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Oh god... Where to begin? I just cannot seem to take my hands from their position on my face, distraught in entwined locks of hair that fall between them. There is just so much agony, so much confusion, so much hate bottled into one little body of bone and flesh. How long can I keep my rage contained in this shell? Not for any great length of time, that I can tell you.
How can I hate so much, so many, and so often? There is no room left for love in this heart already bursting at the meniscus with vitriolic spite. I find that there is only one substitute left for tenderness and that is obsession which results in igniting a jealous flame that would devour both I and the object of my affections.
The myriad of tasks my individual is being asked is eating me alive from my soft viscera out to the toughened skin.
A voice calls from a nest of couch cushions, “How was practice?”
Honestly, who gives a ******** in the long run?
“Fine,” my cracked voice answers. My throat is too dry from sucking in too little air to give more than an utterance.
“So you had another bad one.”
Silence ensues. Sweat from my sopping gear drips onto the long carpet lining the hall in the uncomfortable lack of human noise.
Dammit. I am going to have to shampoo the carpets again...
I can feel the frown I cannot see burn another brand into my subconscience. Great. Another night of restless nightmares is undoubtedly ahead of me.
“No. I did alright,” that was a bull-faced lie. I dared not elaborate the subject, but diverted into the kitchen where I dumped my empty water bottle into the stinking sink.
When was the last time anyone cleaned in here?
Last night when I did the dishes.
“Go outside for a bit then. You don’t look like you had a particularly hard practice.”
My eyes ran down my chest to survey the streak of wetness that stank to high heaven. My back felt chill as a wind blew in from the open window onto the dark shirt and I shivered as I cooled down a few degrees. I felt like a football player at half time.
Go work for another hour then. You don’t have enough bruises. I see a few dry patches on your shirt. Your ankle isn’t in enough pain. Your back can still bend, slightly, so you must have not worked at all. You are worthless. You do not try. You are not worthy of my company. Go away until you can prove yourself to me.
My reply was terse and submissive, “Alright. Lemme just go get a ball and jump rope...”
So I can hang myself.
I did not linger to allow the voice’s attention to fall from the murmuring illiteracy of the television characters onto me. Attention I shirked though I craved it without satiation. My rigid shoulders relaxed to droop like in neanderthal man’s posture when I walked out veiw. My exhaustion extended beyond physical or verbal expression.
In my omnipotence I could hear every insult shrouded in fancy verbs, reprimand shouted through silence, and displeasure dripping from the wide smile in eyes I could never, ever, find the courage to look into. Such is a curse, my curse, something that is seemingly without substance or base, but is unarguably present.
 Smilodon-Fatalis · Sun Oct 29, 2006 @ 05:06am · 0 Comments |
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I am typing this in accordance with my signature of which contains my current mental/ emotional status.
Being the kind of person I am, I have six main me's that can be seen regularly and one that I reserve for those precious moments of solitude that I find my life nearly devoid of. Therefore, I will list them here shortly for anyone who cares enough to look.
Personality one: Contemplative. When I feel this way, I am deep in my own thoughts and quite possibly in my own "twilight zone". I talk even less than normal in an attempt to become invisible to those around me. In being unseen, I can carefully observe all factors around me to reach an educated conclusion to whatever question I need answered. More often than not, I have a sinister reason for using this shrewdness and one must take caution in approaching me.
Personality two: Content. This emotion is generally seen most often in the winter season when there is a bone chilling wind whipping through the trees around my house and the harbingers of the storm, thunderheads, loom over the mountains in the distance. When this weather arrives, I can be expected to wear one of my favorite heavy coats to sheild me from the bite of the wind and huddle against the gale near one of the trees on my property. The warmth of my own little bubble inside of the cold of winter makes me sleepy and easily pleasable. However, lately I have been most content when in the presence of my current obsession of which will not be named. In this state, I do not pay much attention to things around me because of the sleepy haze that I am enveloped in.
Personality three: Hazardous. There is a huge 'do not disturb upon pain of death' sign over me when I assume this personality. I am wily and perfectly unpredictable in this mood. A red flag in identifying this dangerous side to me is the level of terseness I maintain toward anything and everyone. I will not draw out my usual long-winded rants and replies, but settle instead for one liners and other intolerable illiterate spam when communicating with friends. However, I rarely post in this state and perfer to lurk and privately scoff at the faults I find within the human race. Ironically, I write best in this pessimistic self but, unfortunely, my work is not normally of the more savory in taste and I find it more polite not to share writing written in my rage to the public.
Personality four: Submissive/timid.
Personality five: Depressed.
Personality six: Playful/Mischevious.
Personality seven: ????
Smilodon-Fatalis · Tue Oct 17, 2006 @ 06:17pm · 1 Comments |
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Walk down a hall, through a door, into a well lit room. There, sitting at the vanity and mirror like a diva from the opera, sits who appears to be a lady with silvery hair. Her age is undiscernable, her back of to you garbed in white silk and trimmed with white lace. The cascade is grey, but uniformly so. It is almost uncanny how the myriad of fine threads catch the artificial light to distort it into an illusion of white.
Slowly, as if there is nothing more to do with Time than let itself wash over her like a calm lake current, she raises one delicately gloved hand to caress the rigid locks with a lover's gentleness. They are covered in fine kid skin gloves, bleached to match the dress she wears so innocently, the fine wrists as white as the hand covers above them. So skinny and beautiful, they might have been only but the frail bones benethe skin.
Those hands, those seemingly fine and spindley articles, grasp at the twilight waterfall like a bat would a frog twisting it mercilessly into a flawless bun to be stabbed by the pin she jousts through it. Nary a stray hair escaped her frenzy, no bump or ununiform curve could be discerned in the bright light and no glint was emitted to betray such a forgiveless mistake. Her skill was precision and precision was without error. Perfection.
No ears were seen now, though the style she wore atop her head would have uncovered them otherwise, and the mirror she faced showed no likeness in its depths. The light reflected from it awkwardly so that only a gold sheen could be seen by any onlooker.
Upon the immaculate top of the vanity sat no make-up, no covering minerals to mask fatal flaws. She needed none of them so pristine was her perfection. Although, laid lovingly on a white velvet pillow in a diamond bottle, sat one lonely flask of perfume.
The kid-adorned hands reached tenderly for the clear liquid. They handled the bottle as if it were a sacred artifact not deserving of their humble touch and one fumble, one falter in its lifting would cause it to shatter in their clutches beyond the wildest hope of repair. Delicatly, softly the left hand caressed the small pump attatched to the silver engraved neck of the perfume bottle.
It squeezed the bladder tentively, but with resolute care. So gentle was the spray and so iridescent the sheen that nothing would have portrayed the fact that she had used it save the scent the wafted in a haze from her person. She inhaled the mist deeply, puffing up to cause the silk dress to conform with her tiny figure resting upon the stool.
It smelled of trees it smelled of water it smelled of ash it smelled of spring. The reek of the city and stink of the country, the smell of space the smell of earth. It made one recall the worst... recall the best. To weep, to laugh, to celebrate, to mourn. The macabre olfaction of joy as it seeps away into the pit of time. Terror layed in its recollection, and like the sophia it held happy memories. It smelled of everything, and nothing...
Those hands replaced the bottle with a caress as if quieting a restless babe in its cradle. Upon the dustless top sat a minute dresser, a jewelry box. Inside its teak doors were two items and only two: A delicate silver band and a miniature chainlink string on which hung the platinum semblance of an ancient Roman coin. The leather covered fingers deftly slipped the ring onto the middle diget of the left hand prior to hooking the necklace around the slender neck. Stopping for a moment to admire the duet of silver on her person, the lady tittered and turned her torso to allow the jewelry to glint off the yellow light in a white spray of stars.
Without pause in her admiration, she flicked open a secret hideaway in the minature wooden cabinet, now empty of its contents, to withdraw a white satin ribbon. Strung on the length were a line of dried white roses. They hung in a fragrantless tupor as if they were merely paralyzed, not plucked entirely from their stem. Around her hidden brow she ties the crown of crisp petals to rest as a mark like thorns on her forehead. The fingers tie the bare ends of the string of rose buds in a simple bow under the round bun her silver hair is pinned into. No one could lable her anything less than enthralling.
The arms laid the hands and wrists contentedly on the hand carved edge of the vanity table. Diaphram seeming to have taken in a deep breath, her rigid body relaxed as it let out an audible sigh of pleasure. Her appearence pleased her and apparently, there was nothing left to do. The white dress was in use, matching gloves covering her spindly finger bones, starlit hair in a bun apt as to be the model of such a style in perfect alignment and form, signature scent applied duly and sparingly, lastly, the pair of silver relics added the finished inlay to the godess-like appearance of this seeming Aphrodite.
Standing without warning in a terse posture characteristic of one with much class and breeding, she smoothed her front and turned to where to door stood awaiting her passage. The face of the nameless lady merits a gasp, a freeze, or a convulsion. The eyes are hollow, black gaps in her head with the darkness swirling like oblivian. Those two holes inspire such terror of the mind one might find one's self cowering in the shadows, reduced to a bawling lamb in the light of the white woman.
The face, that white face so awe inspiring that it may bring even the kings of the worlds weeping to their knees, showed no emotion, no sense of change, no ackowledgement of existance in the faintest sense. Every tooth was pulled up in a moribund smile, each peice of ivory a seperate entity all its own. The front gleamed immaculate in the light and the eye teeth seemed to grin with a malevolent purpose as the molars behind them clinked unmovingly in the locked jaw.
Her rigid gait, that unshakable stride, held confidence in every movement of the bones and swirl of the silk as it passed about her unyeildingly as she stepped for the outlet at the Northern wall of the room.
Stopping, only for a breath in time, the cephalus turns to look at something before she disappears into the darkness that lays beyond the door. In the brief pause, one comes to terms that this once sensuous seeming thing is nothing but a terror: something to feared, revered, and loathed. The etheral being's tall stature belies none of the tenderness her repose had suggested. Such streamlined strength that lay in the svelte body could only be seen as the epitome of power, such that no creature large or small can avoid succumbing to.
Like a geist she resumes her pallid march uncaringly and without emotion. Death has just passed you by in all its silvery splendor.
Smilodon-Fatalis · Wed Aug 09, 2006 @ 05:36am · 1 Comments |
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Username: Smilodon-Fatalis
Nickname: Gaia
Wolf Name: Feint
Gender: Female
Rank:Lone wolf
Appearance: Feint is a black timber wolf with white around her muzzle, a spot on her chest, a long scar from a bullet graze across her face, and one white foot. She also has one blue iris and one yellow. Her blue eye is rumored to be blind, as it did not turn yellow as the other when she matured, but that has yet to be determined. A lone wanderer, she is quite skinny being deprived of a pack to aid in the ritual of hunting.
History: Honestly, does it truly matter what has happened to me, what was, what in the past may have been important? Life does not demand any of my explanations. No one can ever grasp my fate. Is it not enough I see every ghost, every vengeful energy through my right eye? The blue iris that gazes through the very being of the Earth I stand upon, indomitable, unyielding? Was it not enough that my mother was slain by a bargain? The deal that cost me my very happiness. Because of one prideful alpha my fate was shattered. Until then, I actually had a choice in my decisions, but that greedy, spiteful dog tore my will away and sold it to Cerebrus. I am cursed. Not as a curse one would expect, but as a curse I live. I am just to be as a plague to others and all because of one rash, stupid act of anger.
I remember my mother. So kind, so utterly... motherly. She was the only wolf in the wide world to have had any tenderness for me. What care a mother takes of her young. Late at night when the new moon leaves the sky blacker than deep darkness of the caverns of the underworld, I fall into deep nostalgia of her raven coat. She often spoke of my true father, Dralion, and how I was like him. She would tell my tales of the bravery he had for the pack in times of dire need. Her saddest story was of how he died. Whenever I asked to hear her words on his demise she would fall into a deep depression with a grave tone to her voice. Over and over I would hear her repeat his words:
"Oh Chai, my mate, my love, if you truly want to see me live, fly. Fly from this place and survive. I am for the worms, but you, you have life still. Our life."
When I would ask my innocent queries about him, she would reply simply and solemnly,
"You will know him better than I ever did some day, my babe. Someday..."
Then my mother would turn her attention to my brother. My memories of him are few. My murderer did away with him when we were still quite young. It was jealousy of my heritage that drove Raleigh to do it.
After my dame fled from her desise ridden lands, she fought for and joined the Pines-Pack as the alpha female. My first month of life he believed us to be his creation, until the stranger stumbled into our midst.
The wolf was emaciated, injured, and an inch from death. My mother as the first to see him for what he truly was, a carrier of the scourge that had razed her pack.
"Stay back!" she cried.
To who she directed this command to I still cannot tell, but I can yet see vividly her graying lips raise to form a broken snarl.
" Plague rat! We want none of your misfortunes here! Leave now."
The dying wolf laughed the sound of an undead creature, one not of this world.
"Oh Chai, do you remember who I am? What I truly bring?" the dry words sent the entire pack bristling with snarls, "No. You have become old and blind. Not the thing Dralion would have wanted to see in you or his children. I will leave, yes, but as a corpse. The curse has wrote has me maddened into invincibility!"
The last thing I recall of the stranger were his red eyes leaping for my mother. No salvia dripped from the parched mouth, but the true poison had already struck the heart.
The skirmish ended in seconds. My mother delt one deft frontal kick to the weak chest of the wolf, shattering it beyond any hope of healing. No one could match her ability to strike the sweet spot of an opponent in battle. When she turned, hardly panting, to face Raleigh, she seemed surprised.
"Those whelps are not of my making. You are a cunning liar, Chai."
She stepped back towards us, now baring her weapons to her 'mate'.
"Leave them be, Raleigh. They are but pups. My children know nothing of this."
The panic in her gestures frightened me to no end. What under Heaven could make my mother so weak? Nothing could bring down my nieve vision of her. She was a god.
"And I am but the law. I WILL NOT TOLERATE WEAKNESS IN MY PACK!"
That was the only warning she had before he accelerated for us. As if she had been nothing more than a scrap of skin he hurled my mother aside and took up my brother in his jaws, shaking him like a caught rabbit.
"Stop Raleigh! Are you insane?!" the beta male, his brother, shouted, knocking into him.
"Lith, this is none of your concern!"
"It is every wolf?s concern, Raleigh, if you are crazy enough to kill pups."
"Do I hear a challenge?"
Lith snorted in reply, lowering his head and barking once.
"So be it, brother. May your death teach you defiance is rewarded with only pain."
In the end, it was Lith who taught him his place. It was a grand battle with much blood and fire. To see the life drain from Raleigh's corpse must have brought my mother some sort of comfort in the light of her dead pup. The new alpha turned to her, gave one meaningful look, and she knew her day as top wolf were over. Never again would she be anything but omega. I was to be tolerated because I was still too young to be a serious competitor for any of the other wolves, but my mother, oh my poor, dear, sweet mother, was doomed to endure her last days in the groveling position fitting of her rank. Damn Raleigh. Damn his soul to Hell. His jealousy killed her. If I had could, I would travel down to Hades myself and shred his astral being into wisps to be scattered into the river Styx, never to be seen or remembered by anyone.
I tire now of this painful nostalgia. Anger gnaws at my hole of a heart. To give you the most superficial of ideas about my later existence, I developed into a fighter fueled by hatred. Hatred is so much more empowering than love. That is why Lith's mate is now reduced to rot. I became the Alpha of all alphas. My mate trembled whenever I so much as glanced at him. To challenge me was tantamount to knocking on the Devil?s gate asking to be named in his black book. Always the searing memory of Chai added to the conflagration in my soul.
There are two creatures I absolutely do not tolerate. Wolves and humans. The first time I came face to face with them was my last. I had been out on my own for half the day taking a well-deserved break from my first litter of pups. Upon my return, I found myself bewildered for the first time in a long while at what was presented before me. All five other adults lay on the ground motionless. The sweet scent of blood saturated the air leaving the aura of death a lingering miasma by the den. I did not think at all when I leapt over the naked bodies, through the puddles of my pack mates? blood, and into the den, or what was left of it. An acrid smell I had never experienced before made me snarl in terrified ignorance. Where once had been an entrance was a pile of rubble and wood. Something had exploded deep in the safety of the rocks to collapse the support of the den. My frantic whining and digging were not necessary. My pups were dead and I did not need to be in my right mind to know it.
In my sorrow and pain I threw back my dirty muzzle and howled to the blue sky above me. No wolf answered, and never again would any. I did not really feel the human's bullet shoot past my face as I disappeared into the forest, grazing the flesh from my nose to the base of my neck. Just the hollowness now embued within me. The curse I know knew I was condemned to carrying weighed heavily upon me.
"Death is my master now. And I, its willing apprentice."
Smilodon-Fatalis · Sat Aug 05, 2006 @ 05:39pm · 0 Comments |
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Name: Smilodon-Fatalis
Nickname: Gaia
Wolf name: Seryph
Gender: Female
Rank: Beta Female
Appearance: Seryph is a hybrid wolf, a rare red wolf and common coyote mix, and because of this is unable to maintain any rank higher in the pack than beta. True to her heritage, she is red-brown in color with a long, feminine looking face. From her father's coyote genes she received long, stilt like legs and relatively large ears perfectly suited for pinpointing even the smallest sound. Her superior wit and knowledge of lore made her friends with the alpha wolf, Asako, and they eventually went off and gathered stray wolves to form a pack. Although her lithe build does not allow for any great amount of strength, Seryph possesses the greatest agility of the lot. She has no powers and cannot transform into a human like other full blooded wolves can.
History:
So, you want to know a bit about me. Well, there really isn't too terribly much to tell. I am the offspring of the desperate mating between a red wolf b***h and a dog coyote. You may or may not know this, but red wolves have always been, lets say, lesser in numbers, and when the humans brought their business to our deserts, we dwindled to dangerously low levels. My ma, her name was Sage, managed to avoid any deadly run-ins with the intruders as much to her benefit as mine. One year, when her last litter had been long dispersed to fend for their own survivals, she could not locate another red wolf to mate with. Unlike our grey brethren, us reds are sometimes solitary creatures not wishing for the company of others. No matter how many times she howled, how many ranges she crossed, she could not find even one suitor. It was then that she gave up the hopes of ever finding another wolf such as herself again. Her wanderings had taken her across vast expanses of desert, leaving her alone and confused. One day, in the shade of a rocky cliff, she met a coyote. He entertained her with such tales of his adventures and legends that she could not help but fall for his charm. He took her from rock face to rock face, a journey I would accompany him on after my first season, showing her the many white chalk drawings on the red stone. Each set, he told her and later me, was a story between the Native humans and animals.
I recall quite vividly one set of pictographs in particular. I can just see him puff out his chest in pride as he stated, " You see that one Seryph?" pointing his long nose to a particular scribble, "that is me."
I stared at for quite some time, cocking my head in confusion.
"But Pa," I answered confusedly, "it is just another group of white lines strewn on the rock."
He chuckled at my lack of ingenuity and imagination. Lifting a well worn paw to rest on it, he guided me through the transcription.
"See there? Those are my ears. And that, that is my tail. Can you make out the clever ravens I am cheating out their lunch?"
He prided himself in his crafty nature and my ease at learning all his favorite tricks at gambling.
"The Native Humans know I am a smart creature. I can swindle anyone for whatever I can't have."
The more I stared at the picture, the more it became apparent to me that it was a coyote. I took his word that it was him. I smiled my delight as a thousand different things I had never been able to see in the hieroglyphics came to light. Desert peccaries nosed through scruffy looking scrub while Harris hawks wheeled in the sky above them. The Native Humans danced in rituals with their crested gods watching from the clouds intensly. That one time of revelation opened me to a whole new way of interpreting the experiences I went through, the moving pictures I saw and lived.
He also told me stories that had no pictures to accompany them. He spoke of his father,my grandfather, and of his excitement in the northern pines. The tale he always retold with the most relish the most often was of his Pa's greatest gamble of his life: the encounter with the famous Blink Lynx. I won't go into the details, they are too lengthy and too deep, but I will give you this: One winter when the mountain blizzards came and went fast enough to drop a foot of snow in half an hour before disappearing for a slight reprieve, my grandfather had been reduced to skin hanging on a bony frame. He sought sanctuary in a sheltered grove of spruce trees to escape the biting cold when he stumbled, almost literally, onto the exhausted body of the Blink Lynx. When the cat awoke, he almost ate him for the untimely intrusion, but before the snow devil could deliver a killing blow, he called out:
"Blink Lynx, let's strike a deal!"and captured a different kind of interest in the cat.
The Lynx bet the coyote's life plus one favor if my grandpa could reach a roosting flock of ptarmigan in the boughs above without lifting one paw off the ground. If he lost, however, his life was to be in the claws of the Blink Lynx. He had no choice but to agree to the unfair bargain. He knew that the Lynx could freeze them off their perch with a flick of one tufted ear. Being a coyote, however, he had no elemental powers or even a special form as some wolves do. He found himself in a sticky situation.
"Now Blink Lynx," he said, wary of his words, "Why don't you attempt first to knock off a few of those birds, seeing if I try we may be here a while."
The Lynx acquiesced, proud of his obvious superiority, and spat a freeze charm at the flock Much to his surprise, they did not fall off the perch as he had expected. Somewhat annoyed, the snow cat shot a slightly stronger spell at the spot. Again this failed. At that time, my grandfather stepped in and asked if he could give it a go. The Blink Lynx angrily, but still unconcerned, said that it didn't matter. There was no way to get them down now and if the coyote's attempt failed, which it most certainly was, then he would eat him. Unperturbed and determined, he stepped through the snow over to the trunk of the tree. He threw his weight against it once, twice, thrice, there was a cracking sound, and down tumbled the frozen ptarmigan, snow heavy branch, and all. The Lynx had a good, if sore, laugh at this. He let my grand father go on his merry way and with a future favor from the Blink Lynx to keep tucked away in his belt for any need he may have. Ironically for all his cunning, he never had the nerve to face the frightening lynx again. I never could imagine being dangled on a thread like that.
At around three years old, the strange humans set up in our desert(they were not like the Native Humans who had disappeared long before I was born). They came with machines and boughs of metal ripping and destroying as they went. The collared peccaries started to become scarce and the smaller game few and far between. In their stead came stupid animals called sheep and cattle to pound at the sand under their feet and browse what little vegetation survived. We killed and ate them for sustenance, the flesh being vile in comparison to the wild rams and mule deer that used to caper in the evenings by the rock faces. Water holes more precious than food were fenced in with biting wire to allow exclusive access to the domestics that had invaded our home.
When our regular oasis was finally claimed by the humans, we mourned the loss of our last refuge. Sage and I left the land of my father, by this time he had been shot and made into a wall rug, for amnesty elsewhere. One night we spied a diminutive spring at the base of a scraggly tree. I did not have much of a thirst after rending and sucking at a cactus an hour earlier in want of liquid, but Sage was parched and drank more than her fill of the drink. We stayed close by the spring that night, not wanting to readily abandon a new found source of life, and sought safety in a catacomb network of sand worn caves.
I awoke the next morning, but my ma was unable to do the same. She had fallen into a deep tupor of which she was unable to awaken from. I nudged, nipped, prodded, and barked trying to get her to arise, alas, it was all to no avail. No movement except the shallow breath in her chest was discernable.
Dozing next to her failing body that afternoon, my ears picked up the soft pad of paws in the stone passage way awoke me.
"Whoa, Seryph it's alright. Truce."
It was a puma that my father and I had known.
"Kokopelli? Why are you here?" I demanded, taken aback by his unwillingness to fight.
"I've been following a herd of big horn... until now that is. I saw the entire family drop dead after drinking at the spring at the foot of these caverns," he said cooly with the flick of his feline tail, "According to what my cousin to the East has said, it may hve been poisioned."
I listened with disbelief at his story, then turned to look mournfully at my comatose mother. Kokopelli went on his way without any further incident, we were old friends and had no reason to compete now that all the food was gone and water undrinkable. He padded away quietly, leaving me alone in my misery.
Sage died in the twilight of the next morning and I set out North that day, not wishing to have any more dealings with the desert country. The mountains of my grandfather coyote were to my niche now.
There you have it. Straight from the wolf's mouth. I told you that it was not all that interesting. I have but yet another tragic past to add to our pack of woes and a few secrets to be kept as a pack of lies. If you are still thirsting for more of what I am, sorry. The rest is taboo.
Smilodon-Fatalis · Sat Aug 05, 2006 @ 05:27pm · 1 Comments |
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Here we live on this half wilted planet we call Earth. Yes. You automatically assume from the preceeding statement that I am just another of those moribund emo wanna-be's... Look closer.
Do I state bluntly and without tact that I wish Death upon myself with it's white robe and bony hands? Have I once alluded to the fact that the situation is hopless to the extreme wherefore we should all lay our bodies down to sleep in the light of such revelation? No. I have merely spat out the thought of our home as a 'half wilted planet'.
Do not judge. Such a luxury is reserved for the dead only. They alone deserve the reverance that so many of the living crave without satiation or sense for only those ancient cadavors can know what it is that their lives meant. Only those... only.
Smilodon-Fatalis · Sat Aug 05, 2006 @ 04:26am · 0 Comments |
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Hello and welcome. There are ten rules i think that you need to know before we assume anything in this Chaos we call Earth:
Rule the First: Make no enemies.
Rule the Second: Wherefore having failed the preceding, treat foes cordially. Be not rude, ever.
Rule the Third: If it's edible, eat it. If not, try anyway.
Rule the Fourth: Be not stupid.
Rule the Fifth: Be not angry. Anger blinds one into the stupidity of being vulnerable.
Rule the sixth: Fighting is not a way of life, it is a way to keep YOUR life.
Rule the Seventh: Honesty sometimes isn't always the best policy. Lying saves lives in war.
Rule the Eighth: Understanding comes with wisdom, which is a quality of age.
Rule the Ninth: You know know not everything.
Rule the Tenth: I am Gaia.
Smilodon-Fatalis · Sun May 14, 2006 @ 02:38am · 0 Comments |
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