Oh, dung and flobberworms.

Paper towels are honestly the silliest things humans have ever created.



My old lover is back in my life: Oblivion: The Elder Scrolls!

Name: Debzilla
Race: Dark Elf
Level: 10 ^_^
Class: Harry Potter;
Alchemy, Alteration, Conjuration, Destruction, Illusion, Mysticism, and Restoration.
Birth Sign: The Mage.

....Could I be any more PREDICTABLE?! Holy hell.

Continued.. [Story]

William handed her a bowl of the stewed rabbit meat, then sat back and enjoyed his own bowl, keeping his eyes averted. Rainier brought the bowl to her face, feeling the heat and breathing in the aroma; mature Cottontail and Sage. Her senses were completely thankful for the nourishment, and she spooned the contents into her mouth with haste. They ate is silence and then settled even further apart for sleep, having no regard for one another.

Rainier became lost in sleep, dreaming of running, like always. Always the same dream occurred during sleep. She was running full force through the forest. Jumping over fallen trunks and thick bushes with ease, her heart pumping madly in her chest. She came to a stream about six feet wide and anticipated the leap. As she leapt something tugged at her insides and once on the other side something had changed. Still she continued to run, feeling different and running on all four instead of her human feet. She had four large paws that dug into the earth with each step, her hind paws kicking up large clumps of earth with every powerful thrust. Still she continued to run. She felt complete yet terrified--

William woke to a whimpering sound coming from the other side of the camp fire. Dawn was approaching and there was a faint light coming in through the trees. He sat up and placed his hand on his dagger, ready to pull it out at the next sign of danger. He spotted Rainier curled up grabbing her chest and whimpering. If only he knew her secrets, then the mysteries of her sorrow would take form and maybe he could be useful. He sat for a while staring at his dagger and thinking of how powerful he was with it. He was a killer with it, but something made him question whether or not he would be able to conquer her fears and comfort her.

He rose to feed the fire with a few thick branches from his pile. Warming his body from the morning chill he continued to stare at Rainier, as if convincing himself she was real. Such a striking girl under all that dirt, he thought. Her once light-golden hair poured over her shoulders caked with dirt, so that it's color showed more as a golden brown. It framed her face nicely and when she wanted to she could escape within her mess of hair. William found it quite charming when she lowered her head thus resembling a cottontail. She had a strong but dainty brow that was heavy with sorrow, as if she carried every sadness between her eyebrows. Her cheekbones made her blue eyes shine, even with all the dark secrets swimming in them. Her lips were full and a perfect shade of pink, William observed, as they began to tremble--

Rainier was still dreaming and running through the heart of the deep forest, but she had left her human form at the stream. She was stalking her prey in wolf form, with teeth bared and nearing her kill. A few feet ahead her prey stumbled over a log and tumbled to the ground giving her the precious seconds to catch up. She was staring into the eyes of her prey, taking in her scents, and relishing the moment and the glory of a new kill. Her prey shuddered and let out a high scream and Rainier gorged her teeth into its throat. Blood wept from Rainier's mouth as her prey's life drained through her teeth. Feeling savage, Rainier heaved her prey upwards throwing the warm corpse into the air. It collided with the ground with a crunch and thud. Rainier stood on her powerful hind legs and let out a paramount howl that shook everything around her--

Confused, Rainier slowly opened her eyes from her deep sleep. Something was shaking her shoulder. She opened her eyes and saw William above her, hand on her shoulder, and deep anxiety in his eyes.. His left hand held the hilt of his dagger in its sheath. Dawn was approaching and she was suddenly anxious to leave the forest.

"We must be going," He said with a worried brow as he got up to hook his pack, leading the way.

Rainier stood up a little shaky. Then lowered her head and began to follow William, suddenly glad for the company.

Unlikely Meeting [story]

Rainier was crouching behind a fallen and decaying log, parallel to the ground, listening hard to the streaming silence that filled the forest air. Riding the wind towards her were the distant shrieks of night birds and a low, heavy panting and a slight tap-tap-tapping noise of something unknown.

Something new was on her trail.

She thrust her body upwards and took a look around in the dark. It dawned on her that she was becoming more and more like a beast; her senses heightened and the forest seeming more like a "home" to her. Suddenly and quite expectantly there was a slow craaaaaack behind her, like the sound she was waiting for. Rainier held herself together and took off running hoping her hunter would follow.

Something was wrong.

There was a solid cloud standing fifteen feet in front of where she once stood. Trying to slow down something collided with her head and threw her onto her back, moaning, bleeding.. Amateur senses.. And she slipped into a heavy sleep and the image of a hand closed in over her eyes.

"The answer is right in front of you.." Echoed in her brain as her head throbbed but refused to wake up. It felt like hours of being trapped conscious inside of her own unconscious head, and she had company with her.

Rainier opened her eyes slowly and was blinded by the light from the fire in front of her. Her hand shot up to her bruised skull and she let out a painful whimper. She sat up with dizziness trying to pull her back down, but she was determined. Her company was a rough looking man of her age with heavy sadness pulling at his mouth. He had dark hair that was in need of a wash and trim, and that's saying it politely; eyes cast down with thick lashes and a thin but able build. He was stirring a pot of something over the fire with his dagger. A peculiar silver dagger so sharp it made her wince at the sight of it. Its handle was made of a white stone with a carving in it, but his hand covered the image revealing only a claw.

She stood up and inched closer to him keeping her eyes steadily on him. She was behind him looking into the pot. A deep breath later identified the contents as rabbit. She crawled in front of him, avoiding the fire, to look in his eyes. They were a deep grey she had never seen before, still the same sadness lingered in them. She sat in front of him and took in his scent. A grave danger but no threat it told her-- As if he heard her, his eyes darted upward and he stared at her. She was back sitting beside the fire clutching her head with her hand, staring at him with a stunned expression.

"Sorry about that," he said pointing his dagger at her head, "I thought you were something else... Never mind." He said after her look turned from stunned to confused.

"Oh," She said softly and shyly looking down to distract herself from his gaze,
"I'm Rainier."

"William." He said with a smile that she didn't see.

Too Little Too Late.

Dearest Debbie,

I find that cages do not suit me well, therefor I have taken the pleasure of a personal vacation out in the vast, amazing world. (I have the means. I've been saving for ages.) I bid you farewell for a short while and I hope you do well in the meantime.

Enclosed is a photograph of me (sitting in the most luxurious chair, ever) having some Earl Grey with the Queen of England! Can you believe it? I daresay I had the best afternoon of my life!

P.S.
Since I am no longer with you, my dear, please remember to pay your bills. It would be tragic trying to find you around town if they threw you out. I'll keep in touch.

Much love to you, Your Brain.






Sickness was fixing me some
coughed out my heart in the last stall
now that the damage is done
I never miss it at all.

Obstacles

Tip-toeing, eyes averted in every direction. My heart on a stake if I mess this one up.

Body, please do not fail me now.

The snow-capped mountains surrounding me are starting to close in; Inching their way closer to strangle me, humming as if enjoying this little dance of theirs. I'm crouched like a cat on this brittle ice. My fingers splayed out for balance. My breath forms thick clouds around my face and my hair, in waves, spills over my body with tips of ice. The trees around me start to sway. They are dancing to a tune that tells of my death. My eyes start to blur from the ice encrusted on my lashes. My heart beats in low and weak thumps, but still far from its breaking point.

Heart, please do not fail me now.

Tip-toeing, eyes casting in every direction. I'm sensing that I'm not alone. The water spirits are closing in on me, underneath the frozen death that holds me from them. They dance underneath me while I'm forced to compare myself to a feather. These beautiful spirits full of malicious intent, ugly hearts, and wicked smiles; they are laughing at me with fangs bared. The mountains begin to moan and the trees start to bend in my way, hugging the frozen lake and being witness for the wicked water spirits. A water spirit underneath my hand places it's pale hand up to mine.

My heart skips a beat and my hand falls through the ice and into the water. A forceful wind throws itself through the scene and the trees give a loud cheer-like shake. The water spirits place their pale hands all over the ice that's under my body and within seconds the cracking and crashing of the ice invades my senses. The water hits me like a thousand daggers and I am stunned and paralyzed. I am greeted by hundreds of hungry eyes swarming around me, and it's unfortunate really that my death belongs to the water spirits, to things so beautiful but so ugly in nature.

I forgive you. And I start to sink.. ---------------------------

So, I was listening to Erik Satie's "Gnossienne- NO.1" when the small story/prose above materialized inside of my brain. Amazing piece of music. I want to jump into it and live forever in there. Also..




A very magical piece I found of Tree Spirits from http://www.annieb-art.co.uk/.
I wish I could work this well with oil paint! Bravo, Annie B.

Herro!

It's been a long recovery from the "Arctic Blast." Since then, Andrew and I have been endlessly playing World of Warcraft into the wee hours of the morning. I feel my brain dumbing down because of it. Sad, really.

I have a dentist appointment today. Sort of an evaluation really, but I have a feeling that it will NOT look good. I'm pretty much in debt to my mom. She's told me that my teeth should be a priority, but my lack of funds says otherwise. She's tabbing my dentist bills on "Debbie's Soul Tab," I swear I'll spend the rest of my little life paying her back. But at least I'll have awesome teeth? RIGHT?!

I've been waking up earlier in the morning, lately. Due to the fact that I have to take Andrew at work around 9:30am. It's a change for us and for the better, but this has been causing me to carry around this attitude all day long. (see below: my mood in constant effect through out the day.)



ONE OF THESE DAYS I WILL GO TO SLEEP BEFORE 2 AM!

Anyway, my nose has been stuck in the Harry Potter books. I know, I'm probably the last human being to read them, but I like when the hype of things calm down or are unknown so that I have my own opinion about them. I never doubted J.K. Rowling. She created a brilliant masterpiece and I didn't even need to read the books for that. What an imagination. *sigh* I'm trying to finish the series by the time The Half Blood Prince comes out in theaters this summer. I'm on The Chamber of Secrets. IT WILL HAPPEN! I'm a fast reader.. As long as my mother stops bugging me to "work" instead of "read." Pfffft.

Late for work. Again. Who cares?

Short Story: Random, Older, Mature.

I'm still trying to work on this one.. It was written for my creative writing class a year or two ago. I'm trying out different angles and voices. I'll post when completed.

I’m standing across the street, as usual, from the haunted house I walk by everyday: the house that attracts the beautiful people. I am unable to meet its stare—as if the house lives with a pair of brazen-red eyes watching the passersby, and scanning for the beautiful, the fearless; the pretentious ones in this small town; the valor—I seem to lack. They dance the nights away in this haunted house.

A nightmare led me here

The paint is chipping in sporadic locations (even where there is no paint to begin with,) the air is dead and emotionless, outside. There is a more than eerie tune wallowing through the gutters, or maybe there is no sound at all. It’s hard to hold my grasp on reality when facing this house. Feeling its cold hands molest me from across the street.

I feel vulnerable and naked where it can see me, but I have too much to do today. –No time to indulge in the familiar, unknown smell dancing up my thighs and in my nose.

When I start walking again the cold air seems to hit my face like a razorblade, and I start to miss the dead air in front of the house, where I once stood minutes ago—for an hour. My face bleeds chills and shivers through open sores from the impact.

I’m late for work.

A mile away, in the heart of downtown Boulevard, population of 17,496 minus 872 (where the 872 people have gone is a mystery to me, and everyone else) stands a queer white building that everyone fears. The ones who come here enter crying, either/or leave crying. The blinds are always shut so no one can spy on the whores inside. I’m an exception; I guide these whores to the promise land. I feel their broken hearts and growing pains. I am the one that schedules the killing of babies. I am the secretary sitting motionless behind the sliding glass window, waiting for you to approach me and tell me all your problems.

The clock ticks away and I continue to space out, which is routine for me just as much as bleeding every month. My mind drifts up to the door of the house that always seems to grab me in. I am there. In front of me the door handle looks rusted, but it’s made out of plastic. It turns easily to my surprise and I push the door open, listening to it growl as it opens wider, revealing a hall with a dim red light at the end saying, “follow me, lovely, don’t be scared—

“Excuse me, I need help… Now.”

My eyes drift up from the stack of papers I was supposed to be filling out, my hand disconnects from my face, and I sit up to see a tense young woman biting her finger nails and she looks at me through nervous eyes. She’s unlike the usual girls that come in here, wearing baggy clothes and hair over their face to cover their ashamed faces. She is vibrant—through her paranoid expression. Her hair is brown but flows on her body like gold, and her figure is slender dressed in glamorous rags.

“Don’t be scared,” I say to her as soon as my eyes stop wandering her features and my mind stops making judgments.

“Don’t be scared. Yeah, that’s right.” Her muscles relax and she reaches out to touch my hand, through the half open glass window, “That’s what they say to everyone. I think you’d fit in. I was once like you. I like you. I want to taste you. Come in.” She taps my hand to signal the end of the conversation, and turns towards the door.

As she walks away from me and out the door, her left hand (the one that tasted my skin) hangs down by her side, drumming her fingers on her hips. She left a familiar smell in the air and I instantly knew what I was going to have for dinner. Meat.

My mouth is dry and it’s dark outside. The streetlights are my only warmth against the razor blade breeze, and an olive green scarf is wound several times around my neck. My stomach moans to be fed, and I try to comfort it by thoughts of food, when I make it home. I can’t seem to get myself out of the routine daze I put myself in. An image of a beautiful woman is stuck in my mind, and her touch is still warm on my hand.

I almost fear walking by the house this time. This night is different from the rest. Usually I walk by and hear strange noises dancing in the motionless wind, around this house. Sleep is my only motivation to walk on and reach my home. This time I stop, turn, stand, and walk in.

I’m standing face to face with the haunted house that haunts me in my sleep. The blazon-red eyes seem to be at ease, as if finally accepting me and welcoming me, instead of its usual glare of rejection. It whispers in my ear, “we were lovers in our past lives, I can feel you between my legs.” Immediately I find myself opening the door, like parting the legs of a virgin homecoming queen. —So delicately and gently, but with ferocious intentions hidden in the smooth skin of my hands. I see the red light down the hall like I did in my dream. The air and smell is much different, and my body begins to shake with fear.

“Don’t be scared,” the house croons. “Let your hands explore my walls and the colors of my voice.”

I reach the light and my head starts to swim. I lose my grip on reality and my mind goes numb with pleasurable fear…

They deceived me in my dream; they watched me from every angle as I walked through their haunted house. Unsteady walls and tilted beds lay spewed, catty corner, everyone is screaming with their legs. Moaning with their heads, and watching me drop tears from my eyes so confused and misled.

There was a sex-room where people danced together and their music mixed with the others, creating a horrid smell and sound in the air. My feet led me to a hole in the ground, which I did not see myself sink into. It was filled with liquid that stung my skin, and I fought the urge to escape. I soon found it impossible to get out, and began to feel lethargic, pregnant with hopelessness. I sank, down, as they laughed at me and welcomed me to their world.

Tall men in top hats stood standing against the wall closest to me. They tipped their hats and bowed their heads at me, watching me sink further into this dream.

I then found myself being undressed by a handsome man. His hair stuck up in the middle of his head while the sides were tousled, as if to look like a style. His hands cupped my face but his eyes looked straight through me. He was new but knew what he had to do. He took off his mask to comfort me, as if sinking into my unleveled world; he began to sing to me in the only way men know how. I felt the shock between my legs. He was parting the legs of his first (of many) virgin homecoming queens tonight; mine. My fingers grasped the skin on his back. My stomach tightened and my back arched all on its own, as if my body had a mind of its own.

I was new, but I knew what I had to do.

The music that mixed in the air became vague and hard to hear; I could only hear ours, his. The others glanced at the two of us as if to eat up our pleasure; soak up our musical tune, my uncontrollable moans of discovery.

And I then discovered why the others felt so comfortable here. Here in this sex-room, apart of the haunted house in my dreams.