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iStoleYurVamps
iStoleYurVamps
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 Posted: Thu Oct 27, 2016 4:52 pm
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[Halloween Challenge One]
Dreams were not thing Marcus liked having for a particular set of reasons. One, was that they often reminded him of his past, the one he had fought, forced himself to forget. He didn't like having memories he denied come rushing back late at night demanding his attention, his thoughts, fears, and anxieties. Two, they made him wonder and think about things in his life. The man could barely do so when he was walking downtown. 'We as humans can't be alone in the galaxy right?' was the most common culprit of such thoughts. Once a thought entered his consciousness, he often had trouble knowing when to let it go.
Sunset signaled that he had to sleep and try to rest. But dreams made thing harder. Getting high on sleep aids didn't help. Lord have mercy neither did trying to hook up and just holding someone close. When he did that it made him feel bad. Using people to try and chase away his demons, his dreams.
'Our existence is small, bodies in space we occupy, low on the cosmic scale. Blood is not the currency of the soul, but the cost of life.'
He thought too hard, dreamed to vividly. In the night he would look at the hazy glow of his lamp and stare at his hand.
'My hands, my flesh, my muscles. my bones.' He could almost remember the face of the man he'd called friend. The one who died and he refused to name. Who's face was nothing more than a blur and a voice that had become robotic. Scratched away so he could forget it was real.
He sometimes used the sleep aids, drifting to sleep muttering to himself.
'Your face, your eyes, you voice, your blood, your bones in the shallows'
Loose images, up until he'd block them all out, desperate to sleep. To just try and find peace, rest.
He, they, 'we'.
Friends.
Break the scene in his head, Smash it like glass and think of anything, everything else. Space. Life. Lies and hidden truths. It had all gone wrong and yet somehow he survived when he shouldn't have. One wrong move, one step out of line and he was going to fall into the deep end of his thoughts. As much as he might fight, the sleep aids only delayed the inevitable. You couldn't not fall to sleep. Drifting away the voices of doctors, therapists asking the same thing. 'I can't help you if you won't help me help you.'
Marcus didn't want help, he wanted to not dream anymore.
Heart beats. Clapping and cheering. He dreamed of them. Laughing at graduation. Saying how we should go on a trip. They had never been, it would be fun. Skip the usual process, a normal break the graduates took before job hunting. Beat the summer rush of younger kids. White water rafting. Counting down the days until their trip. One, two, three. They launch out from the camp. Laughing as they fought over playlists. And the feeling of hot summer sun on them contrasting to the cold river water. Don't forget to paddle to get into the waves. You stop only on the shore for lunch.
The music is their school's fight song. Added out of nowhere. They yell it out in laughter over avacado, lettuce and cream cheese on rye.
Marcus knows this dream. He knows the black mass that is his friend. He knows how it ends. It always ends.
Getting into it, flinging themselves into the water with adrenaline. Won't bother with gps tracker. Phones in water sealed bags. They feel safe. You don't think the worst can happen but it can. It was like a dance in the wave. Up and down; With me, myself, and I. Marcus's dream reflects himself and a shadow. A past he hates. He denies because he doesn't want to make it real even if it is.
Finding another place on the shore and out of the sun's rays. Lose it as they cant stop in time. The water getting rougher in this patch.
You can do it- he whispers it to his past self. Just grab the branch and pull. But he lets go. There will be other places. Marcus now wonders what might have been different if they had stopped. Won't they try again? Maybe. He forgets. He'll forget until his dream reminds him and he's forced to watch it unfold.
You can't stop dreaming. With dreams, you can't ignore them. No matter how many doctors he asks 'help me' they say the same thing.
Move on, your mind is trying but you won't let it.
They stop. Feet on stone, his friend almost falls in. A second of fear in his dream. It's too soon and he feels it in the space between reality andhis mind. You gotta give yourself to the dream the doctors tell him. A moment of pain, let your body be as it heals. The mind is part of the body.
We gotta lose it, he yells over the crash of waves against the raft. Hands let go. A hand on his shoulder as they watch the one sandal float away only to vanish under white and blue waves.
We gotta lose it. Lose it or lose something else. It haunts him, how easily they didn't dwell on what that little sandal foretold. Lose it- better than ending up dead. How many other things had they lost that day.
Lose it-the spare rope. Lose it- the flashlight. We gotta lose it- the fish that snapped the string as they took a break on some shallows.
Lose it- a racoon who stole an apple. Lose it- the gps, smashed agaist the rocks. They look afraid at each other but lose that too. It can't bother them. They have a week on the waves. We gotta lose it he reasons. Better to lose something small than something else.
He watches them sleep in his dreams. Your name he thinks, I'll never know again. As we get down in the raft the next day the dream will get closer to the end. The world is below the waves, stars and abstract as to remind him its a dream, but it's no less real. Caught up in his mind Marcus might wake. An overflow of emotions, in fear too much.
Muttering to himself in a language they shared. My friend he says to shadows. Hands tremble as he gets a glass of water, thinking back to doctor's words that echo dull and hollow in his chest. Your pills. Bones pop as he shuffled back to bed and tries, fights off the nightmare. Wide eyed, he stares out his window, wishing he could see those stars again. The night before. Bright and unlike the city skyline. Unfiltered.
You looked at me and didn't care. Marcus remembered that feeling. The knowing that he was okay. That he wasn't pushed away. Set the marshmallows down in the fire. They burn and the silver moonlight is brighter than sunlight.
His dream almost is happy in that moment.
Spinning in the raft, around them trees and shrubs blur, you couldn't focus or feel anything but ice cold water. He remembers that part too.
They stop in shallows, panting, oars dug into sand so they don't float away. The breeze is warm but the water is too cold. Count down to launching back out. They need to meet the team for the right pick up date. One, two, three. And they keep going. Don't stop paddling. Music from the water proof speakers- Panic! at the Disco. Ill-fitting. Marcus hates them now and the songs make him ill.
Getting into it again. The rush of adrenaline, won't bother checking phones. Dancing on the waves with nothing but-
Me, Marcus thinks. I was the stupid one.
Finding a place to rest but losing footing again. His fault, he didn't tie the rope right so it didn't catch the branch. You can do it his friend yells encouraging, features forming as the dream carries on. Less shadows and more real. More solid. Won't look too hard. You can't, Marcus reasons, its a dance with his mind he won't answer.
Me- my fault. He knows and no one has to tell him twice. He knows its his fault.
Move your feet and feel the rocks. It's in the space between the sleep packs and the tupperware pocket. A swiss army knife. Hasitly they cut away a thicker rope that caught on a log- you gotta give up. Marcus wants to tell himself. Someday, you gotta let it go the therapist echos in his mind. You tell yourself that in a single moment you let your friend die? No. You body moved on instinct.
That therapist told him to let it be- he should have just give up fighting.
We gotta keep fighting or else we'll lose it- our reason for existing. Depression. Medication. Marcus tells himself the same thing every day. We gotta lose it, push it away. Pertend we don't think about it. Pretend it's not real. Just a dream. Lose it even if he can't forget. Lose it, even if he's never able to forget the scream. Lose it, the memory of his friend's face, wide eyed and blankly staring into a sun that burned his back red as he was hunched over the cold body, crying until his eyes ran dry.
We gotta lose it- the good therapist who told him that healing was hard, that one day it would be better, but the guilt? Lose it, or it will kill him. Lose it, the shame of thinking he was wrong for doing what he did. Lose it, the fear of facing a world alone.
We gotta lose it, that idea that you should have died alongside him.
Marcus liked that therapist. But he'd been too accurate, too close to making a spark of hope. Too close to breaking away the dark wall he'd built to block it all out. Too close to finding a light about himself.
With me, I don't think I can be forgiven.
Who we are from the start of our lives is determined by our skin, our sins. And he was dark. A dark skinned son to a white mother. Adopted. Token child in suburbia.
The dream breaks. It goes back. Won't you dance with me? A question at the high school prom. A boy who didn't care. Making jokes as Marcus felt a spark he didn't understand. Breaking out of normal in the rual town, a dark mark they fought together to find a light of hope for tomorrow. The future- College. Different degrees, same school.
Stay with me, holding him as he confessed that he'd messed up. Done drugs. His grades slipping, he might be expelled. Who we are is not defined by our skin- words that made him cry. The fact it took his friend to say it to him to finally make Marcus not feel outcast.
Cashing stars down at a convention. Signatures on pictures. The framed autograph of William Shatner. Mementos from memories he erased on purpose. outside of his dreams.
That final night, wondering why won't you dance with me? The music playing so long ago at the school dance- Britney Spears. Awful, stupid. Fun and breaking the norm because they had always played by the rules until senior year. Years later at a club, a woman in his friends arms and Marcus feeling something tighten in his chest. He didn't know, couldn't say anything. Why won't you look at me like that? Dance with me like we used to. Just as friends. Nothing more. He didn't need more.
'And don't bother.' The echo of their first fight. Over a girl. 'You stopped the music because of what Marcus?' He remembered the words, angry and hot. 'You want her you should have asked her out first dumbass. You want to get it, get into it. Go for them. Girls won't go to you.'
'Won't you dance with me'- he asked so many girl. So many women he didn't care to remember. One night stands to try and pretend. A few he liked. Casual. They liked him, but there wasn't a spark. No fire. They parted on good, decent terms.
He writes them sometimes.
They kept it up. Friends, close, inseparable. Finding a place between friend and maybe something more.
But then his dream makes him remember. You can't lose memoires by willpower forever. It will come back. And it comes back in violent flashes. You can't do it. Ignore the mind, ignore the facts. Won't you go away he asks at night, the specter that haunts him. It's the same song and dance. With me, he's forced to rationalize, I deserve this.
It's the price for killing someone. The crime of surviving when he shouldn't have.
Move your feet, kick harder, feel the rocks yet? It's in a ways but we'll make it. The space between raft and shore is so close, but so far away.
You gotta give yourself to the waves, Marcus tells his dream. Because thats whats going to happen. Just a moment when fingers slip, let go. Your body can't fight and hold on forever.
Be smart. we gotta lose it. The rope will drag us down along with the supplies. We gotta lose it, he's being pulled away, we have to help him but we don't want to die.
Lose the raft, it's flung over waves as he hangs onto the rope tied to the branch. His friend is screaming behind him. Lose it, rational thought is gone, just instinct. Lose the notion that he's with a friend, he's not alone. It's nothing but himself. He holds tight.
Marcus is forced in his dream to watch again and again these final moments. Feel water entering his lungs and rocks and branches hitting him as they races down the river. A landslide upstream sending them crashing into what was their tiny yellow raft.
'We gotta lose this guilt Marcus.' The man who he saw last. 'It will kill you. I'm being serious. Medication isn't a cure. But so long as you keep fighting it, keep denying what happened-'
Marcus hated his new therapist.
Lose it- how easy it sounded. Bitterness and guilt and fear. Losing it? He'd lost it ages ago. His grasp on reality after the ordeal was broken. Trauma, shock- Therapists and specialists all looked at him and he could see pity reflected back to him. 'We can't help him'. 'Losing his friend had gotta be why it's shaken him as much as it has.'
Lose the guilt. It's not his fault. Lose the idea he's not guilty. He let go, he didn't help his friend. He didn't try, didn't look back. Lose the shame of being alive, it's what he'd have wanted. Marcus hated them- 'we'? He was alone. The final night was the first time Marcus had felt like he was more than just himself. Other he would have been telling himself how he's gotta keep going on, acting like he didn't feel that way about his friend. Lose those feelings because it would ruin their friendship. Drive the man who'd been his anchor, his best, closest, deepest friend away.
'Lose it Marcus'- non-helpful advice at the bar. 'The sooner you lose these feelings, the sooner it'll work out. Lose the baggage, and your life? It'll be fine.'
He tried so hard. Everyday. Pretend. Block it out. It wasn't real it was a bad dream, just like this one. The one that had him alone, bleeding over everything, leg broken. Cuts screaming in pain. His friend's body mangled. Twisted. We gotta get up, whispers as he knew it was useless. We have to get to the road. It's just over that hill. Come one, get up.
No pulse. The body was as cold as the river. Neck twisted at an unnatural angle. Cuts all over. The water's edge was red from the both of them.
'I can't lose you.' Whispered admissions to a dead man. Trying to move his feet. Marcus watching his memory in his dreams, telling himself what will happen. Inevitable. Your leg will crumple and you'll scream. Feet can't carry you. And yeah, it feels like it's going to fall off. In the space between you and the road there are throe bushes. You can't get past them in that state, you know that. Gotta think of something else. Give up, admit it to yourself. In a few moments you'll pass out. Let your thoughts slip away. Body feels heavy, be fighting to breath as it hurts so much.
Wake up in the hospital alone. Think about how we gotta get up. Lose grp on the bed, pain, fall to tile. Nurses scramble at the sound and you start to scream. WE gotta find him, where is he?
He's not there.
They lost him.
It hurts worse, because it comes from inside you, inside your chest.
The man you loved and admitted love you back is dead.
And it's all your fault because you didn't hold on.
You let go, and now you've lost him.
[wc: 2869]
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Posted: Mon Oct 31, 2016 10:02 pm
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[Halloween Challenge One v2 Electric Boogaloo]
"Let's get down to business shall we?" Marcus was felling like he had come to defeat the final boss of a game. Huns. Mr. Muldric Huns. Thus far his most annoying client yet. "Did they send me someone's daughter? When I asked who was going to be my contractor and architect I was expecting the company's son. Not his-"
"Mr. Huns, I can assure you. My brother might be good But I am better." Deloris Amberdale. Of Amberdale construction. Marcus has signed on as per contract. Independent, by Mr. Hun's request.
"You're kidding right?" The man had a disgustingly sexist laugh about him. Marcus made note to design the bathroom as far as possible from the head office. Saddest part was, this was one project out of a bunch.
"I never ever would have thought." It was met with a look of sour composure. Marcus coughed, feeling a twinge of pity for Deloris. But you can bet before the meeting was over-
"We're through the basics Mister Huns. The site has been cleared, all that's left is picking design so we can break ground. I'll make it happen overnight if we can come to a solid choice." A man would have been stupid to belive it. Huns did.
Out of all the things, smart was not a quality Mr. Huns possessed.
"You know Deloris, I want the space to be tranquil as a forest. But exciting. Mr. Hassan- You know that sculpture? The one that looks like a wall is on fire? That within the building. Passion! Yes?" Once you got an image in you head, Marcus thought, it was hard to let go. Tablet pulled out, he flipped to a few slides. "Your image is a bit... off the usual centeral mark. You are sure to ah... win no awards if you have a starkly contrasting design." Marcus had little patience for the man's stupidity, but it was good money.
'You're a spineless, pale, pathetic man' Marcus thought. You bought a lot and planned poorly on developing it for commercial use in an area that was devoid of the market you needed. 'You haven't got a clue on what real developments were like.' An idiot in every sense. Good money is what Marcus kept telling himself.
Good money.
Somehow I'll make it work. A man out of cash is a dead man, and out of all jobs he'd had, this wasn't the worst.
"I'm never going to catch my breath if you keep being so-" Marcus raised an eyebrow. He wasn't going to pull his punches. It was a s**t design, what the man wanted. Say goodbye to those who knew me as a kind designer, Marcus mused. He didn't have time to beat around the bush for stupidity.
"Boy, I was a fool. Good to see you have a backbone anyway, Miss Amberdale-" For cutting back to the female, Marcus bit his tongue as Huns listed his wants. Which included a gym.
'This guy's got em scared to death', Marcus noted as Deloris wilted under the ever growing list. So much for breaking ground.
"Sir, perhaps we should look at your final goal, work our way back?" Marcus tried being polite. Deloris gave him a smile in thanks. Huns might have been stupid but he was a client with deep pockets. Stupid and rich. A bad combination.
' Hope he doesn't see right through me', Marcus began showing off the solid exterior designs. That had been decided weeks ago. Or so they thought. Now? 'I really wish I knew how to tell myself that this would have been more pain that needed'. His Past self might have passed. Huns was being obtuse about it. Walking back. Sink or swim. Be a man. You must lock down the deal.
"Be swift Mr. Huns. Do we stay with the original design or no?" Marcus's tone was clipped. "Oh yes yes of course. Sorry. That one thing you showed yeah? Looked like a coursing river using the tile? Lets go with that on the main path." A decent choice. Be a man of action, get results. Marcus was not going to let up. With all the force he could muster to smile, Marcus pressed on. "And what else?"
Huns laughed. "Great, good. Like a typhoon you two are. Get the work done and decided I like it." Not enough to make a damn choice.
Marcus wished he could be the man who would one day tell Huns that to his face. Good luck future person.
With all of the strength he could muster, Marcus kept up the smile, of course now as he was near the man he'd notice it. A raging fire was in him to yell at Huns to stop eyeballing poor Miss Amberdale's chest but he kept silent. Mysterious as the whole ordeal could be, to casually let Amberdale slip out so they could talk, the dark side was that they couldn't afford a slip up. Too much money was on the line.
"Oh and that mobile? The moon? can we have that in the lobby."
Time was ticking by as Marcus's ire grew. Is this where he'd snap? No. Racing towards his mind's eye was the goal. A signature on paper.
"Between us? Till the money arrives Mr Huns, the arrival and installment just heed my advice. Don't plan for art. Get the building down first." Every order was custom for things like that, 'and you might not surive working with this idiot again.' Marcus told himself.
Then it happened.
"You're unsuited for the work." Marcus nearly crushed the pen in hand. It wasn't directed at him but at Miss Amberdale. The rage he felt ignited a war of emotions. Sexist. So help him- he could pack up, go home, you're through dealing with this s**t he could tell himself. Sexist pigs had no business.
"How could I make you think such Mr Huns?" Her tone was sweet but Marcus could tell he'd hear the woman scream about it later. Be calm for now. Amberdale would hold her own.
"A man out in my business knows these things. Of you and your brother, he's better. Marcus be a good man and call for Mr. Amberdale would you?"
"Must we-"
"Be swift Marcus as we dawdle with this woman I need a better opinion. A less distracting one." Bile rose in the back of Marcus's throat. This was insanity.
"While we wait, why don't you and I go over the details again? A coursing river design in the tile-" His head was filled with curses. Be a man, say what he thought. But with all the force of self control, a great control at that, the typhoon of emotions was kept in check. For now anyway. Be a man and just shut it down.
"Yes yes." With all the strength of self preservation Marcus bit back the scream in his throat. "A raging fire design on the back wall. For winter!" Huns was a piece of damn work.
Mysteriously, Mr Amberdale was as busy ever, the dark look from Huns was not good with the memo.
"Side with me on this one Marcus." Hell no. "Of f the decisions, which is better the moon or sun?"
Be a man and tell him off.
"You must be joking sir. You want a swift decision? As a matter of opinion, the coursing river design is a good one. Not a lunar mobile." Be a man Marcus and tell him to stop being stupid, sign the paper and just leave it to you. He could feel the words in Deloris's glare. With all he could say, he wished he could tell Huns to ******** himself Deloris. he really wished he could. Forcing out a reply, Marcus grit his teeth.
"Of a matter of fact, having natural movements and disasters like typhoons are not cohesive design elements. " It was a small ******** you. How was that for being a man? With all that was being said, he'd stopped caring about the money.
His inner strength over the situation was fading. Of a matter of fact-
"What about a raging fire pit? Can't that go in?"
"Marcus, deloris? You called for me? Richard Amberdale arrived just mysteriously in the nick of time, and quickly, as the dark look was cast from sister to brother they met in the hallway.
A side remark might pass, but this had been hell.
Mr. Huns was told to come back tomorrow. They wrote up the cancelation notice citing unreliability and sexual discrimination and harassment. Marcus would be compensated for his time and work completed thus far.
It was night when he reach home, the moon out and looking at he scowled.
Who the ******** thought a lunar mobile would have looked good in an office building anyway?
wc: 1471
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iStoleYurVamps
iStoleYurVamps
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iStoleYurVamps
iStoleYurVamps
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Posted: Mon Oct 31, 2016 11:33 pm
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[Halloween Challenge One v3 Kill me]
He had not been to mass, to confession in a long time. The words came easy as he knelt down on the pew.
'Confiteor Deo Omnipotenti, Beatae Mariae semper Virgini , Beato Michaeli archangelo , Sanctis apostolis omnibus sanctis-" He took a deep breath. Latin. He remembered his lessons from years ago, drilled into his head. He didn't have faith. Still didn't. But going through the motions brought comfort.
"Beata Maria- You know, I don't think myself as very good. Let alone any other virtue." He kissed a guy and he liked it after all, "I am not righteous. Of all things my virtue is not too great. I am pretty well, hell might be justly deserved according to some preinsts. I'm not proud of that though."
Hymns echoed behind him, the words helping him confess to air. 'Et tibit Pater....Beata Maria-'
He hated Latin. It stuck in his mouth.
"You know, this might seem stupid, I'm here, so maybe it's a sign? That I need god, faith that much? I could try to have purer thoughts if that helps. Better try than not try at all I guess." The commonality- He was vulgar according to some, weak of will and licentious. Sory father, he just got in with the wrong crowd in high school.
Another deep breath. A phrase in latin. 'Forgive me father'. "Quia peccavi nimis"
Latin was heavy.
"Then tell me, am I a sinner? Beyond redemption?" No answer. Maria looked down from stained glass and Marcus frowned. Why should I see her as god like? As holy. The flames were dancing in their glass vases up there in the front. Why her image cast light when she was only human in the end?
Flame flickered, smoldering. Eyes on the stained glass looked down and he felt a burn, the scorch of shame on his soul.
He didn't have a faith, but he did have shame.
In thought, he often wondered why. 'I feel nothing for their Maria. Her image is hollow to me. I see her and wonder how people can justify their worship. ' The sunlight was caught in the stained glass, the raven hair of St. Peter fading to green when it hit the pews. Poor color choices. He almost laughed at himself. Is that what his mind would dart to? Blazing fires of candles and bad colored glass?
"In me is a vice. Fear. It eats at my mind a lot. Out of control at times, in my word and deed I lash out. I'm tired of being sick. Of being afraid of shaodws. It's like, like."
His fist opened and closed. He hated feeling weak. Like he was drowning in his own mind. Hellfire was better than this agony of self doubt. This was his punishment. Paranoia and fear.
Fire in the candles flicked once more. Marcus wondered every night. Why my life. Why did god spare me my skin when it was my fault? This burning doubt was an open wound. It was desire for peace that he came to church. Hoping to find something, anything. His counselor finally got him to agree to try it.
Is turning away from god so bad? Me, known to sin by loving anyone, who let go when he should have held on- It's not my fault is what he had to tell himself, even if he thought it a lie. Through my fault he died. I'm not to blame about the logs, the rope breaking. Through my fault the raft capsized. It is the fact of the matter.
A gypsy once told him at a fair he'd never forgive his most darkest hour.
They'd been right. The statement true. Maybe they were a witch who knew more than they told. Fitting. He'd gotten his fortune told and now he was in church sent to do this, atone for sin and guilt.
The flame in the main candle flickered. It was going out.
"Through my most grievous sin I've become a hot mess. I say it's not my fault." It's not my fault. Such a damn joke.
"through my fault he died. If that was in God's plan? That's ******** up." He shook his head. Cursing in a church. Sinner.
"It's through my faults that we fell out, the raft got away from me and-" He made the devil look a saint. Regret rose like bile, and it threaten to come out but Marcus swallowed it back. So much for keeping his emotions in check. Stronger than this he told himself. A man of his age should be stronger than this.
"Through my most grievous fault I let the man I love die."Guilt was a parasite that ate you alive. Protecting nothing.
"I ask why me. But You are just like God. No answers from you Maria? Don't let me wait forever. This is-" It was a siren's call. A spell cast to make him go to church. His therapist and her spells. Marcus fell for them all the time.
"Don't give me false hope. Let her know that even here I want to forget. My therapist would kill me. Sear my flesh and bone with that stare of her's. Just. It kills me, destroys me inside and I-"
A woman on the phone in church, she noticed him muttering a 'I'll call you back Esmeralda'. And he thought he was rude. Let her call, he mused. the taste of this place was bitter. The fires in the candles reminded him how he'd burn in hell for his sins.
Confess or else you'll let this consume you Marcus. His therapist was a right b***h at times. Her words echoed in his skull. Be mindful not to think too hard she's said.
Yeah, he'd retored but my sins and mine and mine alone.
The flames in the candled flicked. Hellfire seemed better than confessing to a God he didn't believe in. Hadn't for a long time. Dark thoughts. The fire flickered and dimmed, as if to deny him even that mental imagery.
Marcus thought back now to that gypsy, (such a sour term) and their words. It's not hard to think they'd apply to anyone he realized. Your mind did that. Generals and applied to yourself. Turning gears made for terrible thoughts.
Choosing to stand Marcus walked down to the altar, eyes seeking something, any sign.
"Why can't you help me?" He muttered. Gos had no answers. "Your not supposed to let me suffer right?" Nothing.
Looking up he saw Joan of Arc on her funeral pyre. The stake. Burned a heathen. That's how he felt. Be strong, confess.
"This guilt is all mine. If I say I'm sorry what then? Will you answer or just stay silent? You will not answer but I wish you would."
The church didn't echo. No one could hear his sins, his confessions.
Shame and embarassment burned Marcus's ears.
Back to the pew as he began to pray like he'd been taught as a child. "Lord have mercy." "God will have mercy on you Marcus." Her voice, his therapist had tried her best, but he grew to resent tis whole ordeal.
"Kyrie Eleison-" God have mercy on me. Stupid. Lord, He had no mercy for himself, what mercy would god have for him? But why bother he'd asked his therapist. She smiled and told hil it will help his soul. Be that a thing, Marcus felt empty.
"I don't know what to with these sins of mine." He sighed, shoudlers slouching.
He debated trying again or going home. Give his therapist a call. Ask what she felt after confession. Will the feeling of burning embarrassment go away? Will she shut up and go away now that he went to church?
Marcus scowled, gathering his coat and walking from the pews to the exit. It had been years since he'd been in a church to pray.
Now he remembered why.
wc: 1319
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Posted: Mon Oct 31, 2016 11:57 pm
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Of all the things Marcus thought was stupid, allowing other creatures from other ashdown go to theme parks had to probably rand in the mid twenties of his list of 'dumb s**t you really ought not to condone'. That said, someone had apparently invited the creature to the park and as a result... they had gotten featured in several occult web sites and cryptid spotters. Damage control was at this point a given. Most sites were easy enough to shake off. It was a good costume. Just a cheap version of old greg from that British skit. You know, back in the early 2000s? Good stuff, quality memes back then and all that jazz.
However the more in depth sites were a pain. Marcus was 'promie' and while that had some perks, subverting legit things was hard if you didn't do it right. Debating the validity, camera, sources. Mossman- what was that some kind of super hero name? Sounds fake but okay. Just keep telling yourselves that. Marcus worked hard to keep ashdown spooky sure, but keeping the mass public from getting interested was important in it's own way. The less the feds could track the better. Too much attention was bad attention.
Keep ashdown spooky sure. Just not too spooky. Just why an other Ashdown resident that was apparently, harmless and had a great time on the boat rides as well as space mountain, couldn't be caught. The alarm bells would ring and feds would come cracking down doors and everyone would have to go into hiding and all the work Jeremiah and the others had done would have been for naught. They didn't need people coming in to run experiments on them, testing them for science and war and god only knew what else. Hell, Marcus had a fear of doctors already, this was just added anxiety. Mossman might have returned safe and sound, no harm done, but Marcus was on the tail end of a digital trail that went deep. The rabbit hole of the internet was a dark place and erasing things and making them fade from memory was hard work.
He'd done it before, about himself. People didn't just vanish. Stories lingered, especially if they were weird. Thankfully, so close to the holiday, most people wrote it off as costume. The beings effects seen as disney magic, heat from a hot day and no water because they'd been stupid. It was effort but eventually, Marcus got most of it down. Written off.
Outside of the net, Mossman had vanished back to other Ashdown. Perfectly fine. Mum's the word on if they planned to escape yet again. Marcus prayed to god that it wouldn't happen. Scrubbing the internet in a panic was not helping his nerves. As he sat back in his chair, typing away at another blogger, he debated calling up Cid about this. But cid wasn't involved with Other Ashdown. Not yet anyway. Besides.
Mossman was probably very happy having gone to the happiest place on earth. No need to go back.. right?
[509]
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iStoleYurVamps
iStoleYurVamps
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