You know.. it's funny how the mind works.. On one part of my subconcious, as I'm staring intently at my white sweater in the closet, my mind is thinking about moths and how there've been a couple in my bedroom and how, because my clothes tend to be strewn everywhere in my frantic efforts to find my bras, the moths probably think this is some type of a buffet and that's why they're flocking here. On the other part of my mind I'm singing 'We're the doodlebops, we love to sing and play, we'll dance all day, Runi Doodle, and MOE Doodle, weee're the DOODLEbops!' while my hand softly taps against the table in time to the beat.

Bleh.

I. Am. A Feminist.

I believe in the equal right of choice for both sexes.

I am never going to church again. EVER.
I believe in God and that Jesus died for the sins of the Human race, BUT I do NOT believe that it is a man's world or that men bring home the bread. I do not believe that it is a man's place to be at the top of his house and his church. Men use the bible as an excuse. Guess what, boys, TIMES CHANGE. Do you look around and see slaves everywhere, like in biblical times? NO. If it wasn't for the female community in a church, the church would crumble and fall.

I am NEVER going to church again. Unless it's a women's church. Run by women ministers.

I am so sick of chauvinistic people, both men and women. When will people learn that a certain type of human can't be blamed for something? When will we learn that descriminating against anything is ridiculous to the extreme, be it sex, race, or religion? Why is it that the world is filled with stupid little thoughts and stupid little opinions and stupid little people? ARG.

I am never going to church again until the male bastards can get it through their thick, unintelligent brains that they would be NO where were it not for women. Mary BIRTHED Jesus, she TAUGHT him and MOTHERED him and even the Catholics, who strongly and deeply WORSHIP her can't get their puny minds wrapped around a female minister.

It's utterly and completely despicable.

Now, I don't mind a gentle man. Someone who opens doors and says please and thank you, I can open my own door and I open it for others, too. But men who think they're better then women..? Bring them to me so I can kick them all in the balls and show them what power we easily have over them. They've got more strength? We've got more cunning. They've got more bronze? We've got more INTELLECT.

Fuck men.

Let's hit 'em all over the head with bats.

Except a few.

And ONLY a few.

We will need those ones for breeding purposes until we perfect the cloning devices.

But they must be extremely intelligent, polite and cute.

Ilie will be one of them.

Damnit.

If you're my friend and you think you know me really well, take this! I'm too lazy to hunt ya down.. http://www03.quizyourfriends.com/quizpage.php?quizname=060809235042-397341

Letssee.. My first really gory wolf nightmare was in 6th grade, I remember, because I drew a picture of it in art. The door opened a crack, the quiet snuffling, the huge yellow eyes peering, the bed shifting as massive black furred shoulders slowly stepped up onto my covers, the low, grovely growl, feeling it's muzzle intently shove against my stomach, being eaten alive and unable to do anything but watch and scream. Yea, that was nasty.
I'll never get used to waking up thinking that I'm being attacked by something. The chasing, you can't breath, can't think, only run, holding doors closed with all your might as something ferociously bangs against it, blood everywhere, it's like some really badly done horror flick, like ginger snaps or something equally as stupid.
And it feels so real.
Meh.. I actually sleep for more then a couple hours, and I end up having a nightmare. Darn.

Be prepared for a huge ass rant. Well .. for a couple rants. If you don't know me very well, uhm, you probably don't want to read this as it would be silly for you to. I'll be adressing some of what I'm saying to certain people. Anyways..

First of all, Rachel. That book you gave me. The sex absoloutely sucks ass. It's badly written. Really.. badly written. This author likes to use the same freakin' words/phrases/situations over and over. I mean, she says 'spartan' FOUR times in TWO pages while describing a place. It's like .. dude. BUT.. I really liked some other things she did. For example, the way she made the character Bride(stupid fucking name). And how Vane was so .. .. so deeply in lust/love with her. And I mean .. wow, people, this extremely "bodacious" man, with the supposed 'perfect' body was head over heals in LUST with this woman. And you want to know why I liked this? Because she's a "solid size 18". And that's a large woman. She kept going on about being self concious, of not being petite since she was born, disliking her upper arms, feeling jealous of the tiny people, like her friends, and I was sort of like, 'I feel for ya.', but then this man is talking about her lucious curves and her beautiful, soft face, her amazing ass and whatnot. And I felt pretty damn good. Now, I'm not no size 18 O.o or anything, but I'm not size 2, 4, 6 either, which is most of the tiny girls out there. I'm fairly average, normal, but being normal is like being a hippo now a days. Compared to you, Rachel. Not that it's your fault, of course not. People who are naturally thin should revil in it. You get to wear all the clothes! All the awesome new styles in the world! You get to have people hug you and feel your ribs! You're hard and solid, not squishy! But it sucks that people who naturally have breasts and hips should feel bad. Instead of feeling bad because your thighs happen to curve out instead of in, like the chicken legs size 2 people have, you should appreciate how horny it'll make your man when you wrap 'em around him and hold him against you ;). But I'm talking about inshape people who could never really be stick thin. If you're actually overweight, it's unhealthy. Just thought I should throw that out there..
But for those who are perfectly FINE in shape, and feel as though you need to be different, just .. look at yourself. You're gorgeous. So what if you're not bones and muscle. So what if you're soft. That's wonderful. All of those toothpick people(and Rach, no matter how much we tease you, you aren't one of those people, you've got very shapely legs and have a perfectly fine, normal chest, so don't worry!) just WISH they had your breasts. They WISH they had an ass that's round and great to look at, instead of flat and small. They hate themselves for looking like 13 year old boys.
The point of this part of the rant is; Love yourself for who you are. Love yourself. Every little bit of yourself. Even the bits that jiggle when you run, or the bits that bunch when you crunch. O.o ignore the rhyme. Love yourself for what you are, and find someone who loves you even more. If they don't, then look for someone else. Because, I admit, the people who love you, their opinions do matter. I'm just being honest, as someone who knows. But if they loved you, they'd love you for who you are. Not for what you aren't.

Now onto the next part.. (this is the part that doesn't matter if you read or not, it's just incredibly pointless babble about me that I really need to get down and I have no where else to put it ><;;)

I had an A-FUCKING-MAZING weekend. It was wonderful. I had .. a blast. I love camping. Love it. I could camp for weeks, so long as I had the ability to wash my hair. We got there, and the resort people decided to put on in a really shitty spot, right next to the little playground and in view of every RV in the RV section. My mom and I were like, I don't think so, we paid a crap load of money for this and we'll get a good spot. So we looked around, and found THE. BEST. TENT. SITE. It was big, with shade, and the perfect place to put the tent right next to this pretty tree, and it was fairly hidden away, so we could be comfortable and change and stuff without worrying about people oggling us. It was a nice warm temp, not too hot, but really wonderful in the shade. There were butterflies, and good munchie food, and it smelt great, the fresh air, the sunlight, it lifted my moods so much I could have easily soared. We went fishing, and rented a little orange paddle boat, and rented this huge metal thing that I actually rowed for three hours while we fished. And what's even better then that, I did it in my BRA! I was FREE! Free as a bird! -laughs- Although I now have to pay for my fun with a huge stinkin' sunburn all over my shoulders, and sadly we didn't catch anything, and by the second day I was missing you all so very much.. But it was still wonderfuck. -sighs happily- I wish I could live near a lake, I'd go rowing all the time, fishing all the time, I actually baited a hook. >< -gags- Can you believe it? I feel sorry for the little worms, because really, they are in pain. They gush and squirt while you're shoving them repeatedly onto the hook, the wriggle and writhe and try so hard to get away.. But I did it! By the end of that day, my hands and feet were so dirty, my god, I had to scrub and scrub and scrub with soap to get the dirt/gunk stains off >< ew. But that's camping/being in a dirty little metal boat for you. I had a great time, and I can't say that enough. Just me and my mother, and we didn't fight at all! Not once! That's what amazes me the most - we both had a great time together for three days. Then again, I have to say, she's not the best influence -sigh- since I've been back up here to visit I've been cursing and drinking a whole lot more. But it doesn't do any harm, because once I'm back in Portland I watch my mouth like a saint, and there's no irish cream, kahlua or whine coolers in sight! Er, right, but back to what I was saying, I had a good weekend. I had an epiphany, I got a sunburn, and I missed my friends.

Moving on..

I am a 15 year old who still cuddles with her mother.
Gasp, shock.
Yes, that's right. I'm a teenage CHICK who loves spending hours after dark, up laughing with her mom snuggled next to her.
I've always been a very, ah, what's the word, touch oriented person. When I was little, I would hug my teachers every morning that I went to school, and I'd stay after to help them clean the chalk boards and push the desks back together and whatnot, then hug them again when I left. I've always been like that, up until the point when I moved down to live with my Grandparents. I had nearly no human contact. I'd stay in my bedroom most of the time, quiet and reserved at school, didn't have any friends for a while. I come back to Spokane, and it's .. difficult. Rachel, you're always trying to hug me, and I pull away. I'm sorry for that. My mom wants me to snuggle with her on the couch, and I'd rather retreat to my bedroom to read or draw. While camping, all that washed away with the murky lake water. ^_^ Heh. Last night, after I had a bad case of the giggles and my mother stayed up late talking and laughing, I fell asleep squished up against her in the small tent, her fingers softly brushing across my forhead, which by the way is so very soothing I could have cried, and I slept 10 hours without waking up once, with no nightmares. Can you believe that? Me, who wakes up every hour compulsively. Maybe it was the three hours of rowing, or making breakfast and dinner over the camp fire, or the sweet, fresh air, but to be honest.. I think it was being held again.

But I am happy to be back. I may like being dirty, but no girl likes a constant layer of crud under her nails every hour of the day. And I can't wait to hang out with my friends and show off what will probably be a fairly good tan by then, for me at least. (Compared to my mother, I'm still lilly white -rolls her eyes) Which reminds me why I hate it when people say that 'tan is pretty and pale is sickly'. Tanning gives you SKIN CANCER. So HAH! Suck that Ilie! Besides, I look so silly, with bright red shoulders, lightly tanned arms, and pale-as-paper everything else. Bleh. Who cares, anyway?

Anywho.. I think I'm done for now. Until, that is, I need to rant again.. muwa.. mwauaha.. Muwahahhaahaahahaaaha..!

God forgive me, for I have sinned. I've just spent 30 minutes rambling on about nothing but crap, and if you've read this far, I pity your poor little eyeballs.

Ung. I feel demented now.

The urge to draw a couple little nuses tied to little branches above a little trampoline with little children jumping around.. Or a small army of small children handling large, sharpened crayons with razor blades embedded in them. A young girl sitting in the middle of her bedroom with a bag over her head, clutching a teddy bear with a bag over it's head. Weird thoughts, man, I don't know if it's the lack of sleep/nightmares, or just too much coffee... Maybe I'll draw Briarwood's Garden.

Physically, you're an unstopable train of hope and strength.

Mentally, emotionally, you're nothing but a train wreck.

New song that I love! Yay! Now to find it, and listen to it all the time..

Dianna Ross

Without You

Day after day I must face a world of strangers
Where I dont belong,
I'm not that strong..
It's nice to know that there's someone I can turn to,
Who will always care,
You're always there.

When there's no getting over that rainbow,
When my small list of dreams wont come true,
I can take all the madness the world has to give..
But I wont last a day without you

So many times when the city seems to be
Without a friendly face,
A lonely place..
It's nice to know that you'll be there if I need you,
And you always smile.
Its all worth while.

When there's no getting over that rainbow,
When my small list of dreams wont come true,
I can take all the madness the world has to give..
But I wont last a day without you

Touch me and I end up singing,
Troubles seem to up and disappear.
You touch me with the love you're bringin'
I can't really lose when you're near.
When you're near, my love.
If all my friends have forgotten all their promises,
They're not unkind,
Just hard to find.
One look at you and I know that,
I could learn to live without the rest.
I found the best.

When there's no getting over that rainbow,
When my small list of dreams wont come true,
I can take all the madness the world has to give,
But I wont last a day without you.

When there's no getting over that rainbow,
When my small list of dreams wont come true,
I can take all the madness the world has to give..
But I wont last a day...
Without you.

Song obsessively stuck in head right now, not exactly sure why. Continuously singing it and driving my mother and Sean crazy with the country-backwater-drydirttown-ish it is.Yes, that's all one word. Muwha..


Soggy Bottom Boys

Man Of Constant Sorrow


I Am A Man Of Constant Sorrow
(chorus) In constant sorrow through his days
I am a man of constant sorrow
I've seen trouble all my day.
I bid farewell to old Kentucky
The place where I was born and raised.
(chorus) The place where he was born and raised
For six long years I've been in trouble
No pleasures here on earth I found
For in this world I'm bound to ramble
I have no friends to help me now.
(chorus) He has no friends to help him now
It's fare thee well my old lover
I never expect to see you again
For I'm bound to ride that northern railroad
Perhaps I'll die upon this train.
(chorus) Perhaps he'll die upon this train.
You can bury me in some deep valley
For many years where I may lay
Then you may learn to love another
While I am sleeping in my grave.
(chorus) While he is sleeping in his grave.
Maybe your friends think I'm just a stranger
My face you'll never see no more.
But there is one promise that is given
I'll meet you on God's golden shore.
(chorus) He'll meet you on God's golden shore..

-practically bawls-

I just finished watching Chrono Crusade.. And let me tell you what..

I love it, but I hate it. The good guys die, the bad guy continues on his path, and 'God looks on'. It's so sad..

Hahahaha, made you look!

Thiiiis iiiiiiss thheeeee... DIARY song! It isn't veery long.

"What ever happened to happy, carefree, shit-faced moods, damnit!!?"
"They aren't poetic."
".. Oh.."

I may not be very important.
I might not be intellectually genius. I might not be astoundingly pretty. I may not do everything perfect. I might not be the most organized person in the word. I'm not the sweetest, kindest, most compassionate, tender, wonderful woman there is. My homor could use a little work. My temper could use a little work. I'm a pessimest. I'm not perfect. But I do know one thing.

One day, I am going to be a great mother.

And, god damnit, my children are going to have a great father.

And if that's the only thing I do that has any merit in this world, so what. I'm happy to say that that's the most important thing I could ever do.

Damn.. Maybe people should take a moment to think about the good things in their lives more often.. We all get so angry, so easily. So frustrated, so easily. So upset, so depressed, so dramatic. Everyone has their problems. Things go wrong. Bad things happen to good people. But that means that there are good people, doesn't it? I read some graffitti on the wall at school today that said, "The only constant in life is death" in big, black, scrawling emo letters. And I thought to myself, no, the only constant in life is life. Look around yourself. Go outside for a walk and take a moment to think of all the beautiful things that are there. Life is the air, it's the grass and the trees and the smiles, even the frowns, the dogs barking and the cars rushing by.

Have you ever wondered what those people are rushing to? Rushing for? Ever thought about what that person's life might be like? Or does it even matter to you?

On another subject, I've been reading a book today. And it makes me wonder, are people really like this? Do mothers really not care? Do fathers really have affairs? Do children really cry this hard? How can that be? Who would want that type of life, when there's so much out there? There's knowledge, freedom, coffee, and wonderful people who will love you, and so many other things. Why would anyone choose to burn themselves down into a little hole of an existance so open to pain, so hurting others.. I want to tie these fathers to their chair and lecture them until their ears bleed, I want to burn these mothers' money and their expensive nicknack that's so important to them and show them what their child made of macaroni and glue in class today, I want to read these children books and give them cookies and watch them watch disney movies and make messes and be loud for no reason, other then the fact that they can.

Some people make me so very sad.

So.. For dinner tonight, after not having anything for breakfast or lunch, I had a couple pieces of pinapple, and a slice of canalope. Half a potatoe, and a couple crackers. Some interesting sort-of-like-hotchocolate creation that was in the pantry. And three strawberries dipped in cream. Yes, cream. Dinner of Kings? God no. I was starving, and the only thing to eat in this house is what I just said, among cookies and lots, and lots, of white bread. With bologna. Now, I know what you're thinking, 'Oh, but Jessie, Bologna is DELICIOUS!' NOT AFTER YOU'VE HAD IT FOR LUNCH EVERY WEEKEND FOR THREE MONTHS. Okay people, I slept through breakfast, and couldn't eat lunch, I was hungry for some dinner. There must be something seriously wrong with a person when they can't go food shopping. It's ten times easier then clothes shopping. All you have to do is think, 'Gee, I wonder what my family would like to eat for three weeks. Well, this looks good for dinner! Ooh, what a nice, fruity snack for after school for little Kyle! I'm sure my darling Betty will love this meat stew!' it's not that hard!! And yet my grandfather only goes shopping at 6 in the morning, or while I'm at school! When I mention that there's nothing all that wonderful to eat, he demands I go shopping with him. At 6 I go walking. During school hours .. I'm at school. What is a hungry girl to do? Scrounge and make a shitty dinner of mostly fruits and high-sugared crap likely to make my stomach hurt. I felt as though I could rant, because I am so very pissy right now, I could slam doors and grumble under my breath for /hours/. That's right, people. Hours. Fear my rants! For they are FRIGHTENING! Yes. Muwaha. Damnit, I'm still hungry.. Rachel.. send me some cold steak and brocoli? Please? I need some vegies before I die.. -weeps- I'd kill for some artichoke.. -sob- we don't even have lettuce. No lettuce! I can't have a salad!!

I feel apart today. This morning. It was so strange. One moment happy and feeling good, and then the next thing I know I'm just screaming and frantically pulling at my razors, sobbing and refusing to acknowledge the banging on the bathroom door, my grandparents telling me to unlock it. I couldn't do anything but cry and slash my fingers to hell trying to open the damn razor and get the metal out. My grandfather actually started to kick the door in before I gave up and heaved it open, running into my bedroom. My mind kept reeling, kept telling myself so many horrible things, with each breath I just sobbed harder, I couldn't see or hear and I couldn't think. What really tore me up was Ilie. That's all that was in my heart, over and over in my mind, all those terrible things and him. I don't understand myself. I collapsed on the floor and couldn't stop crying, an hour, two, I don't know. All these emotions finally flooded in and every one of them made me feel worse. Worse and worse and worse until I realized I was just laying there, shaking, I couldn't cry anymore. Whimpers and hitched breathing and moans, that was all I was capable of. I was a mess, and my grandparents weren't helping. You have to go to school. You have to. You can't do this. Don't be so dramatic. You have to go to school. I don't understand you. You have to go to school. Get up. Get up. Get up get up get up. They finally left me alone. I hated myself. I actually fell back into that old feeling, that .. disgust with myself. I just wanted to die. I never wanted to face anything. And that made me feel like a coward. Which only made me want to die more. I was sick of everything. The only thing I have I keep fucking up. Things are such a mess. I found solice in Balto.. I grabbed him and just held him to me for a while.. I think I would have passed out had my grandmother not come in to tell me to again stop acting like such a dramaqueen and to get up.. I did. And I drove with grandpa to school. And I went to my first class. I feel so horrid. I want to tear my hair out and make God tell me why I feel so horrid. Why I fell apart. Because I fell apart today. And it's been so very long since I've felt this bad. I can't even really give it a reason, other then Kory. But I'm not going to blame her. This was entirely me. Ilie, I hope you can forgive me. I'm going to go eat something now.. I think something in my stomache will stop this nausious, queasy feeling.

I am in an incredibly bad mood.

Scorching acid rain falls from boiling red and black clouds, each ebon streaked drop cutting across her skin, burning through the flesh, leaving twisted gashes down her upturned face. Rivulets of crimson stream from her ruined body. Feathers hiss and smoke, beauty destroyed, and the dirt ground becomes a bloody puddle. She collapses to her knees, the bones of her fingers clutching her dissolved face. Juts of jagged bone stick from her back as the last of the pain drizzles down upon her, delving deeper into her torment. Muscles are torn, melted, all but gone. She is an open wound, raw, staring from gaping holes out across the bitter hills before her. And all she feels is agony.

Nothing all too important to say. I just feel rather restless. Like I need to change things. I'm thinking about rearranging my bedroom, but there are so many things in here that belong to my grandparents, and I'd rather not move those things.. Plus, how else would my huge bed fit in this room? In fact, that bed is a little intimidating. Anyways.. I may just delete my whole ET bio, start over again. Maybe I'll start up some new and extremely strange hobby, only to loose interest. Maybe I'll just sit here bored for another three months. Gee, what a life. But hey, at least I'm not being yelled at, eh? I got away, only to find that I'm still bored, and depressed. Then again, I'm almost always doing things. Busy busy busy, when I'm not practicing something or cleaning something or doing homework, I'm reading or drawing. Then why this restless feeling? Why do I find myself sitting here staring at the screen, wondering what the hell have I done to myself? It's probably just a phase. That's what they always say about teenagers, when a teenager's feelings get too hectic. 'Oh, that's just normal. That's just a phase. That's just what happens. Hormones.' Hey, you know what? We always have names for something.. Like, once I'm an older woman, if I still have problems, they'll be blaming my childhood, or if I get moody it'll be because it's 'that time of the month'. Well, fuck, what if I'm just moody? Can't I have a day in my life where nothing is going right, everyone is telling me what I don't want to hear, and I'm not alright, without someone blaming my emotions on some phase or hormones or blood? Damn.. I suppose that's just what everyone does, though. I'm ranting about life, aint I? Whoops. Being yelled at to leave. Bye everyone.

I believe in false emotions
Fake feelings
Made-up excuses
Independent ignorance
The fall of an independent woman
I believe in comfortable silences
Warm whispers
Tender words
In the heat of passion
The passionate yelling of an argument
I believe in invisible wounds
Exaggerated pain
Abused confusion
Emotional devistation
Paranoia to a paradox of abnormal thoughts
I believe in innocence
Naive loyalty
Fragile vulnerability ~~~~~ This is unfinished, for my enlgish thingie, have to have it done by tonight, and I'm just kind of pulling it out of my ass as I go. But I have to leave the school computer right now and have no way to save it, so I'm going to stick it into my diary here for now.

I had .. a nightmare. I havn't had a ... /bad/ nightmare, in a while.. Over a month. Most of them are the same, twisted flashbacks, black and white pictures of dead bodies, the feeling of being chased when I can't even move, things such as that. But this, this was a story. A family. A family that moved into a old, beautiful house. I watched them, it seemed like I really knew them. Their older son, their younger daughter, their single mother. I watched them like you'd watch a movie, only it was inside my head. Like I was there, but I couldn't effect anything, touch anything, tell anyone, so really, not there at all.

The old house was single story, but it was large, smooth, wood floors, rugs laid beneath the furnature, elegant arches and big, detailed doors that never made a sound, and always stayed open. The family room, living room, kitchen, all the newest one could get, the fake burning fire place, the shinning three door fridge, the maple cuboards with glass in the middle, pretty designs and pretty furnature and a pretty little family. The other three bedrooms were much the same, walls painted lavender and blue and green, mixed in shady patterns, the floors covered with squishy carpet. Off of each bedroom, they had their seperate bathrooms, just as nice and neat and it really doesn't matter so I wont descibe it.

But there was one bathroom, one that was like .. tiled floors with a long, narrow, empty tub, rusted .. broken, auqa tiles climbed up and made the edges of this tub, making it square and more like a really small pool, set up from the ground, yet inside was marble, and it sat in the middle of the room, there was no sink, no toilet, no cabnet, and on that bathtub there was only one faucet, a dark metal, that came from the side of the wall. There was a room off to the side of this one, a bedroom, with sheer fabric, a dusty rose, that fell over the doorway. Curtains, a light rose colour, night really pink, but not just red, hung over the large windows to the right, and a cheerywood dresser, bulging in old age, knots and lines that slid through the pretty wood, decaying it, and broken pieces that littered the creaky, dusty, floor. It stretched across the room to the far side, where a king sized bed was pushed to the wall. Here, too, the rosey curtains were, falling from the warped, black metal that stuck up as bedpoles, that crawled under the dark ceiling, holding the sheets as they fluttered in the none existant wind.

Sounds like a horror movie filled with cliche, just like the rest of that junk.

I could go on about the way the roof leaked rusted red in that pretty family room, or how no one noticed that for years the "little" girl grew more and more interested in that bathroom and adjoining bedroom, about the fact that every animal they tried to raise there died, every man the mother tried to bring home to meet the children gave excuses not to come.. But I will skip to the good part.

The boy is dead. Although, no longer a boy. In fact, not a boy at all. 20. 8 years they'd spent in that house. No one had found his remains. No one except me. I watched him die. I watched him fight for his life while the extremely ICKY THING in the bathroom tore him up. I can still picture the .. ung, I wont go on. This isn't a book. just a recounting of my dream-- but no one else could see him. No one could see the blood, splashed on the floor like some diseased paint. They went about their own ways as though they'd never had a son, brother.. For months, it was the same, no one realizing..

But as I said earlier, that little girl was not so little anymore, in her opinion. She was getting to that age that she thought she would always be right, that she knew everything, that she was able to handle herself. She wasn't afraid of spiders, let alone some smelly old room that her mother never went into. Wearing a simple, cotten nightgown that fell to her knees, she decided that night she was going to sleep on that big, comfy looking bed, in the pale rose coloured room.

Now, this thing, that lived in that room, that sulked in that bathtub, he was like ... horrendous. His skin was pulled back and shiny, like a giant scar, with the blue veins sticking out and the tendons throbbing, his silvery, whispery hair fluttering around his willowing shoulders, in .. kingly garb, I've no idea why, crimson, velvet tunic, pale black, greying trousers with silver seam, swirling designs in darker reds and yet, no shoes or gloves. But he was wearing a head-dress. Gold wires, only slightly thicker, with twisted gold flowers.. But the girl, the mother, hadn't seen him, had no idea he was there, stupid oblivious people.

Anywho, the girl meets him, he latches onto her, and attacks her, which means: he grabs her arms in his massive and creepy, spidery-like hands, and kisses her. Thing is, she likes it. Innit that .. so fucked up? I sit there and watch this THING /kiss/(more like .. maul mouths?) in my DREAM.. Now, it's not that bad, but just icky. I have to wonder, where does this come from?

Anywhosies, they spend a relaxing night in bed kissing, and he listens to her talk, talk about school and her backstabbing friends and her horrible mother that makes her clean the dishes and her laundry, and it's just /horrible/, you know how us teens can be. In the morning, after not much sleep, she wakes up to find him gone, the lingering of his cold, smooth skin against hers gone, even the image of his deep, hard, blue green eyes gone from her mind. Oh, she can remember him, of course, so after that day of doing her normal things, she goes back. And, of course, he's there. It goes on like this for a while. I think he falls in love. But she, she gets vicious. She wants more. She's a little preppy bitch who has discovered how nice it feels to be adored. So, in my DREAM, she /screws/ this /creature/! I mean! What the HELL! My imagination really has gone wild with this one! How something that .. dead.. and that .. icky, could even have sex, is beyound me. And I am not even going to tell you the details of this. Disgusting. and extremely weird.

Anywhosies.. she gets rather violent and sex crazed. She starts treating him horribly. I mean .. where before, she was soft spoken and smiling and sweet and caressing his abnormally smooth cheek, now she's threatening him with broken bottles and trashing his dresser and dumping animal's blood in his empty bath and throwing glasses in his bed, crazy things like that. Now, I don't show much pity to this guy, because beneath his feelings of "love"(lets just call them that..) he ripped up her brother for no reason except for the fact that he left a silver chain in the bedroom when he was exploring, I didn't tell you that, did I? This thing, guy, .. king? he doesn't like silver. The metal. But the colour attracks him. He touches it, it burns, almost like some other fantasy creatures*HINTHINT*, so when the boy's silver chain necklace breaks while exploring the rose coloured bedroom, the demon freaks and kills him. By the way, at the beginning of the dream, when the family first moved in, they found drawers filled and filled and filled with silver chains, silver crosses, bullets yet no guns, just junk of silver.

But BACK TO THE STORY

One day, she comes home with someone. Yes, you heard me right. And a guy someone, at that. He watches from the shadows of his room, as he always has, his secret, being able to spy on the whole of the house. He watches them, as they hang out, talk, kiss. It boils the blood that normally he'd save for an erection (-laughs-). So, of course, after some passing flashes of the guy leaving, her mother and her having dinner, you all know how dreams are, she meets him again. He smiles, his pale lips, wide and thin, spread to her as he guides her into the his bathroom, the tiled floors and the wooden walls, and he kills her. Of course. Only it's slow.. torture. Painful. And I watched it. >< again. I am so sick of that, you think I'd get used to dreaming about it but God it hasn't happened in a while.. There's more to this part, but you wont be able to understand it until I tell you about the Mother. I remember this next part most vividly, because it was the last before I woke up..

The mother walks through the house, a dazed expression on her lovely, slightly wrinkled face, wondering why she is all alone, fragmented memories of smiling, happy children, of divoces she can't quite remember, of moving to a house she's never seen, of sleeping in a rose coloured room.. Confused and saddened by these thoughts, she wanders the halls for days, trying to understand what had happened to her. She's always drawn back into the tiled bathroom, cold, dark, damp, the only place in the house that wasn't touched when it was restored. She had asked, of course, but all they could tell her was it was a special place, not to be bothered, if you buy the house you buy those rooms. Rooms, they had said. Rooms? She was always drawn back into the tiled bathroom.

So she finally gives in, and walks towards the bathtub in the middle of the room. She leans her hip against the edge of the tub, and runs her fingers through the murkey, blue and green water. Of course, evil demon thing lunges out of the water, grabs her and pulls her in, turns her around, and holds her to him under the water. Picture this.. you see him, holding her, his arms wrapped around her, clutching her to him, his dark eyes staring up, her brown hair floating about in the water, her simple jeans and black shirt thick and wet, but picture her face as she, too, looks up towards the ceiling. She sees, carved in what looks to be ivory with marble accents, the form of a twisted, gangly body, in flowing robes over tunic and trousers, piecing eyes staring back down, holding onto a mangled girl, naked, toes gone, long slashes down her tighs and across her breasts, fingers gone, empty eye sockets and jagged hair, his hand clutching a single rose to her. They lay in what looks to be a long, narrow tomb, a grave, much like what the bathtub looks like. Imagine seeing that carved in marble and ivory in the ceiling of your house. What looks to be red is spattered over the ceiling, as though it was the floor. Now, consider, she's seen all of this in only a few seconds. He rises from the water, still holding her to his chest, and he steps from the bathtub, then lets her drop to the floor. She lands in what was her son. The bloody, gory mess of his remains. She glances over her shoulder to watch him lift her daughter from the water, watch her head loll to the side, watch the dead, staring, empty eye socks as they watch her. Watch the blood, as though it were fresh, fall from her open, gaping skin.

Ending picture:

Massive shoulders, whillowy body held together by stretched muscles and covered in fancy, yet old, clothing, long, whispy grey hair falling across a stretched, pale face, spider veins and throbbing tension in his neck, temples, a crown of kings resting over his brow. He holds to him the corpse of a beautiful young girl, her hair jagged and cut short in some places, rugged, her eyes gone missing and her cheeks no more then hallows in her empty face, her body thin and torn into, bleeding over his knotted and dirty feet. An older woman, collapsed in the blood of her son, sobbing in shock and agony at the creature that stands above her, horde of her home.

Then I wake up. Now, there is no way I could ever make that anywhere near a frightening or as horrible or as detailed as it was in my head. I can't write, so I can't begin to make it into a story. Maybe someday I should make a movie out of it. It was rather jumpy and slightly confusing, but so very detailed and /real/ seeming. Bleh. Stupid imagination..