srsizzy

Hmm, Jimmy thought to himself. This place seems rather silent. Quiet...almost too quiet for a jury deciding the verdict on a trial. Jimmy suspisciously pondered on who must have already decided their position on the trial. A small idea edged at the back of his mind; he thought of what would happen if the tobacco company started buying off jurors. Sure, it was entirely illegal, but some of these people looked cheap enough to be suseptible. But who was the most likely? Surely whoever it was that seemed the most for the defense, or maybe the ones who spoke the least. Jimmy decided that the most likely to be bought off was this Natasha Allan character. Perhaps someone was even being bought off by the plantiff...Jimmy realized his paranoia was setting in. He had to get a hold of himself. Despite that, during one of the brief breaks in the meeting, Jimmy walked up to the jury forman, and talked to him alone. "I don't think this Ms. Allan is a very straight character. She seems to have made up her mind too early." OOC, randomness/suspicion calls for NightFae (Natasha Allan)

"Well...that was somewhat depressing," Jimmy said, sipping at a cup of coffee. "Excellent use of ethos...or is it pathos? I don't remember, I just know it from high school." "Yes, very sad," the jury forman said, blankly staring with his blind eyes, but still somehow writing notes on the board with his back to them. He quickly turned around, and despite his handicap, looked each of them in the eye. "Well, so we know the story of Mr. Wood..." "However true it may have been," Millie Dupree said, sadly looking at the wall and meeting no one's gaze. "Yes...of course." The forman scribbled a few more notes on the board, and sat before them, opening the table to discussion. "You know, I actually have to agree. He went on and on about how there was no way he could quit, it seems maybe this lawsuit could have been made up before he died. How did they even procure such a tape? For all we know, he said all that to assure his wife a couple million dollars." Jimmy looked around the table, noting the jurors who hadn't talked much. He felt a strange suspiscion that some of them already had their minds made up. OOC: In this case, what is lynching? Is it kicking a person off the jury?

Wow, it's totally my fault that the forman was writing on the chalk board. I forgot he was blind...any way to solve this?

Wyv, in accordence to what you said about "Is it Love?", I actually put it in my school literary magazine for Valentines day, and the purpose was to hint at the fact that the guy was sort of stalking her, and she didn't really even know him. It was kind of supposed to be creepy, and it was anonymous so the point of "this note is not for you" was a hint that the note was something left on the ground, and not really to a specific person, but to any person who thought it was for them. Besides clearing up that, thanks for the comments. It's much appreciated. Most of this has been shown to my school, but as anonymous, so I don't really get a lot of comments or anything.

"Hey, I'd suggest listening to the trial. The man was married, so I don't think he was a kid. I agree, he could have quit smoking, but at the same time: why do they even sell this product?" Jimmy glared at Natasha. "I mean, what's the point in selling death to the world, I think there should be more important things than money...you know, like life and all." Jimmy looked up in time to see Herman scribbling both points on the board. "Well, yes, I see Mr. Thompson, Mr. Peterson and Ms. Allan. Thank you for your points. Maybe if--" "Wait, wait, I'm not done," Jimmy cut the man off. "We're all in enough bad shape as it is, the government is constantly finding new ways to suck the money that they print out of us, all in ways that are detrimental to human lives. This trial could be the first step in changing that. Don't any of you see that?" Jimmy was surprised to see himself so caught up in the trial now. He was mostly uninterested before, but his paranoid thinking was catching up with him. "Todd once told me--" "Who's Todd?" Shine Royce said, and everyone gave Jimmy a curious look. "Uhm...no one. Never mind. I'm done." He nervously looked around at their curious gazes, and then down at his own shoes. Now they know I'm crazy, I know they know I'm crazy.

Just some of what I've written in the past few months. I've become more interested in poetry more recently. Any comments or critisisms are appreciated. The World's Colors Often I ponder on the colors of the world Differing from eye to eye Some see them dull, some vibrantly What are the shades of the sky? Purple, pink, or ocean blue Those who see the same are very few When no one sees the world the same No single color can be true The same applies to all our thoughts Of the sound of silence or the shapes of clouds The ability to choose a choice Is something everyone’s allowed Is it Love? If you’re leaving notes at their door Is it love? If you can’t think anymore Is it love? If they are in your dreams Is it love? When life isn’t what it seems is it love? When you’re hiding right outside their window Watching their silent sleep, and you know It isn’t right Is it love? Or is it something more? Something that you can’t ignore Is real If you’re afraid This note is not for you So lover, don’t fear There’s nothing I won’t do For love Because I know it is love You pass me by with a smile Is it love? You sit across the room Is it love? You ignore me when I look at you Is it love? A silent love must be a true love You must love me like I know you do The wanting and the lust It's there for you too It must be It must be love If you don’t love me This note is not for you Belief To play in the Garden of Eden, and shoot of Cupid’s bow are things that we can’t do. They say these things aren’t true. If we insist, they will say no, despite our constant pleading. “To believe in myth is to have a child’s mind, a child’s hopes and dreams,” or so it has been deemed. If you try to, you will find nothing’s more false than this. Love Past The happiest of endings Still accompanied with tearings and rendings Of a forlorn, once-loved heart We are placed too far apart Walls of distance will snip our threads Days of past will flee our heads Promises of together times Waiting for telephone chimes We may say that we are trying Memories of each other dying Walls of distance between our beds Our love long passed will flee our heads The World is... A turncoat easily turned against us so fast, we’re snapped back No chance quick death In a studded coat half clipped buckles he’s tall callused knuckles don’t stare makes you scared A long drag dragged back by a smokey slipstream silent brain cells scream Cancer’s coming A long barred jail can’t leave whisper and a wispy wail pull away trapped again Don’t take the right road the left ain’t always wrong its way may be hard its way is always long A changed mind can’t easily change back when White ain’t White Black is still Black Very cold so wear a coat be a personality bold be young in body but old in soul An ending story can't and don't sleep sound hear with your sight see with your sound turn back around We’re still on solid ground Dark Dreams Heavy steps through forest, feet crunching on unseen earth. Blurry seemingly familiar trees pass by, reminiscences of false memories composed of garbled thoughts. Not one doubt of false-reality, though the reality is untrue. No way to leave, forced into the possible future, but probable past. Many voices, thought but unheard, their meaning is there but the meaning can’t be deciphered. They hide in thick shadows of imagined mists, their forms are hidden behind a veil of shut eyes. Once eyes try to open and see the images flicker to nothing, but as they remain closed they still cannot see. Frightened feelings of something there, but not seen, again, but felt. Oh so scared, the feeling is there, run and hide with unreal feet, dash through ghostly trees to a hiding place. No way to hide from a feeling, only from a touch, standing behind the wall cannot hide one from its omnipotent sight how could one run from something in one’s mind, something that is not there. So what to do, run to them, the hidden voice-like faces in the mists of shadow. No way to run now, the hunting thought is upon, no way to get to there, they just seem to be further away. Each false-step throws the stepper back, stepper to the stalker, the imaginative hunter waiting with haunting jaws. The end of this mystic state seems near as the hunter gets closer, the gaping jaws of fragment memory, so scared. All these things are placed in place with memory step, all brought together by past events, and thought up thoughts. How will this end we never know, the stepper with irritation must see its stalker, so opens the eyes that cannot see in this false reality. So open the eyelids and all thoughts wisp to none, the images of frightened past fade to nothing. It resembled opening a book, yet as it opens it closes, and as one attempts to see one cannot. As all fades into unflawed truth, real, all thoughts of what has happened fades as well. Straggling grasps reach out for what was once there, all that is known is that the end had never come, the truth had not been proven. This fleeting sheet of patched together memories has haunted this thinker’s thoughts many a time. This thought has plagued this dreamer’s dreams many a night. The dreamer wonders of future to come, the possible link of this patchwork dream with the steady flow which brings men to their graves. Would this frightening venom upon the mind amount to anything coherent, or repeat its tortures into thought for all eternity. Nightmares Such wicked havoc, I have found Resembles wicker baskets round and round The weaving forms plague sight and sound On the mind the pictures pound All trapped within its frightful lair The unheard screams fly through unreal air Trapped away from those who care So sad, the cage of a nightmare Why must these horrible memories repeat? In false skip-steps across the mind Why must the death thoughts repeat? A broken record stuck in time Such horrors yes repeat, repeat So sick these thoughts, of so sick gore Plagued flesh upon the floor These images repeat the more So sad, so sad are death and war With death unreal, it is not real Is unreal ever real, I feel The mind does never know what is real What is real, and not unreal? Why must these horrible memories repeat? In false skip-steps across the mind Why must the death thoughts repeat? A broken record stuck in time

OOC?- Thanks Wyv. I've already started posting and such, and you can see the first two chapters of the series in the...Assembly Room I believe.

So, I think I understand how this works. If there's anything wrong with my first post, tell me. I think I get it, but I'm just making sure that it's okay.

"So can we move on with this? I have...things to do." Jimmy glanced around the table at this fellow jurrors. Most of them sit with theur hands folded in their laps. Jimmy twitched in the resounding silence, as it seemed no one would answer. "Well then, we've been presented with a basic introduction," the jury forman, Herman, reported quickly. He quickly stood up, and grabbed a piece of chalk. "We have the plantiff, and the defendant," he said, scribling what he said down in quick notes on the green slate. "Her husband got lung cancer, was it caused by cigarettes? Just to get a feel of things, why don't we go around the room and get some opinions. Ahem, Mr. Thompsan, would you begin?" "Well...umm," Jimmy trailed off, unsure of what to say. He twiddled his thumbs for a second, glancing around the room at all the eyes staring at him. "Just a quick sentence or two on how you might approach the case." Herman drummed his fingers on the table. "Well, my father smoked. He's still alive. But I'm not sure, we haven't been given all the facts on this particular case, so perhaps it's not wise to make decisions so early..." he trailed off again, looking down at the table, away from all the staring eyes. "Hmm, perhaps you're correct. Well then, maybe if anyone has anything to say..."

II. Disappearance The Day of the Party Everyone that was headed to the party by Steven's house had already begun filtering out the door before Jackson had come out. When they were all out on the dark rain-slicked street, they congregated into their cliques, though they were all headed in the same direction. Jackson started off walking alone, shivering, almost uncontrollably. He still felt really sick, and completely sober, which wasn't the greatest thing when you're trying to have a good night. Steven drew closer, a blue wind blazer flapping in the night air, and Jeremy and David were right behind him. Jackson couldn't help but edge away from Steven when he remembered what he had imagined. "Dude, are you okay?" Steven asked. "I don't know." Jackson sighed. He wanted to be left alone, but at the same time Jeremy and David were his best friends. He felt he should tell them the truth of what he though had just happened, even though Steven was there. "I think there's some kind of ghost in Tailor's…" his voice felt bare as he talked, like he was sharing something that shouldn't be shared. "It grabbed me…when I was washing my hands. I saw it in the mirror." He regretted it instantly. They were all silent for a moment, waiting for him to imply it was a joke, before Steven and Jeremy burst out laughing of their own accord. He smiled weakly. "Dude, you need to chill," Steven said laxly. "I'm going to stop at the Seven Eleven over there and pick something up, want to wait outside or come in?" Jackson shrugged. "It's your choice." Steven walked through the glass door, pushing instead of pulling the first time he tried to get through, and Jeremy trailed behind him with a smile. David and Jackson waited outside, watching as everyone else kept moving on towards the party, not noticing the group that had stayed behind. David started rubbing his hands up and down his arms to keep warm. "You know, if something's bugging you, you can tell us. Before we left you seemed really edgy." David yawned, expelling a cloud of steamy breath. "If you're serious about this 'ghost' that you saw…I'm sure it's nothing. Weirder things have happened." "I wasn't imagining it. It was there. God damn it. I saw it, and I felt it…" he spoke slowly and jerkily. Despite his certainty, he was starting to doubt his sanity. "I find it hard to believe, man, that there's a ghost that grabs people in Tailor's," David said, looking away at the cloudy sky. "Fuck, I can't make you believe it. I just know what I saw." Jackson glanced around. It was dark. That didn't help to sooth his mood. He tried to focus on the things that were lighting the road: a few street lamps dispersed at every block, and the small flood lights that rimmed the Seven Eleven rooftop. There were a few crickets chirping in someone's yard across the street. Despite himself, he kept replaying in his mind what had happened in the bathroom, until, once again, he felt someone watching him. Their gaze was on no one else. Some of the street lamps began to flicker, and one went completely out. Jackson was conscious of something off in the darkness, something darker than the night. A fog had rolled in. Under the black lamppost he was certain that he saw the mist moving and gathering up into a thick cloud. His eyes were peeled wide, but David didn't seem to notice any of it. The fog shaped into a silhouette of a man, black against black. More accurately: deep purple against black. Whoever it was appeared to pull out a cigarette. They lit it, and the orange tip burned in the darkness. It glowed like a star as they took a lengthy drag from it, lighting up their misty face eerily. Jackson tried to speak, but only incoherent mumbles blubbered out. After he came to his senses he was finally able rip his eyes away from the purple man dressed in black. "Sh-shit man, look!" Jackson jabbed his finger in the direction of the ghost. When David looked at the dark lamppost, the light flickered back on. No one or thing was there, just a small cloud of mist floating in the air. Before he could say anything, Jeremy and Steven burst out of the Seven Eleven carrying a bag and some drinks. "Jackson, I grabbed you an energy drink to snap you out of it, what ever it is," Steven said, tossing a can to Jackson, and grabbing David by the shoulder and pulling him in the direction of the party. While the rest of them walked on, Jackson slowly popped the can open and downed the whole thing in a few seconds. The liquid's flavor resembled maple syrup mixed corn syrup and a cup of cough syrup. He tried to catch up with them, but then stopped. The caffeine and other energy drink ingredients were doing some sort of swing dance with the alcohol in his veins. His head started shaking, and he coughed, and the cough turned into hacking. The rest of them kept walking; too absorbed in their own drunkenness to notice. His head started buzzing, and the world vibrated for a moment. He felt sick again, but started walking anyways. There was a taste like burnt something in his mouth. "Hey, Jackson!" The rest of them were a block away. "I'll catch up," he shouted back, taking it slowly as he made his way to the party. Something really strange was happening, and as he thought about it, it all felt out of his control. Despite this, he didn't feel very afraid. He felt like the purple ghost was supposed to be there. Something that he knew was coming, but didn't know when. It was almost comforting. It was only a few minutes before he stood in front of a house. It was so full of people that the walls shook. There were people on the lawn, dancing, kissing, anything that fit the mood of the moment. This party hadn't been planned, but who cared? It was their time, their time to do what ever with who ever wanted to do it. He stood alone for awhile, despite the blast of sound and energy that cascaded from the building. He looked back; a streetlamp behind him dimmed, and he could see the silhouette of his stalker. He didn't care anymore. It wouldn't bother him once he entered such a crowded area. Taking a step up the walkway, he hesitated. As the plastic-cookie smell which he had found disgusting before crawled deeper into his system, he realized that he didn't want to go in. He wanted to turn around and embrace the specter that awaited him. It was already in him, he could hear it thinking in his head. It told him to come back, to embrace it as a brother. Only a small voice in the vast expanse of his dilapidated consciousness told him that this was all his imagination. Ghosts weren't real, were they? Before he could even make a decision, Jeremy crawled out of the mass and grabbed Jackson by the arm and dragged him in. "Come on big boy, time to chill out." Jeremy was like the nose of a ship, breaking a wave of drunk and drugged college students, to whom the "college" part didn't matter anymore, and the "drugged" and "drunk" were worth ten fold. Somehow the small guy was able to push everyone out of the way. The specter would have to wait; a new being had grabbed hold of him. Jackson was moving into something beyond even his own control. It was a twisted pleasure that humans had, relying on destroying their minds to enjoy their time. It happened either way, whether they were drugged or not, their own bodies would send them into a mindless euphoria while amongst these masses. The ghost would have to stand at bay while Jackson became the innocent victim of the experience. Jackson's stalker didn't appreciate being swept under the rug, though. The mysterious shade would not relent in its attempts, whatever it was that they were. No one noticed a man in a dark leather jacket seat himself at the table beside Jackson, and put his arm over Jackson's shoulder. "Hello brother," he said, taking the glass out of Jackson's hand and dropping it on the ground. "I think that maybe Jackson has had quite enough." "What? Who're you?" Jackson blurted out. Suddenly everybody around him was distracted by someone or something else. "Why'd you do that?" "Brother, I said you have had enough." The man spoke with a strange accent, nothing Jackson had ever heard. When Jackson looked at him it was as if he was looking through a fog. It was like trying to look at the dream image of someone; all the man's discernable features were out of focus. "Of drink, that is. I think that maybe you should try this." The man twiddled his fingers before Jackson's face, and a blue-green tube rolled out of nowhere. The man stuck it between Jackson's lips, before Jackson could even manage a "what's that?" It wasn't as if he really cared what it was, not in the state he was in. The man flipped out a lighter, which sent up a thin column of smoke, or fire. Jackson couldn't decide what it was, but decided it didn't matter. The man placed his hand on Jackson's chest, and whispered in his ear. "Breathe." Jackson inhaled, and kept inhaling. The smoke was like what he had smelled at Tailor's, but this time it tasted good. The gas continued filling his lungs for the longest time, until he felt that he needed some oxygen. His eyes were closed, and the cigarette was removed from his lips. A cloud of smoke billowed forth from his mouth as he exhaled. Looking aside at the man, Jackson realized that specter was gone. Jackson wasn't even sure if he had really just smoked the phantom cigarette, but the taste in his mouth assured him that something must have been there. After a few seconds, he could feel something working in his veins. It moved into his nerves and skin, and then flowed up into his brain, making him twitch in the chair. Then everything collapsed into nothing. It was all black, and when Jackson returned, he wasn't himself. He was something else, something that he could have been but never tried to be. His blood began flowing with fire, and he could hear the world changing. Each step of a stranger thudded deep in his ears, sounds that were minuscule became drastically important. He could see and hear everything. Regardless of the music, he could even hear the clinking of dishes in the kitchen. It was like putting on glasses, and realizing you had been half blind your whole life. Colors and feelings drifted off of each person that surrounded him. Then it was gone, gone again, as quickly as it had come: a drop of truth, washed away by the rivers of so-called reality. Jackson wanted more. He wanted more of what he knew was the real real-world; and the phantom had it. Whatever was in that cigarette must have been some kind of fast acting drug; a few seconds of ecstasy that blows away like dust in the wind. The people around stopped ignoring him, and began interacting with him as if they had never stopped. He had been practically invisible a minute before, but it didn't seem to matter. "Hey buddy, I just saw this girl. She seemed to be into you like crazy." Jeremy sat down by Jackson, drinking yet another beer. That didn't really matter too much; Jackson just sat and silently observed the party, feeling like a hawk on a tall tree. "I think she's in our philosophy class. You should go talk to her." "I need to get outside." Jackson got up and walked away. Jeremy's verbal curiosity died off, and he left Jackson alone. After a few swift steps and opened doors, he stood on the back porch in the midnight breeze. At first the cold was unbearable, but Jackson decided that it was better than the stuffy, humid air in the house. There were whispers somewhere out there. Jackson glanced to the side to see two unknown lovers in the grasp of physical romance, hidden in the shadows against a fence. He wanted the feeling back, he wanted the specter back. Someone was standing behind him. "Who are you?" he inquired, his voice floating on misty breath into the night. In response, the girl in the shadows giggled, and the guy grunted a few obscenities while he led her away to somewhere more private. They must have thought Jackson was talking to them. The person behind him chuckled. When he jerked his head around no one was there. He swung his head back to look out over the yard, but his view was cut of by the head of the phantom, more real now than before. Jackson recognized the many chains around his neck, and the many jackets and sweaters being replaced by one leather jacket. His complexion was less purple, and more of a dark indigo, far darker than it had been when he hade last seen him. "Joel?" "No, you should probably call me Vincent, but you may call me Joel if you prefer, brother." "I'm not your brother," Jackson said, stepping away from the man. "Just a formality," Vincent/Joel said, sitting down on the bench by the back door. "I hope that you don't mind terribly. Something my people grow used to." "Who…what the hell are you?" Jack said, surprised at the man's flippant attitude. "You're not a new student at all, are you?" "Saying 'who' will suffice, and no, I'm not an enrolling student at your college." Jack knew that he had been too old to be a student, and Joel was probably a fake name. The man snapped his fingers, and another already-lit cigarette cracked out of thin air. Vincent took a puff, and soon after smoke spewed from his nose like a fire hydrant. "And I said you can call me Vincent, though earlier it was easier to spin a different tale." He patted the bench seat. "Sit here, yes?" Jackson hesitated, and decided that there was nothing to lose. There was no running from this thing. Jackson had obviously gone insane, or was dreaming. He sat down by Vincent on the small bench. "It's rather warm, yes?" the being said, and in the blink of an eye his jacket was gone, and he was wearing a black tee-shirt. His bare arm rubbed up against Jackson's. Vincent's skin was as cold as metal, but still retained the softness of skin. The sensation sent a chill up Jackson's back. "But what are you?" Jackson said. It…Vincent was obviously not human. No one else could see him, he could disappear on a whim, and he could conjure blue cigarettes out of nowhere. "Some kind of…demon?" To top it off, after Jackson said this Vincent sprouted a pair of ivory-blue horns from just below his blackish-blue hairline and a forked tail slithered up Jackson's arm. "Ha, Demon? No, I'm no Demon, not at all." Vincent shook his head slightly, and despite his hair being of such a short length, it seemed to move around like water. The tail and horns shrank away into nothing. He took another drag of the cigarette. "I've killed many demons in fact," he said while blowing the smoke up to the awning above them, which pooled against the ceiling before dissipating. "If you wonder exactly what I am, I guess I could tell you in a way that would be safe to your sensitive ears." Jackson just stared at him blankly, not really understanding him. "Yes, well I'm…" Vincent paused a second, thinking. "Vincent superio arvantis, undt Qladj Radjer of the Fog Guard." When Vincent said the foreign-sounding words, his voice fluctuated in pitch, sometime fading out into tones so low or high that Jackson couldn't hear them. "Basically it means that I am a superior of dusk and I worked for the Fog Guard before my forced resignation." Vincent's accent was very strange. It was like a mix of Russian and some other European language. These words didn't really mean anything to Jackson, so he chose to ignore them. "That's what you are, is it? I'd say you're insane, but I'm the one seeing a blue guy that speaks…Russian?" "Russian? Making celestial words comfortable for humans makes them sound different than they should, but if I said them in mine own tongue, you would experience extreme pain, and maybe go deaf." He pondered on this for a moment, and Jackson was left with the strange feeling of Vincent's icy skin press against his arm. After looking up at the moon, Vincent spoke again. "Some have thought of my kind as gods, though many of us hardly are. I have been called Warrior of the Mists, and others have names of their faction. Would 'faction' be the word you would use for Dark and Light?" Jackson decided this man was not real, but a dream or a hallucination. That's why it was talking such complete nonsense. "Despite, I am neither of those. I am Void." Before Vincent could continue with what Jackson thought was psychotic babbling, something in the night whispered. The voice was inaudible, yet it filled all the space around them. Vincent superio, s'chestzium miozen chtoac. Though Jackson didn't understand the words, he somehow felt what they meant. He turned to Vincent, expecting an explanation, but he was gone. "Well…fuck. That was weird." Jackson sat on the empty bench for a while. When he realized that he was so cold that he was shivering, he got up. Walking back inside, into the throng of noise and warmth, Jackson was somewhat fazed. Though he was accepted, and jostled to the beat of the music, he felt too indifferent to the strangers to be comfortable being so near to them. Random people, whose names he could not remember for the life of him, were rubbing up against him and trying to dance with him. After his run-in with Vincent, everything around him felt off. He walked over to the stairs, and sat down alone. Jackson once again found himself mindlessly watching the dancers. The illness in his stomach had somewhat dissipated, and he was contemplating finding something to eat when someone dropped themselves beside him. "I want to see something." Before he could react, someone stuck a cigarette in his mouth again. He inhaled the smoke and realized that his phantom had somehow returned from his sudden departure. Anyone that might have been around him became immediately pushed in another direction. Maybe it was just Vincent pushing them away like they were the same poles of a magnet, or maybe it was just coincidence. After a second the smoke penetrated his consciousness, and all things in existence bombarded his senses once more. He looked at Vincent, and noticed that the man had an aura of grey surrounding him, squirming around, like floating worms of smoke changing subtly in shade and color. He inhaled from the cigarette again, to keep the experience going. Everyone seemed to have an aura about them, though theirs were different than Vincent's. The clouds of emotion faded in and out, each person's thoughts were projected before them; passion, fun, raucous energy, all floating in a medley of shapes and colors. Every object in the room shook and vibrated, changing in hue and shade. It was like the world was about to explode. While he was in this trance, someone sat by him. They were surrounded by a pulsing heat. The emotion was so bright that he couldn't focus on its center to see whose it was. They began to speak, but he heard no words. All that came out was raw emotion and reaction, physical and energetic speech. He couldn't understand, but it didn't matter. In moments he was talking with the person in ways he had never spoken before. Almost everyone in the party had left. No one noticed as him and this unknown person walked upstairs. For all he knew, this was the girl that Jeremy was going on about. Jackson didn't realize it, but he and this person were kissing all the way up the stairs. Jackson held the cigarette behind his ear, but Vincent was trying to take the cigarette away. For a second it became annoying, and Jackson pushed Vincent away. Though it seemed that he was desperately trying to say something, Jackson didn't hear any of it as he and the stranger laid themselves in a bed. Jackson was completely unaware that it was Steven that whispered words of passion in his ear. Jackson neither heard nor saw anything that was real. He imagined, and dreamt. In these dreams he could see himself in a field covered in tall dark pillars, he could see himself hanging from a tower by only one hand, he could see so much blood spilled on his hands, and he could see this man's death outback behind Tailor's. ~ 9 days after the party ~ "Genevieve?" Prof. Dawson droned out. European history class was Genevieve's first period class on Mondays. Prof. Dawson called role before the exams started. Winter finals were rough, but Gena knew she would make it through with a decent grade. "Here," she said in a monotone voice, silently looking up at an air vent in the ceiling and absent mindedly flicked her short red bangs out of her face. It had been a week since Jackson had disappeared. He had come to school on Monday after the party, but there had been some sort of drama between him and Steven. Genevieve only heard rumors, but she couldn't believe them. It was a well known fact that Steven was gay, but no one had heard of Jackson being with a guy, let alone sleeping with one. She hadn't been there when they had argued in the Atrium, an on-campus "cafeteria" full of local food businesses. She had heard that Steven insisted that Jackson had been with him on Saturday night. Jackson denied it all, and said he had woken up at home and remembered leaving the party early. Genevieve wasn't sure what she could believe. She'd known Jackson for a long time, longer than David, and Jeremy. They were a close group of friends, but she and he were even closer. Jackson would have told her, or all of them, about this if it were true. Then again, he had disappeared the same day, his dorm room left as if he all he had done is woken up. His car was missing as well, and it was obvious that he had driven somewhere. No one knew where he went, and he hadn't contacted anyone for a week. "…Everyone understand?" Prof. Dawson had just finished talking about something, and Genevieve had been too focused on Jackson to listen. "Gena? Got it?" Genevieve lied with a nod. She would be able to get what ever was on the test. The exam was fairly easy and Genevieve got to leave class early because she was one of the first done. She decided to go lay out on the lawn while she waited for her next class. There were twenty minutes until her next class. She couldn't help but think about her three friends. Between the four of them Jackson was the only one who would seem like the leader of the group. Over the weekend the remaining three hadn't really spoken to each other. As friends, they felt distant without him. Genevieve laid herself in the grass by a tall oak tree. The sky was a pale gray, mist staying just above head level and clinging to the leaves. The air was crisp, but her purple sweater (something Jeremy had given her as a gift) kept her warm enough. The ground was somewhat moist, but she didn't mind as she put her backpack against a root and used it as a pillow. She wished Jeremy was there, or that they had done something the weekend before. The fear she felt for Jackson was making her feel very alone. All this, and the pressure to not mess up on her other finals was causing her a lot of stress. It was hard to focus on school work with all this drama. It wasn't just Jackson leaving, but the day after the party she and Jeremy had had a big fight, mostly over nothing, as usual. He didn't seem to think it was a big deal, but something he had said had hurt her feelings and he didn't seem to care at all. It was typical of men to be insensitive, especially Jeremy. Despite that, she still loved being around him, and spending time with him. She hadn't talked to him very much since then. There's always a downside to everything. As long as she loved him, she could accept his faults. Thinking about of all these things over and over was giving Genevieve a headache. She had some time to relax before the first half of her biology final. She let her thoughts wander in exhaustion. Her test was one Greek mythology, and she had decided to write her essay on the legend of Pandora's Box. There was something there that interested her, because many religions had a similar tale of how sin came into the world, harbored on in a box, or vase, something that opened and loosed its evil on the world. What she loved about it most was that the last thing that left the box was hope. Soon her mind wandered wildly, away from school and studies, and into dreamland, where supposedly nothing went wrong. Genevieve was walking through the halls of her college, searching for a room. She didn't know why, or what was in the room, but she was sure she would know these things once she found it. And she found it quickly, as things often happened in dreams, and soon she stood in a chamber. It was well decorated with marble floors and pillars. Shining drapes hung from the walls, giving the room a red hue. Everything at the edge of her vision began to blur, to only be thought of as mystery. Further down the room there was a chest of drawers against a stone wall, with a golden object sitting atop it. Voices whispered in her ears, filling the world with sound. A snake was wrapped around a pillar near her. It whispered as well, insisting that she go towards that golden object, that it was hers. But Genevieve was unsure, and afraid. The voice urged her on all the more, and her feet started moving despite her mind crying out that she had to stop. As she walked closer the whole world began to blur and fade away. All that mattered was the golden reflection shining in her eyes. When she reached out, her hand was no longer hers, but someone else's. Genevieve was simply an observer now, though the girl, who was desperately reaching for the box and very close to touching it, was very much like her. Soon they both heard one of the whispers in the air turn into a shout. The girl looked back at someone who Genevieve thought looked like Jackson, but whose face was shrouded in mist. Karacht, Pandora! Karacht! His voice was inaudible, being heard only as a thought. Despite this protest, the girl's hands kept reaching out. Then the world started collapsing around Genevieve, and she fell and fell until all she could see was green. Genevieve moaned for a moment, expecting to be smashed against the ground. Instead her mouth was full of grass. She rolled over, and the sun hit her in the eyes, making her shudder as she spit out bitter leaves. Someone was saying her name, and nudging her. Her eyes cracked open a bit, and looked up at a silhouette against the blue sky above her. The world went red to blue a few times as she blinked her eyes. Many voices converged around her, until she realized it was just people going to class. "OhshitIfell," her words all blended into one. The sun stood straight above her. All the clouds had dissipated, and the warm sun made the air a pleasantly cool temperature. It was turning out to be a warm winter. "What time is it?" she said deliriously to no one. The silhouette turned into Jeremy, his curly brown hair disheveled, and the sun making his tan skin shine. "It is lunchtime, hon." It was annoying when he talked to her like that, but it still made her happy at the same time. "I heard you missed your second period class. Have you been sleeping out here the whole time?" She sat up and looked around quickly. She vividly remembered lying under a tree, but now she was in the middle of a lawn on what appeared to be the other side of the school. "I…I think so," Genevieve said, her words slurring a bit. She couldn't concentrate. It felt like the world was shuddering beneath her. "I was just lying down. I got out of class early. I went in this room and there was this golden…something…and this girl. Jackson didn't want her to…" She suddenly realized that it had all been a dream. "I'm…not quite awake yet." "Did you get any sleep last night? I've never seen someone so tired in the middle of the day. It must be finals getting to you," Jeremy said, sitting behind her to let her lean against him while he rubbed her shoulders with his strong hands. It felt relaxing. "No…yes, well, I'm fine. I'm okay, I just need to…crap. I need to go talk to my biology teacher." Genevieve rolled onto her feet, leaving Jeremy on the ground, and stood up while looking around for her bag. "It was…I was under a tree. My bag was right there." She pointed at the spot it had been sitting. "Hey," David said, sauntering towards them from a building. His thin black hair was blowing around his pale face. He was wearing the normal sweatshirt and jeans that he wore all the time, even when it was warm. Genevieve let out a sigh of relief when she saw her bag tucked under his arm. "I found this on the other side of campus. I figured you lost it or something." Handing her the bag, he glanced at Jeremy and saw that he was looking at Genevieve with a crazy expression. "Something wrong here?" "No," Genevieve said bluntly, and started walking to her biology class. When she saw the two of them following her, each with a concerned look on his face, she continued. "I just fell asleep and had a weird dream, I'm fine." "Gena, you said you just said that you were under a tree when you fell asleep, and David probably found your bag there." Genevieve didn't turn to see David nod. "I think that means maybe something is wrong." She kept walking, ignoring her boyfriend. Jeremy looked at David with his face squished into a baffled expression, and David shrugged. "Okay then, ignore me." He waited for a second, and she still didn't respond. "Well…we'll meet you at the Atrium, okay?" She just grunted, and kept walking. Jeremy and David turned around and headed for the cafeteria. Gena talked to her professor about retaking the biology test the next day. Mrs. Bolas assumed it was because of Jackson's disappearance that Gena had missed class, and Gena lied once more as she agreed. Ever since he had gone, she had tried to make it seem like she had stopped caring about school and life. All morals were gone with her responsibilities when it came to what everyone else thought. She knew she could never truly become so irresponsible. It was an act she was putting on to make others pay more or less attention to her. At least this sounded enough like psychological response for her to justify it. Earlier that day she had heard two teachers talking about the disappearance as if Jackson had been kidnapped or murdered. Something like this didn't really cross Genevieve's mind. When he first didn't show up, no one thought anything of it. The next day when he didn't answer the phone, they all figured he wanted some alone time. Jeremy ended up "breaking" into the room with a spare key, and finding the answering machine full of unheard messages, and the room empty. It was then that they all finally realized that he was gone. He had a cell phone, but he wasn't picking that up either. Genevieve just didn't think kidnapping or murder was the case here. They had a fairly safe college campus, and his car had been taken. It seemed more likely that he ran away, but when the missing persons report was filed every possibility had to be taken into account. Genevieve headed to the cafeteria after she had checked in with her biology teacher. On the way she ran into a friend, Hannah. She was in her junior year, but was still a month older than Jeremy. They strolled through the corridors, side by side as Hannah struck up a conversation. "Hey, how's it going Gena?" "Not so good," Gena said as she opened her wallet to see how much money she had left for the week. "I heard you missed your biology final." Genevieve scoffed silently to herself, making it sound more humorous and less condescending. Gossip traveled here faster than it did in high school. If it wasn't for cell phone text messages and constant communication, things might not get around so much. "I'm sure you'll be able to make it up." Genevieve glanced up and smiled at Hannah quickly. It was nice to have a little support, when her boyfriend only cared about her when it seemed like she was acting crazy. "I knew Jackson too, but it must be affecting you guys a lot more. That's like losing your brother." "I haven't lost anyone," Genevieve snapped back quickly. She softened her tone a bit. "It's only been a week." It was getting redundant to hear everyone acting like Jackson was never coming back. "I know, but it's hard not to worry that something really bad did happen, isn't it?" Hannah said. Genevieve didn't know what was hard anymore. She tried not to care about school and she tried not to worry about Jackson, when truthfully it was all boiling inside her like some poison that was going to drive her mad. "Yeah…I don't know." They strode into the cafeteria. Hannah waved good-bye as she skipped to a table of her other friends, having immediately forgotten their depressing topic. Genevieve looked around, and settled on getting some food before locating David and Jeremy. She picked up a chicken wrap and a bottle of iced tea, and instead of finding her friends she decided to sit alone. As she ate her lunch, she went over the subjects that would be on the art history exam she had next. The Atrium was looking lively when something caught her eye. Someone dressed completely in white was walking around the room looking at everyone. They seemed to be wearing some kind of odd suit that was strangely cut and shaped, with a weird collar and cuffs. Genevieve assumed it was a man at first, and then realized it was a woman with short white hair. She swung a silver medallion in her hand, and wore glasses that were tinted gold. No one seemed to notice her. When Genevieve had looked at her for a long time it began to strain her eyes, like looking too long at the sun. Genevieve had to look away, and when she looked back the woman was gone. Genevieve swung her head around and looked at her own reflection in a window nearby. It didn't seem too concerning that she had just seen a woman dressed in white swinging a medallion around the cafeteria. Whether it was a ghost or her imagination, Gena somehow felt that it meant Jackson was okay. For a few moments she daydreamed that Jackson would be safe, that this strange spectral woman would protect him. Seconds later she was filled with an immense amount of dread, with no reason as to why. She pulled out her cell phone and called Jackson's. It rang a few moments in her ear and soon went to his voicemail, just as it had the dozens of other times she had called. "Hey, you've reached Jackson's cell, leave a message and I'll get back to you when I wake up." She was silent for a moment before she pressed 'one' to leave a message. "Hey Jackson, it's Gena again. I know you've gotten a lot of messages asking where you are, but I just realized something." She was hesitant at first. Then, suddenly, words sprung forth from Genevieve's mouth before she thought of them. Something inside of her knew something that the rest of her didn't. "Jackson, I trust you. I know you're safe. I know you're okay. You didn't leave here hurt, and I hope you return okay." Her voice became a little less warm. "I'm calling to warn you. I don't know where you are, or why you left, but please Jackson, be careful. And whatever you do Jackson, the people who act like angels, don't trust them. They will lie to you and try to kill you." ~ Jeremy strolled over to Genevieve, and David followed a few feet behind. They both saw her talking on her cell phone, and watched her slip it into her pocket as they approached. Her expression was agitated, and she started eating. "Hey hon," Jeremy said. He sat down, and before David could as well, Jeremy shook his head. David mouthed a silent "oh" and walked off. "I'm sorry I didn't call you this weekend, and you know I was just making sure everything was okay today. Why were you giving me the silent treatment?" "You were making it seem like I was crazy." Jeremy looked at her, and she recognized that he had never implied that. "Well…okay, you didn't say that, I just felt like you did. Not just that but…" That is all David paid attention to before he was out of hearing range. He walked off and went to the library. He hadn't told Jeremy, but he had seen a weird woman dressed in white through the cafeteria windows walk into the library. He had been seeing a lot of strange things since the party a week before, most of which he hadn't seen since he was a child. On the night of the party he had seen Jackson talking to a man with purple skin, but dismissed it as some kind of hallucination. He had even seen the thing before the party, but couldn't bring himself to admit it to Jackson. This was just like the things he had trained himself to ignore as a teenager. This was dismissed that as one of the least weird things he had seen in the past week. On Monday night he had a dream of Genevieve and Jackson sleeping together intimately beside him on his bed. On Tuesday there a man in his mirror, a man he had not seen since he was ten. The man was in the mirror, but the room remained empty. On Wednesday he saw a giant translucent machine, the likes of which he had only imagined, with someone hanging in the center. It walked into one of the walls of the college and disappeared. On Thursday, he saw a student walk into and through a tree before disappearing completely, and that night he dreamt of the same person in New York City drinking the blood of a homeless person, which he was used to from the many dreams he had of people that were like vampire. On Friday he had seen this woman in white in front of Jackson's dorm room. She wasn't someone he had seen in the past. When he went knocked on the door, no one answered, and prompted Jeremy to break into the dorm the next day. Saturday was when it got the strangest. He was trying to study, and his vision began to blur and refocus, another thing he had only experienced a few times when he was younger, and was said to be attributed to his "illness" When he went into the bathroom to take a little more of his medication, he saw the man in the mirror again for many minutes. They both stood in complete silence. This lasted until David had the courage to run out of the bathroom and lie on his couch, silently shaking, while watching television. Now he was going to the library to chase down this woman in white. The last time he had chased down a vision, it hadn't ended happily. But David thought that perhaps that if he confronted it this time, it might all just go away again. Therapy wasn't something he was willing to go through again. As a child, the constant reminder that he wasn't normal because he saw things that weren't there kept him distant from other kids, and in college he was finally finding himself being accepted. That couldn't be taken away from him. David strode through the glass double-doors. Something new that accompanied these apparitions was a strange feeling. His back muscles would squirm, and his jaw would feel as if it was under pressure. He used these feelings as a way to track down the woman when he lost sight of her. As he walked through the aisles of books, the feelings grew more and more intense. He knew that she was right in front of him, he just couldn't see her. A few people gave him strange looks as he meandered his way through the shelves, but he persisted, blocking out the rest of the world. David found her when he arrived at a corner of the library. She stood on top of a table, swinging a medallion back and forth, and looking at the ceiling. Everyone else read their books, as if no one was standing on the table in front of them. David grabbed a novel, and sat at the table, pretending to be one of these people. A few teens that were using the library for research were studying, and gave him agitated glances. The woman in white didn't notice him, even though he kept jabbing quick glances up at her. She hopped down on to an empty chair, and walked off. After a moment, David followed her. The pain in his jaw was increasing, and by the time he had followed her to the lab complex on campus, he felt like he was getting all his teeth pulled. David felt a strange euphoria, considering that maybe he was finally right, maybe all these things he saw were real. Or maybe his brain was about to hemorrhage, and his insanity would kill him or turn him into a vegetable. David tried to take different paths, keeping out of her eyesight. She stopped in a few rooms, and David would walk on, past the door, and wait around the corner. She always came back out, and seemed so preoccupied that she didn't notice that he was following her everywhere. When lunch was almost over, she happened to stop under the tree where David had found Genevieve's backpack. After a second, she spoke for the first time that day. "Strange." After swinging her medallion around a bit more, she knelt in the grass and said it again. "Strange…" David bit his tongue for a moment, and made himself stop walking. He thought about the little girl who head he had seen bashed against a tree by two people who were very similar to this woman. When the pain made it so that he couldn't keep his jaw shut any longer, he spoke. "What's strange?" At first she didn't seemed to hear him. His legs and feet shifted uneasily. After she looked at him and looked away, it seemed like she was deliberately ignoring him. "Hey," David said. "What's so strange?" She cocked her head towards him, but continued to ignore him and started feeling the grass and the side of the tree, making strange humming noises. "Maybe that I can see you and no one else can?" "What do you want, fallen one?" she snapped, and whipped her head around to look at him coldly through her golden spectacles. She took them off, and looked him in the eye. After staring at her, his back started to spasm, and he had to throw off his backpack and scratch it. It wasn't an itch, but more like his muscles were twisting and pushing, like his bones were about to rip out of his back. "Your kind is so naïve. I almost feel pity for your more painful rebirth process." After she said this, his head started pounding. Strange pictures flashed before his eyes, things that he had never seen, but had always known. "You knew the victim, didn't you?" David looked at her, his vision blurring again. "Who…who? Jackson?" "Yes, of course." She put her shades back on, and ran her finger along the rim. The glass turned black. "Tell me what happened to your Jackson? Where did Vincent take him?" "Who is Vincent?" David managed to get out, before dropping to his knees. To any casual observer it would not only look as if he was talking to himself, but also was in immense pain. "Who are you?" David's voice was strained, as he tried to ignore the mounting discomfort. "You know, technically by Celestial Law," she said, standing up and looking down at his shaking body. "I'm supposed to bring you up as a witness. Seeing you in this state, I can tell you're in no position to do anyone harm. When you become a threat, feeling the hunger deep in your heart, we'll catch you. We catch all of you." She put her hand in her pocket, and took out something on a silver chain. David was now shaking too fiercely to pay attention to anything she did. His aching teeth were gnashing and his back trembled violently. "You're not awake yet, but your friend's disappearance may shake you free. Some of your kind won't ever wake up. If you keep exploring your fantastical curiosities, they will get the better of you." She dropped the silver cross from her pocket on the ground. "Learn to fear this symbol..." The pain got the best of David, and he slipped into unconsciousness before hearing the rest. ~ "Hon, I don't understand why we're still fighting," Jeremy said, exasperated. They had talked for awhile, and then she continued to ignore him. "Do you think there's something wrong? Are you sad, tired, angry…come on Gena, talk to me!" "All of the above Jeremy!" she raised her voice a bit, and slammed the cap to her bottle of iced tea on the table. The soft fair skin on her face and the above her collarbone was flushed with red, matching the color of her red-orange hair. "What?" "All of the above! I'm sad, confused, angry, scared…no, not just scared, Jeremy. I'm terrified. Something terrible could happen to Jackson, everyone thinks something has happened to him already!" When Genevieve looked away from him, Jeremy almost stood up and left. Being her friend, he thought he understood Genevieve. Being her boyfriend, he thought he understood her more. He realized, that no matter whom it was, every girl would be confusing. It was so frustrating to not just give up. "What are you angry at Gena? I understand all of that, but are you angry at me?" "I'm angry at the situation. I'm mad at everything going on." She looked down at the table for a moment, and tried to keep her voice down. "And of course I'm angry at you! You ignored our argument all of last week, we never resolved anything, and now you act like nothing is wrong." "I don't see what we need to resolve," Genevieve sighed at him as he continued to defend himself. "We had a little fight, and I thought you needed time to cool off. You always want these things, but you never tell me what they are. How am I supposed to know?" "That's exactly what I mean. You don't know what I want. You never seem to know what I want. You know what Jackson and David want. You know how to take Jackson out to a party where something happens that's so bad that he runs away. If you had just stayed home, with me, like I asked before the game, he would still –" "Are you trying to say that –" he cut her off, but before he could finish Genevieve's cell phone rang. She slid it out of her pocket. She didn't recognize the number, but answered it anyways. "Hello?" Jeremy could hear the other voice on the line well enough. "Hello Gena." They both quickly recognized the voice of Jackson's mother. They all knew Jackson's parents well, having been to his house many times when they were kids. Her and her husband had recently moved back to their hometown in Oregon since Jackson was in college. They had always wanted to move, but stayed so that he could remain with his friends. "Hello Mrs. Reed, how are you?" Jeremy thought that was a pretty stupid question, and by her expression, so did Genevieve. "Well, I can't say I'm happy, but we have received some relatively good news." Michelle Reed's voice didn't seem to show a hint of sadness. She was one of those women who found it improper to give away one's dark feelings in casual conversation. "Sorry that I called you on your cell phone, but your dorm phone didn't pick up, and I figured you were in lunch. I was going to call in three hours from now but Frank reminded me of the time difference. Do you have time to talk?" "Yeah, of course; I'm just sitting here and eating," she said, acting as if Jeremy wasn't there. "How are you and Mr. Reed doing?" "Oh, you know that you don't have to call us Mr. and Mrs. Reed anymore. I've been telling you kids that since you started college." Genevieve smiled, and looked away from Jeremy's inquisitive glance. "Anyways, Frank and I are doing just fine. We're finally getting used to being away from our boys, and you of course…Is it proving to be a nice winter back east?" "Oh, it's somewhat sunny over here. Still pretty chilly though." Neither asked if the other had heard from Jackson, because both of them knew they would call each other immediately if they did. "Ah, well it's a positive mess over here. Always raining, but I suppose that's how it was when we left." "Yeah, I guess so." Genevieve had lived in the same city as an infant, but Jeremy knew that sh had very few memories since before she moved to Dark Town. "Well, what was the good news?" "Oh, the police called again. They said that they had a lead, and they believe that maybe he has in fact been kidnapped." Genevieve found the aspect of them finding a lead to be somewhat uplifting, but she could hardly see how finding proof of him being abducted was good news. "They said that there was evidence of him being in a hotel in eastern New York. They looked into it because he had been pulled over by a cop just few miles away from there. I didn't really catch it all, but it sounded like a cop pulled Jackson over for speeding, and then a man attacked him." "Attacked Jackson or the cop?" Genevieve asked, gripping the edge of the table. Jeremy reached his hand over the table to hold hers, but she ignored it. "Oh, the cop. Then the man got in the car with Jackson and they drove away. The officer says that he couldn't remember a thing besides the name Jackson Reed and being attacked, he couldn't even remember the attacker's face. Frank supposes that he might have been hit over the head. Anyways, when they finally found him, the cop that is, he was handcuffed to the steering wheel or something along those lines. Well, of course this didn't seem like much of a lead to them, until we told them that bank called and said someone had withdrawn all the money from every one of Jackson's bank accounts, including his savings. This was in Cleveland, so the police there are going to start searching around Ohio." "Oh," was all Genevieve said, releasing her grip on the table. Jeremy thought that maybe she had expected more. "That's good, I guess," although she sounded like it wasn't much good at all. "And you won't believe this; well, this is what Frank told me anyways, he talked the most with the police. He said that this all happened on Friday. They didn't notify us until just last night! Really makes you wonder how hard they really try when things like this happen. They sounded excited when I told them about the bank calling, that's when they thought that they might have a trail. He seems to be heading west, however helpful that is." "Yes, well, I'm sure they are trying, maybe something happened and it slipped their mind to call," Genevieve trailed off when there was a beeping in her ear. "Can you hold on a moment Michelle, there's someone on the other line." Jeremy could hardly hear the sound of acknowledgement before Genevieve appeased the call-waiting sound by flipping to the other line. "Hello?" There was a short response, not entirely a word, but she appeared to recognize the voice. "Jackson, is that you?" At hearing this, Jeremy edged forwards in anticipation. The volume on the cell phone was up loud enough for Jeremy to hear the long silence, followed by Jackson's last words to them for a long time. "Don't call me anymore. I'm gone, and I'm not coming back. Don't worry about me." "But Jackson!" Genevieve shouted in desperation. "Quiet. I'm gone, and that's the way it is." The line went dead. Tears welled from Genevieve's eyes, and she hung up the phone, forgetting that Michelle was on the other line. Jeremy walked around the table and put his arm over her shoulder, holding her close. Story and characters ©2006 Isaiah Everin Cooper

I. Them and Their Dark Town The day of the party Jeremy slipped off his bed, and onto the shaggy dorm-room carpet. The clock on his bedside table said it was eight, which meant it was eight thirty since the thing had broken when he started going to college. David was already awake, sitting at a very small, blue table and eating multicolored cereal. The two of them shared the dorm room, and were both comfortable since they had been friends through high school. Their home was a place called Dark Town, set in the north of Massachusetts. They also had two other good friends there. Jackson and Genevieve had lived in Dark Town since they were toddlers, and both came from somewhere in Oregon. They had met David later in elementary school. Jeremy had moved into Dark Town last. His family was hoping to settle down as he entered junior high, so his dad started working as a repairman and his mom continued working in real estate. The three of them had helped Jeremy get over his estrangement, so he quickly became a part of their tight-knit group of friends. Somehow, they had all decided to go to the same college. Maybe it was because they were friends, or maybe it was just the convenience of Dark Town College being a few miles out of the city. Either way, they were all undergraduates, and still had the choice of going to another college for their graduate degree. Jeremy, a year younger than the rest of them and still in the same grade, always felt like the small guy. David and Jackson were taller than him, and Genevieve was just a few inches shorter "Hey," David said after a while. "Are we going to the game tonight?" "Yeah, that's what I thought," Jeremy said, taking both of their bowls and tossing them in the small sink. "I'm pretty sure Jackson's coming with us. You know, Jack is on the team." David nodded. David was the quietest of the four, and he went into the bathroom without another word. When he was younger his parents had put him through a lot of weird therapy because he kept a journal of strange things he saw. At first, the journal seemed perfectly normal and imaginative, until they found an entry that was somewhat disturbing. There had been a little girl who had recently gone missing, and the city had sent a few search parties into the park where she seemed to have gotten lost. David wrote in his journal that he had been in the park alone, and saw the little girl behind a tree, carving weird markings into the bark. Then he wrote that two men in grey robes had come out of nowhere and smashed the girls head against the tree, leaving her for dead. No one had ever found the body, and David said he had forgotten where the tree was. "Is Gena coming?" David shouted from the bathroom. Jeremy could hear him getting changed, and it sounded like he was brushing his teeth at the same time. "I'm not sure," Jeremy said, getting dressed as well. It was pretty much a two room dorm; one room with two beds, and a living room/dining room/kitchen, with one bathroom. "I was going to call her soon, or maybe I'll go over and see how she's doing. She said her nose was stuffy yesterday, so I told her to eat an orange." "An orange?" David came out with his shirt over his head, and hastily pulled it down to cover the large scar across his chest. Jeremy didn't even know what it was from, but he had seen it many times and decided not to ask. There were a lot of things David kept private, and the rest of them respected that. "Well, I'm going to head to the library for a while. Tell Gen to come, it should be fun." Jeremy nodded as David unlocked, and walked out the door. Genevieve was Jeremy's girlfriend currently. People mostly called her Gena, or Gen, and it was people that didn't know her that called her Genevieve. He had asked her out at the end of their junior year of college, which was somewhat awkward since they were best friends. Somehow they worked it out for the next six months, staying friends through their relationship. All three of the guys had liked her at some point, but Jeremy decided to make a move after Jackson moved on and David became uninterested. Searching for the pair of pants which held his cell phone, he decided to call Genevieve before showing up. The phone ended up being in a pair of khakis. Her number was in the contacts menu, and the press of a button had the phone ringing. They had a short conversation, in which Genevieve told him that she was studying for winter finals. She said he could come over for a while before the game, though, and he took her up on the offer. When he said goodbye, he said that he loved her, and she said it back, and it made him smile. He didn't remember how many times they'd both said it, but it wasn't many. Walking outside, deciding to take the bus into town, he thought about him and her, and all the thoughts were happy. ~ Jackson bought a croissant that was full of some type of preserves. He hadn't looked at what flavor it was, but as he sat down at a small table in the Atrium, taking a large bite out of it, he figured that maybe it was strawberry—either that, or cherry, because chunks of red dribbled out of the pastry like the innards of some sweet tasting animal. The orange juice that accompanied it was too pulpy for his taste, but he drank it anyways because of the price. He felt that maybe three-fifty was a little bit much for a cup of orange juice in a disposable cup. When he was done with this small brunch, he pulled his homework out of his bag and started reading a chapter in a philosophy book. His mind was drifting when it started talking about the importance of analyzing a thought process, and instead found himself analyzing a few smudged words scribbled on the table with a ballpoint pen. It looked like it said "I love Mandy White," but instead of love it had a little heart. Jackson pushed the philosophy book back in his bag and took out the one on Native American history. This is what he found more interesting. He had often thought of being an anthropologist, but dismissed the thought just as often when he felt that everything to be discovered had been discovered. Jackson was reading and answering questions about a skirmish over a special hill which was thought to be a spiritual landmark, when someone sat across from him. The person wore too many layers of jackets and sweaters for the mildly cold weather. A few chains dangled around his neck, and his shoes sounded heavy on the linoleum. Jackson hadn't ever seen him around before, but the guy looked at him like they knew each other. "Hello," he said, reaching out and pushing up the brim of the book to see what Jackson was reading. "Ah, the Native Americans, a very unfortunate people. Do you have any relation to them?" Jackson was confused by the stranger's conversational tones. "Not that I know of." "You know, most Americans probably have some Native American blood in them. I mean, you never know. Some people think they come from a long line of this or that, but it always turns out that some great, great grandmother has slept with someone who isn't white. It's just the way things tend to go, you know?" Jackson didn't know. He didn't know if he came from any long line of anything, nor did he care if he did. Jackson noticed that the stranger wore scarves under his chains, which covered up his neck, and part of his chin. His skin looked a little blue, even though the day was relatively warm. "Yeah, well, there are lots of things we don't know. Is there anything I can help you with?" "Probably, but I can't think of a thing at the moment." The man's smile was full of teeth that seemed too sharp to be human. "My name's Joel, I'm new to the college." "Hello Joel," Jackson said politely, trying not to imply that he wanted Joel to bugger off. "I'm Jackson, I'm a senior right now." Jackson thought that Joel seemed a little old to start going to college now, even though he couldn't discern what age he actually was. "Ah, so you're getting close to making all the big decisions, or have you made them already?" Joel seemed genuinely curious about this, and didn't look as if he was going anywhere, so Jackson marked his page and closed the book. "Somewhat," Jackson said hesitantly, realizing that he might be entering a long conversation with a stranger if he did not choose his words wisely. "I'm really interested in anthropological studies, but I'm not sure if I want to devote my life to it." "Well, you know brother, you have your whole life to devote to whatever you want, so I'd say go for what most interests you. You see, the Native Americans right there, with all the different tribes, they are a very interesting people. You know, I myself am interested in religious studies. It's so fascinating to think of all the different ideas different cultures came up with, and then to realize all the striking similarities between them." Joel had a quality about him that made it seem that when he began talking, he would never stop. "Yes, the Native American's had an interesting spirituality," Jackson responded, keeping to a subject he knew. "Oh, don't even get me started brother." Jackson wished he hadn't. "The way they got in contact with nature, the world, and themselves was so profound. And they were all so peaceful. When there was a feud between tribes, many times there wouldn't be a single casualty." Joel spoke as if he lived back then, and though Jackson still couldn't tell what age he was, Joel's eyes looked very old, and yet he retained the demeanor and body of a person in his early thirties. "Since the tribes believed so many different things, it is difficult to figure what kind of religion ruled over this world before Christianity was boated over. What may have happened if it didn't happen the way it did?" Joel's voice began to take on a stranger accent that sounded somewhat European. "I don't know," Jackson said, trying to keep up with the subjects that the man tossed out. "But what happened, well, it happened. Not much is going to change that, eh?" "Nope, not much at all…" Joel seemed to reflect on this. "Not much ever changes." He continued to silently focus at a point right above Jackson's head. Jackson hadn't meant that nothing ever changes, but that you couldn't change the past. Joel was obviously on his own thought process, which Jackson did not attempt to analyze. "Well, I really ought to get going," Jackson said, scooting his chair back as if he was about to leave right there and then. "Ah yes, it's always go, go, go. Everyone's a busy bee, no more going with the flow; it's all about rapid expansion." Joel stood up, and scooted his chair in with an audible sliding noise. "It was nice meeting you Joel." "You as well Jackson. And good luck with deciding what to do," Joel said this as if he'd never see Jackson on campus, and Jackson expected he wouldn't. He held out a hand with black fingerless gloves. He took the man's hand and shook it. Joel took his second hand, and put it on top of Jackson's, shaking it and squeezing it like he would die if he didn't. "Maybe I'll see you again some time," Jackson said stupidly. "Maybe," Joel said, and drew his hands away. Jackson was suddenly preoccupied with his hand. It was tingling, and sending a strange feeling up his arm. Joel's skin had been extremely cold, and Jackson wasn't sure if the coldness was causing the feeling, or something else. When Jackson looked up from his hand Joel was gone as fast as if he had never been there. It was an odd encounter, and Jackson found himself shoving all his stuff back in his bag and going to his dorm room to finish up on the homework. The feeling in his arm was growing to be a problem. The tingling turned into sharp tacks in his skin, and it was creeping up to his shoulder. He thought that maybe this Joel was a serial killer, and there was some kind of poison on his gloves. A simple handshake and the victim was dead. Jackson wondered if he should call 911, then figured that it would be fine. He was overreacting, in fact, the more he thought about it, the less his arm hurt. When he arrived at the door of his dorm room the sensation was gone; he would be able to get his homework done without a problem. Jackson started working on his Native American studies book again, and was able to get the work done in an hour. When he finished, he was feeling pretty tired. He decided to turn on the radio and just rest his eyes a bit. The description of the warfare over the hill still lingered in his mind as he drifted off. Jackson was in the world of his childhood. David sat beside him on a high brick wall overlooking school. It was summer time, but he couldn't tell because the sky didn't seem to actually be there. They were talking about something, but Jackson didn't really understand what it was. In front of them, instead of there being a school, there was the battle that Jackson had just been reading about. There were hundreds of soldiers, most with skin made redder by the blood of the enemy. This land, this hill, was sacred, it was important. When there was a feud between tribes, many times there wouldn't be a single casualty. These words drifted somewhere in the lower levels of his consciousness. When Jackson looked over at David, he was the same lonely little boy he had always been, but at the same time he was the man Jackson saw him as now. And over both of those images there was something more, something darker. He saw a thirst for blood, and every moment David looked at him it was as if he wanted to kill him. But Jackson wasn't scared—he just continued to talk with David in terms that he did not understand. On the brick wall, overlooking the hill that was not his school, he saw something new. Above and amongst the soldiers fought men and women who weren't human. Some of them were like animals, and some of them weren't like anything Jackson had ever seen. Many of them didn't seem to have faces, and most of them fought with the soldiers and inside the soldiers. A few of them glided overhead, watching the battle as if it were nothing more than a late night television show. Jackson thought he saw the man he knew as Joel join the fray, but realized this man was wearing furs and not jackets or sweaters, and bone necklaces, not chains. No one was winning, but no one was losing. When Jackson looked closer, he saw that under the layers of dirt and blood, the soldiers of each side had different colored skin and clothing. One side was dark, and one side was light, and some soldiers who did not have a side were somewhere in between. In the middle there were many children with grey skin that everyone ignored. They looked like the children Jackson knew from school, but they had eyes that were closed in a way that made them look like they had never awoken. "Sad, isn't it?" Jackson finally understood what David was muttering. "I think maybe we should make it stop." The world flickered, and became even more insubstantial than a dream. An enormous lightning bolt struck the ground, and shattered stone and bone. Everyone stood still for a moment, but then the battle went on, unending, just as it had for many years. ~ Jackson had accidentally fallen asleep, but woke up in time to meet his friends at the game. Now he walked into Tailor's bar, Jeremy trailing behind him leafing through his wallet to see how much cash he had left, and David coming in last, looking down at the ground absorbed in thought. The bar was full that Saturday night. It was a few blocks off campus, making it a profitable business. Other students were returning from the basket ball game, laughing and drinking. Few people would come to Tailor's without a group of friends. It was usually closed on weekdays, and they opened on weekends for after-game or before-party drinks. Being the closest pub to the college with few competitors, most college students would choose Tailor's as their hang-out on weekends. "Did you see that last shot? Right from the three point line, swoosh!" Jackson mimed shooting a ball up into a hoop, shouting over the din of clinking glasses and gossiping students. "That was so awesome. I can't freaking believe that we have finals in a week. We need to chill out tonight, you know? Papers can wait till tomorrow," Jeremy said, and Jackson nodded as they all sat down at a table. The trio expected to make the most of their time before they had to endure long days of answering calculus equations and writing extensive essays on the economical situation following World War II. The three of them fell into a shallow conversation about the game and upcoming winter break. "I'm going to grab some drinks," Jeremy said after a few minutes of casual chatter. "Jeremy, you're not twenty-one for a few months, remember? No ID." Jackson got up and pulled out his wallet. "You guys just pitch in a bit and I'll get it. Tailor shouldn't mind as long as he doesn't know." Jackson took a few bills from the both of them. He went to the bar and ordered three beers. When he got back, they fell into a slower conversation, enjoying the beer. After a while, Jackson ordered another round. "See that girl over there, she's totally checking you out," Jackson said, nudging Jeremy. He knew Jeremy had a girlfriend, but it was their night out, they were allowed to joke around. "Jackson, shut up. That's Mandy White. Some say that she's the biggest slut on campus," Jeremy said it like he was about to tell some campfire story, but he discontinued and took a long swig of beer, cringing at the thought of leaving Gena for Mandy White. The idea of flirting with another girl was somewhat tempting, when Gena had decided not to hang out with them tonight because she wanted to study. "Mandy's probably screwed at least ten different guys in the last two weeks," Jeremy muttered sarcastically. "If you're going to leave Gena, might as well go for Mandy. You know, I'm surprised Gena said yes last year. Mandy's probably your best bet, what, with a shorty like you," Jackson said, chuckling and almost coughing up everything he had just swallowed. Jeremy grunted and punched Jackson on the shoulder. Jackson remembered the message he had seen scribbled on the table in the Atrium. He felt bad for anyone who thought they were in love with Mandy White. At the subject of Mandy, David seemed looked at the both of them quizzically. "David, do you listen to any rumors or gossip anymore? You're always stuck in a book. I'm surprised you go out with us as often as you do. If Mandy started flirting with you, you'd probably go out with her in minutes. That's what you'd get for being so quiet and not talking to anyone." Jackson sighed, and David just smiled, looking down at the table. "I need something stronger than beer. I don't want to wake up until five PM tomorrow," he said as a joke. "I'll get it." David got up quickly and walked to the bar with a very troubled expression. Jeremy just shrugged his shoulders, and looked off into space. From the table they could both see David brush past Mandy, squeezing between two chairs and smiling at her awkwardly. She winked at him, possibly having had heard the end of their conversation. He got to the bar and ordered a bottle with a few empty glasses. Jackson could tell by the bottle that it was much stronger than beer. On his way past Mandy again, she scooted her chair back further making it take longer for him to get through. When he got out, she squeezed his rear end, and giggled with the girls who sat by her. David sat down again, blushing slightly. "As if it means anything," Jackson said aside to Jeremy. He poured the alcohol into one of the glasses, and drank the amber substance. It went down burning, but it was a somewhat pleasant burn that seemed peppery. "Mandy isn't the right kind of girl for you David. You need someone that can understand—that can stand your weirdness. Mandy would just take you out for casual sex, and leave you out on the curb." They knew, or at least Jeremy and Jackson did, that Mandy wasn't the enormous slut they played her out to be. She was just more of a free girl, who wouldn't be held down by just one man. "Sounds like you talk from experience," David said. Jackson stuck his finger in his mouth and gagged. "Besides, I don't really think about that stuff. I don't get why everyone gets caught up in this relationship thing, always turns up badly." "Damn it shut up. First I have to talk about Mandy, and then you have to go all dark and sad on us. Why don't we talk about something else? Maybe something a little more 'Saturday night'." Jeremy emptied his shallowly filled glass of the liquid Jackson finally recognized as scotch. David and Jeremy started talking about a recent movie, and Jackson looked off into space, focusing on one of the corner booths. Jackson almost looked away from the corner after awhile, until he noticed that the booth wasn't empty. At first glance, it looked as if there had been no one there, but the second time he swore that he saw a man with violet, almost black, skin. The lights around the man dimmed faintly, and the lines in the wood paneling behind him squirmed. Jackson's stomach suddenly felt empty, but it all ended as quickly as it had started. He blinked, and rubbed his eyes, and saw that there wasn't anyone or anything there after all. "Weird," he muttered hoarsely. It must have been the alcohol finally getting to him. "Hey, Jackson! I'm talking to you!" Jeremy smacked him across the cheek. He looked at the two of them for a second, and then jerked his gaze back to the corner. Still, no one was there. When he squinted his eyes he saw a sparkle of reflected light off of something like a silver chain, but then it was gone again. "Earth to Jackson: Do you read?" Jackson kept staring intently at the corner booth. Something was there, he had seen it twice. "Mayday, Mayday. Houston, we're sending in a probe." David picked up an old straw and tried inserted it into Jackson's nose. Jeremy started cracking up, rocking back and forth in his chair and shaking the table. "What the fuck!" Jackson shouted, snatching the straw away and tossing it onto the floor. Jeremy's laughing slowed down, and died off. "Um, Jackson, what's up?" Jeremy said, finishing his drink again, and quickly pouring a little more out of the bottle, into his glass. "I don't know," Jackson said, sighing. "I thought I saw something." Jackson rubbed his eyes again. Suddenly his arms were thrust upwards, as if pulled by strings, and his body followed. He stretched, and flexed his arms, and then he sat down just as suddenly as he had gotten up. A second later it felt like it hadn't even been him who had stood up, like he was pulled by puppet strings. "Yea, I'm fine." "Man, have you been smoking something? Don't hold out on us," Jeremy smiled at Jackson jokingly. "Hey, I just heard Steven over there say something about a party at his house." As Jeremy muttered on about Steven not having to live in a dorm, Jackson called Steven over. He didn't know why, he hadn't planned on partying, and he was actually going to start studying a bit on Sunday, but suddenly he felt that he needed to get out of the bar, and he didn't want to go home. Steven walked up. Jackson grabbed him by the collar, and pulled him close to talk to him. The din in the bar disappeared as Steven got close to him. "Hey Steven, there's a party at your place? Everyone's invited, right?" he almost whispered. The sound around him faded away, and he had to whisper to not break the seeming silence. "Yeah, anyone can go. It's going to be the shit, totally 'pre-finals' party going on." Jackson was quiet for a moment, and he nodded. Stephen drew away, and walked off. Jackson suddenly had a random flash of thought, like the wrong synapses firing off in his brain. He imagined some kind of intimate situation with Steven. He coughed, and tried to forget it quickly. Squirming in his seat a bit, Jackson realized that he needed to use the restroom. "I'm going to piss, and then we should ditch this place with Steven and them." He patted Jeremy's shoulder. The both of them nodded. As he walked to the bathroom, he realized that the door was right by the corner booth where he had seen whoever that strange man was. As he walked past, he stared intently at the booth, almost deciding reach out to feel around, but he drew his hand back and reasoned that he wasn't that drunk. A wisp of smoke was clinging to the edge of an unmoving ceiling fan, and it seemed to make the area smell of gingerbread cookies frosted in melted plastic. It stung his lungs, and made the top of his head tingle. He went into the white-tiled men's room as quickly as he could. There was peculiar emptiness in his stomach that he didn't fully notice. As he unzipped, and let the pain ease in his bladder, he imagined that weird thought he had of Steven being poured out with his urine. Out of nowhere he felt like someone was watching him. Looking around, the bathroom was clearly empty. The hairs at the base of his neck stood on end as the feeling grew stronger. The bathroom door hadn't opened, and he leaned back to see all the stall doors open and all the stalls empty. The smell of the burnt plastic cookies drifted past his nose again. When he finished off and zipped his pants back up he felt someone come up behind him. Jackson looked back, but no one was there. He stood still for a moment, unable to move. Suddenly a cold hand ran up his arm. It happened slowly, and when it was over all the places that he had felt the person that wasn't there touch him became cold and flushed with goose bumps. Jackson went to wash his hands at the off-white, porcelain sinks. As the water flowed over his palms, he could feel someone standing behind him, their chest pressed against his back again. Cold hands ran up his bare arms. The water became ice-cold over his hands, and after a moment his breath became foggy. He looked intensely into the mirror, his hands shaking under the stream of water. Their presence made the florescent lights buzz and flicker. Each time the lights went off he saw a strange distortion in the mirror. Right where the person's head would be, a blob of darkness began to appear. As he felt all of this, the first word that had come to his mind was "ghost." The lights stopped flickering, and dimmed until they were almost off. The ghost's hands rested softly on his forearms. The dark mass that was its face curved and turned slightly purple, with a rough skin texture stretching out and filling the empty space. An ivory grin, full of strangely shaped teeth faded into existence, like the Cheshire cat in Wonderland. The face and the man disappeared as the lights grew brighter and someone walked in, passing him without a word and going into one of the stalls. He was left feeling incredibly sick and cold. Jackson stood in shock for a moment, then turned the sink off and stumbled out of the men's room, water dripping from his hands. The atmospheric change from cold and white fear to the orange and red hubbub of the bar left his mind reeling. He shook his head for a moment, quickly put on an uncomfortable smile and wiped the water off his hands on his brown chords. He awkwardly strolled back to his friends without looking back again at the men's room or the corner booth. The plastic ginger bread was still caught in his nose hairs, and the world blurred at the edges of his vision. "Hey, there's Jackson," Jeremy said, getting up, and putting on his sports jacket. Story and characters ©2006 Isaiah Everin Cooper

Post 01 Okay, I'm going to post the first two chapters of the first book I'm writing. I'm not sure if I should post anymore, because I've read that some publishing companies don't like it when the book/manuscript has already been open to the public or whatever. I'm not sure. I'm looking for any kind of input that you may have, especially on things I can improve on. This is the first part in a series, and of course since I only have 2 and a half chapters written, it is a work in progress. I do have the entire back-story and most of what will be happening planned out, so some of it may seem confusing. It builds up on how much you know as it goes along. Also, there will be a change in the first chapter (a whole section of intro) and then half of the first chapter will go into the second chapter. That's not really important now. This is Chapters 1, 2 and 3 of The Void: Fog Guard. Intro: Yes, I'm 15, and I'm very ambitious. Aside from this, I have 3 other series of books planned out. I might post up what I have on those so far as well. I am almost as interested in pursuing art as much as pursuing writing and I practice both often. I'm the layout manager and co-editor of my school magazine, and I attend a small charter school (70-80 students) which is offering the International Bacheloriate (a pretty tough "AP" course). Right now I'm hoping to go to NYU and get my degree in film, focusing on screenplay writing and directing. This could change at any time, since I'm also really interested in science, and it is my strongest subject in school. Right now I'm just trying to expand all my horizons, but one thing I will inevitably be doing is being an author and writing probably dozens of books. Other than that, who knows? -- Post 02 So, last night I spent a few hours going over all of chapter one, and I don't know how many people have read all of this, but I tried to make some significant changes to descriptions and wording of sentences to make everything flow and sound better. I just entered the edited version in. As it stand now, I'm going to be adding more of an introduction to chapter one, which will encompass half the chapter, and then the part that is in chapter one now, where Jackson is at the party, is going to become the first half of chapter two. So there's going to be a lot of big changes, I might go over chapter one a few times, and a lot of changes will be made on chapter two. I'm finding that now, when I read a book, I gain some kind of knowledge of how to express things better (I just read American Gods by Neil Gaiman again last week), so I'll probably revamp entire chapters every once in a while. I've almost finished chapter three, but again, I'm unsure of how much I should post if I want it published. I'll research it, because I would like input on my writing from as many sources as possible. Just so you know, I'd like to know anything that you think about my writing. I always want to know what's wrong, and what I can fix, especially so that I don't make the same mistakes over and over. If there's anything that seems too confusing, then just tell me, and I'll try to make it make more sense. I'm going to go back to fixing up and finishing chapter three, and let me reiterate that input is much appreciated. -- Post 03 So, I just spent some time editing again. I added the new introduction, and chopped off the part of the first chapter when Jackson is at the party, putting it at the beginning of the second chapter. I added some new subject matter that wasn't there (for instance, for anyone whose read all of this, it now explains that David has seen things all his life, there's an important dream sequence in chapter one, better character introduction in the first chapter, and the introduction of Vincent as "Joel" for a few minutes). I suggest at least reading the new intro if you've read all of it already. Tommorrow I'll try to finish chapter three, and I think I will end up posting it. I'll try to edit it as much as possible before posting it, to avoid all these changes and fixes. Interesting, in the book format I have it (5"x8" pages) Ch. 1 is ten pages, Ch. 2 is 20, and so far, Ch. 3 is 15, but it's going to be longer. -- Post 04 Sorry for posting so much in my same thread, if that's a problem. Not trying to constantly bump it or anything. I added more dialogue between Jackson and Joel/Vincent in the first chapter, and I had a reason because there was something I was going to put in chapter 3, but now I've forgotten the reason. Oh well, the longer dialogue makes the encounter a bit more realistic, and not so pointless. I'll be posting Chapter 3 soon, maybe in the next few minutes, or maybe tommorrow. I think I might need some sleep before finishing it up and adding the final touches. I might have something to say about it, if I do I'll just edit this post, so if you see Chapter 3, look at this post just in case. I've also been thinking about adding some information or something, since you won't get to read it all until it hopefully (crosses fingers) gets published. If I do add information, that will be in the first post. [EDIT] So, below is the third chapter as it stands. I'm also editing the second one even more. I added a conversation Gena has with Jackson's mom before he calls her (it's right at the end of the chapter). I'm happy cause so far I have 23,000 words, about a fifth of an "average novel," though I plan on making 21 chapters so it's about a seventh. I hope I can write the fourth chapter in the next week or two. Thanks for reading (if you are)! -- Post 05 I've recently had the fear that I probably shouldn't post more, and am anxious at how much I did post. I didn't think that there's the chance someone could come across it and take the ideas. Now, don't get me wrong, I'm not freaking out or going crazy over it, I'm just a bit anxious. So I printed it all out and mailed it to myself, because that's the closest method I've heard of showing that the work actually belongs to you. It's because of the official postage stamp thing that the post office puts on it. You just do that and then leave it unopened. I'm just letting anyone who may exist know that this happened, so if you (not any of the awesome people around here, I know all of you are good enough writers not to steal my stuff) ever think of taking my ideas, I'll know and you'll be screwed. Anyways, I'm wondering if there will be any feedback. If anyone really cares a lot about reading this story, then I could probably email them updates and such, but right now I'm not getting much response, so I think I'll just let this thread sit as it is. I hope that my writing isn't so bad that people think I'm dumb to be wanting to publish it, and I don't think it's that bad, but getting some feedback would be helpful. -- Post 07 So, I'm putting all other posts that aren't story or replies up here. I'll mention it in the last post I made. FYI: I recently discovered that Chapters 2 and 3 were cut off at the end, I didn't realize there was a character limit. So I put the ending in a post directly afterwards. I'm not sure how important this is, but if any of you have read all of this (and I know it's a little much to read in one sitting) then I would appreciate any advice you may have. Otherwise, nevermind I guess. So, if I do continue posting stuff on this then just expect something to be written up here instead of down there, you know? -- Post 08 Well, I decided to put the terms, characters, and background that I hope to have at the beginning or ending of each book. It's a rough draft of course, I still need to edit the introduction, and those aren't all the characters or terms. I don't have any information on the characters, just names, but I put all of this information in the copy I mailed for the copywriting purposes, so please, don't take it. -- Post 09, August 2nd Well, hello again. I think I've finished chapter 4, and since I'm more confident that this won't all be published by someone else, and I have trust that no one will steal my ideas, I'm willing to post up this next chapter. I'm not sure how many people have actually read all of it, but I know at least one has. Of course, no chapter is absolutely done, since I always go back and add/change things. As always, any and all advice is welcome. I haven't had a chance to go back and correct the things that Wyv told me about, I'll do that soon though. Also, I removed the "background story" because it's so rough, and I'm actually going to rewrite it. If you didn't end up reading it, and want to know the history behind the story, just PM me and I'll let you read the old version. Also, I edited every post because now there is a "timeline" type thing, each segment shows how many days (or years) it was from the night of the party. I'm going to try to make that night more pivotal in relation to all the characters, making it the center point for when everything happens. For instance, ch 3 technically comes before the second half of ch 2, and ch 4 comes way before them all. Also, I don't know if the character limit was changed after I said something, but now all of my stuff is fitting in a single post, so I changed all the ones that were in two seperate posts. Everything (stories, characters, concepts) on this page pertaining to A Series of the Void, Dark, Light, and Evil and all books in that series are ©2006 Isaiah Everin Cooper

Name: Jimmy Thompson Sex: Male Age:: 35 Basic Appearance: Brown hair and hazel eyes. His hair is generally disheveled, as well as his casual clothing. He isn't tall, or short, and is fiarly unrecognizable in any way. So normal, that he almost stands out more in modern society. Background: Though it would seem like he had a normal life, he spent seven years in a mental institution for harsh paranoia, and extreme halucination. During his entire childhood he saw a man named "Todd" every once and while, and "Todd" would convince him to do things. He got out of the mental institute by convincing his psychiatrist that he was "better". Other than that, his life was as normal as it could be for being delusional and paranoid all the time.

I'd like to sign up, but I just got here and know very little of this werewolf game. When I find time I may read the other ones. Is there any place that has all the rules laid out, and shows how the game works? I'm not getting this "lynching, baning, killing" thing, and how is the seer decided? I'm just ask general questions on the WW game, and not on this specific game in general. If someone could PM me on how this works, that would be greatly appreciated.

Pete woke up in his bedroom, sheets just barely covering him on what was supposed to be another boiling summer night. He had been at a party the night before, drinking, getting social, the casual thing he did every Saturday night to escape the boring business of owning a car dealership. The party had taken its toll, but something about this night wasn't letting him get back to sleep. It was freezing cold in his bedroom. Goosebumps flushed his bare legs and arms where his boxers and night shirt weren’t covering his skin. He looked at the clock and saw that it was four in the morning. The party hadn’t ended late, and since it was Sunday, he was expecting to sleep in late. He rolled off of his bed, the cold sinking into his body. What the hell was up? It was the middle of the summer, and even in the winter, the city never got this cold. He stumbled out his bedroom, scratching his stubble covered chin. The temperature seemed to drop further as he made his way to his kitchen. Even in his tired mind, he could still figure out that something was wrong. Maybe it was like that one movie where the whole world was freezing over because of global warming. He needed to wake up before he could absorb any more information other than the fact that it felt like it was below zero. Grabbing a mug out of the cupboard, he went to pour himself a cup of old coffee. Though the pot was half-full, nothing came out. He set the mug down, and lifted the lid, looking inside the pot. The coffee was frozen. “Holy crap!” he shouted to himself, tossing the iced coffee at the wall in surprise. Breathing heavily, he tried to calm down. There had to be a rational explanation. He tiptoed through the shards of glass and chunks of coffee, looking for the thermostat. The device didn’t seem to be working. There were just random symbols on the small LCD screen. He punched random buttons vigorously, trying to figure out what was happening. He dashed to the TV, pressing the power button on the remote. It didn’t work. He fell to his knees and crawled to the screen, pounding the button with one meaty finger. The set refused to turn on. He was on the verge of tears. Fancying the thought that this might all be a dream, Pete punched himself in the stomach. Already on his knees, he fell to his hands, and actually wretched for a moment. The cold was getting to him, he toes and feet were getting numb. He jogged to his bedroom, putting on two more shirts, a pair of pants, and some socks. Grabbing the phone, he dialed the first number he could think of: his girlfriends. He moved so quickly that he didn’t hear the absent dial-tone. It didn’t ring. He waited and waited, and it still didn’t ring. It must have been a national disaster; electricity and phones down, freezing weather. Rushing to the door, Pete panted heavily, his steamy breath standing out in the frigid air. He undid the two locks, and slid onto his back as he sprinted onto the frost-covered porch. “Oh god, ooh god…” he sat up slowly, and the site before him made him gasp. “Holy shiii…” Everything in front of him was covered in at least three feet of snow. It never snowed here; not in the summer, not in the winter, never. Cars were up to their windows in snow. He slowly got up, the ice on the deck too cold to even leave melted water on him, and stumbled off his porch and onto the blanket of snow. He walked slowly at first, taking in the spectacle around him. There was no way it could be happening. Slowly turning around and around, he noticed that no one had come out of their houses. It was as if the whole world was as frozen as the air. He tried to run, but the dizziness from turning made him fall flat on his face. The cold bit his skin like a thousand mosquitoes. He arched up in a trunk lift, and came face to face with a reindeer, or something resembling one. He forced his face back into the snow, hiding from everything in the world. Refusing to get up, Pete lay there and hoped that when he lifted his face, this terrible dream would go away, and the soft snow that was freezing his eyelids together would turn out to be a pillow. “Get up!” he tried to say, but it only came out as a muffled cry. After mentally counting to three, then ten, then twenty, he finally lifted his head. The reindeer was just ten yards away, sniffling at the snow. It looked at him, and Pete realized that it wasn’t an ordinary reindeer. Its normal rack of horns appeared to be more like branches, with a plethora of types of leaves, ranging from what appeared to be blades of grass to pine needles. Its coat was greenish, and covered with frost. It looked at him, grunted, and dashed away at the speed of a cheetah. Pete sat up, his eyes wide with terror, and his knees shaking. When he glanced around one final time, he realized that all the buildings were gone. All the cars, all the houses, all the trees, they had all just vanished. So had his entire life, it seemed. Before Pete could expand anymore on this thought, something hit him in the back of the head, and he fell over onto the ground. A similar instance happens to anyone that joins, all the enter the snow world are "chosen" to enter. This thing can grow into any direction. Hope it's okay to post this even though I'm new, I'm not sure of what to do, but I really want to get to know the community, and was feeling a spark to write something.

Though it seems like a mildly overused plot, it's a good start. I'm wondering what the nano-augmentation was for, so I won't start by assuming the story is what I think. You should write more on this.

This is technically from a series I've already begun writing, but I just wrote this segment of it for the purpose of recruiting into the forum. So, the ideas in it were preconceived, but I just wrote it after I registered. It may be really confusing, so if I have to write something else, I'll gladly do that. I may later be posting, in other sections of the forum, stuff that relates to this to make it make more sense. If anyone has a question about it, you can go ahead and ask. A segment out of a A Series of The Void, Dark, Light, and Evil, probably the fourth and final book (no, I haven’t written the first three): The Evil. It is a series in progress, thus some of the names and concepts aren't definite. “Ares, we must find her. My sister, she is in grave danger, and it is only now that it has dawned upon me that Hades and Zeus’ purpose is to kill her, not release her.” Ardent Satan paced his throne room anxiously. The red light of fire shone through the arched, stained-glass windows. The windows soared a hundred feet up to the dome of a ceiling; pictures of the most esteemed demons of Hell, those who had brought it into its former glory, were patterned into its colored facets. They used to be beautiful shining things, and now, hundreds of years after the decline of Satan’s power over the hell, they were unkempt and broken, bits of glass missing here and there. Ardent saw no need to repair them. “They made this Vincent superio open my box to free Pandora.” “Can you be sure, Lord of the flames? It seems in order for this to be true, treachery must run deep in the halls of Light and Dark. It would seem that the entire Celestial world is falling to our evil ways,” Ares said, standing at the demigod’s right hand. “Trust me Ares; though the Celestial world may not know it, their leaders conspire to kill their own creator. Our esteemed Galaxia unirio, hidden away in my sister, is their target. I don’t care much for Galaxia, though she made my parent race. All I want is to protect my sister. If Pandora were to come to any harm there would be a price to pay.” Ardent Satan looked intensely at the stone floor before him. The many dukes of hell used to sit in the stone chamber of hell’s throne room. Now they were all gone, either killed by rebels, or turned against the throne of hell. “Though it may pain you my god of war, your great father, Zeus magnifio and lord of light, is as much a traitor as I.” “Ardent, son of Adam and Eve, I am entirely ready to accept that as truth. Ever since the great lightening master himself cast me and his other children to your depths, I have been ready to fight against him. I only ask how you wish me to do it. Is there any command, other then finding your sister, that you would like me to follow?” Ares stepped before his Lord, and held his red-skinned hands behind his back. “What I ask of you may be difficult, descendant of Kronos. First, you must find Kadz laderio, the impetuous torturer, creator of the plain jumpers, and do what ever is necessary to stop him from finding my sister. To cripple the right hand of Hades, you may take those vampires that are still loyal to hell’s throne, and kill his beloved puppets, his mindless plain jumpers.” Ares nodded, a look of amusement crossed his face for a moment. “I can sense that there is more you wish of me.” “Yes, god of war, and this is what may weigh heaviest on your conscience, if there is one under that horned brow of yours.” Ardent Satan hunched over, and drew an ornately carved knife from his belt. “This knife was created by Hephaestus’ smoky void Djinn, in his great forges of Purgatory. He owed me a favor from long ago. Ares, you must take this knife to the archangel Gabriel Rift, who we all know as the former Apollo.” Ares raised his eyebrows curiously. “I realize that you used to work along side him, but he is no longer an ally. I think that he and Kadz, the assistants to Zeus and Hades magnifio, are the only others that know of the plot to kill my sister. Apollo has his gloried angels, just as Kadz had his wretched plain jumpers, but this shouldn’t be a problem. Apollo trusts you. Ares, bring this knife to him, and give it to him. Tell him it’s a gift.” “I don’t understand. You don’t want me to kill the bow caster?” Ares said, taking the knife from Ardent Satan and studying its blade. “No, giving him this knife will prove more fatal to the scheme to kill my sister. You see, if I wanted you to kill him, we wouldn’t have to turn to the fabled artificer. The knife you hold in your hand has many unique properties. It is bound to the life-force of the archangel, and when he wields it, its purpose will be revealed. After much deliberation with the future seeing witches, the Fates, I have determined that it shall be Gabriel Rift that kills my sister, and he shall do it with this blade. I have twisted fate, Ares, by having this knife created. When he raises it to slit her throat, it will turn on him, it will expose his treachery. Then, Ares, it will call you down to gut him then and there. I cannot explain why he must die this way, only the Fates know of such things, but it must be done, my war monger.” “And you trust the fates?” Ares said, sliding the knife into his own belt. “Other devils of this world have seen the same future in those dreams that they have. I am certain, Ares, that this is the way it must happen in order for me to save my sister. This is the only way I can make her trust me. I hear tell that her soul is in another human’s body, but on the celestial plain it will mean nothing. Look at me, I was once a human, first born of Adam, but Lucifer showed me the way to become immortal.” “You may have forgotten something, Lord Satan; Apollo’s sister, Artemis.” “Yes, that double gendered huntress, the archangel Michael Polis. She has chosen a female form again, I’m guessing.” Ares nodded. “She and her brother have a very…close…relationship. I’ve heard that on occasion, they think the same thoughts, and feel the same things. I guess that happens with twins, though during the biblical years, Michael and Gabriel were never said to be twins.” “I’m sure you’ll find a way to avoid her presence.” Ardent Satan closed his eyes, focusing on the web of knowledge that flowed between Celestials. He focused on the siblings, Gabriel Rift and Michael Polis. “If I am correct, her and her brother are not so close. It appears as though the gender changer is helping Vincent and his human slave, Jackson. What a strange twist of events. Perhaps you can use this to your advantage.” “Yes, of course.” Ares thought for a moment, and finally asked the question that was itching in him. “And what of the creator? How shall we deal with the fact that Galaxia is still inside Pandora?” “That decision shall be saved for a later occasion, Ares; but for now, complete these tasks, and return to me when you are finished. Time is of the essence. We cannot allow God Zeus or Phadz Hades get their hands on Pandora before Gabriel Rift has the knife, and Kadz is dead.” Ardent Satan rose from his throne, and set his darkened hand on the war god’s armored chest, penetrating through the ethereal substance to Ares’ red skin. “I know you will succeed.” He moved his hand up, and and pressed his thumb on demon’s forehead, making a symbol appear and glow bright yellow. Ares simply nodded, and backed away down the steps of the throne room. Ardent Satan sat back in his throne, and watched as a pair of fiery wings burst forth from the war god’s back. Ares touched the symbol on his forehead, and flashed out of existence with a muffled bang.