StarDestroyer.Net BBS

For easy reference, I shall first paste down the first chapter:

Waking Up is Hard to Do.

This is declared with a note at the foot of my employer’s four-post bed, written in a five inch tall calligraphic font, the kind that most soccer moms would kill to be able to use. More than a few times I have had to learn what that means the hard way. The first time I wound up getting grazed by a burning hot bullet. After that my employer tried making it easy on me by replacing his favorite revolver with a foot-long Bowie knife. Bad Idea. That thing wound me up getting my arm stitched in the emergency room the rest of that night.

When I first got this job, I thought it would be… easy. Sure, it wasn’t that much pay, but then again, what does a student really need that much money for, right? The ad said: caretaker needed for eccentric recluse. Work Nights. Part time. One Thousand Dollars a Month. I had recently lost my job, and I didn’t want to wind up being one of the Ave. rats again. Something I hate about dealing with tweakers. I would rather skirt death every evening and see my life flash before my eyes before dealing with their drama (actually, let me correct myself- DRAMA… all caps) and animalistic behaviour. Here, instead. I’m prodding a genuine tiger at slumber- a rich lunatic with enough toys to probably burn Scottsdale three times over. But no scary drug habits.

So this is the routine. Every afternoon, usually on the net as I’m doing my homework, I check when the sun is going to set on an ephemeris site. Don’t ask me why, but he insists on being woken up at the stroke of twilight. I swing by my studio apartment, grab a flashlight, a broom handle, and the keys to my Dodge Colt. I hop on the freeway and spend about ten minutes making my way to the city, driving along the north part of central, ignoring the Llama farm and the horse ranch, finally making a left into a little cul-de-sac that hides a palatial mansion.

Right behind a front yard almost completely overgrown with prickly, dry weeds, that has at least two noticeable patches of brown dust. I wander to the front door, turn the key, and wander in. At the very least I have managed to take the better part of his house and clean it up and remove what seemed like decades of cobwebs from his plastic coated furniture. Every now and then a new one shows up… I have to prod the webbing out of my path with the end of the broom handle. I’m still superstitious about spiders, however, so I try and leave them well enough alone.

Making my way down the stairs to the cool, dark cellar, I find a short hall. I have to light a few candles recessed along the walls. Excellent stonework here, it puts a shame to most of the construction you see in the rest of the valley. Then finally I find a fresh oak door, recently replaced from the last time he woke in a sour mood and opened fire with three incendiary rounds. Slowly, carefully, I open the door, careful not to shine my flashlight directly at the bed. The Bowie knife incident also was the one time I made that mistake.

I then take the broom handle and slowly pull back the sheets, poking his foot.

“I WILL RIP YOUR HEART OUT AND MAKE YOU WATCH ITS DYING PULSES!!!” he says as he shoots into an upright seated position for about two seconds, and then flops back onto the bed with a marked thump. I don’t know how he does it, but nine times out of ten he still freezes me in place with this act.

Half nervous, half amused, I shake my head and let out a little snicker. Pulling in my breath I take the broom handle again… and slide the end slowly up his foot.

“FOOLISH MORTAL!!! YOU SHALL PAY FOR THIS WITH YOUR BLOOD!!!” the next thing I notice he is pinning me to the wall by my shoulders… about to bare his teeth when he says. “Oh, hell… sorry about that. Are you alright?”

“Yeah… just need to catch my breath,” I squeak out. The broom handle has finished rolling along the floor. “Anyways, you’re awake now… right?”

“Definitely,” he says and lets go of me. My knees buckle as I regain my balance, having been just dropped by a seven foot tall black man. He shoves a clove in my face, which I gladly put between my lips as he lights it, taking a few breaths, and ashing at the night table. Lighting up his own cigarette (“I smoke them for the taste” so he says… I’m the only one who I remember having a capacity for not getting addicted to anything!) He begins walking towards his own dresser. As I try to make out the smoke rings I just blew in the near pitch dark, his shoes come tapping back at me, a gold business card displayed conspicuously at eye level…
“What’s the errand this time?” I say grabbing the card, shining my flashlight against it to try and read it. I see a wine bottle at the angle I have, but that’s about it.

“Oh, just need a new shipment of my favorite beverage.” He says as he raises a green bottle… swinging it back and forth. “A certain flavor of… Red wine.” He says after taking a generous swig… shaking a bit… and then showing me his flawless grin.

“Any particular vintage?”

“Yeah, I have it listed on the back there… don’t worry if they don’t have the exact vintage, she usually keeps good stuff regardless.”

“Okay… sounds easy enough.”

“For you. My problem is always trying to get her when she’s awake. It’s as if the entire valley is so boring that only the Apocalypse will wake her.”

“Anything else you need help with tonight?”

“No, but, on that subject, as always, thank you for waking me nice and early tonight. You’re a lifesaver. Really”

oh, and someone please kill the clone! thanks

Red, Red Wine

I fishtailed into the gravel driveway so hard that I thought one of the axles was going to fall out as I crunched into second gear coming off the highway. I was always finding places like this under his employ, this one managed to creep up on me with a tiny number on a battered wooden sign. Any doubts that I was in the right place were quickly assailed by that familiar feeling that I had just walked over someone’s grave. I coasted the rest of the way to the front of a cabin, pulled the parking brake, got out, walked to the front door and knocked.

To my surpise the door was almost instantly open, showing an attractive woman who was about five foot nine, red hair down to her waist, and a sideways smirk adorning the right side of her face, and a little bit of the left. She put forth a hand and declared to me in an oddly lilting contralto voice “You are at the house of Selena, how may I do you today young sir?”

I suppressed a gulp but still showed a bit of a gasp… looking her in her blue eyes for a second, then… almost startled, grabbed her hand. “That’s… funny,” I said, “I was told you would be hard to catch awake.”

“And who told you this?”

“Seth.”

“Oh… Qusay. That old moor, of course it’s hard for him to get a hold of me, “ she intoned as her left hand flopped above her right shoulder. She left the door open so I figured I would step inside and shut it for her. “He’s older than dirt, and, I hate to confess, but he kind of creeps me out, you know what I’m saying?”

I kept silent on my employer’s behalf, hoping to keep my demeanor at least mildly professional.

“Oh, and last but not least…” she spoke low into my ear as she put a hand on my shoulder “it’s near impossible to get him drunk. I hate that quality in a man.” Somehow the feeling of her hot breath on my right ear made my heart skip a few beats. “Anyways, if he sent you here he either wants you to get laid, or- and this is the more likely of the two, he wants you to get a shipment of some wine.”

I looked for a long moment at her… dim lighting unable to hide the lovely pink shade of flesh surrounding her generous cleavage held fast by her corset. “I am not… here… to have… sex…” I said, regaining my composure and looking into her eyes again. Her smirk grew to both ears.

“Then to the cellar we go… watch your step, the cat thinks the cellar stairs are a nice place to spend a hot day,” she said leading the way to a door around the back of her house. Making our way down she pulled a string on a dim overhead bulb as I looked around. On my left were bottles labeled “Einstein” and “Brahms” and “Thoreau”, on my right there were more obscure names, one called Vitale, one labeled Vlad, a final bottle towards the end labeled Cain.

“Cain?” I asked

“Nothing much, just something made by an old, old plowsmith.”

“Vamp…”

“Don’t worry about it.” She cut me off “Everything else in this room is assuredly from someone quite thoroughly dead.” She smiled and inhaled… blinking, and putting her hands together, as her gaze swung back and forth along the racks. “Any of them the young sir would like to try personally?”

“Why that would matter I don’t know. Not personally, I’m just here to pick up for Silus. They’re written on the back of this card.” I said holding forth the card with her address on the front.

After a moment of inspecting it she smiled and shook her head “no, Asshole, you can’t have any of that. The rest of them are alright however.” She looked long and carefully at me and said, “are you sure you don’t want to try something?”
I shrugged and looked for a moment along the right racks. Sherry, said the label on one of them. Some kind of joke, because all of the wine on these racks appeared to be red. Harmless enough, however. I pointed at it.

Her smirk grew ear to ear and she inhaled deeply, pulling the bottle out of the rack and closing her eyes. I swear it looked as if she were about to devour me whole. “See, I was saving you for just such a day, and just such a beautiful young man,” she spoke to the bottle; grabbing my ass as she walked up the stairs. “Come up to the parlor and have a seat!” she commanded. On my way up the stairs I gave a black ball of fur a rub before I took a seat on a sofa across from her.

Almost immediately a delicate glass was in my hand…full of the dark, almost purple liquid. Inhaling the scent I almost felt drunk right away. Immediately I took a deep gulp and shook all the way down. “Potent.”

“Yes… try some more… young man,” she said as she slid her bare feet and thighs onto my lap.

I blinked a couple more times before downing the rest. It seemed almost three (or was it four?) bottles later suddenly I was feeling like I wasn’t quite myself. My fingers slid lightly along her left leg as I found my way up her thigh.

“Are you feeling the effects of the drink yet?” she said letting her voice go a bit deeper…

“Depends… am I supposed to have the distinct sensation that I’m a lesbian trapped in a man’s body, and the unmistakable urge to slowly drink about a cup of your blood?” I said as my face slipped into the same smirk that she had. I had to close my eyes and take in a deep breath to regain control of myself.

I heard a deep cackle come from within Selena’s throat. “Yeah… something like that. How’s the afterlife treating you my little leech?”

“Same as always you delicious old witch.” My body said of its own accord. My eyes were wide open when I looked at her, a hint fearful and a hint surprised at the same time. I figured there was no way around this so I looked into her eyes and just let go… “so how long has it been this time?”

“Three years, I never thought I’d find something cute enough, you like this boy?”

A deep chuckle came from deep within my throat, I decided to add my own efforts to it… to the point where Selena actually seemed to recoil… cringing a bit into her side of the chair.

“Definitely love… “, said the alien voice that possessed me “now where are the handcuffs?”

The Church of Cheese and Rice
(of splatter day stains)

I had a covering on me as I woke up. A bit heavy to be a down comforter, but still very soft and inviting… I pulled it towards me and snuggled against it a little longer… the floral scent of red hair keeping me from really rising to question my surroundings at the moment. Instead I let my eyes shut again, using the feel of her soft flesh against mine to block out the sensation that someone was playing the drum part to “Take Five” against my forehead with a ball peen hammer. As my eyes rolled back in my head I had bizarre flashbacks of the night before, including Selena’s hot breath against my ear as she said. “so how do you feel?”

“Used…”

“That’s good I hope.”

“Not, really… bitch” My right eye opened to take view of the clock on the back of the wall, noticing a lovely pair of pink butt cheeks before I shut it again. “Is that A.M. or P.M.?”

“Post Meridian.” She said with a cackle.

“That means I don’t have enough time to do any of that again… myself. Fucking evil predator!”

“Sorry...” She said in a little lilt, then admitted quite honestly quite honestly, ‘”actually… I’m not sorry, I loved every second of that”, and snuggled a little closer to me… giving me a wide, satisfied smile just to tease me more.
“
Is all the wine in the car?”

“Yes.”

“Good, now all I need to do is find whoever is smacking me in the head with a ball peen hammer and beat him with it, and avoid the company of swarthy redheads… “ I said as I crawled out of her bed… looking desperately for my pants… my shirt… making a personal speed record for the task of getting clothed as I put my shoes on and gave her ass a good slap out of pure vengeance.

“Hey!” I looked back at her as she smiled and said, “What did I do right?” she asked. I shrugged and made double time to the Colt with the crate of wine. I couldn’t show up late to the Mansion.

* * *


Thankfully, I showed up a good half hour ahead of dusk. I didn’t have enough time to stop by my house yet, however, so I was stuck with a different wooden implement this time instead of the broom handle. It was a holdover from my years of practicing Kendo, a long, chestnut colored oaken stick in the shape of a sword called a boken. Usually I used it to scare away Mexican thugs and frat boys with a little too much liquid courage in their blood.

Anyhow, I started making my way through a few chapters of a Chuck Palahniuk book when I realized three figures creep out of the horizon. Closing the book and putting it on the hood, I noticed that all three of them were on bicycles. And all three of them were dutifully wearing their helmets. With the chin straps wrapped dutifully in place.

All three of them, as if they had spent hours in their own driveways practicing this, came skittering to a stop in front of me in unison, put their kickstands down, unsnapped the chin straps on their helmets and placed them on the handlebars. All three of them were wearing almost exactly the same suit, the same tie, and the same suit-jacket. Only one group of people that I know of wear suits and ride bikes… with helmets. As if to confirm my fears I read on his lapel a little button that said:

ELDER
Zeke Thornton
Church of Jesus Christ
Of latter day saints


I had the boken calmly on my right shoulder as he extended his right hand and said, in the typical salesman tone, “Hello, how are you doing today?”

“Both satisfied and utterly disturbed, until you came along. Now I’m just disturbed.”

“What’s disturbing about me?”

“Did I say you were disturbing?”

“No, but…”

“I just wasn’t feeling satisfied anymore. Something entertaining about this book.” I said tapping the novel I had been making my way through.

“I have a book you might like to read, it’s called the book of…” he said as he reached into his backpack to retrieve some literature.

“I’ll stop you right there. The answer is no, not interested, unless you want to see some clever paper mache.”

“Why?”

“We’ll start with the fact that I’m not Christian.”

“What, are you some kind of Devil Worshipper?”

Oh great, I let my pentacle show again. “No.”

“Then why are you wearing that?” he said pointing out the offending amulet.

“Protection, from idiots like you.”

“You are aware that the only way to salvation is through Jesus Christ?” he said. This is usually a more aggressive tack than most Mormons take, but I figured my attitude had made him a little sour.

“And who says that?”

“The Holy Bible.”

“Wow, you didn’t even bother to try saying ‘god’ or anything.”

“Well, the Bible is Holy Writ, comes straight from…”

“Listen… it’s been real nice talking to you, but I’m not in the mood for this discussion, so I suggest that you leave these premises immediately.” I said, letting the point of my boken slip forward a bit as I stood up and looked him in the eye.

“Well, that’s alright, we weren’t here to talk either.” He said as he slipped a hand into his jacket, beginning to start into some random tonal chant of scripture as he pulled out a… crossbow?!?!

Instantly I struck one of his ears, and shattered the bones of the hand of the man to his left as it was pulling a gun. The third was waiting for my next move as he was a bit late with drawing his weapon. I feinted, then lunged as he thought he had an opening to draw his gun, and, cutting upwards, hit him in the groin. As he doubled over I shoved a boot into the face of the second man as he tried to recover his gun, knocking a tooth of his out.

“Alright,” I said carefully kneeling, retrieving, and pointing the loose gun at the man doubled over on his own groin, “I don’t know what you’re up to here, but I suggest you drop your weapons and leave this property if you intend on living.” As the third went to retrieve his unconscious friend I said, “and that means his gun too.” Grudgingly he reached into Zeke’s jacket and threw the weapon there into the dust of Seth’s driveway.

“We’re here on a holy mission from god to rid this world of the damned soul you are consorting with in there! Know this, he is pure evil and drinks the blood of the living!!”

“I don’t know what you’re smoking, but please, do watch out, Sheriff Joe comes down hard on even casual drug use and… trespassing.” I said as I saw the colors of dusk spread around their retreat, the other one retrieving two bicycles.

As they dropped out of sight I dropped the gun in disgust, took in a breath and tried to stop my hands from shaking.

A Liquid Diet


When I tried asking what was up with Selena later on that night, All I got from Seth was… silence... Was she possessing me? Or did I just get too much drink in my blood?

He shook his head and pointed out that I had failed to get one of the drinks on his list, in an attempt to change the topic. Unfortunately, for some reason I winced with pain in my temples as I was trying to bring the original topic back, so I answered.

“Oh, she muttered something evil, called you an asshole, said you couldn’t ever sample that.”

“Do you ever forgive? Ah well.”

He tossed another card onto the table, a checklist on a pretty little index card. Apparently all of them were checked off except for one. He had it ubiquitously circled in bright red ink. In that circle was that word. Sherry

* * *


Every now and then Seth will start into one of these really weird rants. Sort of those long monologues that goth kids get into, only a little creepier. It all seemed to have a disturbing pattern, too, spiraling into something that would leave even a shameless lunatic like me with a desire to leave the room. As I pulled sips from green tea that I felt could wake the dead, and he slowly took in deep sips from his goblet of wine, Tonight’s Topic Was:


“Do you know what human flesh tastes like?” He said looking deeply into his own reflection with a dangerous looking grin.


“Uhm, try not to think about things like that in my spare time. “ I said, myself strumming fingers along the outside of the cup, soothing myself with the smell of hot seaweed.


“Pork.” He commented, as he shook a bit from the last sip that he took from his huge goblet, looking at it with a bit of disgust.


“Pork?”


“Yeah, Pork.”


“Consistent with something I heard from a trucker once.” I said, gulping a bit of the hot beverage so it rested warm in my belly.


“Yeah. I hate pork, you know that certain followers of Islam aren’t supposed to eat pork at all?” He continued, sliding a finger along the top of his wine.


“Are you one of those types of Moslems?” I asked… letting my cup slip a bit to the side with fatigue. This job was doing something quite funny to my caffeine tolerance.


“Yeah. Doesn’t stop me however. Sometimes it’s been the only kind of meat I can find at the market,” He snapped… making a sour face at his beverage and taking a gulp. Afterwards he let out a thoroughly throaty “rAaaaah…”


“You must hate yourself for it,” I said, managing my best haughty, philosophical stare.


“You don’t know the half of it. Anyways, I woke up one morning and wondered about something,” a smile grew on his face as he continued to stare at his beverage.


“Really?”


“Yeah. Pigs, they’re omnivores, right? Just like humans?”


“Yeah… and….” I said, this time spilling a bit of hot green tea on the edge of my lap… taking in a deep sip and lowering the level of the tea.


“Well, maybe it’s a matter of diet. So I wonder, what would happen if you found a person that has been eating nothing but vegetable matter for most of their lives…” He said as he drunk in deeply with fervor.


“Well, it wouldn’t have to be most of their lives, just for seven years, so that their cells would all have been fed from the vegetarian, or better yet, vegan diet.” A pause, then ” I don’t even want to know why I’m going along with you in this…” I said, this time shuddering.


“But think about it, if someone were on a vegan diet, they’d taste like cow, or perhaps game.”


I nodded for a moment in sickening acquiescence, trying not to feel my skin crawl. I sneered at him and replied, trying to derail him with realism “But where would you find someone that has that kind of fanatacism towards the whole vegan thing?”


“The Co-Op?”


“No Really.”


“They have political meetings out of there. Politics and religion always make people that dedicated.”


“Crazed”


“Whatever”


“Eeeew, I don’t even want to know how you’re going to find out what they taste like, it’s just too much for me.”


“I don’t know, I was thinking that a car accident with…”


At that point I dropped my cup of tea, literally stunned for about a full minute, not even hearing the sound of the delicate china shatter into dozens of pieces.


“Alright alight, I’ll let you pick something else to talk about. Don’t worry about the glass, just clean it up”


“Alright, the wine. You did say you were on a somewhat strict Moslem diet. Doesn’t that forbid the…”


“… Distillation of grains and grapes, technically, the wine I drink is neither.”


“So you cheat on a purely scriptural basis.”


“Yeah.”


“Goodness, why do so few people take religion seriously. I mean, I take mine seriously. I believe in my Goddess, and she doesn’t ask that much of me.”


“I think you’re full of it.”


“She works in mysterious ways.” I concluded… walking out of the room, casting a final glance at the goblet. Half full.

Anyways, as before, please, do make comments, suggestions, or critiques.
Still only the first few chapters.

Okay, so 40 looks so far and not a single comment? Come on, I don't care if you call it a bucket full of cheeze.

I've never seen such an entertaining bucket full of cheese in my life.

Tom_Aurum wrote:Okay, so 40 looks so far and not a single comment? Come on, I don't care if you call it a bucket full of cheeze.

Oh and all the best fanfics have started off with a bunch of looks and no replies. Trust me. Once a few mroe people post about it the flood gates will open.

darthdavid wrote:

Tom_Aurum wrote:Okay, so 40 looks so far and not a single comment? Come on, I don't care if you call it a bucket full of cheeze.

Oh and all the best fanfics have started off with a bunch of looks and no replies. Trust me. Once a few mroe people post about it the flood gates will open.

*sits and laughs* I've had that not happen to me...

Anyways, it's still quite good. Keep up the good work.

What Lurks on Channel X?


Unlike my freinds, classmates, and acquiantances would have you believe, I am a human being. I eat red meat, I breathe, I sleep, I use the bathroom, and yes, I even burp and fart sometimes. I do not, however, find it a part of my daily pattern to wander directly to the telvision when I arrive at home at the end of the day, have a domestic beer, and watch The Game, or whatever stupid sitcom or reality show is in vogue at the time. I leave such Neanderthalic behavior to my roomate, who I usually wind up dodging out of the way of on my way into my room, and my distractions for the evening.
So one particular evening, coming home after pounding my way through some really irritating advanced stoichiometry, I expected the pattern not to deviate. Stepping in the door, my roomate's overfed cat changed that pattern to the sound of my face hitting the carpet in rather short order.
For about thirty seconds the pure shock of this happening kept my body and face plastered to the ground. As I started to check my skin for rug burn, I heard this voice in my right ear screaming about something.
"Revolution will come whether we plan it or not! It is better that we plan our revolution so we know what to be ready for, instead of suffering under the yoke of fascism! Millions of lives hang in the balance, only your initiative can help save them!"
"What the hell, next we're going to hear about the honor inherent in the proletariat?"
"Something like that". the roomie replied. "I watch this for comic value. Only on public access." He smiled and pulled a great big swig of his beer.
"Frigging communists."
"Actually, anarchists."
"Well, then, communists playing at anarchists."
I was about to make this my segway to fully spring up and get to my room before the crazed woman poisoned my brain any more.
"Take up arms wherever you can so we can destroy the decaying machine before it's too late!" my eyes however, scanned up to the television.. Yeah... too late... for me. Something in those large violet eyes shaded by black braids just locked my gaze with the screen until I couldn't remove my eyes from this poorly taped image of this woman's chiseled facial structure so I just gaped. The varied version of the communist manifesto that she was ranting through was the same as I've always heard it. Revolution this, proletatriat that, anarchy the only true way to utopia. But the passion in her eyes was... unmistakable.
Something about her truly beleived the words that were coming from her mouth. The words coming from her mouth seemed to reach into my very soul by their pure nature. For a good three minutes I had images of bloody wars and public uprisings slide into my consciousness underneath my total fascination with the powerful alto voice delivered from a skinny little five foot frame.
"No... it couldn't be... " I said shaking my head in disbeleif and recollecting myself. But then I looked into her eyes again. And had to remind myself to breathe after a long minute.
I ran into my room with an amused glance from said roomate... breathing heavily over and over again. I don't remember sleeping that night, however, her disturbing narrative of worldwide chaos filled my mind. You know how some people say they beleive in love at first sight? I live in mortal fear of it.

Good chapter.

thank you. however, in a repost with more spaces, so it's more accesible sans headaches.

What Lurks on Channel X?


Unlike my freinds, classmates, and acquiantances would have you believe, I am a human being. I eat red meat, I breathe, I sleep, I use the bathroom, and yes, I even burp and fart sometimes.

I do not, however, find it a part of my daily pattern to wander directly to the telvision when I arrive at home at the end of the day, have a domestic beer, and watch The Game, or whatever stupid sitcom or reality show is in vogue at the time. I leave such Neanderthalic behavior to my roomate, who I usually wind up dodging out of the way of on my way into my room, and my distractions for the evening.

So one particular evening, coming home after pounding my way through some really irritating advanced stoichiometry, I expected the pattern not to deviate. Stepping in the door, my roomate's overfed cat changed that pattern to the sound of my face hitting the carpet in rather short order.

For about thirty seconds the pure shock of this happening kept my body and face plastered to the ground. As I started to check my skin for rug burn, I heard this voice in my right ear screaming about something.

"Revolution will come whether we plan it or not! It is better that we plan our revolution so we know what to be ready for, instead of suffering under the yoke of fascism! Millions of lives hang in the balance, only your initiative can help save them!"

"What the hell, next we're going to hear about the honor inherent in the proletariat?"

"Something like that". the roomie replied. "I watch this for comic value. Only on public access." He smiled and pulled a great big swig of his beer.

"Frigging communists."

"Actually, anarchists."

"Well, then, communists playing at anarchists." I was about to make this my segway to fully spring up and get to my room before the crazed woman poisoned my brain any more.

"Take up arms wherever you can so we can destroy the decaying machine before it's too late!" my eyes however, scanned up to the television.. Yeah... too late... for me. Something in those large violet eyes shaded by black braids just locked my gaze with the screen until I couldn't remove my eyes from this poorly taped image of this woman's chiseled facial structure so I just gaped.

The varied version of the communist manifesto that she was ranting through was the same as I've always heard it. Revolution this, proletatriat that, anarchy the only true way to utopia. But the passion in her eyes was... unmistakable.

Something about her truly beleived the words that were coming from her mouth. The words coming from her mouth seemed to reach into my very soul by their pure nature. For a good three minutes I had images of bloody wars and public uprisings slide into my consciousness underneath my total fascination with the powerful alto voice delivered from a skinny little five foot frame.

"Cream fried bullshit... " I said shaking my head in disbeleif and recollecting myself. But then I looked into her eyes again. And had to remind myself to breathe after a long minute.

I ran into my room with an amused glance from said roomate... breathing heavily over and over again. I don't remember sleeping that night, however, her disturbing narrative of worldwide chaos filled my mind.

You know how some people say they beleive in love at first sight? I live in mortal fear of it.

Ohh.... nice. Keep going.