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<center>http://i104.photobucket.com/albums/m...91414311_l.jpg
Do we have the time to lay the
line between true life, and you in mine.
I want to reel it back before the day
when simplicity was washed away.
Like modern morbid prophecies fulfilled.
Like biting on these bitter tasting pills.
And we're just heroes, And we're just heroes.
For the day.
There's a silent urge to leave this cloud
when all I want is to hear the sound,
Of your voice devoid of the constant noise,
the only sound to fill this void.
And do you want this.
And do you still need this.
Like modern morbid prophecies fulfilled.
Like biting on these bitter tasting pills.
And we're just heroes.
And we're just heroes.
They all won't love me,
she won't let me forget.
Like modern morbid prophecies fulfilled.
Like biting on these bitter tasting pills.
And we're just heroes.
And we're just heroes.
Don't make me choose,
I'll choose you and this will all be over.
</center>
(Dead Poetic)
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The sky was stained black permanently, but tonight the heaven poured blood and flooded the streets in a red river. Crimson waves ebbed across a shore littered with bones and shattered souls. Somewhere in the bottomless abyss that the skeleton city had become, Anjali screamed but never made a sound. Her gutter bed flooded with blood and splintered bone, she climbed to her feet and clambered through the urban labrinyth. The ghosts of people walked through the street as if nothing was wrong, as if their souls hadn't been snatched and their damnation spelled out across their hearts. From the sea a great monster clawed up the beach. A modern Lernaean Hydra with more heads than she could count, each with steel teeth and long kevlar necks. They chomped with their razorblade teeth devouring everything in their way, including her.
Anjali screamed and sat up straight in bed. Hands patted down her body to make sure everything was still in place and each limb was still attached. Outside it was raining, but dirty water rather than blood. The heavens weren't bleeding yet. Tangled in her bedsheets, she slapped her hands to her nightstand until she had gathered up her sketchpad and charcoal pencils. She went to work with graceful strokes of the tip over the paper and turned her nightmares into something real. In the other room she heard Trixie stir from her own sleep. Their visions always came together; pictures pinned with speech, it was only together that the prophecies made sense.
When the shakes had subsided and her legs mind could process the concept of walking, she climbed to her feet and meandered down the hall to Trix's room. For a long moment she stood in silence in the doorway, before she got the courage to move further in, only to find her other half still sleeping in bed.
"Hey Trixie?" She asked, twiddling her thumbs before hooking inked hands behind her back. Her roommate's words were garbled, but still understood by her constant companion. "Can I sleep in here with you?" Trixie had always been the stronger of the two, though Anjali contributed that to the fact that she only heard and didn't see the demons crawling up from Hell and strangling thriving cities with their mighty fists. Trixie agreed and beckoned her over with a wave of her hand; sometimes Anjali swore they had been seperated at birth. Without hesitation she climbed into her Venus' bed and snuggled up to her side. It was with the comfort of her friend that she found peace, that she was finally able to get dreamless sleep.
<font color="#660000 " size="1">[ June 24, 2007 02:30 AM: Message edited by: macabre heroine ]</font>
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June 1996;
She slept with a pillow over her face to drown out the violent opera that split her parents lips and blurted passed their masks; their grinning masks that hid the scars beneath porcelain clefts. Voices of violence drowned her dreams, her prophecies; things that were slowly beginning to make more sense than her reality. Her alarm clock blared and flashed eleven o'clock p.m. The sun had disappeared behind the skyline and the moon had replaced its perch in the sky amongst a blanket of black. Outside a car horn blared and she knew it was time; swan song.
Despite her banshee parents and their shrieking lullabies; VIOLENCE, VIOLENCE, <u>VIOLENCE</u>, she climbed to her feet and slung her messenger bag over her shoulder. Her sketchbook as settled under her arm and her charcoal pencils gathered up in a make-up bag. She was ready to leave. She had been ready for fifteen years now. Her door was slammed shut behind her to announce her presence to her dueling parents.
"What the fuck are you doin'!? Get back to yer room!" Her father snapped.
"Don't fuckin' tell her what to do!" Her mother retorted.
She looked between her parents and shook her head. "SHUT THE FUCK UP!" She howled like a jackal. The pair were silenced by their daughter's outburst. Before either of her parent's could object to her actions, she pushed through the arguing pair. Her father grabbed at her forearm, she brushed him off and continued to the door. There was a glance cast over her shoulder, the last look her parents would ever get from her. The last thought she'd ever have of them.
"Where are you going?!" They chimed in unison.
"I'm done with you! I'm leaving with the only person who has ever loved me!" But not a lover, a best friend, a kindred soul, her sister from another family. And without hesitation she shoved open the door and moved outside, her parents screaming their objection out the open door. The pinto was waiting, running and blaring angry, screaming metal. Her bags were thrown in the back and a kiss drummed to Trixie's jaw.
"Let's start our lives over, let's do it right this time." Trixie said, wrapping her arms around her smaller friend. That night they drove away from Compton and they never once looked back.
-
Anjali sprawled on the bed beside Trixie, idly playing with her companion's hair. It had been eleven years since they had broken ties to everyone and everything they ever knew and started their lives over. It had been the best decision of their lives. Long, skilled fingers carefully wound the mess of black hair into loose braids and let them tangle amongst the wild curls. Trixie was asleep, a narcoleptic blackout that Anji had grown far too accustomed to. Her weight shifted slightly and she rolled over closer to her friend. One long leg draped over her friend's hip and an arm lazily settled over her shoulders.
Her prophecies were never peaceful and made her afraid to ever sleep alone. Every night she tried to sleep in her own bed and every night she ended up beside Trixie. Her weight shifted slightly and she buried her face into the curve of her partner's shoulder and neck. She breathed deep and finally calmed with the heat of someone else's body beside her. There was always so much blood in her dreams of what would be. She saw a ruined world and graveyard cities whenever she closed her eyes. While Trixie slept she whispered her greatest fears to her, she whispered her hopes and dreams at a time she knew that her other half wouldn't understand.
She rolled onto her side and emptied the neon green bowl into a tin on Trixie's nightstand. It was packed a moment later and lit up. While drugs didn't neccessarily suppress the visions, they tended to help her sleep. Comatose style, without dreams. Dirty hair tickled her lungs and soon she was sinking into a drug induced dreamland. "Night Trix," she murmured and curled up beside her best friend. Trixie was all she had and in her mind, she was all Anjali needed.
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<center>http://i104.photobucket.com/albums/m...lurs/YGPDF.jpg</center>
She sat in front of the canvas, glancing between the picture of herself and the elegant lines of pastels smeared across the medium. She breathed deep and smudged shadowing beneath her eyes and along the clasp of her hands. She had become a perfectionist when it came to her artwork, even moreso when she was painting herself. Chausson's Poeme rang in the background and while she preferred metal she couldn't concentrate to anything other than a hum of strings and whistle of woodwind intstruments. Her weight shifted and she stood from her stool and angled her body forward to work on the design of her own face. Hours had been spent studying the architecture of her face; the slope of her nose and curve of her lips. It was only when she drew herself that she noticed all of her flaws; she had more than she cared to recognize. A pastel smeared palm dragged down her face and smeared a mess of colors along her skin, though she didn't mind. It was rare that she was ever free of paint, charcoal, or pastel; even without her tattoos she was a walking color chart. Her fingers combed through her hair and carefully pinned it up away from her face to help clear her view of the two polaroid pictures and the canvas.
Hours passed and finally she had finished the two picture work of art. Trixie was asleep. There was no one except herself and their zoo of animals to show her artwork to and she didn't mind. She carefully laid three nails into the wall of the main room of their apartment and carefully hung each picture up beside one another. "Perfect," she said, finally, "Heh, we needed something to hang up on these walls at any rate." Pleased with herself, she stepped back to admire her work. "Perfect," she repeated and took a step back to scoop up Roscoe in her arms. "What do you think?" He grunted and Anjali took that as approval of her artwork. With a smile she slumped onto the couch and clicked on the television in time to catch the tailend of Dawn of the Dead.
<font color="#660000 " size="1">[ June 24, 2007 05:29 PM: Message edited by: macabre heroine ]</font>
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Somewhere between the seedy Southside bar and the MLK Boulevard, she had fallen into an alcohol induced comatose and sprawled in the gutter. Shameless as she awoke, plucking pieces of shattered syringe, gravel, and gutter glass from her hair. "Mmph," she grumbled her disdain for waking up with knots in her muscles and tangles in her spine. Her hand dragged down her face and smeared dirt and grime along desert skin. Passers-by watched on with fleeting curiosity and men in suits fed their perverse side with glimpses up her dress from a split at her thighs. Her shoulders cut a shrug and rolled the tension from between her shoulderblades where she swore the devil had severed her wings.
A man offered a hand but she pushed it away, too stubborn to take help from anyone other than her goddess, Trixie. Palms folded over the edge of the curb and fanned her fingers to aide in her balance. Carefully she climbed to her feet and shuffled her hands up and down over her simple sapphire dress to brush away the flecks of gravel and dirt that clung to the fabric. Uneasy in her first few steps, she stepped in a drunken stagger and cut hips in a cowboy swagger. She still felt the after effects of too many drugs to count and a handful of martinis. Disgust wrote itself across her face when her tongue rolled and her mind burned with the taste of morning breath.
She stumbled in through the door of a convenience store and she plucked a few spare dollars from the depth of her bra, beneath the curves of her breasts, to pay for a pack of gum. Little to no pleasantries were spared for the foreign cashier, who reminded Anjali of Apu from The Simpsons. Later she would laugh at that, but at the moment she was too busy trying to brush off the remnants of sleep that hung heavy over her body like a misfit suit. A few pieces of gum were shoved in between thick lips and managed to blast away the taste of stale alcohol with a mint.
Back outside, she squinted and shaded her eyes from the sun with visor curve of her hand. Drugs and alcohol quieted God's whispers into the shell of her ear while she slept. From the depth of her bra she produced a slender, black cell phone. With a grimace she dialed Trixie's number and waited for her to pick up. She shook her head and remained quiet while her goddess rattled off her irritation with no recieving a call from her princess. Finally, she convinced her companion to come pick her up and waited for a solid two hours before the beatdown Pinto pulled to a stop beside the curb and she hopped in.
"I didn't sleep so well without you," Anjali said with a small smile. "I think the visions are worse when you're not next to me." Trixie listened and nodded, offering a hand to the delicate woman beside her. Sleep was welcomed when they finally reached home, but only once she was curled up beside her dearest friend.
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January 1992;
Her stomach churned while images of the future played out in a grotesque cinema of death and decay. She leaned forward and folded her hands over her eyes, though she knew that wouldn't do anything to hide the sights that played out before her mind's eye. She sat naked in her bathtub, with water raining down from the showerhead. Rocking back and forth, she recited prayers she had never learned and prayed that God would take away the sights of terror.
A jester king and his harlequin queen ruled over the city with an anaconda's stranglehold and kept the good people buried beneath six feet of suffering. The black blanket of sky rained shattered glass stars and Anjali collected them to weave through her eyes. The radio played static, but she swore she heard the voice of Azrael's poetic prophecies through the crackle of white noise. She looked to the sky and watched the planes fly through the skyline and crash into twin buildings in a shower of fire. Bodies fell like rain and siren's blared a nightmarish waltz.
The vision faded in a flash of numbers. Nines and pairs of ones repeated on loop for five solid minutes before her vision cleared and replaced prophecies with mold rotten tiles of her shower. She climbed from the shower and wrapped herself in a towel. The mess of long, black-brown hair was tugged up and turban twisted in a towel. Her father slammed his hand to the door angrily, she took her time in making her exit.
"Took ya long enough," he barked.
"I had to get clean."
"What the fuck were you doin' in there?"
"Dreaming of a different world."
He growled laughter, she did not. Moments later she had disappeared into her room and gotten dressed before she climbed out her window and carved out a path for the park where she had promised to meet Trixie.
-
<center>
http://i104.photobucket.com/albums/m...s/43780311.png
we took the twine we used to use
to tie up tight our tattered shoes
twisted twigs and crooked cross
a necklace for the deeply lost
Builder with the broken bricks
Mother to the baby chicks
You made this world to look so nice
I wonder what the next one's like?
yellow spider,
yellow leaf
confirms my deepest held belief
</center>
(MewithoutYOU)
<font color="#660000 " size="1">[ June 25, 2007 12:19 AM: Message edited by: macabre heroine ]</font>
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"You aren't what I expected," she admitted, straightening up on her bed amongst the twisted sheets and blankets. The man dressed in shadow laughed and removed his hat to settled it in his lap. He mirrored her movements and straightened his spine and uncrossed his legs. She frowned and glanced around, she considered calling for Trixie but doubted it would be of any use.
"What did you expect?" He asked.
"Horns, red skin, a pitchfork..."
He laughed again. "Sorry to disappoint. You, on the other hand, are everything I expected."
She shrugged. "And what is that?"
"Beautiful."
She blushed and he grinned.
"Do you know why I'm here?"
"I don't suppose you want to have a spot of tea, do you?"
He snorted. "You and your friend have become a bit of a thorn in my side, you know?"
"You don't like our novels? I could have sworn you'd enjoy the darker side of things."
"You are bad for business."
She glanced to the door before she looked back to the shadow-dressed man. Her hands clasped together in her lap and fingers wound together. Anxiety welled in her chest and threatened to rise up through her throat in a shriek of horror. Somehow she found her voice and managed to speak in clipped words. "I draw what I see. Whether or not people believe what they see is a conscious choice on their part."
"I can't have you two ruining all my brilliant plans, now can I?" He leaned forward, his face was a tarot card, the Devil stretched wide and far. "I'm going to ask you nicely to stop. Only once. Rest assured you'll regret it if you don't." He paused to give her time to consider his proposition. She stared at her hands for a long moment until his voice interrupted her thoughts. "Well?"
"Why don't you get on your knees and blow me."
He smiled. "It's never that easy, I'll see you again soon." Shadow shattered and he was gone. Anjali climbed to her feet and joined Trixie in her room. Her conversation with the Devil had left her unable to relax without the comfort of her closest comrade. It was in Trix's arms that she found solace.
Peace never came easy.
<font color="#660000 " size="1">[ June 26, 2007 02:10 AM: Message edited by: macabre heroine ]</font>
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Moans and grunts rattled the paperthin walls of the seedy motel. Tangled in sweatstained bedsheets and the limbs of another person, Anjali's hips rolled to the rapid rhythm of her heartbeat. A lewd symphony echoed through the stark, empty motel room; slapping hits and slurred prayers. Her legs split further than they had been before and opened herself up more to her one night lover. He breathed her name against the hollow of her throat and leaned up to press a kiss to her lips. She leaned away and instead gave him the expanse of her neck to attack with hungry lips. He growled and clenched his fists over the sheets and blanets on the old, rickety bed. "I'm gonna cum!" He screamed.
Two hours later...
While her loveless lover slept she slowly dressed herself and saw herself out, leaving nothing behind to remind him of her. She was left with the hopes of being forgotten and never seeing the nameless man again.
