I was at a place once that was so angry, everything screamed red. Points of light too far away to distinguish, and too far away to find. Things were so tossed and tumbled, that up and down didn't exist.

The only voice I could hear was the one in my head, and it sounded more upset than I could've possibly been. Screaming...

What are you doing?

Why are you here?

Why do you keep on?

Where is ...

It was a suicidal type of existence. A grasp and pull of conflict, that seemed never ending. I couldn't hide from it, and I couldn't run from it, no matter how fast I tried. Maybe I could've changed. Became the person that people would rather see, than be the person that I was. A lock without a key. A song without music.

It's not fair to be that far down. No one should ever be able to make you feel that way, so why was I feeling that way? A different kind of nothing....

Or a nothing kind of different?

I kept missing something. A piece of the puzzle that had disappeared. In the end, all you have to do is look. You'll find it, eventually, even if it seems too late when you do..

It's better to be hated for who you are, than loved for who you're not.

Right?

Right.

( blue october : hate me )

--------------------

`` And now the end is near, and so I face the final curtain. ``

Cupping a hand over the bottom of the phone, it was resituated back to her ear. Eyes had widened a bit during the revelation given, and she was torn between laughing and shedding a tear for two people that had given her life, and were now without.. Inhaling deeply through her nose, the phone was wedged on the crook of her shoulder as a pen was grabbed from the desk's top. A few notes jotted down, free fingers went up to ruffle through unkempt hair.

"I still don't see what it has to do with m-- what do you mean, they listed me as the next of kin? What the.. "

Words trailed off as fingers dropped from her hair to muffle over her mouth-- a noise of discontent reverberating into the mouthpiece before she finally exhaled. "Fine, whatever, I'll be there. Yeah-- two o'clock tomorrow afternoon, I'll meetcha there. Right, bye." In the midst of hanging up the phone, a sound of pure frustration was ripped from the back of her throat. "Pains in the fuckin' ass when they were alive, and death ain't helpin' 'em much more," was bitten off under her breath as she slid down to her feet, and moved for the bedroom.

Vaguely, she wondered how much it'd cost to just dump the pair into a single vault, and leave them to the elements...

----

"This is ridiculous," muttered to the empty room, and the stacks of paper were shoved aside on the worn table. It had been so many years since she'd been inside of this house, and the memories it was bringing-- not entirely pleasant. This had never been home. It had merely been a place for her to stay because she'd been too young to support herself. Sam had been comfortable here, though she hadn't -- and still didn't -- see how. Her brother had always been more lenient than she. One of his downfalls.

It had only been a few hours since she'd watched her parents be interred into their vault. Even after viewing their lifeless bodies, Camilla couldn't help but morbidly imagine them jumping out of their little boxes and aiming rigor mortis shaped fingers at her, accusingly. After all, she'd always been the good for nothing girl. Abandoning them as soon as she was old enough, and never reporting back to see how they were, or sending money back to help them out. It didn't matter if she'd barely been making enough to support herself. That wasn't the point.

She could only thank God that they'd never known about William. Who knows what sort of extortion those two would've mapped out to try and get money out of their grandchild. Kidnapping-- it was something she wouldn't have put past those two. It was also something she would've killed them herself, for attempting. He was happily settled with his adopted family, and no one was going to step in and interfere with that. Even when she decided to try and see about gaining access to him -- after all these years -- it had been done in a discreet manner. Never letting him know anything was going on, until she'd had confirmation from his parents. No matter the fact she'd given birth-- he was theirs, and she was the visitor.

During the three weeks she'd been in town, getting everything straight ( or as straight as it was going to get ) she'd seen him four times. Each time, his mother had accompanied him. Cam and the woman got along famously, and a deal was in the works as to where she'd be able to get him for a weekend -- alone -- here and there. In return, even though they hadn't asked it of her, she'd been helping them out as she could, financially. When someone had stepped in and taken a child that wasn't their own, and loved him like he was-- you couldn't put a price tag on that.

Pushing up out of the rickety wooden chair -- one of the two that sat forlornly in the almost bare kitchen -- hands went around to the small of her back as she glanced around. It had been an empty place when she lived here, and the heavy oppressive feeling of .. nothingness was starting to press against her chest. Here, she had no one, really. William, every so often. Ari, and all the people back at B.G.I., but they had their own lives to live as well. It was almost time to go .. home. She missed everyone there. She missed her job, and her classes, and her band. God only knows, they were probably thinking she had abandoned them. She'd only told them that she was going home for a funeral-- twenty-one days later, and no other word from her.

( One )
Full Name: Camilla Violet St. John
Goes by: Cam
Occupation: Jazz/blues singer, student, manager
Current age: 23
Date of birth: November 9th, 1921
Birthplace: Lafayette, Louisiana -- Bossier Parish

Name(s), age(s), and occupation(s) of parent(s):
Harris Michael St. John.: 43, deceased
Analee Beatrice St. John: 41, deceased

Name(s), age(s), and occupation(s) of sibling(s):
Samuel Michael St. John: 24, deceased

Height: 5'2"
Weight: 109 lbs.
Hair color: Brown
Eye color: Blue-violet
Heritage/Nationality: Cajun-French
Religion: Catholic
Marital status: n/a
Children: William Anthony Boisseau, 5.

( Two )

Likes: Stormy nights, any Sinatra record, Chinese food, shoes
Dislikes: Small rooms, whiny people, drama queens, green jelly beans
Dreams: to matter
Phobias: being like I used to be

( Three: Do you )

Smoke: Trying to quit
Cuss: See above
Sing well: One would think.
Sing in the shower: Even if my cats meow in dislike.
Talk to yourself: It's healthy.
Believe in yourself: For once.
Play an instrument: Piano, violin, guitar.
Want to get married?: Maybe.
Want to have children?: Mm.
Think you're a health freak?: Vegetarian, but a candy lover.. so.. hm.
Get along with your parents?: A lot better now.
Get along with your siblings?: I miss him every day

( Four: Current )

Clothes: khaki cargos, white button up, sandals
Mood: content
Taste: black coffee and peppermint
Annoyance: see dislikes
Book you're reading: Belladonna, by Karen Moline
CD in CD Player: Jonny Lang, Long Time Coming
DVD in player: Bambi
Refreshment: ..black coffee
Worry: being able to catch up to everything I've missed while away

( Five: Favorites )

Food: Chocolate chip pancakes, and it's Des' fault.
Drink: Coffee, bourbon
Color: Red
Album: Anything Fitzgerald
Candy: Gummy bears
Animal: my cats
TV Show: n/a
Movie: Casablanca
Girl's name & Boy's name: Andrew / Lillith
Vegetable: Celery
Fruit: Apple

( Six )

"Looks like I've lost my will to carry on, my friend," she said,
"I'm like a posse that's been ridin' for days.
I've got the scars to prove that love has had its day and it's way with me.
So can we roll tonight?
Roll through your desert,
can we start over and just run away, run away tonight.
It ain't no victory but I don't care,
I don't care if its wrong or right."

This ain't no night to be on your own.
You've got to know where you're coming from
to know just where you're goin', lord,
you've got to know where you're coming from.
This ain't no night to be on your own.