From: dreystarke@aol.com (DreyStarke)
Date: 20 Mar 2002 00:18:03 EST
Drey had reached the pinnacle of the cycle, where his brothers had told him only the soul will remain sullied. The noble often wondered whether or not he had a soul to begin with, but as each day passed, and as each dawning sun slept, he became more apt to himself. He had finally found himself, the inner being that would creep up on him in the wretched darkness and bind him to his eternal life--it was his contract
to the devil. The devil in himself.
Day by day, Drey would peer into his broken mirror in his lavatory when he awoke, and never find himself in his eyes. He only saw black--and then deeper in, black. That was his vision; all was black--considering trees, suns, moons, anything that provided the natural bliss he seeked but never could find. He had been corrupted.
But how do you look back? You cannot rescind what has been sacrificed. He's butchered cities, colonies, long lost tribes--exacted in their blood, but yet, distantly, far down in the bitterness of his funereal heart, lies the source that keeps him maintained. The way a tree reaches down under the soil to find what it needs to keep itself alive, only he can't reach it--it must be supplied for him.
(TBC)
The Devil in Himself
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From: dreystarke@aol.com (DreyStarke)
Date: 01 Apr 2002 23:33:01 EST
The doctor peered into the white, seemingly vacant room--all except the figure balled up in the corner with his arms fastened over his pulled up legs. "So, whats wrong with him?" Curiously, seeing nothing too abnormal except for perhaps a man too silent.
"Well, Joe, you know Rhydin. We got every nutbag in the world here--literally. Dragons that think they're elves, demons that cry about being too scary for people to look at. I just wish we had some normal patients, like guys that just talk to themselves. This guy. . . Well, this guy thinks he is a vampire."
"A vampire, huh?" He looked from Mac, to the figurine again through the elliptical window.
"Yeah, a real nut. You should probably wear garlic when you go in there."
Joe rolled his eyes, reset his spectacles and promptly moved through the padded door. As he neared the crouched man, he slowed his walk until he paused directly in front of him, where upon he kneeled. Licking his thumb and rummaging through the small stack of papers on his clipboard, "Uh, Drey, uh, Stark-E. Is that you?"
Drey remained silent.
"Uh, Mr. Stark-E." Joe cleared his throat, moving closer, "Mr. Stark-E."
"It is Stark. StarKUH." Drey blurted tartly, not bothering to look up.
"So, you think you're a vampire, huh?" The doctor inspected him accordingly for any likely signs.
"Leave me alone."
"This is part of the procedure. You're going to have to bear with me."
"I didn't check in to be badgered."
"You can leave any time you want."
"Dumb pauper." Drey was always arrogant under these circumstances, thus he didn't prove otherwise even in the daintiest of places.
"What?" The doctor blinked, mishearing him.
"Come closer." Drey looked up, but only slightly to allow his eyes to look at that circular window, and see the doctor's assistant watching. The noble hid a small grin.
The doctor furrowed his brows, kneading the bridge of his nose together, and then, with a helpless shrug, he stepped closer.
"No no, even closer, doctor. I have to tell you something." Drey's voice was becoming almost hypnotic, to the point where the doctor's full intent was to only be a whisker's distance away.
The noble leaned toward the doctor, and shared with him his secret.
"Mac, call an ambulence, please." Joe came out, looking as if he was just scratching the side of his head, where his hand just stopped.
"Why? The looney hurt himself?" Snickering, Mac turned to look at the doctor.
"What?" Not able to hear him, the doctor accidentally dropped his ear to the ground.
Mac gasped.
Date: 01 Apr 2002 23:33:01 EST
The doctor peered into the white, seemingly vacant room--all except the figure balled up in the corner with his arms fastened over his pulled up legs. "So, whats wrong with him?" Curiously, seeing nothing too abnormal except for perhaps a man too silent.
"Well, Joe, you know Rhydin. We got every nutbag in the world here--literally. Dragons that think they're elves, demons that cry about being too scary for people to look at. I just wish we had some normal patients, like guys that just talk to themselves. This guy. . . Well, this guy thinks he is a vampire."
"A vampire, huh?" He looked from Mac, to the figurine again through the elliptical window.
"Yeah, a real nut. You should probably wear garlic when you go in there."
Joe rolled his eyes, reset his spectacles and promptly moved through the padded door. As he neared the crouched man, he slowed his walk until he paused directly in front of him, where upon he kneeled. Licking his thumb and rummaging through the small stack of papers on his clipboard, "Uh, Drey, uh, Stark-E. Is that you?"
Drey remained silent.
"Uh, Mr. Stark-E." Joe cleared his throat, moving closer, "Mr. Stark-E."
"It is Stark. StarKUH." Drey blurted tartly, not bothering to look up.
"So, you think you're a vampire, huh?" The doctor inspected him accordingly for any likely signs.
"Leave me alone."
"This is part of the procedure. You're going to have to bear with me."
"I didn't check in to be badgered."
"You can leave any time you want."
"Dumb pauper." Drey was always arrogant under these circumstances, thus he didn't prove otherwise even in the daintiest of places.
"What?" The doctor blinked, mishearing him.
"Come closer." Drey looked up, but only slightly to allow his eyes to look at that circular window, and see the doctor's assistant watching. The noble hid a small grin.
The doctor furrowed his brows, kneading the bridge of his nose together, and then, with a helpless shrug, he stepped closer.
"No no, even closer, doctor. I have to tell you something." Drey's voice was becoming almost hypnotic, to the point where the doctor's full intent was to only be a whisker's distance away.
The noble leaned toward the doctor, and shared with him his secret.
"Mac, call an ambulence, please." Joe came out, looking as if he was just scratching the side of his head, where his hand just stopped.
"Why? The looney hurt himself?" Snickering, Mac turned to look at the doctor.
"What?" Not able to hear him, the doctor accidentally dropped his ear to the ground.
Mac gasped.
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From: dreystarke@aol.com (DreyStarke)
Date: 02 Apr 2002 23:33:17 EST
The Whimpering
The Mother's crypt whimpered at the night's lashing.
The moon was glum tonight, and the darkness a nibble away from devouring. I awakened to my own beating heart--it was odd, for when I put my complete perception to it, the rhythm of my heart was synchronized with the grandfather clock that straddled my rocking chair. My skin was dry where my eyes teared from the close brewing fire, and hands calloused from holding the oaken arms of my chair for so long. I felt cold; it was a bitterness I couldn't
shake.
The billowing fire ceased, and the hollow chimney howled it's sorrow, spitting the last of it's haze into the air only until it wholly expired. That was the initiative--the beginning of it all. The rest--Well, it was condescending. If the fire went out, then surely the lanterns would as well--then, of course, the ascending nausea that partaked with the clutter of noises. The walls moaned against the encrypting shadows. My tea pot began bellowing it's
narcissism in soprano on the stove. The house was tenderizing my sanity, and my sanity was quickly running out.
Then, I ran as my sanity did; only I found shelter in my basement, under the adobe floors and beneath the ravenous establishment that I proclaimed my shelter for dwelling. It is too difficult to call my home, I assure you. I had a secluded bedroom under my house--the incidents above were ritual, and I had properly readied myself for the likes.
The Mother's crypt whimpered at the night's lashing.
I woke up--though, I couldn't tell if it was night time or day, just that something (or a lot of things) was crying above me. Rubbing my eyes thoroughly, I stood with my eyes tearing, heading toward the trap door that led me here. It wouldn't budge.
Of all the things that came to mind that would sabotage my plans, this never entered it. I cringed at my oversight--what stupidity! Something must have been blocking it, and when I stopped thinking--yes, I think loud--I swore I could hear something hissing behind it. As soon as I realized it, something (perhaps the same thing) started to thud against the roof above me. I swallowed my ears.
Then the thudding became groaning, and the groaning, whimpering, the whimpering whining, and the. . . the. . . the house was alive! Expressing its petulant complaints! And I couldn't take it. I began to cradle my head in my hands, tossing and turning to rid myself of this nonsense that surrounded me--and I yelped. No, not a yelp, a roar--no--a shriek! And then, after the fervent echoing of my shout ceased, everything else did with it. I was too
scared to open the door, to reveal the madness that stood over me.
Hence, instead of going up, I went down--the option may have been grim, but I was infected with panic. I discovered myself deeper into my mansion, to where I don't even think you could call it a piece of it; I think my elders called it a catacomb, but it made no difference. I sat down, tiredly, against the concrete block walls, and there I felt even more nestled than the bed--I fell asleep.
The Mother's crypt whimpered at the night's lashing.
I startled awake, and when I went to touch my eyes, I found I couldn't. I was stuck in shackles, chained to the wall, a prisoner to my own residence. When I finally could open my eyes, I saw my vision's echo; bones.
Date: 02 Apr 2002 23:33:17 EST
The Whimpering
The Mother's crypt whimpered at the night's lashing.
The moon was glum tonight, and the darkness a nibble away from devouring. I awakened to my own beating heart--it was odd, for when I put my complete perception to it, the rhythm of my heart was synchronized with the grandfather clock that straddled my rocking chair. My skin was dry where my eyes teared from the close brewing fire, and hands calloused from holding the oaken arms of my chair for so long. I felt cold; it was a bitterness I couldn't
shake.
The billowing fire ceased, and the hollow chimney howled it's sorrow, spitting the last of it's haze into the air only until it wholly expired. That was the initiative--the beginning of it all. The rest--Well, it was condescending. If the fire went out, then surely the lanterns would as well--then, of course, the ascending nausea that partaked with the clutter of noises. The walls moaned against the encrypting shadows. My tea pot began bellowing it's
narcissism in soprano on the stove. The house was tenderizing my sanity, and my sanity was quickly running out.
Then, I ran as my sanity did; only I found shelter in my basement, under the adobe floors and beneath the ravenous establishment that I proclaimed my shelter for dwelling. It is too difficult to call my home, I assure you. I had a secluded bedroom under my house--the incidents above were ritual, and I had properly readied myself for the likes.
The Mother's crypt whimpered at the night's lashing.
I woke up--though, I couldn't tell if it was night time or day, just that something (or a lot of things) was crying above me. Rubbing my eyes thoroughly, I stood with my eyes tearing, heading toward the trap door that led me here. It wouldn't budge.
Of all the things that came to mind that would sabotage my plans, this never entered it. I cringed at my oversight--what stupidity! Something must have been blocking it, and when I stopped thinking--yes, I think loud--I swore I could hear something hissing behind it. As soon as I realized it, something (perhaps the same thing) started to thud against the roof above me. I swallowed my ears.
Then the thudding became groaning, and the groaning, whimpering, the whimpering whining, and the. . . the. . . the house was alive! Expressing its petulant complaints! And I couldn't take it. I began to cradle my head in my hands, tossing and turning to rid myself of this nonsense that surrounded me--and I yelped. No, not a yelp, a roar--no--a shriek! And then, after the fervent echoing of my shout ceased, everything else did with it. I was too
scared to open the door, to reveal the madness that stood over me.
Hence, instead of going up, I went down--the option may have been grim, but I was infected with panic. I discovered myself deeper into my mansion, to where I don't even think you could call it a piece of it; I think my elders called it a catacomb, but it made no difference. I sat down, tiredly, against the concrete block walls, and there I felt even more nestled than the bed--I fell asleep.
The Mother's crypt whimpered at the night's lashing.
I startled awake, and when I went to touch my eyes, I found I couldn't. I was stuck in shackles, chained to the wall, a prisoner to my own residence. When I finally could open my eyes, I saw my vision's echo; bones.