Saturday, September 25, 2010

Happenstance (a webcomic in search of an illustrator)

“Don’t tread lightly”
A happenstance story


Illustrated by?

#1 Don’t tread lightly

Panel one: Black, with a small white dot center, barely visible

It was like an engine firing up. That is the best way to describe being born, for me at least. And Rashe too, I bet. I was still soft and pink like everybody else. It was more like my mind was an engine. It just kind of snapped into being. I wasn’t and then I was and by was I mean aware, ignorant but highly sentient. Remember that, I’ll be saying that a lot.

Panel two: vaguely humanish hand/claw piercing a pink fleshy womb, light pours forth. Keep this vague as possible so that the reader has no idea what Tad looks like

I knew, for a brief time, folk who were proud of coming into being like that. Of never having an infancy. Of being born eager and aware. I think it is the one thing I’ll always want. We were still newborns but we thought and felt like angry, dumb, uhh let’s see, 13 year olds. That’s the best way to describe it

Panel three: Hand clawing its way to life is now replaced by a slightly gnarled man’s hand, covered in a robe. It is holding a chalice in the air to a toast. In the happy, receptive audience is a motley crew of RPG stereotypes and archetypes. Be sure to include cameos of Final Fantasy's Black and Red Mage, Swords of Truth characters (Jacob, Eka, Yuri, descriptions to be provided later) Lina Inverse, Zelgadis, Bigby Wolf (human form), Gogo, Setzer, and Mog.

We were strong. We were smart Very Smart. We could, at that age, do extraordinary things. And we did. I should have listened to my God, when he told me “Don’t tread lightly” Rashe didn’t listen, he heard the same message but he didn’t listen. Somehow he got it all wrong. I’m sure of this.

Panel four: POV shot of a muscled, scarred, orc hand closing over the viewer’s eyes. Again, give no indication what Tad and Rashe are. Put a female orc in background. Make them deeply ugly and armed.

I have to be sure. Otherwise this was all for nothing. Things don’t just happen. Everything means something, IT HAS TO.

#2 At the Drag-inn

Panel one: Tall, lanky, young man in a cloak. He looks like he is an upper middle class business owner. He has tan skin, yellow eyes. He is standing over a ledger on a desk in a medieval style inn. There is a bar in background filled with vague shapes of soldiers, wizards, clerics, and even an elf or two drinking. He is holding a quill and he looks worried. There is a large, silver, jeweled chalice on the desk. Keep it there in the background in multiple panels and strips. .

Small sub panel: A raven lands on the desk. Give it a vague, red, greasy, “feather beard”.

Small sub panel 2: Raven looks up at Tad and smirks.
Raven: Hello, Tad. I’m going to go spy on that wizard who checked in an hour ago. The one who really wanted his privacy. Surprised?

Panel 2: Tad looks tired, furrows brow and picks up quill.
Tad: No I’m not surprised. I told you not to do this. I told you to leave that traveling wizard alone like he asked. You’re doing something dumb instead of what I told you to do. Why would I be surprised?

Panel Three: Close up on raven with a disappointed look on his face.
Raven: You don’t have to be such a dick about it
Tad (from off panel): I can’t help it anymore Rashe.

Panel Four: Raven takes flight soaring out a window, whooshes past Tad.
Rashe: You can’t stop me. Don’t even try, I’ll just kick your ass again, Tadpole
Tad: You’re going to die, I’m going to tell you mom, and then I’m going to do her.

(At the bottom of the page)
As orphans, we were both fans of that joke.

#3 Bird’s eye view

Panel 1 Raven/Rashe is perched on a tree, peering into a 3rd story window.

Subpanel a:

A pov shot of an old but spry looking man in a cloak. The cloak looks expensive and is covered in jewels. He is meditating in a well furnished room.

Sub panel b: The room without the man. Where did he go?

Sub panel c: A close of the wizard’s face, he is pissed.

Panel 2:Rashe falls out of the tree. A big “crash” cloud obscures what he looks like.

Panel 3: A large, snake-man (Yaun-ti) slithers away)

Panel 4: Rashe, as a Yaun-ti, slithers into the inn and stops in front of Tad, still at the desk.

Without looking up, Tad: So did things turn out like I said they would or were they worse?

#4 Who-man
Panel 1: At the Inn, Tad is standing in front of Rashe with his arms crossed. He looks righteous.
Tad: Why didn’t you leave him alone? Now he’s going to blast our ass into some sort of suck-dimension.
Rashe: Dude you are so gay.
Tad: I’m not gay, I’m a vir.. Fuck you!
Rashe is still a Yaun-ti. Be sure to give this snake man a greasy beard. All of Rashe’s forms, except for his true form will rock the beard.

Panel 2: Tad puts his hand on his face. Rashe is enveloped in a “Poof” cloud.
Tad: At least turn into a human so we don’t freak out the customers.
Rashe: Oh Shit yeah.
Panel 3: Rashe is now a stout (but normal height) human. He has short blond hair and a wild look in his eyes. Don’t forget the beard. Yes he has two hair colors, want to fight about it? He has a slightly nervous sweat puddle on the side of his. Draw a small thought bubble of the old man’s face. He is lying about this.

Rashe: I don’t know what your problem is? What makes you think he knew?

Tad: I saw you fall and turn back into a Yaun-ti. Someone cast dispel magic on you. You’ve never studied ravens. You turned into a Yaun-ti, and then polymorphed into that.

Panel: 5 Rashe clapping, Tad looking pissed. On the table, there is a silver, jeweled chalice.
Rashe: Congratulations Shirereve "Shit-for-brains" Good thing you figured this out after I did it!
Panel 6: Tad smacking Rashe with the chalice. A big “Ye olde KAPOW!” explosion coming from it.

#5 Party of 50

Panel 1: Tad and Rashe are on the floor wrestling. Rashe has Tad pinned.
Sub panel a: A dusty “fight cloud”. Show fangs and fists on the side. Think cartoony.
Sub panel b: Same image, but now the shadow of a young boy looms over them.
Sub panel c: Same image, just with text “Uh Uncle Tad, Uncle Rashe?”
Panel 2: Tad and Rashe in the same position as in Panel 1, both turn their head. Tad looks embarrassed because he was fighting, Rashe is looks confident he is beating Tad again.
Tad+Rashe: (Sharing word balloon). Yes?
Panel 3: Dark skinned but with European features, young human boy of about 7. A little tall for his age, lean. Has a subtle, faint, sad look in his eyes. Reverent look on his face. Tad and Rashe took him in. He loves them and knows their secret. Have him wearing what looks like some sort of fantasy furry monster skin. Think Final Fantasy Barbarian class. Complete with tusked fox cap. It’s a monster fox!

Behind him, put a faint image of knight boots and armored legs, the points of upside down swords, the bottoms of spears, shields, etc.. There is an army beyond the limits of the panel.

Thomas Egress: If you guys are done handling each other, we have guests. I mean we always have guests, except for at the beginning, but these are a lot at once.

Sub Panel a: Just the word bubble
Rashe: He talks like you Tad. You’re a wonderful mom.

Panel 4: A splash image of the Alphadian Army! They look like a squadron of sorcerer soldiers. They are wearing exotic but tough looking armor. They are a mix of humans, elves, half orcs, dwarves, (Red mage cameo in the background). They are carrying swords, spears, shields, staves, and bows that are also exotic and deadly looking. On their chests is the insignia of Alphadian, a green comet. You will later see this insignia at various angles. But these are all at a 45 degree one. It’s an army thing.
Thomas: And they want to get DRUNK!
Sub panel a: Gauntlets and fists raised in the air. Big speech balloon.
Army: YEAH!!!!
At the bottom of the panel
I’ve been alive for so long, most of it in conventional time that I sometimes mix up the order. I remember it all but sometimes I make more than one beginning. It all started when they took Rashe and I away, absolutely. But this, this is where we sealed our fates. Nice tippers though.

#6. Rapier Twit
Panel 1: Tad has walked past the inn desk and is shaking hands with a tall man in his 30’s. He is wearing blue/white paladin armor with the Alphadian seal (45 degree green meteor) on the chest. At his side is a 5 foot long serrated saw/sword. He has a fused gauntlet/shield coming from his other hand. Give him a smug look on his face. The rest of the Alphadian Honor Guard encircles them. Rashe is flanking Tad. Thomas stands off center, he has a bright grin on his face.
Tad: I’m Tad and this is Rashe.
Erik Cumupins: Nice to meet you. Is this your partner?
Tad: No, we’re just friends. We grew up together!
Rashe: Damnit Tad that’s not what he meant.

Panel 2: Erik is now shaking Tad’s hand. Keep the smug look on his face. Focus the view on just him and Rashe, specifically their arms.
Erik:.. Nice to meet you too. Now, my name is Erik Cumupins. My soldiers and I have been training for months in the forest of the God’s near Mangevile.
Rashe: That crazy Gnoll village? Tad and I tried to invade that village close to 4 years ago.
Sub panel 1: Tad recalling a scary and painful memory
Tad: They kicked our asses. Who knew they had wizards? Dozens of wizards.
Sub panel 2: Tad looking to the side
Tad: Another idea by Rashe that almost got us killed.

Panel 3 (begin with small sub panel and go into big splash panel)
Sub panel: Erik with both his hands on his hips, laughing at Tad and Rashe
Erik: Hah! Even we would not invade Mangevile without the full support of Alphadian. And we’re the
Splash panel: The Alphadian Honor Guard, their legs not moving, throwing their exotic weapons up into the air in triumph resulting in magical chaos and destruction. Have lighting and ice blow out of trumpets. Have blades shoot out acid that dissolves the floors. Have Half Orcs carrying giant hammers shoot blood all over the place. Make the Drag-Inn look smashed.

Erik and his squad: ALPHADIAN HONOR GUARD!

Panel 4: Tad, Thomas, Rashe covered in soot and ash. Have them look exhausted and utterly shocked. The Honor Guard is magically glowing.
Sub Panel A: The Honor Guard has stopped glowing and they look a little sheepish.
Sub Panel B: Rashe smiles, have a thought bubble coming from his head saying “Cool”. Tad is furious. Draw him with fangs. He is not as good at morphing as Rashe (which we will explore later in his lack of poofs). When he is upset, parts of his true nature come out. The audience does not know these two are dragons yet and may just see this as artistic, hopefully.
Tad: GOD DAMNIT! YOU JUST BLEW UP OUR INN? WHAT THE IN HELLS IS WRONG WITH YOU? WE PAID OUR FEES AND YOUR TAXES, WHAT THE FUCK IS UP?

Panel 5: The Honor guard is now summoning magics and monsters to fix their mess. Show images of wood elementals chopping up and building with themselves. Show magical energy surrounding broken glass and mortar. The Honor Guard should be chanting, holding up their hands, gesturing, praying, and commanding their creatures.
Rashe is still pleasantly shell shocked while Tad is slightly less angry. Thomas is catatonic.

Erik: Sorry about that, we are very proud of ourselves. Plus we almost never run out of spells. We will fix this place and maybe make it even nicer by the end of the night.

Tad: Why are you here? If I wanted to renovate this place I’d do with my own claws.

Sub panel: Black, no image (inferred to be) Erik: I have a business proposition for you.


#7 Double tubin’ Dragons

Panel 1: Sub panels

A: Close up of a bare, attractive, female leg walking.
B: Same thing
C: Same thing

Panel 2: Teleece, wrapped in a towel. Stereotypical hot elf chick. Tall, shapely, impossible looking. She is a minor character so play it up.

Tad is starring at her sheepishly. Rashe looks a little embarrassed. Thomas is a mix between the two. Give Erik another smug look complete with armor hidden boner.

Teleece Ioepsis: Why is there a suicidal wood elemental fixing my destroyed room? I was taking a bath.

Tad: Alone?

Teleece Ioepsis: No, my sister was there too.

Sub Panel A: Her looking around at all the people present
Sub panel B: Walking away, hips swaying, dark cloud surrounding her. Teleece: I’m going to get dressed. Then I’m going to start the blasting.

Panel 3: General rebuilding hi jinks in the background. Thomas is now helping out because he is such a good boy! Erik is addressing Tad and Rashe.

Erik: We’ve been training for a while and we wanted to have a little fun before our mission begins.

Sub panel A: Erik, flamboyant, hand on chest, closed eyes and upturned head.
Erik: Since we cannot party in the streets of Alphadia, the grateful citizens would swamp us, we were considering renting out your Inn’s tavern. We will give you a gold voucher redeemable at our treasury.

Sub panel B: Close up of Tad, his fangs are now gone. He looks miffed. Tad: What, so you can blow it up again? You’ve been training for so long now you just want to kick back and tear apart an Inn?

Sub panel C: Rashe with his hand on Tad’s shoulder. Rashe: They did rebuild it. Look, these guys are worth a lot of money and it never hurts to have soldiers as regulars.

Sub Panel D: Rashe looking at Erik: Alright, we will charge you 500 gold for the extra service and we will discount our drinks 5%, so feel free to get ripped.

Panel 4: Tad, wanting to contribute something, steps forward arm up with his pointer upward. Bird’s eye view on an angle with Erik crossing his arms and Rashe looking on.

Tad: You cannot rent it out, you guys can drink with our customers but the Drag-Inn is never an exclusive place to be.

Erik: I’m not sure about that, I am ordered to rent the place out. What do you think guys?

Panel 5: The Alphadian honor guard with their hands on their chins, thinking.
“HMMMMMMMMMM”
Sub panel A: Small, cute version of Tad and Rashe cowering. Tad is saying “Hit the deck”. Chibi

Panel 6: All of the Honor Guard looking at one halfling in the middle left corner.
John: I’m tired of sleeping with the same people for the past 4 months.

Panel 7: A mixture of emotions from the Honor Guard. Some look bored and receptive to the comment “You’re telling me”, some look sheepish, others look a little concerned about the squad relationship dynamics after this. Put a few small speech bubbles from three random guard members. You’re choice, be sure to remember who they are though.

Guard 1: I wasn’t tired of it
Guard 2: I thought it made us closer.
Guard 3: Mo’ like everyone’s tired of you.

Panel 8: Erik, looking a little annoyed.
Erik: Awkward, thank you. Clearly we need some fresh blood. All right, we will pay you for the extra service and all the drinks. You have a deal, shore dwellers.

Panel 9: Tad and Rashe looking pleased. Erik waving to his cheering Honor Guard.

#8 Founded in blood

Back room, sort of an employee’s break room with a table and six chairs. A framed picture in the background.

Panel 1: A meeting of the head employees of the Drag-Inn

Teleece, still in a towel. Her sister, Pam is wearing overalls and boots. Show a little cleavage, she is built like her sister but acts very modest about it.

Tad is resting his hand on his arm on the table. Rashe is sitting up with his feet on the table.

Draw a small Phoenix sitting on the center of the table. Show Red, Blue, and purple flames subtly coming off of the back of its fire wings.
This is Teal in her travel size form.
She started out this size and is now about as big as a Saint Bernard (with a 5 foot
wingspan and a 3 foot layered aura of fire. Tricky, yes.

On one of the chairs is a woman with blue skin. She is tall and pretty.
She has long blond hair and a mischievous smile on her face. She is holding the chalice Tad used to smack Rashe. She is Selene, the water elemental. Do not give it away yet. She is wearing modern looking tan leather pants and a white poofy blouse.


Writing a letter (quill and parchment), is Roy Lesotho. He is a large black human in his mid thirties. He is very muscular and has a few scars on his arms. He has a happy look on his face. He is writing to his family who live on the Africanesque continent of Jamarra. He is wearing armor that literally looks like its made out of stone (magic stone). Its part of his secret strategy.

Thomas is sitting in another chair, drying out a glass with a rag. He is excited for the night ahead.

Panel 2:
Starts with two sub panels and text

A: Black no image
We were so excited for the big night, even my doubts were gone. I had forgotten how moments ago they trashed the place. IN TRIUMPH, no less.

B: Small close up of the painting in the background.
Still I’m thankful they came in a small way. They proved to me I could have made at as a real person with a real job instead of being an adventuring disaster cloud. Adventures are nothing but super powered bums eating and burning up everything.


Close up of the image in the background. Big splash page.
It shows the first day of the Drag-Inn.

The twins will be there. We’ve already described the first one Teleece; draw her in purple cheesecake showy dark wizard woman robe. Her sister on the other hand will be very different. Although she has the same proportions as her sister, she does not show them off. She is a professional, contemplative fighter. Draw her in full battle gear. Her armor is all made out of wicked sharp and serrated seashells. Think giant demonic lobsters and polar bear eating crabs. Make it look pretty too and expertly made. Have in her right hand a sword with a blade that looks like a sharpened anchor. She has a smile on her face, the only thing not protected.

Roy is waving, holding Teeleece up in the air with his other hand. She’s giggling and he’s smiling.

Rashe leaning in and hamming it up with two thumbs up and a goofy smile. Be sure to remember to give him the greasy red beard and blond hair (for the human form). Tad is pointing to the Drag-Inn. A modest inn at the time consisting of only one floor. There is a little sign with the inn’s name and logo. It is a picture of a big momma dragon with its claws wrapped around two baby dragons. Tad and Rashe still miss their family. In red is name.

I miss those days. Things were so much simpler then. Rashe and I had no idea that by the time the week was through we’d be mayors. And mourners.

I miss knowing every customer and hanging out with them all day, hearing their stories and moving them along. I miss slowly going from protecting the Ioepsis sisters to hoping to sleep with Teleece after fooling myself into thinking that we were safe. I miss them all but I’m glad they ended with a party. And what a party it was.

#10 Liquor licenses are insane even IRL

Panel 1: Previous image of the senior staff assembled, Teleece still shameless in her towel. They are now all looking at the founders.

Tad: So that’s the plan. I think this is going to be great for us. I know it was a little weird they did so much damage to this place but look, they fixed everything and then some. Now we have a steam room!

Rashe: They are paying us 500 gold just of the extra service. I threw them a 5% discount on booze but I know they will make up for it. I just sent a check for the 5th installment of our liquor license layaway plan. They came at just the right time. These guys are the Honor Guard and they are loaded.

Selene: No, they’re not loaded until they’ve had a taste of my disintegrating-gin.

Roy: I’ll keep them in line and tell them increasingly bawdy stories of my homeland as they, we progressively drink throughout the night. And you know, keep things cool.

Teleece: I’m going to wait on them just like this, (smug, half joking look on her face)
Pam: I hope the guys are cute.

Teal: Ka Kawwww!

Panel 2: Tad pumping his fist on the table, view of him leaning forward with a smile on his face, its infectious as others are picking up his enthusiasm.

Tad: All right everyone, Rashe will get the kitchen staff ready, I’ll get the maid’s a maidin’. I want the rest of you guys to clean up the bar while still serving the regulars. Someone work the crowed too, get them excited for the Honor Guard.

Sub panel A: Everyone’s hands encircled onto one point. A go team moment but they don’t say anything. It’s their thing.

Panel 3: Two split images. Anonymous medieval peasants cooking and sewing up a kitchen. Same peasants cleaning beds and preparing rooms. Draw a couple eyes and mouths in the wood, remnants of the wood elemental. Creepy.

Panel 4: Draw a large bar, in a mead hall style. Chair multiple chairs and table. Draw a long bar table in the left corner with a stand and flasks along with shelves of hard liquor. Draw plenty of wooden mugs and wooden plates. Put up a few mounted heads of fat, tusked, red skinned demons (Bazetu). Put a few cameos in the assorted crowd of patrons, most of who are wizards of multi ages (they are mostly Alphadian tourists). Put a bear drinking a bear towards the side. Draw the Necromancer from Diablo 2 (Middle aged man in bone armor, pale, gaunt, ashen, sullen, but not evil looking, Locke from final fantasy 6, and a cat wearing a crown and holding a microphone puss in boots style anthropomorphized.

Big speech balloon.

“Ladies and gentlemen, loyal Alphadians and travelers alike, I bring you”

Panel 5. Selene, holding a lute with a big smile on her face, waving in a crowd of excited magical soldiers (think shore leave) through a big door into the bar behind her. In front of her, a legion of mugs raised in approval.



Selene: The Honor Guard! Let’s show them a good time, the Drag-Inn way!

Sunday, September 5, 2010

I know a couple guys (inc)

Base value (inc)

It's your fault you're so fucking sick!


Terri held her breath at the door. This was it, not it, it; she had a "Stay" of two months-ish, maybe more with chemo.  No, this was it as in, this is the last hope. Once I step through this door and hear my "options" that's it. It's either hot poison with the hope it will kill me less, or....

This was not the only " this is, it, it". It was also an "it" as in Its almost 2pm and these Heavenly pills they got me on makes the afternoon feel like midnight. I'm not going to do much else today but continue to drink deeply from the cup of life and go to bed by 7. That or migraine city.

She didn't want to think about it. Why actively explore your rapidly impending oblivion? Moments when she was not thinking about it, it a cluster of dangerously fertile rogue cells in her brain, were paradise. Terri always felt that she had a fortunate life. She never really felt like life did her wrong or made her a victim. Until now. Now her body was victimizing itself, starting at the top with a snowballing error in her biochemistry.

She stepped through the door. The receptionist was young with poofy, frizzy hair. It looked like she had a little sun backdrop behind her head. Dark and sunny would be the best way to describe her.

"Hi, how are you?"

Terri gave her a terminal look. She cringed. "Right, sorry. So Misses"

"Terri"

"Terri, thank you for coming a little early. We now how important your time is to you"

"Yes"

"So we here at 'Choose to Live' and Dr. Neetchurrch like to really get to know our patients. Did you bring the.."

Terri pulled out the flash drive from her purse. Photos, scans of Kindergarten assignments (both her own and her children's), scans of art work, favorite songs, and even a few "Personal essay questions" that Terri really found too personal. Not in the way a doctor obviously needs to know a patient personally but more emotional. Terri had not really had much mental health services at all but the questions to her seemed almost probing and petty, instead of professional. If it wasn't for the cancer, I'd say they made me feel vulnerable. That had a way of making all other threats seem benign. They were  just some weird question, its not like they can hurt me

She took the flash drive. "Thank you, I will bring this to Dr. Neeetchurrrrch for his analysis. Please make yourself comfortable..."

"Don't think that's possible"

"Right...Please take a seat, The doctor is finishing up with a patient and will be with you shortly"

She sat down. She braced herself. Once a patient woman, Terri now took every wasted second like an affront. I'm fucking dying. Hurry up. Time passed and she wondered if her fouling mood was from the wait or her brain cells turning into useless toxin. She thought she had a nap, maybe, and woke with a start. She heard crying, a common sound in any medical office. It sounded like a child. It was accompanied by the more mature, unwounded footsteps of his mother and the doctor.

"So here is a colleague of mine. She's one of the best therapists in the area. Our names are a lot a like. She's great with children. She's actually my cousin but I would recommend her even if we weren't related. Max is on track to a full recovery. He just might need to have his hand held a for a while". A smooth, loose hand slipped her a card.

"Thank you so much Dr. Netchurch". The beaming mother accepted the card and placed her hand on top of her son's shaking head. Terri heard him whimper. No I'm not. No I'm not over and over.


                                                               No I'm not

She heard them leave the building and the doctor approach her.
He held out a now cardless hand.

"Terri"

She liked that he didn't take the time to use her last name. It would not protect her and  everything needed to be done now. She stood up and began to match his pace, he understood.

"Before we get started. Before anything happens or," He frowned. "doesn't happen, I want to thank you for Choosing To Live"

Terri smirked. "Come now, no need for the sales pitch. You already got me. Its not like I'm saving anymore anyways"

He stopped. "This is the real deal. I believe it, Barbara believes it, I won't break HIPA but I can tell you those two who just came in here believe it. And I know you do too"

"Why's that?" They began walking again.

"Because you're here". He opened the door and held it for her. "You've tried everything else but boiling your brain in a microwave in case it kills you less. You don't have time to fuck around"

She was shocked, a feeling she felt she had used up. It was strangely comforting as it came from the words of doctor with a face she did not picture swearing often. The doctor  had the look of a prime professional, healthy but mature. Lean and quick, he seemed more a role to be played than a person she could see in a social setting. He had a paleness to him that seemed like he was a little too clean like he resorted to a level of self maintenance beyond what anyone needed.  Can you be too healthy? she thought as she sat down.

It looked more like a psychiatrist's office than a specialist's office.  It was clean, with a huge, oasis sized sink connected to small, personal tub, a couch, some chairs,scales, not that scary anymore looking medical equipment, a blood pressure cuff, Whatever it had a weird Culture to it. There were paintings and photographs everywhere. It was the body modified in a million ways. From shamans, ascetics, medicine men, powow witch healers, and wicans  to today. Plastic surgery perfection and excess, face to toe with before an after shots askew and random, which made it all the more disorienting. It had some more extreme stuff like life changing tattoos and piercings at a self handicapping level. It had filed teeth and bound feet. She was in the middle of the gender reassignment art project cluster when the doctor spoke.

"Terri"

She turned. He sat far enough away to be visible but hazy. Maybe it was just quirk of a melting brain. Things could be blurry and sometimes, there was double vision in her left eye. It could have been  her random but close to constant tiredness. Whatever it was, Terri  could only focus around him or near him and not directly at him. It wasn't painful of scary it was just, difficult.

"While I was wrapping up with the last patient I had time to look at some of the materials I asked you to bring"

He was looking at a large glossy photograph. She could clearly see that. It was her, hubby, and the kids at that  luxuriously unsustainable and poignantly ephemeral ice cream shop they all loved. 

The Three Musketeers!

A book and many movies none of them ever bother to experience. Dave just heard it from somewhere and Jacob loved it, which made Terri and Dave happy. It was a perfect inside joke because it was almost nothing but inside. A lot of things in their happy life just fell into almost perfect place like that "inside joke". Plus they weren't just three for very much longer after that. Wasn't there 4 of them in the book too? Or was that just the movie? Maybe I should go listen to it on tape if I have the time?

"Do you love your family?"

"What kind of question is that?"

"The one you have just been given"

She stood up. "Yes I fucking love my family!"

"Then why are you leaving them?"

She exhaled so hard from her nose as she clenched her hands in rage it caused an almost reverse snort.

"I HAVE BRAIN CANCER YOU GODDAMN IDIOT"

Doctor Neetcrunch spun in his char and turned his back to her. That she could see a little bit better  He threw both of his hands in the air and twirled them "She's got brain cancer and I'm the idiot. Maybe she's at stage retarded?"

She was so angry she sat right back down. Needing time to take the full offense in. It was invigorating in a way. To become alive in rage like so many of was a long forgotten feeling for Terri.


"Snap out of your brain gush, Terri, you're dying here"


The offense was gone, or maybe more like displaced. Terri was curious. What just happened here. Why was this guy such a jerk to me?

"What is this?"


The doctor turned around. This time a little more clear. He had fine and thin features, generic in a way you couldn't even amusingly guess what part of the world he could trace his family from. He was white, but it was a whiteness that felt more like name tag with "Caucasian" written on it and a hope it would work. His paleness was not really what you could call continental, or even earthly but streamlined.

"I want to know why you are doing this to yourself?"

"Myself?"

"Unless you're also giving someone else brain cancer"

"Why are you being such a jerk to me? I'm your patient!"

"Yes you are and its my job to treat you, not be your friend. Now sit down!"

"I am, asshole"

He got a little closer. Terri noticed under his scrub he was wearing a button down and pants. He didn't even have gloves on her thoughts blended into her words as she "What kind of doctor are you?

There is

nothing

medical abo

ut t

h
is"

"That's the first smart thing you said today"

What?

He got up. "There is nothing medical about what I do. I am a doctor, but not according to any practice you are familiar with. I'm a healer. I force what is harming people out of them. I make them reject it"

She reached her arms out. Trying to get comfortable. She began to focus again.

"I knew you were different. You won't accept insurance. Just a fee"

"A modest fee"

"A fee of $40 and a more substantial payment 'If I live'. I figured it can't get much better than that, in terms of getting what you pay for"

"Licenses are overrated anyways. I want to know, what is the root of your selfishness?"

"My selfishness"

"What about your 'oh so terrible life' do you hate that makes you want to self destructo the braino"

The anger returned, now a stable presence, determined. She wanted to get to the bottom of this outrage.

"Who in their right mind would want to die young of brain cancer? Its terrible! I'm scared, I get headaches and the painkillers only sometimes work and when they do I get tired"

"So you're lazy, that's why you want to die young"

"What?"

"You're lazy, you want to DIE so you're going to DIE int the laziest, way possible. A way that lets you get away with going around on silly pillies for a while before LIGHTS OUT, FUCKO!"

"What makes you think I'm lazy?"

The doctor pulled out a folder with a few print outs. They were bank statements, employment evaluations, her children's report cards and her own. A swarm of Bs. Good, a little better than average. Nothing special but nice and good to have around. Terri was a useful person and she was raising her own kids in the same utility, slightly short of special way.

"You have not risen beyond middle management. I can tell by your lack of serious upper grad educational and training pursuits you will not rise much further. Even when Jacob moves to some average college, he's never going to be anything special. Just like you and the other one"

"I like where I am. My job is pleasant and it comes with a nice insurance plan. Dave brings in  money too. Most of the time and when he's not, he's really bringing in the money. People always want to buy guns, especially if they think the government might look at them funny"

The doctor frowned.

"Ok, but how about Jacob? He's doing ok, but not great. And he doesn't seem to be really good at anything"

"What do you mean?"

"What are his hobbies?"

"He likes video games, hiking, swimming, movies"

"He doesn't do anything but enjoy what other people make, or bunch of friggin rocks and  a stupid beach. What teams is he on?"

"He's not into sports"

"You are, so is your husband"

"I would never want to see my little boy sacked, even it it was The Big Game"

"He doesn't play any music"

"He likes music"

"So do you, and you play"

"I do"

"He does not"

"No.....?"

"Why?"

"He's like, 9! Maybe he will, maybe he won't. He's just a good, sweet kid, with good friends too. I love him just the way he is and want to see him grow.

She paused

"Why the fuck do you think I want to leave them and die of BRAIN CANCER??"

He stood up and started to get a little blurry again.He clicked his way to his desk and pulled out a CD. Terri was on the cover. She was holding a small parlor guitar. A very young Jacob was sitting on her shoulders, just old enough to know to hold on. "Moms Jams; Moody, Melo, Musical Musings on Motherhood by Terri Wesler".

"Everyone's afraid of their own life/if you could be anything you'd want/I bet you'd be disappointed/am I right?"

"I know where that's from. I like them too. You don't deserve to use that lyric"
He leaned against his desk and faced her. More clear this time. He irreverently held her CD together with his two pointer fingers and let it dangle perilously.

She paused, not expecting to have to defend her turning 30 vanity project. Jacob was almost 4 and Terri wanted to do something "Just for me" one last time.

"You could have just Googled it"

"Anyone, could have just Googled it. This is genuine"

She smirked.

"Well I'd hate to think all that you said before was disingenuous"

"I know how the rest of the lyrics you 'borrowed' go"

"So what?"

"Maybe its true, we really don't know the one's we love. You're not happy here, in this, your life. You wanted to perform music"

"I do perform music,. I just performed a month ago for..."

"For your friends, yeah, all twelve of them came"

"More were at that bar"

"Okay, like 30 people there"

"So what? We had a great time. Jacob was even there until like 930! That's like party time for a kid. It was a good break for us.  It was so terrible we're going to do it again in a month"

Maybe....

"Your dreams of being a musician failed. You settled, then settled down and had a family"

She laughed.

"Music is just fun for me. Sure I dreamed of making it when I was young but I never really thought it would happen"

"Who knows? Maybe you could have made it?"

"I did 'make it', you dolt. I have a easy job, a good man, a good life,  great kids, ..."


She exhaled. It felt like she had to justify her life.

"My only problem is my fucking brain cancer and you're not fucking curing it by insulting me"

She mapped out in her head, arms, and legs to get up. The neurons, the nerves, and the connections were all there but she could not. She felt like she knew at some level that this had to be completed. That an unfinished, whatever this was with whoever this man really is, would be worse. Yes, worse than a mind melting death.

He put the CD back in his desk. "Might be worth something someday"

He sat down on the other side of his desk.

"You have a good life. Why won't you Choose to Live?"

This time her arms and legs connected. She stood right up and arched at 30 something angry angle.

"I AM!"

"You don't just come in, pay the fee, sit down, and get yelled at. You have to Choose to Live"

"It really is more than just a slogan you actually believe I'm committing suicide by cancer!"

"You, the heart attacks waiting to happen, the smokers, the senile summer sweater wearers, its all you. Life is the only thing you ever really have and you all just choose to throw it away!"

She put her hand to her head.

" Death is a part of life. I just don't want to die yet"

"IT DOESN'T HAVE TO"

The sterile plasma lights exploded over his head. As it sparked, flickered, and faded she could see him standing above her. She did not recall seeing him move from behind his chair.

"Take a look"

She felt cold hands on her face for a moment before a red shock appeared before her. It took a moment to adjust.

The doctor stood before her, illuminated. Every vein, artery, and capillary exploded with a bright red light.  She could see him live! Every moving cell, every division, all them working simultaneously to make a human. Although she was not really sure what she was seeing, she knew that this doctor, this "man" was different. Before this revelation faded into normal sight the words "Closed loop" kept coming to mind. This body was tampered with. It was better than nature, healthier than health. Nothing was used up, worn out, or wasted.

 Could I be like him?

The doctor opened the shades. The room gently lit up again. Two tubes were dangling in the middle of the office. She curled her lower lip and stuck it out.

"Okay, you know what? I'm sold. You, whatever you are, you are the real deal. I don't know what you showed me but it sure as shit wasn't medicine. It seemed better"

He grunted. Clear as day. No, the fuzziness and mystery was in the room now.  It was in Terri's thoughts.  Even the light couldn't clear that up.

"Glad you are on board. Now, tell me, why do you want to die?"

"I don't"

He started rubbing his hands together. He wasn't enjoying this. She suspected he didn't like any part of it at all.

"Aren't we past this? Look, I'm sorry about those things I said but its how I work. Its my method"

She sat and for the first time, considered his question.

Do I want to die?

I mean, I always knew it was going to happen someday.

"Everybody dies, doctor"

He gave her a pained look, almost innocent.

"I'm not. And if you listen to me, you won't either" 

She wanted to leave. She felt like she was talking to some sort of manchild but she could not explain what she saw. There is no way that was a hallucination. I've had them and they're nothing like what I saw. That was like a cartoon or something

"Ok fine, you are not, but I am. I have brain cancer. It could have been from the 8 cigarettes total I've had in my whole life, maybe, I don't know if that's the exact number or whatever, or maybe it was from using a cell phone, or from living at a high elevation for a few years, or radio towers, or microwaves, or my dad's pacemaker, or some of the crazy shit you suggested, or my own unique biochemistry, I don't know it doesn't matter I guess but I'm going to die. I have brain cancer and I'm going to die. 2 or 3 or 5 or whatever  percent of people are get brain cancer and I'm part of that percent. That's it, that's the reason. People sometimes die of brain cancer and it might as well be me. I accept it"

"Don't"

"Are you serious? Didn't your parents explain this to you?"

"They did. It was the first argument I remember having"

He paced around the room. His leg did not bend, shuffle, or step, yet he moved, his presence changing locations. Terri felt the pain and nausea return.

"They lived but but soon they let me down and died"

Terri was for a moment not herself but someone else, splayed across a dash board and growing colder by the moment.

"It was an accident I know but they could have tried to make it. They could have held out longer until normal doctors could have helped them"

She felt a deep and desperate sadness. One uniquely different and yet very much the same to the own she felt for leaving her family. Her brief vision of a different identity dissolved into nothing.

"I tried to become a doctor myself. I learned a lot but I started discovering I could help people more my own way"

Silence surrounded her and she became a someone who never heard anything before. Slowly it came into being. She didn't even realize it was sound at first. Gentle lapping of the shore. To him it was a natural symphony and the opening of a brand new world

"Conventional medicine didn't understand. I really don't understand what I'm doing. I'm getting better though"

Terri was herself again and at her worst. The pain seemed to overwhelm every sense.

"I started to change myself too. Sometimes I forget what I originally looked like. Getting high a lot doesn't help but I can manage that better than anyone else alive"

Terri could not believe how arrogant and incomprehensible Dr. Netchurch was. It was the only thing she felt beyond misery. This was the worst she had ever felt. The pills were either worn off or not working. It brought her to the floor in a ball. She knew

e-e-ee-nough, enough! I'm getting up, and I'm leaving this place. This guy is insane and I'm not wasting whatever life I have left playing with him

I'm not dying here

I'm not dying here

here

right here

I'm not dying right here

I'm not

not

not dying

I'm not dying

I'm not dying
I'm not dyingi'mnotdyingi'mnotdyingi'mnotdyingi'mnotdyingi'm not dying 

I'm not going to die

She felt relief wash over her. The fluttering in her head, the most her migraines could be dulled without knocking her unconscious melted away. She felt better than she had in a long time.

Then she felt very ill.

She bolted up and dashed towards where the large sink. She shoved the doctor out of the way.

It felt like forever before she stopped vomiting. It shook her whole body in heaves and left her stained in sweat. She caught glimpses of a brown and red sludge. So far as she knew, her body product laid there in the sink, now closer to a basin in her understanding, as she felt no need to verify. It did not drain anywhere but remained.


The doctor clicked towards her, towel in hand.

"I am so proud of you"

Two months later


Terri sat at her front porch. She had another week off before it was back to work. Her recovery seemed miraculous. Her conventional doctors were "pleasantly surprised and happy to be wrong" about her once dire diagnosis.

She saw Dr. Netchurch two more times after her first treatment. Her recovery was complete, maybe even more so. She felt a little younger than when the whole thing started. Her well wishes and comments of concern had turned into compliments. It was pleasant but eerie. One night after taking a shower she could of sworn she saw her veins glow in the mirror.

She had a letter in her hand. It was from the "doctor". It was an invitation to party. He was moving his office to a bigger city. His practice was expanding. She gazed at the letter deciding on whether or not to attend. Although the treatment he provided was amazing, her memories of the process were painful. She had more options now.

It was a nice feeling she thought she never would have again.




Big little impact people

Sawdust. That's the first thing I noticed when I arrived at the Terra Viva compound. Its not a strong but a heavy odor. It sits on tip of your tongue and waits. The sawdust was donated, some would "scavenged" from dozens of workshops, garages, and fallen trees. Members brought the bags back by foot, of course. The whole way. Bikes were also acceptable.

Marching with smiles, they passed ahead of me without a word. Each one had a garbage bag bursting at the seams and very worn. Terra V does not recycle so much as they reuse until it is unusable. Every bag had been "hand air washed" at least three times.

It is rare when the people of T.V build anything. Everything is about maintenance and sustainability at a micro/macro level. Obviously, they needed to construct at some point. Almost 25 years ago, the TV compound seemed to rise from the Earth itself. Spin sent me here to witness their upcoming milestone. No co-op, bio dome, or even kibbutz has lasted this long and performed this well.

If anyone is Enviroconscious enough to turn sawdust into working wood and later back again, it would be the people of TV. Sawdust is very important here; its for shit. Yes America, TV members do shit and their shit smells. The digested result of the average American diet, consisting mostly of bleached bread, sad cheese, tortured meat, and the products of food products, can melt paint. If you eat better (and no one eats "well"), the smell starts to ease up. Keep going and it turns back around again. This time stinking of health. As I have learned.

"I first heard of Mexicans eating these guys"

She rubs her thumb, pointer, and index fingers around a squirming grub. She pops it in her mouth

Crunch

"I thought they were crazy". She laughs. Gee-ah is one of the chief chefs at TV. She's the "Protein-Queen" at TV, a nickname she earned over a couple years. Stout, scrappy, and cheerful, she's like everybody's cool aunt.

I was surprised to hear that the people of TV eat meat. Bug meat but still meat. Different kinds too! "That's a popular misconception about us" People tend to think "'Vegetarian'  means 'Green' but that is not always the case Our methods raise the perfect amount of protein with the appropriate chemical/nutrient balance for our specific diets in a way that is less ecotaxing than growing mass amounts of tofu and nuts" She had the charts to illustrate this. They were were constructed from a "edible sauce ink" made from the ground wings of pregnant "naturally deceased" crickets and liquid hydroponic waste water. She tells me it took a while to make the chart.

"Raising bugs is easy. Think how hard most people work to kill them! Our way is better"

Hydroponics provide for most of the rest. I tour the "Farms". For people who strive to be natural, it is awfully artificial. Nature is never this organized. Rows and rows of perfectly portioned dirt. Water, which they needlessly ration amongst themselves, is administered by eye drop. Hand sewn "grass canvases" are moved and arranged in intricate patterns blocking the sun for certain species at specific times. TV farmers have to memorize the patterns perfectly as there is little paper and almost no computers (or screens of any kind) at all. Monk like, they quietly dart amongst the rows. This part of the TV compound uses the most electricity. More than Anderson's room. It uses full (UV) lights and perfect, "staggered/segregated" temperature control.

Calories are just another resource from the Earth to be preserved. There are no elevators here which may seem counterproductive. Everybody walks everywhere on floors of "already murdered wood". It is usually flat but they often form kitten gentle sloping ramps that require the slightest amount of exertion to ascend. "The goal is to minimize the amount of calories burned" says Harold Ramos, the chief nutritionist and one of the few people who tells Gee-Ah what to do.

"We all strive for leanness. Excess muscle or fat requires calories to sustain. We individualize every meal for our members, within our standards, based off their age, body types, and molecular/metabolic needs". You would hardly know who is who here. Skin tones aside, everyone seems to blend into a uniformed, fit, smiling, trim, androgynous look.  Harold's beard gives him away though. He's due for his shaving tomorrow. Once a month, they remove your hair. All of it.

Showers, shits, and shaves are all water free. I tour the "cleansing chamber" as the word "shower" was only there for alteration. It is a small room, with a clear glass chamber inside. It is appropriate for only one person. Though, I hear rumors of the occasional tryst. I can't imagine fooling around while it is on. That would hurt. This is another room that uses power, though it is generated a ways away. From people powered treadmill, I am told.

It is a wind bath; blasts of air that blow any filth from your body. It is harsh. Everyone tells me you get used to it but that seems impossible. I strip down and try it. Thirty seconds later I am done. I feel not dirty, not clean and certainly not warm or comfortable. But not dirty. That's for certain. These chambers will clean your clothes too. I place my clothes inside.

I push the 2nd button and it fills with small black beads. The chamber slams shut and begins to spin. You might have heard of this kind of technology before. I stand naked and watch them swirl around my khakis, boxers, socks, and button down. Five minutes later, it stops and they all fall to the bottom. The beads sink through a fine sieve on the floor. The chamber opens. My clothes are cold, clean, and dry with a fresh hole in my breast pocket.

There is a knock on the door. I wonder if there was a camera somewhere waiting for me to get dressed. Later, I find out the door was time locked. Five for my body and ten for my clothes. Every minute counts in the TV compound. I step out. Members are lined up and smiling. I almost feel a sort of mass jealousy; wishing they could experience fresh again whatever it is that waits for me. It is more than a little creepy.

Now that I'm clean, it is time to meet the boss. Many helpful hands lead the way. The Terra Vivia media presence has been almost entirely online. Carefully managed by Anderson.. I am one of the first to come here, with my piddly digital camera. I heard he had a telephone and some internet connection but we mostly corresponded through mail.  Walked and biked in by courier, another cheerful eco-warrior with boundless energy, despite its actual micro caloric management.

Anderson Bereoth founded Terra Viva. He had a lot of help, but it was his vision and mostly his money. A former Timberland executive, he became disillusioned with what he called "consumer environmentalism". He retired and began searching for liked minded engineers, farmers, and financiers. Young people too, no movement has legs without a few fresh faces. These weren't just warriors for the cause; they would become family and eventually, a legacy. He shows me around his office. It is small, so he mostly uses his hands. There is a desk, an outlet, a chair, and what looks like a low end 2004 computer. Sure enough, I see his ethernet cord

"I was inspired by the bio-domes", though we both know our history well enough to smirk at this statement. "Only, I wanted them to work". Anderson is a stoic man with thin, birdy features. His sense of humor dry and subtle. He feels the problem was too few participants and the sealed environment. "Does such a thing exist in nature? We will close our doors when our task is done".

Done? What does "done" mean to the world's most cuddly eco-cult? Are they going PETA? EDL? Will there be flying paint cans and non negligence oil refinery explosions? Will "chicken" genetic abominations be set feebly free on our streets, too obesely engineered to even crawl?

"We don't want to change the world. We....can't. We're just big on little impact"

Little impact?

"Everything living thing has some sort of impact on the Earth. There is no way not to use something in a lifetime. Even what you call 'sustainable' renewal policies. We're just trying to have the maximum number of people take the smallest least from our dying world"

Anderson is a big idea man. Thought and goals seem to be all he is. Less of three dimensional, solid being and more of a walking, talking, extension of the will. His own or the planets, sometimes I wonder.

TV is not all sacrifice and temperance.  There is fun to be had! No television or computers. No digital music or video games either. It is natural, just like everything else.

"We're all big on live entertainment" In lounges or outside are drum circles and jam sessions. Anderson, a self described "theater geek" makes exceptions for dramas, musical, and comedies, The stage is the only common area that needs juice. "Theater, in its nature, requires a little excess. I suppose you could call it our indulgence". The lights, drops, and costumes are all professional quality. In a world of few comforts, that which remain are treasured all the more.

Even getting some shut eye is eco-strange. There are no assigned rooms. That would "encourage possessiveness". Anderson has a cot in his office, the only private place, but he usually sleeps with everyone else. Not in a Daivd Koresh way but in a communal one. Most TV members sleep in one of 15 small rooms, or the massive "Dirt Dorm". All the rooms are pitch black and deathly still. The only outside walls are lined with sound poof foam. You cannot even hear the breathing. There is no floor in the "Dirt Dorm", just soft inviting loam. You almost want to sink in it.

"We're officially an atheist organization. It is not a requirement and some practice a few faiths here and there but the Earth comes first. No matter what you believe"

"It's all that matters"


He turns his back to and hunches forward. He leads me to the "Dirt Dorm".

I can't see the beds but they are arranged in a way so that if you keep walking straight, you will never  bump into one. People rest on their own schedule, so it is almost never more than half full. Crawling into an occupied bed is so infrequent, it is a common joke. Couples can have some privacy in the small rooms or, as is the popular thing to do, in the surrounding woods.

So how big is their impact anyways? Not little enough it seems.

"We use so much more than we'd like" His voice is hushed as if he does not want his flock to hear his doubt. I can see the passion drain from his face as he stand outside the dorm's massive iron doors. "We keep cutting the fat and finding new ways to be efficient but its not enough. It never will be". He still manages to smile at the beaming members passing by, thankful to see their leader amongst them.

He shows me charts and projections, measuring things like carbon use in a variety of different oil markets, general energy utilization, forest depletion, plastic consumption, and projected health cost coverage for the next 4 decades of every member (including himself). He even has possible "off spring predictions" gauging possible child producing match ups between viable members and what health problems their kids would likely have.

"I've done the cold math myself. All levels of growth or even at slow loss, no matter what we do, it is going to be too much. These people are so dedicated. They've given up so much, I cannot ask for more. It is all or nothing for us". He falls silent, I can feel the weight of years of work crumbling into disappointment. The air is heavy.

Time passes. It is time for me to leave. Anderson shakes my hand. We chat a little bit on my way out and I swear I can see him smile. Tomorrow is another day. The 25th anniversary in fact. I walk my multi mile trip to my car and arrive at my hotel quickly. A task by bike or foot any one of these people would commit to in a minute, and would take them all day.
__________________________________________________________________________________
I return the next day to silence. No fanfare. No cheer. No drums, wind instruments, or acoustic guitars. The doors are wide open, carelessly ajar even. There is a slight chemical taste to the air. It seems so contrary to what they are all about. I run in. The quiet has escaped the "Dirt Dorm" and is now everywhere. I see no one.

I take the ramps to Anderson's office. I hear the electric fuzz of a monitor. There is a big "Play" arrow  on the screen. My hands tremble as I move the mouse to it.

The screen flickers. It is an old bulky monitor. Very old. I fear it will spit mercury at me.

"2"

The VLC file plays. It begins black with sound only.

"2"

I see Anderson's face. He's solid now, cracks and lines everywhere. I see a brow that supported heavy thoughts and big decisions.

"It does not seem like a lot but at our best efficiency, with a minimally diverse, renewable population, we are 2 grams over. And it will only get worse. We can't let that happen"

The image zooms out. It is the "Dirt Dorm" all lit up. It looks like everyone is there. They are smiling, holding hands. Everyone looks so relived. The way their eyes look, you'd swear there was no way they could be wrong.

                                                        We're going home!

The dorm begins to fill with gas. It looks thick and yellow. Alien to a place such as this. They continue to smile. It cuts out right when you hear the coughing start. The video ends and closes itself. The whole screen goes black save for a message.

"Step away from the computer"

I do without thinking. I witness the world's smallest explosion. It is subdued, small, and efficient just like everything else here.

Like a fool, I run to the dorm. It is sealed with multiple scary stinks wafting from the iron doors.

I hurry back to my car. Every mile seeps into my being. I call the cops once I have a signal. I start driving home. I wonder how quickly I will undo the life's work of these people along the way. Every drop of gas feels like a step on their mass grave.

My final bone (inc)

My time approaches. I can FEEL IT. In my bones. All of them . Except for the one. Its one of those numerous foot bones that are often forgotten. Its the last one. The one I need. My final bone. With it and a simple dropping of this tacky plate, I will rise once again. Then all of you will pay! Except you of course. For now.

Child, do you know who I am? I'm older than your whole family's name. Older than the country you toil away for. Older than any language you squealing scum squawk with today. Older than steel and older than any calender you could possibly recognize.

I will admit I have been defeated. A few time even. It took this world's greatest "Champions" of pfft, good, to beat me back. But they will never destroy me! My evil will bubble and soil all it touches, forever!

My memory is perfect. Not like your fleshy, decaying "mind". Only at my inception, my true birth that things get a little clouded. Mostly.

I remember being a man once. A mere mortal but one of local renown. Everything was local back then. I know someone crossed me, insulted my wisdom. Belittled my power! It would not stand! I lashed out. Maybe it was with a spear, or a club, or something otherworldly. I could pull at the corners of reality even back then. Not like I do now but enough to snuff that little pissant out!

I was struck down. By something. Maybe it was God, WHO FEARED MY POWER, or some pantheist entity A vague sense of good that was offended at my spite. My JUST REACTION!. AS I felt my life bleed from my once weak shell, I reached out. To something. tO Nothing! I tore open a small hole in everything and dipped my finger inside.. That was my first bone and my last day as I man. That was when I knew GREATNESS.

I felt the truth seep into me and the strength than came with it. Heaven, Hell, the whole stupid universe is nothing but a joke. Nothing done cannot be undone; laid bare to oblivion with enough hate. Enough POWER! I'll tear reality itself apart someday. I'll make sure every living thing feels it too.

I returned to Terra Firma renewed. Destruction, violation, and the power to bring these forces forward bubbled inside of me. My revenge was done but hardly complete. I blazed across the savanna, seeking out my already squashed fly's kin, tribe, and clan. All of them.

I tore the flesh from their bodies. With a wave of my waxy, sloughing hand, I shot entropy through their veins aging them hundreds of years in an instant. I impaled women, men, and best of all children on their own bones. That's my signature move. I like to mix it up once in a while, whenever I can but at the same time, it feels great to leave my mark behind. To let the forces of good know I'm back again. Maybe I will lay low for a while the next time I am free. My releases keep getting shorter and shorter. Don't get me started about last time; that was embarrassing. THOSE FUCKING KIDS ARE GOING TO PAY!

So after
cutting a swath across what you people like to call "Africa", I started getting a little recognition. I became the short, dark part of Adroa; a dualistic God of death and life. Brutality and restraint. Spite and Justice. I was mostly the first part. I can't be fucking and killing people all the time. I'd like to but its tough. I need help; even when I was at the height of powers. Before the first time I was beaten back and sealed away. I miss those days. They are to me, what many of you like to call your "youth". Only whereas yours was a short, vivacious disappointment full of awkward struggle, I was a newly born god. Crude but full of energy and a drive to make things bleed.

I was great. My other half, however, was a problem. He matched me in strength and kept pace as I developed. He healed. He protected. I even saw him raise a few from some of my finest kills. He made them whole and even happy to be alive again. All my work undone just like that. All the tearing, impaling, and slicing for nothing. Asshole.

So I cut down on the death a little bit. Just a little. I started taking a few people in. I'd shave off for them little slices of my power and send them out into the world. They became my heralds, my proselytizers, and even what you'd call a "freh-ends". I miss them. Not just because I would like to be released and I need someone "on board" to put my final bone back into place. I miss having someone to talk to. I'm glad you are here. Do you have my final bone? Will you help me?

So my other half, who was really a whole other "god", did the same. Whereas sharing my power made me slightly, slightly weaker, it was the opposite with him. It would spread him a little thinner just like me, but in total, him combined with his sycophant retards were just enough extra to put me under. I was sealed for the very first time. My followers were killed and those who survived, scattered. I was furious with their failure at the time. They did fail me but I now feel just sad about it. The further back I go the more my feelings seem to dull. Time does that. Its the one thing I have the most of right now. Time. Time. Time. I spend so much of it just waiting. Wishing, hoping to get free. To hurt again. I hate not being able to cause pain. It hurts.

So they put me inside of a pot. A freaking pot. I deserved better! Don't get me wrong; stuff like that is important. I remember when that sort of thing just started getting popular. Ceramics are a big deal! Do you know how hard it was getting stuff around, back then, when I was like you? Stuff like freaking water! Maybe that's why I keep getting trapped inside clay things. Because I like it. Not being trapped but clay itself. That and the power of goodness, selflessness, the better part of "human" nature, blah, blah, blah. That can get me too. The popular part of the popular cult right now talks about humanity being made from clay by God. Bullshit. Clay is a human invention. One of our first. One of the best. It could not exist without us. I mean them. You.

It was then that I learned to reach out. To whisper, see, and listen. Trapped in bone and clay I softly drifted across the world. I watched humanity grow. I watched you develop new ideas, new inventions. And weapons. Oh ho ho ho ho ho, the weapons. It's not that hard to kill someone. Yet you keep looking for ways to make it even easier! That may be why I will never die. Never cease to be. I became a part, a little part but its big enough, of all the hate out there. All the spite, the malice, the desire to lash out AT ALL OF THE ASSHOLES WHO DID YOU WRONG! AT THEM WHO HURT YOU! Its a bigger part of me than I of it. Sometimes I feel myself slipping away. Especially when I'm trying my best. When I'm really tapping into the power. It scares me sometimes. I can get scared too, you know. I feel all sorts of things.

I reached out to my wiliest and most competent of followers. It was a woman. An Esther or Esterel or something. She was white. A WHITE! I don't trust those sorts of people. They are milk drinking mutants so far as I am concerned. I cannot believe where they are today! I was desperate, so I needed her. She carried me for quite sometime. The powers I lent to her useful but not very good for traveling long distances in short amounts of time. Mostly just for pain, killing, and the continuation of the two.

We became close. Real close. She let me into her dreams where I could enjoy base human delights. It was, nice. A little break from the slaughter. True she was a tool first and foremost but I've come to look back fondly on our time together. I lost contact with her over a thousand years ago in what you like to call "Greece". My shell, now chipped and leaking, found its way to a group of slaveholders. Pigskins. A bunch of guys who just sort of stood around, worked out all the time, fucked each other, and talked about how tough they were. Its true, they were tough. Their whole culture was based around toughness! Yet they barely fought real battkes at all! It drove me insane! My follower; my friend left me there. BITCH! She never said a word why too. I think she sought out her own power. She no longer wanted mine. I WANT TO FIND HER AND KILL HER! I won't but I WANT TO!

I was free enough to move a little bit. It was more like hopping. I had to be discrete though. A moving, half broken bone filled pot with a black miasma cloud oozing out of it is the sort of thing that gets people's attention. I hopped and snuck into caravans, onto the tails of horses, in the bottom of ships, whatever it all bleeds together and wound up in the other Greece; Rome. It took a very long time and its not like I knew how to read a map or anything so I think I might have circled around a lot.

Rome was okay. It too had a lot of guys standing around talking about how great they are and fucking each other. Makes me sick. That's one thing I like about the current faith narrative that's the most popular right now. The homophobia. It hates those sorts of people as much as I do. I don't know why I feel this way. It might have something to do with what started me on my path to glory. Maybe that's why I made my first kill all the way back then. Was he one of them? Did he try to share that sickness with someone as great as me? DIDN'T HE KNOW HOW THAT WOULD MAKE ME FEEL? Whatever. Right around the time I got there, the pot broke. I was free. Since all my bones were together, I got back on my feet (literally) almost immediately.

I took it slow this time. It was easier for me to be subtle back then. I really need to get back to that line of thinking. And by "thinking" I mean killing. It was great! I quickened the arm of the robber to shatter body and rock. I sharpened the blade of the legionnaire to rend armor and all within it asunder. I gave wine just enough extra kick to final put the drunk out of her misery. I rotted fish and grain just fast enough to end lives in pools of vomit and shit. I gave more time, more preciously painful eternal moments for the hurt of the sadist's real weapon. I reveled and spread amongst the people. Like I always do.

I especially loved torturing Christians. Not because they are more righteous or pure than most but because of their message. Redemption. The idea that God or good or whatever can forgive you. For anything. All you have to do is ask. I CAN'T STAND IT! Good is not something that can be given back. Innocence is gone forever once even a speck of it is corrupted! YOU CAN'T UNMAKE ME! WHAT I DO IS PROFOUND AND ETERNAL! I WILL NEVER STOP BEING IMPORTANT! That's why I shoved a bone spike up Stephen's ass. Which Stephen, THE STEPHEN! Pope (elect) Stephen. Have you done anything that awesome? I made a real, powerful statement that day. That's why everyone knows what really happened. "Had a stroke" my ass, or well, his ass. Ha ha.

By then they had begun to really take a strong foothold in Rome. And it was spreading. I don't know why I lashed out like that in such a spectacular but obvious way. I was doing so well! It was very self destructive which is something I plan on embracing at the very end. When everything else is gone, so too will I. And I totally will too! I'M NOT AFRAID!

So as you can guess, their clergy were not very happy. They beat me and my followers back. Stephen lead them, briefly. Despite never even being elected bishop (but he was still the pope, I killed the pope dammit). They overcame my awesome power. They held books and crucifixes and believed in them but it was the last part that really got to me. Their belief, their selfless desire to do good. To protect others beyond themselves was what sealed me once again. Losers! THEY ARE ALL A BUNCH OF PEDOPHILES ANYWAYS! AND I WOULD KNOW BECAUSE I KNOW THINGS!

To add insult to injury, they sealed in me a small ceramic part of one of their gaudy tombs. They did not think to scatter my bones which was great for me. I was half way free already.

The waiting this time was harder. I did not have her around. To keep me company. To talk to. I tried to reach out to Christian ghosts but they all seemed to be at peace. Idiots. This is not true for all of them but very few of those tortured souls died within my reach. Even then, all I could really do is yell at them. Make a bunch of nightmares and stuff. Delay their coming to terms with sin and its final stage; redemption. They say all they really have to do is ask for forgiveness and their Christ will forgive them. What they don't know is that they were forgiven at the very start and all their whole lives and even after are about accepting that forgiveness. I know this because I've seen it. Sometimes he steps in personally, for a particularly pathetic wretch.

For something like myself, it's an aweful sight. The original meaning, no I did spell it wrong. Not that you can really "read" what I'm saying in the traditional sense. Does anyone "read" anything or do we always transform it into something our brains can understand? I ask because I have all the time in the world to go into tangents plus I was around AND INVOLVED when we first starting writing things down. You are welcome, retard.

Anyways, it was aweful. His arrival filled me with awe. I don't believe in Christ. Obviously, I know he exists. It is also kinda of funny that so many people believe in Christ but do not know he exists. When he steps in, Ex-nilo and personally takes a soul into Heaven, I, I, I burst into tears. I don't even have eyes anymore but it still happens. I feel shame and on a level you cannot even imagine. Something that takes at least a millennium to develop. It requires accession to the pillars of power; of understanding to have enough for the shame to draw upon. Anything less would be a GROSS understatement. And I know gross. Oh boy do I know gross.

The worst thing about seeing Christ lead a soul to Heaven comes at the very end. See, he ignores me at first. He gives his full attention to the one person he is with. The person he is saving. I can be tempting father's to rape their children or haunting the nightmares of the dying and he will not look at me. Even when I'm up and active I can be eating babies and stabbing or priests and he will not split his attention. Its only when its over does he look at me. Sometimes he looks more disappointed than others but he always gives me a gentle smile. He reaches out his hand and I won't even dare to think of taking it. The guilt feels like a stroke. Sometimes he waits and waits for me to leave this sickness behind and I feel so awful I lose consciousness. And I don't even have a brain.

Other Gods and Saviors have offered me forgiveness too. I turn them down too. I know not why this one branch of this one faith gives me such a hard time. I have no real cultural background or vendetta against it. It probably has a lot to do with just where I ended up, my evil journey not one entirely of my own choosing. Maybe its this one flavor of goodness that upsets me so.

So I stuck around and harassed passing spirits. For hundreds of years! It was so lonely. I did get to watch people all over the world. See their lives. Their hopes, their failures. Really learn something about the kind I walked away from in my dying moments. It seemed really BORING, so I just kind of chillaxed. Hey, I bet you did not think I knew what that meant. I'm cool. I just learned how to surf the internet. A bunch of things have to line up and I can only do it for a few hours but it's a great time waster. Let me tell you.

I waited. I listened. I felt it in the wind. Sickness, disease, vermin; PLAGUE! From the east its brown water ichor dripped and ran its way to Europe. I did not make this disease. It was deadly enough on its own. No, just like back before I made things worse. A lot worse. The tomb chipped in the exactly perfect way I needed to be free just in time for the plague's zenith.

I quickened the patter of every rat I could see; gave flight to the hop of their fleas. I enlivened drunks here and there prolonging their binges so that they could be a more willing host for the disease. I learned. I even played nurse and used my dark arts backwards. I brought in a couple extra brats here and there. Sparing their mothers too. Fragile, dear infants who would have normally been stillborn now got to go on and live for weeks. To have some sort of dim awareness of life before losing it painfully. I'd get the mothers too if I did not think they were suffering enough. I always fled the moment after they died, trying to stay as long as possible. I did not want to risk seeing him again.

My victories were far from complete as many of the souls I separated went straight to Heaven. They sure didn't know it while I had them though, ha ha. Again, they believed but did not know. Them knowing would have taken a lot of the fun out of it for me. Maybe even them too. I will admit I did not flee him soundly every time. He would catch me in glances or the light would make me sob. I did not change nor did I waver but inside I doubted. Sometimes I do today.

I lashed and boiled and slew and soiled all throughout the continent. Every righteous passing and once thought impossible redemption did make me question. Maybe I've got it wrong. Maybe Evil is not the primal, all powerful force I need it to be. Maybe its the other way around and we. We the monsters, the murderers, the dark sorcerers, the rapists, and dread bandits are the ones making it all up. That our efforts to make it all; all eEVERYTHING! eEVERYONE nothing is the real waste of time. I try not to let thoughts like this get to me. Later I would reflect upon this.

I spent the longest time in the body of a holey-man. A Flagellant. Get it? You are probably too stupid to know and too lazy to put this through a "Google" search, so I will tell you. They were an obscure order of monks. I suppose they are still obscure today but some people still practice their self beating. That's what they think the Last Desert God wants from them. Why this would impress something like it, I could not fathom to guess. I understood it on a much better level. Hurting yourself is just as great as hurting others. Its too bad you can only go so far on your own.

The Pope at the time picked up the my host (and his bros) for a while from somewhere, I don't know. He wanted to use them to get folks believing again but the whole thing got out of hand. They started calling out the Church for stuff and they started blaming Jews. Not that the Church has a problem with that, it was just financially inconvenient at the time. Later they would seize the finances from the people they forced into a banking caste and wonder why their fortunes faded? I can't stand that. Stealing. Seizing.

If you want something that does not belong to you, kill who owns it. Then take it. Don't ask; that's weak. Don't demand; that's even weaker. Don't steal. That's the worst thing you can do to someone. To live knowing something that which was once yours is the hands of another. ITS INTOLERABLE! I don't steal, I don't demand. I kill and I take. I will gladly receive anything given to me. You just better be smart enough to know what I want and when. Worshiping helps. If I am feeling charitable, I will let someone know I want something and then place the ball firmly in their court. Choose wisely.

So we wandered the countryside; from black forests to the wastes. It was a traveling show complete with public prayer and other spectacle blasphemy. We beat ourselves soundly. Our blood soaked clothes became souvenirs to people who wanted to avoid becoming sick. That's a "lol", right? Even before becoming aware of "Germ Theory", I had a feeling it was counterproductive for them.

We tore husbands from family hearth, did a couple other violent, sick things I cannot express poetically at the moment, and beat down on some Jews. They're fun to torture too but at the moment of their death, things are a little more fuzzy. I feel something Good there so it makes me a little uncomfortable. Its much more vague than Mr. Thorns and Sandals but not the slightest bit less powerful. Its vagueness is what scares me, instead of shames me. Its good for its own sake. Something I struggle with.

I was sealed again. This was done accidentally or at least through no conscious effort of the "savior". It was a doctor with a natural immunity he was completely unaware of. That's where all his bravery came from, ignorance. He only thought he was at risk. He's no hero, he is a coward. Anyways he dedicated himself to healing the victims of the plague at little to no cost. He just traveled around from wheezebag to the other. Most of them died and in super cool ways too but he saved a couple. Mostly he just comforted them and recorded research. He sealed me and in such a stupid way.

I was adding zest to a grandmother's spittle when this asshole waltzes in. I could have sliced him in two right then and there but I wanted to see this through. My mistake. He worked through the night, lancing boils and carbuncles. Helping her clear her throat, cooling her during fever's pitch and warming her in its chill. All the time he collected her blood, her bile, her ichor and in it me. Its not like I was made of the plague but I put so much of myself in it (at the time) that it worked. And what did he collect all that goo in, sure enough a large clay vase. What the fuck! Peasants shouldn't be able to afford things like that! Why them and why me at that one moment with that FUCKING DOCTOR! HE DIDN'T EVEN REALLY KNOW WHAT HE WAS DOING! HE JUST WANTED TO "HELP" SOOOOOOO BAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAD IT WORKED!

I was sealed again. A common vase being just as difficult in it's own way to free myself from as the tomb of a pope. My bones being miles away from the vase made things even more difficult. They have to be together, see, or I can't be unsealed. It boils (getit?) down to two steps in the end; gathering myself together and breaking the seal. But those two little things are really hundreds, sometimes thousands of steps in between. Some harder than others. Sometimes I do not even know where parts of me am...are? Whatever. I'm beaming this directly into your brain anyways. I'm just fascinated by grammar.

I did not wreak as much havoc this time during my 3rd dormancy. Instead, I reflected on the nature of evil. I was, like Siddhartha; the 1st Buddha. I heard about him when I possessed a History Channel AVI for about 2 hours. It was only a 42 minute documentary but the guy who's computer was I riding passed out, bubbler in hand. He thinks that show makes him seems sophisticated. Jerk. I had to leave once he closed the tab. Jerk! Its much more impressive than it sounds. Can you (on days with a very specific weather, astronomic alignment, and electro-magnetic climate remotely view certain (brands) of computers with (very specific, lax security settings) for a (short) while? No, I didn't think so.

Evil is deep. Very deep. That's one of the reasons why its so confusing. Its so hard to do well. Good is easy, simple, stupid. Anyone can do it. You hurt the least while helping the most. Sure, it can be very confusing to define exactly what hurts and what helps but the answer is out there, somewhere. There is an ultimate form of Good out there. Distant and mostly practicing nonintervention but you can get its intention. Hurt enough and with with pure, giddy, sick enthusiasm and it will send something after you. Evil does not have that. All we have is each other. Good has that too. Fuckers

This also brings me to another thing about evil. Look at the words I use to describe, quality evil. They are contrariety and even have a hypocritical reaction when you place them near each other. Oh, here I go again dishing about grammar. You're not bored, are you? I will kill you if you leave before my story is over. I'll find a way. I can eat souls, you know. Deny you Heaven, Hell, rebirth, any sort of post-mortem existence (though I've met some folks who want that to happen to them). I don't do it often because its hard and it makes me feel bad. Not the bad I strive for but just terrible. See, this is what I'm talking about. It takes a lot of nuance and depth to be a, what I like to call, "quality evil". I choose those terms very carefully because I am careful.

Being evil isn't just doing horrible things to people all the time. Though that is what you should go for, you need to have a life too. It helps you realize, to soak in what victim hood is. You have to love something to know, and properly enjoy, taking that away from someone. It gets easier and involving your evil buddies is a great way to make evil friends (cooperate, really, just do it). Sometimes when I do stuff like that I alone I break out in tears. Its only if the victims really loved each other. It doesn't happen often and less and less but it can get to me. Things get to me.

Purity is a problem too. It's a problem for both sides. I know how easily the champions of good fall into temptation. To lusty wants and avarice. To overzealous crusades and intolerance. To apathy and despair. But to fight this they can, if they are willing, if they are strong enough, to draw upon Good to help them through this. To cast aside weakness and learn from the experience. These vices are our virtues. Its where we draw strength. We can be lost in these and bring suffering upon ourselves. Suffering and self destruction. Which are things we should be cultivating anyways. When the Good are lost in their goodness, they know peace. When we are lost in our evil its awful for everybody. Even ourselves and our loved ones. Another things we are not supposed to have!

I have learned much from reflecting on Evil. Yet I know there is always more to know, to do. There will always be a deeper low to sink to, a more profound nightmare to subject someone too. Layers upon layers with endless years of planning. A scale as big as the universe is there for us; a canvas to spew with freshly made gore! The best Good you can do for someone, for everyone really tends to be very similar. Kind of boring really. Most people, most Good people, and most people are Good, want the same thing. Losers! That's why I keep coming back to Evil. No matter how much it hurts.It's got flair, baby. A little pizazz.

I think I have never victimized an Asian. For reals. I do not know why. Its just a kind of coincidence. Pretty sure I've never even met one. Though I've seen them on TV. I get around but at an old world pace. I suppose next time I'm free I can hop on a plane. Or just you know FLY myself (I can do that you know). All I need to do is keep it together long enough to make some long term plans. Once I'm free.

I am so very far from humanity and will never, NEVER return. But sometimes I dream about it. I'm still stocky but graceful. Dark skin and deep, compelling features. I can take that form again, if I want. But I never quite feel the same. My memories are never as good, as perfect as my dream of my former self. I've fucked a whole lot of black people. White one's too. They aren't too many of them now and they weren't back then, but I've killed a whole lot of natives outside of Africa and Europe. Not that they really matter much. I'll stick to the movers and shakers, thank you. I got no time to kill the lesser peoples. What, are you surprised I'm a bigot? All the other stuff you can listen to, with rapt attention no doubt, but that's what disgusts you?

So I hung out in Italy again thinking about being bad. I paid little attention to what happened my pieces and the seal itself. I was sold, traded, drifted, carried,ate, and passed all over for hundreds of years. Every time one bone came in contact with even the smallest piece of another (I'm that good), I melded a little. Sometimes even snapping back together, sound and all, in lucky breaks. Ha ha, getiit? Those were few and far between. I mostly put myself back to together on a cellular level. Another thing I learned on the History Channel.

I'm not sure how I wound up in the United States. United, pfft, you guys hate each other. Maybe less now then you did back then but its more detailed now. Instant communication, electronic media, and archives of what you like to call "knowledge" has made it faster and easier to hold in your hearts. I've been in the United states now for a little while, about 200 something years. With one breath you exalt; demand even your right to do whatever you want and with the next suck of air you condemn your neighbor. Whether she's next door or on the other side of the country. It does not matter. I thought this was the land of "Do as you please". You should try straight up evil instead of haughtily stumbling into it like usual. Its the greatest equalizer of all. Everyone just does whatever they want. All you have to do is survive.

What I really like about your country (and I'm assuming you are an American because that's where you found me) is its racism. It's delicious. True, as a former what you would call "a black man" I would prefer it the other way around. But I have transcended flesh itself. It is with this detachment a thing like myself can appreciate it. Its quality evil something I see so rarely outside of my own works. It used to be young and reckless. Wild and audacious it was a flat out face of life that colored (ha ha ha) so much of your little cues and mores. Now its more subtle; a passive remnant that works with little effort from few (very few) people. I appreciate it more now but it was much more exciting back then. I bet its how you feel when you discover a band in its early days. They become refined and more polished but you miss the rawness from the beginning.

So like I said, I was in deep reflection on the nature of evil. My essence was bringing itself back together slowly without any conscious effort on my part. There were moments when I would become vaguely aware of being moved. Sometimes in my weaker moments I "hoped" it was Estrella taking me in her hands again. She's still alive. Something as banal as time won't be what kills her. Alas it was not. I think it was a cult. Maybe my cult or splinter or maybe someone elses' combination of the two. Warlocks and witches. Sorcerers and necromancers. Non-objectiveness Satanists (I think they prefer the term "Luciferians"), summoners, and Slayers. Who knows? Who cares? I probably should reach out to my "flock" again. Its been a long time since I've actually talked to them. They make me so mad sometimes I can do is make a flashy entrance and kill somebody. At least I instinctively know which members is the least popular. They don't seem to mind that. I usually go for that one. Usually.

I hate people. its why I do what I do. I have a preference for Africans, though its more like less hate. I don't think I will ever get used to the Caucasian dominance. It does not matter ot me who's in charge though, as long as someone's keeping someone down. Quality evil does not discriminate.

Hate is such a powerful feeling. I've heard, or read, that its the opposite of live but I do think that is true. Its more like indifference or just not caring. Hate is closer to love than that. It's a statement, a philosophy, a commitment. This person, or place, or idea, or thing is so offensive to me, so the opposite of what I am and what I want to be, that I am enriched by its failure and destruction. Now that I am aware of it and the pure waves of annoyance it projects upon to me I cannot grow, cannot become my full, true, complete self as long as it exists. I'm investing my thoughts and feelings into it; my time. I have so much more than you but it means so much more because its mine. Just like love.

I can love. I told you that, right? It helps me understand hate better. And I'll admit, it feels good. I don't remember if I ever loved anyone when I was a man. Probably not. Live, like hate, is a term we toss around a lot. Filling for like and dislike. I loved Estrella. Still do. I hated her for leaving me. Still do. See how close the two are?

Anyways, I may not like like the racial dynamic, who's on first and what not, but I love the opportunities it gives me to hurt. I speak figuratively for the most part, too bad. I can't destroy someone's soul. Only could do that to themselves. I'll destroy mine when its all over. At then I probably won't have to rend it at all. I'll use it all up destroying the universe and killing Gods. It will probably come to that but if it doesn't have to I'll do it myself. I'll be the only one, the only thing that can. I'll be the only one and only thing period.

So, it's not like the white who call themselves "Americans" invented slavery. or racism. DO you know how many of my cousins sold our cousins to your cousins? You're a white, right? Let m take a look; maybe. You could pass for Middle Eastern or Italian. Are you a Jew. I really do not care, I'm just interested.

I do not think you should be able to own someone. You should just tell them to do something and if they can't or won't do it; kill them. Yes, I am aware of concepts like "employment", "payment", and "not-letting-it-bother-you-and-walking-away". I usually do not have the patience. I've done it before, mostly for the cults that spring up around me form time to time. Whether I'm "active" or not. I give dark and pretty awesome gifts, knowledge, or the prize of not dying by my hand. I don't beleive in slaves and masters. Only leaders; the strong and the weak. Someone tried to enslave me once. Maybe that's why I lashed out.

Even though owning someone makes it something, its hard to own without caring. At least at some level. It wasn't enough that they possessed a person; they had to hate them too. It seemed to be a big part of what made it so fun! Being a master is a bit of a burden. That's why I'm so awkward with my cults. Its hard being responsible for people. Its not like you can count on your slave to buy food with the wages you're giving them. You have to do all that. Maybe that's where the resentment comes from. Where the beatings, the rapes, the lash, the name and faith changing came from.

Miscegenation was one of my favorite sins back then. Its not really one, I know. It's not good or evil; its neutral. The name makes it sound aweful. Like its a mistake or a miscarriage. The slavers, the plantation barons, and the odd common laborer who worked along side the two people he owned all did it. They'd do it and then resent their property for doing so. Like it was their fault for being so weak and tempting. "You made me do it. You made it too hard not too". That's a rare kind of evil.

I do not respect the lack of work that comes from it but am in awe of its rare talent. Its effortless perfection; so much hurt, hate, and opportunity falling into a perfect foul place. I hear from other, entities, like myself about this kind of evil being more common than you'd think. The Nazis, a group of guys I regret never getting a chance to work with, they needed evil like this. They were closer to my kind of evil. Quality evil. The type I've talked about before Plus with all sorts of kinky bells and whistles, buttons and patches. . But the Nazis needed all those willing hands and question-less mouths to move their machine along. They needed a banal, lazy evil.

I helped, of course. Sometimes I had to push pretty hard but often I did not. The shame of races mixing made it both harder and sometimes easier to tempt it on masters and their families. Oh man, the best time was when I whispered it into this one ear. She was a beautiful plantation owner's daughter. They called her a "spitfire" back then and today you'd think she was "pretty cool". Fun, nice, exciting, I just liked being around her as did most people. Well this girl wasn't just great; she was progressive too! Her pampered lifestyle built on sweaty black backs gave her the time to develop an inclusive worldview and a desire for equality. Did you see what I just did there? Evil gives you a great way to dismiss things. Mostly because its all garbage anyways.

She had a crush on one of the slaves. A strong young man her age. She even taught him how to read. They planned to run off together and start a life way out in the wilderness. Living off the land and off of society's racist hangups. All I did was make it too hard for her to wait just one more day, a day that would have been perfect (or at leas sufficient) for their escape. They were caught, quickly I am happy to add. He was executed right there in front of her. She was disowned and was reduced to a brief life of prostitution before dying of cholera cursing "that damn nigger" with her final breath. It was great!

I am quite aware that they are now both together again in Heaven with everything forgiven, thank you very much. I do not need to be reminded how good ruins everything I do you asshole. This is all the more reason why you need to release me as soon as possible.

I do not know how I got to America. I'm glad I did. What you like to call "Antebellum" and your civil war were a brief but wonderful time for me. I was happier than a pig in shit the day I was released again. It was right around the end of that all too brief era of "Good feelings" ended.

It was easier to spread misery from the South but I did not choose sides. I know I have made my racial preference clear before but as long as there are people to hurt, I'm happy. You guys did most of my work for me, really. Like you always do.

I do not know if this has always been the case but lately, and my "lately" stretches out a bit further than yours, it seems like people invent things way before they know how to properly use them. This is probably where the majority of your problems comes from. This stretches all the way from credit to medicine, food science, travel, communication, whatever but its especially true for weapons. Both sides would just charge head first into cannons, and mortar. People who line up, volley, and practically wait their turn to fight back. That wasn't even the biggest killer in the war. Weapons never are. It was two of my favorite tools; filth and infection.

True, most of my scores began with infection by fucking bullet or bayonet but that was only the start. I helped out. I gave out a few pick me ups to any wondering tetanus, gangrene, pneumonia
, tuberculous, plain old thirst, or anything that wanted to live inside a human being so long as it promised to make them suffer. Its worth noting that I was well aware of disease being a result of tiny creatures inside of bigger creatures, instead curses or sins. That's how I and I alone strike someone down.

Despite the fun I was having and the success I was enjoying my time out would be short. Three days, July 1st through July 3rd, 1863. It was a special day and all I have to do is take one good look at you and know you're going to need a little time to look that up. Go right ahead, put it in Hotbot. I'll wait.

Antietam was almost my time but it just wasn't gory enough. I could feel myself about to jump from my clay seal (it was a pipe this time). I just couldn't do it. It left me depressed for a little while. I stopped making people sicker for a while and just wept. I thought for a moment maybe I was getting old but that was ridiculous. Time won't take me God won't either; only I can end myself.

Getting loose in Gettysburg was probably for the better. Of course I wanted to get out earlier but I think it was worth the wait. I had so much fun it almost made up for the short amount of time I had. It was glorious; absolutely GLORIOUS! So much death, and fire, and smoke, and stabbing, and shooting.