the grim reaper had tits -- fate

[no ones muse]

Unfortunetly, you won't find me in the biblical diseased pages of myth and lore. You won't beable to dig up a natural history of my supposive birth. Why? Because to most I am unimportant. To those that don't know, I don't exist.

I'm that random chill up your spine when it's too dark to see where you step. The noise you thought you heard when the silence was almost too loud. The fruitful scent of a serial killers skin or the one last tear you would shed just before your heart stopped it's useless beating.

Yes, children. I am that monster that no one speaks about because I am real.

I'm the creation Mary and Saint regret. I'm what the angels and demons refuse to converse with. I'm what every single human life dreads.

I am what you would call, the Grim Reaper.

With a really nice set of tits.

<center>Fate</center>

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<center>"I've come to collect what you owe: Your life."</center>

<font color="#FFCC00" size="1">[ April 09, 2005 05:58 AM: Message edited by: chimera factory ]</font>

[no ones muse]

A human life is so feeble, so fragile, that you can't help but get some sick and twisted pleasure out of ending it.

Either that, or perhaps I'm just that demented.

Regaurdless, Mary and Saint created me for one purpose, and one purpose only: To snip the threads of life when that of their time came. They had so much other dirty work on their hands, they needed a slight bit of help.

I am beginning to think that highly regret making the choice in allowing me to be the debt collector of life. Perhaps because I find too much pleasure in it, or because at times I could disrupt their natural balance.

Fuck the both of them, is what I so primly state.

And oh, it's been much too long since I've shown my proverbial face around the crowd, if you know what I mean. Seems plenty has happened with out me popping back up and causing a bit of chaos or trouble, and Mary and Saint have gotten used to me just ... not being around.

Times change, and they change for a reason.

Now I am here. Pulling on this skin suit like some biohazard armor to protect my real identity. I hate it. I loathe it. And yet obviously it's for a good cause.

Or bad cause, which ever you really prefer.

Already I have spoken with Mary, who was aggitated at me before I even spoke. Saint seemed to be in the same mood when I slithered out of the shadows and smiled that blood red smile I know he hates. I found both their mannerisms towards me to be inspiring to say the least.

Only a few weeks ago, I was again presented with that little bitch Roulette Rome, in yet another attempt at suicide. Tsk, when will that girl learn that I can't just cut her strings just yet. Or ever, for that matter, unless her or her buddy boy Deacon give up all that juicy information to Saint or Mary.

And let me just tell you how much I am going to hate taking her life. Why, do you ask?

Suicide victims are boring. No fun at all. They want to die. They want to see that bright light at the end of their tunnel vision just as the body grows cold, or feel the sudden hiss of flames beneath their toes when Saint grabs a hold of them and rips them away from Mary's finger tips like trinkets for a charm bracelet. No, no. No fun at all. They welcome me, death.

It's the one's that scream for mercy and try to lock around whatever life they have left just before I tear it away like the sadistic bitch that I am.

Ah, the wonders of being what I am. It's quite a thrill, I must say.

I'm sure Roulette would love to see me rot away. Ha! As if such a thing would ever happen. I'm as ethereal and entity labeled as any of those other deities running around. Saints little brood of sins and Marys troupe of angels. Please. I can't even subjugate myself to their low level.

No, no. There is someone I do wish to see though. Someone I will find and laugh a wicked witches brew of joy at the startled face he will have.

Oh yes, John. I'm talking about you.

And your little mortal girlfriend, too.

Bring out the coffins and funerals galore, kids.

Fate is back in town.

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[no ones muse]

You have got to be kidding me?

Mr. Sleaze Bag fucking Luck has come out from his light bright corners of the world. And there is only one fucking reason why he would be showing that mug of his around now.

Me.

He must have gotten word that I was creeping around. That bastard... If he thinks he can get in my way this time, he has another thing coming.

You have no idea just how furious I was with Saint and Mary when they collaborated to make that piece of shit entity.

Luck. Who needs him?

Plenty of people. He helps keep a few from falling into my clutches and he knows just how irritated I get when he interupts my cycle and pattern of the job.

But can I stop him?

No.

Why?

Because that's how being lucky works. You either got him or you don't, and most do at times.

I can't believe this.

What a schmuck this guy is. And just because we had that little thing back in the day, the man won't leave me the hell alone.

Fuck.

Now all that's missing is that goodie fucking brat Destiny.

Luck, you bastard. You damn bastard.

<font color="#FFCC00" size="1">[ April 10, 2005 07:57 AM: Message edited by: chimera factory ]</font>

[no ones muse]

I'm not sure how it spread out, but it seems everyone and their damn mother knows I am here. Knows I've come back in the flesh of a human carcuss to wreak havok and destruction.

But really, it's only my job. I love how others blame me for my profession, when I wasn't even the one that chose it.

Perhaps in another life time (har, get it?) I could have been Hope, or even Love. Perhaps I could have been Mary fucking Divine herself. But no, I'm Fate. I'm the soul stealer. I'm the one who makes sure humanity isn't growing above it's bounds by taking away the lives of those that are scheduled for their take off flight to Heaven or Hell.

Silly thing is, I havn't exactly been doing that.

Oh, no. I've been giving Mary and Saint plenty to work with, but the High and Mighty's have too much under their belts to really calculate what is what. I pick and choose, really. A little for Mary, a little for Saint, and one or two for me.

Now, it wouldn't seem like I have many at this point, only taking off the small bites and giving the bigger chews to the chiefs. But over thousands and thousands of years, well, you get the picture now.

A few of them have been selected to do my dirty work when I can't obviously be everywhere at once ... though in all actuality, I can. Such as Jake Ives. Ah, he was one of my most profound choices. He was so deluded and emotionless, I just had to give him the job.

Well, now Loves gone and fucked it all up!

The bastard isn't doing his job. The bastard isn't playing by the rules. He's avoiding me like the plague, and I don't neccessarily blame him.

But, that doesn't mean that I can't find him.

Afterall, he is mine.

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<font color="#FFCC00" size="1">[ April 25, 2005 04:52 PM: Message edited by: chimera factory ]</font>