry (even if it IS the neighbor's daughter who's joining senior one next month and still thinks of a rubber as only a scholastic tool) and live like todays the last day of your life...

1:17 am

And NO, I dont actually think that. The truth is, I dont know what I think. My fingers simply got away from my head again. But I guess on some level, though I hate to admit it, I get a kick out of the whole Devil May Care approach to life. No responsibilities, no consequences. Boy, would that be a way to live. Unfortunately, life doesnt work like that. Not unless you wanna be a bum. And believe it or not, I dont wanna be a bum Jane.

I dont wanna be a bum...

And with that 2010 has officially begun...

listening to;
"Get Me Some" by Weezer

The Dark: Chapter Five

"So, are you going to tell me what happened?"
You stare at the man sitting behind the desk. He's short and balding with a pudgy but kind face. Not that well dressed you have come to notice. His practice is not a private one but attached to the campus; the pay cant be all that good.
He stares back at you. His expression is deadpan. Like it always is.
He must be extremely unhappy, was your first opinion of him the first time you stepped into his office. I would be too, you had mused silently, if I had to listen to other people's problems the whole day. When it came to his own problems he must stack books.
This prevail ant thought had led you not to take him all that seriously. Your demeaning attitude had remained persistent through all of your school required sessions. The administration seemed to think there was something wrong with you. Even though you hate to admit it, they were right.
"'What happened?'" you ask, feigning ignorance.
Dr. Patterson gives you a look that tells you that the ignorance act isn't cute anymore.
"Yes," He says, obviously a little exasperated.
"The night of Spencer Elson's party. You've been avoiding it for several sessions now."
You give a moment of pause before you answer.
"I'm only here because I have to be, you know."
"Yes, we've already established that." Dr. Patterson allows, allowing a sigh to escape his lips.
"But we also established that as long as you are here we might as well do something useful with the time that we have together."
You can see the sense in that but to remember that night is to unearth something horrible. And even though you want to get to the bottom of what is happening to you, simply put, you are just too fucking scared. and so to shield yourself, to shield Dr. Patterson who thinks the extent of your problems are your plummeting grades, you decide to take a detour. Little do you know that that is all it is: a detour. All roads in this case lead to the same place.
"I had a dream last night."
Dr. Patterson folds his hands on top of the desk.
"Oh yeah? What about?"
"About a guy in a red jacket." You say.
"What was this guy in your dream doing?" Dr. Patterson asks you.
You take a breath.
"He was playing football. He was using a head, a human head as a ball."
Dr. Patterson seems troubled by this but tells you to go on.
"Theres a whole team of these guys. Guys in red jackets passing the ball, the head, back and forth."
"What about the other team?" Dr. Patterson asks.
"What?"
"The other team. Who's on it?"
"Oh."
You swallow.
"Umm, the person the head belongs to."
"Who else is on the team?"
You shake your head from side to side a couple of times.
" No one else. That's it."
"I see. Is it possible that these people are not playing football at all? That this person without a head is just trying to get their head back and these people in red jackets are trying their best to keep it away from him or her?"
You think about it for a moment. It makes sense. You dont know why you didnt think of that before.
"So do you have any idea who the person without a head is?"
You blink. Swallow hard. swallow fast. You consider saying "no" for a second but this guy is a shrink, of course he'll know that you're lying. You decide to tell the truth.
"It's mine. The head is mine."
Dr. Patterson doesn't seem surprised by this. He nods as if he had expected that very answer.
"So what happens next?"
You lick your lips. The mere memory of the dream makes your hands tremble. Conjuring up the courage you tell him.
"I start to kill them one by one. In horrible, horrifying ways. Soon I'm covered, head to toe, in blood. Until there are only two of them left."
Dr. Patterson doesn't say anything. His silence urges you to go on.
" Then I pick up a a hunting axe thats lying on the ground, it's covered with blood but I wake up before I can reach either of them."
Dr. Patterson does some more nodding. Then making eye contact with you for the first time since you started narrating your dream, he asks you a question.
"What do you think it means?"
You dont have to think, you know. You'd be damned if you told that seedy shrink though.
Maintaining eye contact as best you can you tell him that you dont have a clue.
"Dont have a clue or just dont want to tell me?"
You turn away. Did you really expect anything less?
"I'm here to help you." Dr. Patterson tries to assure you.
"I cant do that, though, unless you let me."
"I dont need your help." You say and make a move to stand up.
"Wait.Why dont you sit back down and we talk about this?"
You pause but only for a second. After a moment you are up and out of your seat.
"Why?" You ask defensively.
"There's nothing for us to talk about. I already told you my stupid dream. What else do you want?"
"For us to talk about the dream."
Dr. Patterson is almost pleading.
"What it means. What it means to you."
You shake your head.
"It means nothing. It was just another dream."
You head for the door.
"Then let me ask you something,"
You stop.
"If it doesn't mean anything, why are you so scared?"
You purse your lips. Consider turning around but quickly change your mind.
Your answer is the slam of the door behind you.