I don’t know, because I cut her into pieces, I am not sure how I did it. I woke up to this. This is a bastardization in that I am a bastard for doing it, and being that I have no idea how to illustrate what I would not dare take pictures of because I was appalled at what had happened, while I was not present in my own disgusting mind… I don’t even know. It looked something like this to me at the time. I think I can’t even tell you, because I don’t know. I remember this piercing sound, earth shattering piercing like some how I had shattered one of my ear drums, but it rotated from both ear drum to ear drum and it didn’t hurt. Tinnitis? Spelling? Spelling…. I… woke up a second later and there were pieces of someone on the ground and Rei, was gone, or maybe I was gone. I do not know.
I was only there for a second, but then I… I don’t know, I don’t know if I ran or if I woke up from a nightmare that was this, but the blood, it was on and off my hands in flashes of light, but not like blood, like a cast color and it burned. I think I might have been screaming, but I couldn’t hear myself. I woke up or was already awake and I was.. I was..
I’m done… I don’t know what this means, and wanted to write this down so I remember it, but I am.. I am.. signing off. I don’t know what else to say other than that I am embarrassed… I am pathetic.
We have met others who do what we do, I am studying it as a phenomenon now, they have some sort of ability that involves the manipulation of human beings and the universe. They are all addicts, and I do not know if that is that stupid you associate with those like you crap, or if they are like us because there is something about being an addict that causes us to be able to do this. I feel like I have mentioned this before, but I do not know for sure, because admittedly my memory sucks, and I do not like to admit I have any weakness at all.
I have a hard time making assessments of the reality of what I see because of this, I, in my admitted arrogance, believed and still believe in my ability to manipulate space and time with my hands, that is one of the reasons I take life, aside from being prone to lashing out in fits of rage. I am embarrassed even writing this to you, my unknown observer. I do not like being the kind of person who talks to people, and wonder sometimes if that means I do not like being a human being. I sometimes doubt even that, that I am human at all.
I do not know what that means… I do not know what it means to not believe in my own human body. I guess it just means that I am everything they always said I was, and that for some reason in my wretched existence, I am pathetic enough to not… I am going to stop… I can’t stand hearing myself talk, even if it is out loud while typing to you or sometimes in the ranting chaos that is my own mind.
We are standing next to each other, but in the coldness of night… I can feel our separateness. I can feel that we are merely parts in a universe of pieces, and for a second I panic, knowing that the only thing that connects me to him are threads that are unreal. I have no invisible tether which ties me to this man. I am truly alone, and that frightens me, and I hope, as horrible as it is to say… he is frightened too. I look at him and realize he is crying. I heard him coughing or what I thought is coughing. I walk away slowly, and he starts to say something, but stops and I pretend not to hear.
“I wish….”, echoes into the dark night from his lips, as I walk away. I do not know what he wishes, and I will not find out if he was talking to me. We have an unspoken, understanding that I am not to see his moments of weakness. I simply pretend that he does not have them. We never speak about them.
He comes back over to me, but does not make eye contact with me. His downcast gaze, passes over the ground, painting it with the red stare that he casts on the day walkers. He looks as though he is trying to cast himself off the earth, and there is a part of me that wishes that he could, to end his pain. I do not know what it is about, and dare not ask.
Which is strange, because I swear that I only fell asleep a moment..I don’t have a watch, but I feel it. He has not been gone long, and certainly not long enough to be completely out of sight. I panic, and sit for a second, trying to keep a hold of myself. I must not freak out. He will be back in a second I tell myself. I am freaking out for no reason, I tell myself. I know something is wrong. I know it, and I can’t tell you why. I do not know what is going on, but it is something different than has ever gone on before, and even if he returns I am not sure, if things will ever be the same, and that terrifies me. What have we done? What have we done?
Have we done enough to warrant whatever this is? The answer to this is yes, he and I both know this. We know this, and we run, chased from cover of darkness to cover of darkness, wanting nothing but each other’s company while we slowly die of madness. I am not sure if we will…
I look up, I was talking to myself.
“Oh, you are awake, I went for a walk,” He nervously laughs, looking down at his feet, which no longer have shoes on them.
“What happened to your shoes?” I ask with concern that seems a little bit too motherly, and I cast my eyes to the ground, ashamed.
“I…. don’t know…” He looks back at me, and I can see that he is shaking slightly.
“Come here,” He comes without me having to ask again, and we don’t speak for the rest of the night.
It is hard to see anything through the veiling nature of green.
There is a shadow cast by the act of lushness that comes with greenery. In that greenery exists a deception that casts over all, in the plenty that exists with green comes a deceptive veil that cannot be lifted unless there is a removal of the vines which entangle around the human soul, because in their entanglement of the limbs that are your source of movement comes a restriction of breath and removal from the world in which you live.
Him and I walk through both places, we walk in valleys of green and areas of blue ocean, and I always seem to lose him in those green places.
“YOU HEARD ME GET ON THE FUCKING GROUND. Oh, you thought you were good, you thought you were very good didn’t you? DIDN’T YOU?!” He kicks the man directly in the nose, and I can hear the very quite sound of the tiny bones of his nose break as it goes to the left side, he spits directly on the wound and then kicks dirt mixed with leaves at the man. The leaves are changing color where we are right now. I find it interesting to watch the dripping dark red velvet seeming blood of the man, who is white,
“DO” NOT INTERRUPT ME!”
So slow the dissent of chaos and disorder……..
Whose voice am I?
I am the sky.
I am the rain.
I am the reign.
I am the insane man
I am the ever slow hand of the swine herder, I do not know how to spell, look at me go. I type slow. I am missing fingers, so sad for you my poor girl, your death it swirled, you have escaped me know, my sweet, write their stories.
In the darkness… I forget where I am..
In the dark nest of death I forget who I am?
Does it matter? Does it matter? Does your reality shatter with the breaking of souls?
I am the toll of death’s chime.
I am somewhere else now. I am walking. Damien throws a red jacket at me. I like the color. It reminds me of something.
I was killed where I stand. I stand still. I took the wrong pill. I made the wrong deal, should have instead bought a meal. I dealt with a steal-er. He made me a meal here. I stood on the ground, hearing not a sound, but a pound, that came in my ear, shattering conscience, conciousness…spelled it wrong… bitch…
Foolish hands that write of man, who stands as me, I am herder of swine don’t you see. I am a liar and host of deception-ist sort. I am a maker of words, singer of cries…. I am the dying of dies.
I lost my train of thought, who was I before. I was someone. I was someone.
My name is Miranda. I was a writer and then Ms. Rei.
Misery, don’t you see….
Cut off my hands.
You were using them wrong, you were writing death’s song.