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fireflyreaper
27 February 2008 @ 07:19 pm
    I will not add salt to a wound
  especially one I did not mean to cut

       When something needs to be said it should be voiced, not avoided
     let's talk about this and stop dancing around
      
 
 
fireflyreaper
03 June 2007 @ 05:50 pm
Believe me when I say
   I am afraid

I am afraid of loud noises
I am afraid of bugs
I am afraid of others dying without me

I am afraid of strangers
I am afraid of people
I am afraid of humanity
    and their secrets
    the whole goddamn race

I am afraid of touching
I am afraid of being touched

I am afraid of wanting
    longing
    feeling
I am afraid of emotions at all


I am afraid Im not what I seem
I am afraid Im exactly what they see
I am afraid of being seen
     of being judged.
     of being laughed at
    spoken of
I am afraid of what others think
I am afraid of my body
      my thoughts
      myself

I am afraid of being silent
I am afraid of being heard

believe me 
      I am afraid.
Tags: ,
 
 
Current Location: Home
Current Mood: weirdweird
Current Music: Silence
 
 
fireflyreaper
12 May 2007 @ 10:26 am

      It's self explanitory. Forgive the shitty descriptions. 

     The creature had been cornered, both of them hidden deep within the moving shadows of the City. The first had his back arched forward, body crouched, tense and pressed hard against the black brick surrounding him. Through the darkness, his body appeared twisted and strained, veins visibly snaking along his pale wrists, though the air around him exuded calm. His hands, slightly illuminated, were like spiders, nails dug deep into the clay, taut and ready to strike. Ragged black hair fell over his face, drowning every feature but his eyes, the irises invisible behind black pupils. They drew in everything around, deep pools of madness, spite and despair.

            He spoke, words resounding deep within the labyrinth, piercing the other, whose shadowed eyes animated in anger as he stood erect against the creature before him. Neither moved, a silent battle raging with their eyes, both struggling for the advantage. Then a small light of realization hit the creature, eyes looking past the man before him, a wide smile giving away his discovery. It took the other only a moment to understand, yet he was too slow. Darting quickly past the hero, the monster ran to the opposite wall. Catching the two children in his spider-like hands, he held them fast by their hair, laughing as small forms writhing beneath his grasp. He spoke again, voice livid in arrogance, and held up the figures in triumph, all three silhouetted against the light.

            “Let them go,” the man breathed, face blank as his mind screamed.

            The monster simply smiled, holding his winnings higher. Though he said nothing, the message was painfully clear. The man would not move, rooted to the spot in disbelief and anger. The sick smile widened, knowing his advantage was greater, and he laughed, voice like daggers, as he knew he had won.

            “I always knew you were soft.” The creature’s voice was rough, eyes piercing the man he once called his friend. Dropping one of the children, his pale hands were illuminated as he dug his nails into the other’s exposed back. She screamed, the sound grotesquely animalistic, her pain removing all ability to beg for mercy. As the hand dug deeper into the flesh, black light bled into her frail body, her body arching to avoid the pain while her cries grew ever louder. He laughed again, form tensed in exhilaration as he watched her squirm. Throwing her to the ground, she thrashed upon the pavement, clawing, nails digging into the soft flesh in desperation, still unable to speak.

            The other looked on in horror, rooted to the spot as he watched her, disbelieving. The monster took him by the throat, stroking the white skin before squeezing, watching him choke. The boy’s eyes were open as he tore frantically at the hands that ripped into his skin, spiders to prey. With a laugh, the monster dug his hands deeper into the boy, letting the same black light seep into his neck.

            Releasing him, the monster just turned away, not bother to watch the form as it joined the other on the pavement. And there was silence, but for the children’s screams.

 
 
Current Location: The 1920's
Current Mood: cynicalcynical
Current Music: Silence
 
 
fireflyreaper
11 May 2007 @ 07:14 pm
Im sorry it's been so long since my last update, I wrote this a while ago before the homwork crunch began. Im sorry it's so short, but im still working with ideas for the next segment. And, like always, this is subject to change. 

*

           

            Kneeling besides the cadaver, Murder began to weave. Through examination, she could see that it had been badly torn, blood now cold and stagnant in the girl’s veins. A lung was ripped, bones shattered, small fragments punctured into the thin membrane of her heart. And the light reached out, calling wordlessly to the reaper, desperate to repair its vessel and master.  

            The process was long and arduous, difficult because of the damage. Murder let her fingers weave her light into each crevice of the body, beginning with the damaged heart.  She drew out the shattered bones, watching in silent joy as they fused back, wrapped together by her own red light. The lungs were simple enough, the film quickly mending beneath her touch. The bullets were gradually removed; difficult due to their positions, yet one by one the twisted masses were extracted. Their wounds closed slowly, but it was impossible to remove the scars. As she watched, each ligament and tear was slowly twisted and repaired, the green light softly becoming a deep scarlet. The blood drew up, becoming permanent designs all along the girl’s body, curling like smoke, entwined now within the flesh. The liquid snaked itself upon the scalp, a halo of deep color, hair long ago shriveled and dead upon the pavement.

            With a last heave, Murder tore her light away, the body finally repaired.

            And the girl began to breathe.

 
 
Current Location: In the Dark
Current Mood: restlessrestless
Current Music: Fall from Grace from "A Map of the World"
 
 
fireflyreaper
05 May 2007 @ 10:45 am

        A cadaver rots in an alleyway, unmoving and pale, deep within the confines of a city, reeking of blood and smoke. The lips are slightly parted, eyes half closed, chest deflated and still. Halos of ruby red liquid circle the head, giving the pure white skin an almost ethereal glow. Trickling down and pooling around the abdomen, it accentuates the three bullet holes drilled into the stomach, wounds obvious upon the uncovered flesh. The body is askew, one leg seemingly broken, the head twisted towards the pavement. Arms are flung out sideways, hands clenched around invisible bars.

            The soft footsteps approach as snow begins to fall, a gossamer film of white covering the broken body. Lifeless eyes stare at them, those of the dead, the intruder’s feet hardly touching the ground as they advance. A sad expression consumes her, an otherwise blank face seeming nearly emotional and human. Her lips are pursed in nervousness, mind rapidly reviewing the consequences of her next actions.

            She had watched silently from the rooftop as the scene played out, had witnessed everything, as the puppets moved on their own, strings of fate barely attached, the star playing out her destiny. Their movements were deliberate, like a dance, as shadow-hidden hands fired from their shadow-covered pistols round after round of hissing black bullets. The sporadic motions rippled through invisible bodies, turning the darkness into a sea of movement and noise. She had been moving, breathing labored, as the first of three bit through her stomach, drenching the ground in her own blood and tears. Her hand subconsciously covered the area, body tipping towards the wall beside her, dark stains left on the brick as her feet weakened.

Oh yes, it was a beautiful dance she led, full of passion as the soul and body began to blur, cueing the unseen spectator to begin her work. As another bullet ripped through the girl’s lung, the reluctant unweaving of the human had already begun. The men now stood around her, laughing as she fell onto her back. A hand gripped her neck, at first caressing then dragging her along the pavement towards his face. She tried to wince, reactions gone in a wash of red and hurt. He said nothing, foul breath near her bringing tears to her eyes. Setting the gun to her center, he pulled the trigger, the sound of splintering bone muting her final breath as the last thread was pulled from her memory.

The unweaving is done, Murder has finished her task. Why, then, did she hesitate? The girl is dead and gone; yet, the job was faulty and uneven due to the circumstances. Green Light is still entwined within the flesh, unmistakable to Murder’s inhuman eyes.

 She watches it, three twisted strands curling like smoke along the body. They fumble around, alone, each writhing against the cold and death encasing them. Once again her mind strays for an answer, inner conflict raging beneath the calm of her face. There could be a way, another answer – There is. The Light… But the consequences would be enormous, the ripple even larger…yet she knew there was a way. There had to be. To save just one life…

The unintelligible emotions of the Reaper twisted within her – new, accidental, unwanted. But as she watched the dying light dance beneath the skin and snow, Pieces of a solution tied themselves together within Murder’s mind.

Before letting sanity recover, her own light flared, a deep scarlet, as her plan was put into motion.

 

*

 

            The boy was up on the rafters, coarse brown hair, as always, falling over his eyes, a single plait of hair resting itself on his shoulder. His eyes were closed, hands crossed over his chest. His pale skin stood out among the many beams, no breath coming from his body in the dry cold about him. His jacket hung limp at his side, everything about him still. Light illuminated his form through a hole in the roof, the old wood creaking with the strain of years, yet the sky above him was gray, clouds thick with water. A snowflake landed softly on his pale red lips, melting slowly into water through the muted heat of his body. More began to fall, the air muffled with the tiny white stars.  

            His eyes opened effortlessly, unfocused up towards the snow. They were icily emotionless and unreadable, one eye yellow, the other green. Nothing moved, darkness of dusk blurring the floating snow into a wash of moving white. He stayed that way for a long time, hardly blinking as he watched the light fade even through the clouds. A sigh, so small as to be nearly unheard, broke through his lips. But he remained unmoving for only a moment longer before his body jolted up, attention focused on the floor below him. A match was struck, the tiny flame bathing the broken building in a yellowish-orange light.

            “We’re back,”

            “We found you something, Rotten!” 

            Beneath the boy, two figures stood. One shifted impatiently in her shoes, jumping, childlike, around as she smiled up at her friend. Her face was round, a small nose accentuating cherubic lips. She looked young, not over 14, with pink hair and livid green eyes. A baby-doll dress and Mary Jane shoes supported this look, along with a red headband. On her dress, the word “Apple” was printed in small letters, a matching image decorating her right shoulder. In her hands she held the candle, defending it against the chill of the night and snow.

            The other simply stared into space, looking bored as his smaller companion jumped in her shoes with excitement. Long white hair flowed down his back, hiding his eyes and face. Beneath this mane, however, deep yellow eyes were accented by a small mouth and overly pierced ears. In this boy’s pocket, a rusty chain dangled nearly to the floor, tinkling along to the slight movements of his body. On his body he wore a simple white t-shirt, overly-large dark baggy pants hanging over ratty sneakers. On his arm, the word “Cake,” was marked, hidden beneath a black armband.

            The one above them, Rotten, said nothing, jumping down effortlessly and almost smiling as the younger hugged him around the middle. He looked down at her, putting a protective hand atop her head.

            “Show him, Cake” She said, setting the candle down gently on the floor. Running back, she stood at the white-haired boy’s side, excited. She giggled, craning her neck to see what she already knew was there.

            A small, rusty blade was centered in Cake’s palm, the metal worn down by many years. The blade was made of steel, the hilt, polished copper. It was curved, small enough to be easily hidden. Rotten took it, caressing it between his fingers, face unreadable in the dim yellow light. Apple smiled, knowing he was pleased.

           

            Apple had fallen asleep resting against the far wall, small body covered in a thin blanket and undershirt. Cake, too, was there, breathing shallow alongside his sister. The flame had died out long ago, helping faint shadows fill the silence. The snow had stopped as well, leaving only a blanket of cold behind. In the darkness, Rotten examined his gift, face nearly expressive in his concentration. Though rust and time had dulled it, he felt up the blade, hands and eyes searching. He was looking for something, though he didn’t know what. The wisdom of years had told him to trust his instincts, and they were calling to him now. At last he stopped, mind focused on what was before him. A name was engraved into the handle, so worn as to be almost unnoticeable. The letters were outlined in faded green light, the strands barely moving. From Samantha was all it said.

 
 
 
fireflyreaper
02 May 2007 @ 07:09 am
God, I dreamed there was an angel
Who could hear me through the wall
As I cried out-like, in Latin
"This is so not life at all
Help me out-out-of this nightmare"
Then I heard her silver call-
She said: "Just give it time, kid
I come to one and all"

She said: "Give me that hand, please
And the itch you can't control
Let me teach you how to handle
All the sadness in your soul
Oh, we'll work that silver magic
Then we'll aim it at the wall"
She said: "Love may make you blind kid-
But I wouldn't mind at all"

It's the bitch of living
(Bitch, just a bitch)
With nothing but your hand
(Just a bitch, yeah)
Just the bitch of living
As someone you can't stand

See, each night, it's like fantastic-
Tossing, turning, without rest
'Cause my days at the piano
With my teacher and her breasts;
And the music's like the one thing
I can even get at all
And those breasts!
I mean, God, please
Just let those apples fall


   "The Bitch of Living" from Spring Awakening. Yes, I am a theatre junkie, but it's better than snorting pixie stix. 

    I have always thought through life in a logical manner. So I may not be comepleatly sane....Hahaha, who is? Just thought I type in something intelligable before I can consider this journal active so...yeah.
 
 
Current Location: Germany, 1891
Current Mood: amusedamused
Current Music: The bitch of living from Spring awakening
 
 
fireflyreaper
27 April 2007 @ 08:42 pm

Ok, so here is the rough draft of the opening of the "Relax files"

 

            A cadaver rots in an alleyway, unmoving and pale, deep within the confines of a city, reeking of blood and smoke. The lips are slightly parted, eyes half closed, chest deflated and still. Halos of ruby red liquid circle the head, giving the pure white skin an almost ethereal glow. Trickling down and pooling around the abdomen, it accentuates the three bullet holes drilled into the stomach, wounds obvious upon the uncovered flesh. The body is askew, one leg seemingly broken, the head twisted towards the pavement. Arms are flung out sideways, hands clenched around invisible bars.

            The soft footsteps approach as snow begins to fall, a gossamer film of white covering the broken body. Lifeless eyes stare at them, those of the dead, the intruder’s feet hardly touching the ground as they advance. A sad expression consumes her, an otherwise blank face seeming nearly emotional and human. Her lips are pursed in nervousness, mind rapidly reviewing the consequences of her next actions.

            She had watched silently from the rooftop as the scene played out, had witnessed everything, as the puppets moved on their own, strings of fate barely attached, the star playing out her destiny. Their movements were deliberate, like a dance, as shadow-hidden hands fired from their shadow-covered pistols round after round of hissing black bullets. The sporadic motions rippled through invisible bodies, turning the darkness into a sea of movement and noise. She had been moving, breathing labored, as the first of three bit through her stomach, drenching the ground in her own blood and tears. Her hand subconsciously covered the area, body tipping towards the wall beside her, dark stains left on the brick as her feet weakened.

Oh yes, it was a beautiful dance she led, full of passion as the soul and body began to blur, cueing the unseen spectator to begin her work. As another bullet ripped through the girl’s lung, the reluctant unweaving of the human had already begun. The men now stood around her, laughing as she fell onto her back. A hand gripped her neck, at first caressing then dragging her along the pavement towards his face. She tried to wince, reactions gone in a wash of red and hurt. He said nothing, foul breath near her face bringing tears to her eyes. Setting the gun to her center, he pulled the trigger, the sound of splintering bone muting her final breath as the last thread was pulled from her memory.

The unweaving was done, Murder has finished her task. Why, then, did she hesitate? The girl is dead and gone; yet, the job was faulty uneven due to the circumstances. Light is still entwined within the flesh, unmistakable to Murder’s inhuman eyes.

 

 
 
Current Location: Far away
Current Mood: creativecreative
Current Music: Both Hands by Ani Difranco