Elixes

I blame Kenton. I really do. It’s all his fault that I am now totally obsessed with Lord of the Rings like I have never been before.

I guess I had to go through the stage at one point in my life or another, but I wish it would have been when I was ACTUALLY reading the gosh darn books and not after. Not even when I watched the movies, amazing as they were, did I become so addicted to LOTR as I am now, and I blame Kenton because it was his idea to have an all out marathon of the entire extended edition trilogy. FML.

All I do know is compulsively browse through hundreds of crappy fan fiction trying to find ONE decent legomance/10th walker. I know, I know that is a horrible thing to say, but fuck it man (love that song!) I wanted to read a romance. That is what flippin’ fan fiction is for – smut, smut, and more smut and you know what else? Smut. I did indeed write that four times because it is true.

As for the 10th walker part, I just like those stories even if they have *gas* Mary Sues in them. I am not opposed to Mary Sues as long as they are done well. I actually even prefer to read my LOTR fiction with OCs in them since none of the characters seem good for each other with the exception of a notable few, and with those characters I don’t even bother to read about them.

I have found also some disturbing sub categories on LOTR fan fiction i.e. LegoPregs. If you don’t know about those they are usually found under the Aragorn/Legolas sections and basically are SLASHES were Legolas gets preggers. Every time I see one I kind of throw up in my mouth a little. Not only that but I am OFFENDED, yes offended, because men take everything away from women. Hairstylists, make –up artists, cooks, etc. and according to some they do those things better than us. (A highly debatable comment). So I find it highly offensive that a man can take pregnancy away from women and probably do it better. I say better only because Lego-Freak is an elf and they supposedly are supposed to be way better than us lowly humans. Whatever.

That is another thing which pisses me off. It seems like everyone on fan fiction . com is against humans! What. The. Hell. I mean the people writing the stories are human and you would think they would have a bit of respect for their own race – what a bunch of cynical bastards. I forget who I had this conversation with – I suppose numerous people – but if I had to be any race on Middle Earth it would be a human. Fuck no I don’t want to be an elf or an orc or one of those crazy elephants that the Wild Men have. I want to be a freaking human because I love being human. I don’t want to be immortal, I don’t want to look disgusting, and I don’t want to be a sticking elephant thing! I guess I could settle for being a wizard, but then again if I ever feel the strong enough compulsion to be one I could always start practicing obeah. There are ways around that little detail. That and elves just seem like pricks.

I think I would like to be the men who live up in Forodwaith. They get to sled and skate and live in houses made of snow. It’s a ballin’ life.

I can’t wait for this phase of my life to pass because I just get depressed looking at crap fan fiction all day long. It depresses me even more when I catch myself searching through Wikipedia for information on Middle Earth’s history and then going to YouTube to watch LOTR related videos.

Currently, I am thinking of buying a large map of Middle Earth and hanging it on my wall just in case I ever get spirited away to that dimension. My hopes are high for that possibility.

P.S. I was joking with those last sentences.

The subject line was taken from A Passage to India, a good book once you really delve into all its meanings.

Anyway, I am in total FML mode. I have been sleeping in Mullins Library since it has been open 24/7 for finals. I sketchily went downstairs to the courtyard level. I have never been there before, but believe me it's sketch.

They served me hot chocolate, and when they run out of hot water I mixed the chocolate powder with coffee. They had some stale chips. I am in a zombie awake mode right now, and I am pretty sure that my life sucks right now.

That is all.

So I was this precis thing due Monday for my Brain and Behavior class. It was basically a summary of a published experiment. The one I chose was, "Performance on a Virtual Reality Spatial Memory Navigation Task in Depressed People", and it basically said, in scientific/unecessary terms, that in depressed people/really depressed people the hippocampus loses some of its volume and therefore can affect your memory. That's all.

Anyway, I didn't want to do it. I was really tired, and then things just got a little out of hand with life. That and I am having a few personal crazinesses going on in my head. I ended up turning it in today by email saying:

I am very sorry to be turning the precis in so late. I have been experiencing some personal problems lately. I know that isn't an excuse so again sorry.

To my horror and shame, she replied, because she really likes me even though I never go to class (it must have been because I had a huige dicussion with her over books), that she was glad that I turned it in and that if I wanted to go talk to her about anything she would love to hear from me.

I felt bad after that. I mean - she is so nice. I suspect I shall get over this very soon, but until that time I will think about the many times I have ever lied and feel bad about them all over again...That is not including the lies I have had to tell to 1) save my life and 2) get out of tests.

So I'm currently in the middle of writing an EPIC Gundam Wing AC fan fic. It would be a different take on Relena (everyone hates her because she is too human for them) and Dorothy Catalonia, who is one of my favorite characters on GW. I am thinking the story would be a mix between the Fountianhead and Wide Sargasso Sea. If you can picture that.

I don't even know why I am planning on giving so much thought and time to a fan fiction, but I can't escape my desire for it. I may need help.

I have also recently watched the first episode of 07-Ghost and it is amazing! I am not sure if I want to read the manga - for me, it is either the manga or the anime. For instance, Skip Beat! the anime sucks compared to the manga, and while I know that is how it is for most things, I hate comparing the two because I like to see them as seperate entirely if I can. So, if I had never read Skip Beat!, then it would have been a decent/funny anime. I still watch it though - I am a Skip Beat! fan and it is my duty.

I don't know. Troubles...

Anyhoo, 07-Ghost has the hotness factor too, and I can never deny myself that. Not too mention a great fantasy/action plot. I can't ask for more. That and they have a insane but super sexy bad guy who is all silent and strong - the character I always end up falling for. I think I might die one day because of that.




I am excited for episode 2 to be raped by subing groups so I can actually know what is going on.

That I have been kind of watching K-On - a more pop, cute and funny Beck. It's about an all girl band that get together to try to save their music club or something and they end up forming a band. It's very cute, but then they have some ballin' guitars that don't really make sense to me. I like it anyway.

On the other hand, I am severely behind in House and need to watch more. I chose a random episode and it was the saddest fucking thing ever. Kutner commited suicide, House went all dectective because of his whacked out personal reasons, and a wife and a husband wanted to both die to save the other but the only one died because she kind of killed herself but not really???? Anyway, it was hella sad.

I have just found out that Mickeys (fine malt liquor) looks like little kegs and when you untwist the top, on each underside of the cap, there are little pictures. Each cap has a different picture. My picture this time was of a red, yellow, and green light stop, some balls, and an open box. My brother's cap's picture was a stick of butter and an ace of diamonds. Now I must finish this keg shaped bottle off so I can see the next picture.

I think this has filled my void. Ah, the strangeness of life.

Pittsburgh, Penn. is amazing.

Eirdlan shall live on.

Tekkosocon is shit, but it did have an awesome blue lighted terrace thingy.

My drink –confirmed – is Red Bull and Vodka. Or just vodka…

Daniel is the slowest fucking driver.

I spy with my little eye…(But remember: No double clues and no dead giveaways!).

Yelling at random people when drunk is not always the brightest idea.

Drinking games with Daniel to Brave Heart – drink every time you see a kilt!

No flammable liquids beyond this point. (Oops).

Squirrel Hill Homestead/Stay in Line/Ms Ceil/Sheetz.

Actually doing NOTHING at a con except watch movies in the hotel room.

Wordsworth sucks.

Trucker Vegas!

Epic hentai conversation with Daniel and Jen on the way home.

Shots of Bacardi 151 with Chris at 11 am. Burns so good/bad!

Walking the wrong direction into sketch areas with Siham and Bobby.

The nicest Grey Hound Bus Station ever!

My weekend = love.

I am 21 years old, and people use me for it. This is how it started. It's not a very exciting story, but it is my story all the same...and a life changing experience might I add.

It was Tuesday night last week when Sarah and my brother asked me to go on a beer run with them to buy them booze so that they could get drunk. It is a Tuesday night, mind you. At first I say no, continue to say no, but does anyone ever listen to me? No. No one ever does. I am forced out of the house saying no, wrestled into my brother's ghetto truck that when you open the door sounds like a gun shot, and we're off.

Not thinking, Sarah says we have to go off into Maryland to find booze. So we head towards Silver Spring. Mind you it is about 10:30 pm right now, and instead of trying to find some gas station out of the ways, further past Silver Spring, I say lets hit up the Giant. It is then that I feel stupid. We could have just gone to the Gaint on Rhode Island.

I blame Sarah.

Anyway, we end up getting to the Gaint in SS and we find that they DO NOT sell beer or any type of alcohol there. What the hell kind of grocery store doesn't sell at least wine? I am shocked and appalled, but suggest maybe we could go back all the way to Rhode Island. I am not very optimistic about that trip since I am pretty sure the store is closed, but we go anyway with a what the hell type of attitude.

We eventually get to Rhode Island, about to turn on it, but we are at a red light. Something amazing then occurs. It is 11:10 pm in the ghetto. That is magic time.

We see a fat, black woman wearing a white mini-skirt and a white shirt crossing the street.

Sarah yells to my side, "She's a prostitute."

I know she is a prostitute, but I always have to be contrary. It's my nature just as opening her legs is the street walker's.

"How do you know?" I say with a smirk.

No sooner then I say this does the woman walk up to a white car, look in the window, and then start off again. She walks a bit away and the turns and goes back, opens the car door, looks around for the POO-lice, and the gets in.

Meanwhile, in the truck, we are all yelling:

"DONT DO IT!"

"SHE ISN'T WORTH IT!"

"YOU DESERVE BETTER!"

"EWWW-GROSS!"

We all feel sorry for the guy. Sarah says if you are going to pay for sex, you should have higher standards. I am musing out loud thinking of where he is going to take her. I think 7-11 because it is a bit more classy than BP which is where I thought he was going to go. Sarah continues with Bobby laughing in the back that there are plently of ugly/desperate girls in the world that you shouldn't have to pay for them. I am like maybe he wanted it right then - dirty sytle.

This conversation continues for a good long while.

The store was closed and thus there was no beer; the only thing were recieved that night was a more in-depth knowledge of Rhode Island and prostitution on a first hand basis.

To go along with my last post about the Japanese maybe being a descedent of the Hebrews, I found this amazing manga on amazon while looking for a book about the subject I just wrote about on my previous post.

Manga Bible Story - Japanese: Comic Book Style Bible

Can I just say wow.

http://www.amazon.com/Manga-Bible-Story-Japanese-Comic/dp/426401798X/ref=pd_sim_b_16

What more could a person ask for. Now I really want to read the Bible now since it is in manga form!!!

It looks pretty ballin.

So I was browsing the web at random and found an interesting article.

It seems as though the Japanese are, well I should say, descended from one of the lost tribes of Israel. At first I was like, "This person is out of their mind!" but after reading it I have come to see their point...maybe?????

This is what I got out of it: Hebrew and Japanese share similiar pronunciations and meanings:

1. "anata" meaning "you (informal)" is both the same in Hebrew and
Japanese


2. "Koyane" the name of the Shinto priest in the above legend, bears a
resemblance to the Hebrew word for priest, "kohen"


3. "hazukashime" in Japanese, and "hadak hashem" in Hebrew both mean
"shame" or "disgrace"

Of course there are a whole lot more. As well, there was another discussion of how the Y-chromosome found between those of Hewbrew descent and Japanese descent were the same size and very similiar indicating that both cuktures share and similiar root in their ancestory.

Here is the article if anyone is interested.

http://groups.google.co.uk/group/fido7.ru.japan/browse_thread/thread/8c7b0b59d7e18ca8/7b3875e0b3414fc4?lnk=st&q=japanese&rnum=26

Can I just say that I find this whole thing highly, HIGHLY amusing.

"Along the stream of Charles, besides the vault of knowledge, and under the peddlers of history lies The Haven."

- The location of the Historic Haven of Frederick, MD.

All I have to say is thank you, Meredith, for finding it!

What more do any of us want than a secret society for gamers/anime otaku/history buffs, etc. in Frederick with a seventeen foot table in the bowels of an antique store?

http://www.historichaven.com/

Slash, I love their blog - they have pictures of their den/dungeon and the table! Way to be secret, guys.

I am so going to join, and I want the 25 dollar membership so I can do anything I want. Anyway, we all have to beware of the broom and Mandingo who hides in the closet.

Sarah, my roommmate, brought up a good point this afternoon as we were talking abot life in general. She said that, "Being involved in drama is like being in Kansas - its not your fault that the tornados happen but you definitely know that they are coming."

I thought about this for a while, nodded my head sagely and commented, "Yes, that is true. I would just like to know when the tornados are coming."

I just read the latest Naruto chapter to come out online and I am pretty sure I am going to die. I don't know what to do with myself anymore. The whole cast of characters are dying off. SPOILERS! for those who care don't read.

Deaths thus far:

Asuma
Shizune
Ebuzio (I think...though I might have spelled his name wrong)
Jiraiya
Kakashi (though still not truly known, but there are lots of hints at it)
Choju's dad (I think)
Pa (the awesome frog)
Hinata (Pain says he killed her, it was seen, but only the next chapter will truly reveal)

I think I left out some too, because I am pretty sure a lot more people did not survive since like all of Konoha was blown up.

Anyway, I was witness to one of the most emo deaths ever in my mind and that was Hinata's. She, despite Naruto ordering no one to interfer, she goes to save him when he is down and attacks Pain knowing she can't win. Before that happens, she tells Naruto, who's hands are pierced ny a sword to the ground, that she has always admired him, that his smile saved her, made her strong. She says all she wanted to do was walk with him, "be with him", and that she is not afriad to die for him because, as she finally says, "loves him"!

And then she attacks Pain and is blown back. Pain then says to Naruto, who is pissed off as all hell, "My parent's died in the same way. Right before my eyes."

From those words, Naruto turns into the fox with six tails this time. Before the most amount he made was 4.

All I can say is HOLY SHIT! That and I am hella sad and have no idea what to do with myself anymore. I feel like my world is coming apart because all the characters I care about are dying...especially Kakashi, my one true love. Hinata's through was just plain old sad.

What are you doing Masashi Kishimoto!? Just stop!

*cries*

I can't access Eirdlan!!!! I have tried two different computers on two different networks. What am I going to do with my free time/life now? What will I have to stress out about other than my characters, other people's characters, and the great story of Eirdlan so far now that I cannot access it?

Will Sir Keiran and Sir Davorgha (sp?), who is a female in Daniel's crazy, wannabe honorable country, ever hook up while NOT in a lusty dream? What will happen in Parliment, the Assassin's Guild?

Where will the GULL be waiting if not there?

That and I still have unfinished business. I must burn down the NPC, or at least most of it.

Sorry. This is my nerdy, lame rant about Eirdlan, a text based RPG game that some of us do.

After bitching my manager Rod out for not giving me any hours, I was looking forward to going to work though I was tired. I was also bitched out by my roommate's little 13 sister.

Anyhoo, there was hardly any jerks at work on Sunday and I was pleased. I also have been wanting to buy Watchmen, the omnibus edition (the 20 dollar one) because I need to read before the movie comes out. Lo' and behold and girl about my age buys the book from me and we get to talking. She says that she read the book in college and that she decided to buy it. We talk more about the book and movie and she ends up going away. A minute later, when I am with another customer, she comes to me and hands me the graphic novel saying, "Here, you can have it. Keep it."

I barely had time to say, "Thanks!" before she walks off again. I turn to my manager and tell her the story. She heard what the girl said as well, and she tells me that she and Rod are going to check inventory to make sure she didn't just hand me another, unbought novel which is legit enough.

I am still wondering though if she actually gave me her copy of the book, because if so my faith in humanity would pay off. That and I would have to buy Watchmen myself.

That day also Erin and I had to clean out the whole bathroom! I don't think it has been really, I mean really cleaned out in about 5 years. It took about an hour to do. We found a cane behind some boxes and since we were out of a mop Erin used the blunt end of the cane as a mop. We only succeeded in moving around the dirt in the bathroom around and exfixiating ourselves on numerous chemicals. There was also a dark build up of crud (about an inch) behind the toliet. I had no idea what it was and it still scares me.

Natasha, the one who needs Jesus, said that something was going to come up from somewhere and grab us. I wouldn't doubt it either. Something had to be growing in there. At the end though it did look better.

After work, around 7, Erin and I went to my place where we talked about people who don't know how to compromise and waited around for Teresa who ended up texting me to say that she was stuck in an elevator in her apartment.

So went my day.

Slash, I did get my extra hours that I wanted.

The most awesome thing happened to me at 10:53 pm. And when I saw awesome I mean that it was HELLA sketchy.

I was walking home from animez feeling pretty good about myself and my life thus far. I was totally rocking out to my sansa, minding my own business when I heard a quick 'honk' behind me. Before I could even look back, a red car passed me up in the dark of the night.

My heart stopped. My knees shook with the prospect of an upcoming awkward moment. I thought the car belong to someone I knew, someone which I have been trying to avoid at school because of certain circumstances. In my head, as this car passed me only to turn around, I thought of all the ways I could die.

Axe to the head.

Needles in the eyes.

Frostbite!

The car then drives past me a little. I was willingly myself not to look up, to just listen to my music thinking that everything would be alright. It wasn't. It never is when it comes down to me and sketchy encounters of the ghetto kind.

The car passes me further and stops, a head pokes out, a pretty attractive face, but nevertheless sketch.

"Hey!" Or so I think the man says. I am listening to some song, wave, say hi and bye and walk again. That usually drives them off. I was proud of myself. I thought I handled it well. Ha! I wanted to laugh at my own awesomeness.

How wrong I was.

Next thing I know, the car is right beside me and the guy rolls down his window and is talking to me. I am forced to make a conversation:

"Hey, I was trying to talk to you. I said hi and then you are just going to say bye like that?"

Stop. In my head: Is this guy really saying this? To me? Let the awkwardness commence. I hate myself because I just can't walk away sometimes. I think I was startled. It's too soon to tell.

"I'm sorry," I say wanting to run away, to scream to the guy down the street to get the hell over here and cover my back unless something goes down and I need to kick some ass. "I am listening to my music."

"I just wanted to talk to you..." He says something like that and then something else before he asks if he can get my number.

"Sorry I don't give my number out to strangers."

Again. I was proud of myself. That was the first time I ever said it straight out. I was flying high. The man though did not give up like the usual guy does. He was a different brand of sketch, a strong more potent kind.

"Stranger? I am a human being, I'm not a stranger."

Fuck my life. Fuck him and his ghetto wisedom.

"That's true," I say uneasily wanting to run away. It was getting more awkward by the millisecond. I could feel it in my bones. I was utterly shocked at this point. He wasn't going away, he was persisiting. I had met my match and suddenly I was in over my head. "But I don't know you at all."

There. That had to do...maybe.

"People can know each other for 20 years and still not know one another." He replies in a frustrated manner.

"I guess..." Fuck. My. Life. I am so stupid, but I couldn't get away. He would have probably followed me home!

"Look I just want your number. I want to talk to you. I will give you my number."

"No," I say, "I will give you mine."

What the hell am I thinking? This thought passed through my head. I didn't have a pen on me, I didn't want his number, and I wanted him to leave me alone.

"Why aren't you carrying a pen on you?" He asks in an accusatory tone once he gets my number. I look at him as if he's dumb and reply in a dumb manner.

"I don't have my backpack. All I have is my keys." I was NOT going to tell him that I had my cell phone.

"Where is your cell?" He asks.

I lie.

"I left it."

"Why?" What a fucker. Mind your own business.

"Just because sometimes I just do." I reply feeling my control gone by this point, andrenline coursing through my vains. I just needed to get away. I was hungry anyway.

Then something terrible happened. He called me, my phones rang, and quick as lighting I silenced it. For a horrible moment I think he heard and I know my end is coming - either to my life or to my virginity. Thankfully, nothing happens.

"When are you going to be near your phone?" I tell him, exhuasted and not caring anymore. He is cute anyway, but still I don't want to talk to him. He then engages me in a conversation about where I go to school. I say Catholic. Where I live? I point in the general direction of the Heights.

Why? Because I am a fool. FOOOOLLLL! A STUPID MORON! That's why.

He then tells me to be safe walking home and drives away. I rush home stuffing my Sansa into my pull over pocket hoping to all that is good that he isn't following me home. He already knows my school, my route. You can be sure I won't be walking there for a while at night.

He tired to call me to. I didn't hear the phone, but I opened it to check something right when he called. For another moment I thought I was going to have to talk to him again, to resume to awkwardness of not being able to fend him off because of his ghetto wisedom.

Thankfully, something messed up and the call didn't go through. He didn't call back.

I might die tomorrow. I already lost my pride. Oh the horror, the horror!

So I think I am going to kill myself very soon (Fuck my life!), but the thing is I am ultra-super-duper indecisive. I don’t know if I want to go the classy way out by drinking a whole spray bottle of Windex or go out the most dramatic way possible – hanging myself from one of the rafters in the Pryz ‘s Great Room A.

There are just so many to choose from. Do I want to be a closed casket prayer service (For Catholics, a rosary) or do I still want to look good enough so that people won’t faint when they look at my dead, cold body?

There are just so many decisions that go along with this momentous decision to take my life.
I could always go out the dirty way. I could fill a tub with ranch beans and eat the whole thing and continue eating even after I am full until I explode. That would be pretty funny, but then I would probably go to hell for wasting all those beans. That and it would smell, and the stench would most likely stay with me for the rest of my dead life.

I would be made fun of in school and when I get a job. No one would want to hang out with me.

Then again I could hope for the best. There could be nothing after I die, but I know I am not as lucky as that. So maybe I should chose the classy way out.

The dramatic would be pretty cool too.

But the bean thing, that would just be funny.

I have recently become obsessed with the song Sex on Fire by Kings of Leon. I mean, I think sex SHOULD be on fire - its kind of a BIG deal. It should be freaking awesome and I am glad someone finally put it into words - FINALLY! People should be "consumed with what's to transpire" ya know. Reproduction! Blah. That's not why people have sex. People have sex to set their loins aflame.

Thanks Kings of Leon. Thanks.

:::One other thing:::

3 Reasons Why I Dislike (maybe hate?) Bella Swan

1.She is an indecisive whore-bag!
2.I cannot consider her a real person when she is with Edward.
3.She can’t ride a motorcycle without help from at least 2 to 3 people.

So those are my reasons and I think they pretty much cover it all. Thanks.

P.S. Sorry, Teresa! (It is meant as a joke).

Semmi opened her eyes to see a dream land; a fog kissed absurdly clear setting. The angles and dimensions of her room were sharper, more substantial and distinct than ever before. Her dresser stretched across the wall in some strange, hateful way and the mirror's wide eye showed her drowsy form with silent precision.

Her lamp moved, or so Semmi thought; last night it had been on her left yet now on her right it stood. The room was deeper than before, darker. Dark as if the fingers of twilight remained trapping her in a circle of endless continuity of the mixing night and noon. The advent of morning seemed so long away, but the beams of streaming light told her that it was sometime in the earlier morning.

There was not a sound to be heard though, nothing but the silence. Oppressive quietness that made her remember many things long forgotten. Logically she should have feared, but fascination had taken a hold of her mind in a pleasant fuzz that cast aside intelligent processes in a quagmire of bitter and lost moments. Doubt and absurdity lingered like an unpleasant but not distasteful scent, both rousing and drowning

With wide green eyes Semmi turned her face to her window and stopped, green orbs dulling. There was a crow.

Its feathers were black like its eyes, but it was the strangeness in those black pearls which enchanted her more than anything about the common but uncommon bird. Those eyes, those absurdly beautiful eyes shinned with black, mocking laughter. They mocked her gently, cruelly, preciously and lulled her into a daze until she could see the morning sun, so stupidly boring, in those stained pearl eyes. The cruel crow raised its wings like a mighty king about to send his army to die for the pride of a nation and flapped them once, twice, thrice before screaming out in the dusk scented air.

Blinking Semmi touched her swan neck, clasping it with pale hands and paler fingers that her mother blessed her with in the moment of conception. Fearing to turn away from the crow, too fascinated by its small, ugly form, Semmi touched the space beside her in a daily ritual wishing, hoping, yearning with a pain born of six months to touch warm, firm flesh of her lover. The cold sheets were he used to lay greeted her warm fingers and much like a mirror shatters when flung to the floor, her hope shattered once more. But what did it matter? The hope would only build once again, and it did not hurt so much this time.

The crow no longer looked at her, but its eyes never left the form that made up who she was. Semmi was aware that it gazed at something beyond what normal human eyes could see. The evil crow cackled as it took in the picture within her of the broken glass, bloodied by her internal organs that built up every night only to be crushed every following sunrise. Every minute of every day she waited...waited...waiting in hopeful agony for him to return to the City, to her.

This was an endless dance she played and had no wish to depart from. It was the fascination of the wait, of the build up of pain that kept her soul in a purgatory of stillness, of unchanging yearning for him to come back. Her soul called out to him, but he was as the wolf was: alone. Her soul could not find his. She was not loud enough to reach him. Someday he would hear her plea and return and they would be together once again. She was willing to play the fool if only to see him once again. The agony was just too pleasant to let go. The agony was a memory of him, and she would not let him go.

The crow's wing grew in length until its black, stream line figure covered her window and it screamed again. Her ears were ravaged and a warm-hot liquid crawled down the side of her face. There was pain inside, a pain she couldn't reach, but she was glad of it and watched the bird's act.

Six. Six. Six. The crow's white scream told her. Six to die. Six to live. Six to lose. Six to gain. Those words filled her room in song like mockery. A child took those words' form and bounced about the room, flowers in the girl's pale golden hair. The flowers bleed black. The middle, the pollen, was the sun. And the girl danced and sang and looked at her with multi-colored eyes, held out her hands as if asking for a hug, and then disappeared slowly as smoke. Once again the bird gazed at her and Semmi thought the eyes so similar to eyes she once and still cherished.

"Six to die. Six to live." The mutter came out a whisper and her voice grew stronger with speech. She lifted white sheets from her body to reveal white pale legs, long and toned. She crossed them over the plane of the bed as if across a lover as she imagined he was there. And in her mind he was. She felt his strong fingers on her face, lips on her eyes, and his hands wrap around her waist to pull her back down. Nevertheless, those ghost fingers and caresses vanished into nothingness as they always did.

Clasping her hands together, she prayed that she would never forget; never stop her vigilance of waiting. The crow stared at her with black, empty, knowing eyes before screaming out again. The noise pained her again, and red liquid ran faster down splattering red onto pristine sheets, but she was far too aware of the crow to care for the beautiful, graceful patters being painted onto her bed.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Semmi watched in fascination as the crow's eyes sweep over her body. Its wings flapped again. That was four times.

"Four," Semmi said out loud to the crow as it continued its watch.

"Two to go." Semmi whispered into thick perfumed air. The crow cocked its head and seemed to laugh. Semmi smiled because it was rude not to at least smile when one laughed. Fear churned in her stomach like rotten milk, but the fascination of the ugly, horrid crow made her stay, made her wait, made her yearn all over again.

Oh, what a beautiful act! What hilarity was this play she acted! Waiting. As constant was forever she would wait for him. Waiting meant everything. It meant nothing. It meant both and none at all. It was the essence of life, the downfall of the living. Waiting was purpose inasmuch as it took purpose away. It was her. It resembled the woman she turned into. It was also what changed her. Waiting became her god and savior. She lived and breathed for it. The crow knew, the crow understood. The crow hated her with its black, ugly, terrible, beautiful marble eyes.

Breathing in deeply Semmi turned her smile into laugher and the crow jump around on the window's dirty ledge. Running to her dresser Semmi threw any and all items off in a mad, logical moment. She needed the gift of noise, of sanity. An orchestra of sound, of make up and glass breaking, poured into her red bleeding ears and she rose her arms until her hands were in front of her green eyes, and the crow still laughed.

"Stop!" she shouted turning on the creature of the air. "Stop laughing!" she screamed again walking towards the window.

"Don't look at me like that. You understand, don't you?" she asked. Her voice turned low and the bird continued its laughter. Those wonderfully tainted eyes pierced through her telling her something in a alien language, but those eyes knew what she spoke of. The crow clearly understood the pitiful creature, a supposed higher being that knelt before the window, staring with empty, desolate eyes. There was a harshness in Semmi's face that appeared. One could almost call it dry; desert-like and harsh, unmerciful but full of a despaired hope. There was an oasis in that desert face she was blessed with. Pale hair fell around her eyes and remained.

The crow flapped its wings and screamed again.

"Five," Semmi whispered. Her head was bent low as if bowing to the black crow, its wings king like and looming in the sunrise. The window vibrated in pain but the bird continued its song which could never really be called just that. Songs soothed the soul; the crow's call ripped at her soul. The crow, that embodiment of evil and understanding, wanted to see the soul die and withered away like a sedge withers when the lake abandons it. Kakashi had been her lake. She wanted him back. She would wait for him like the desert waited for the rain. One day he would return. Desert skies never remained sunny forever; she welcomed the darkness of that fate.

The bird screeched again. Its hopeless. Its hopeless. That was the meaning. Full of hope. Full of hope. That was the meaning as well. Kneeling as if in prayer Semmi looked up at the bird perched on her window unknowing asking for its advice, but the crow did nothing.

Outside the sun rose ever faster and soon the City would be awake from a nighttime filled with dreams and nightmares alike and pull her out of this dream world she awoke into. She would fall in it again with the next dawn. Semmi would welcome this deranged, slow paced world. It made complete sense. More sense than anything in her medical texts, more sense than in waiting for him in the real world where he was no where to be seen. But in this world, he was right before her. He laughed at her, at her waiting. She was sure he hated her for it. The proof rested in the crow's black marble eyes.

Those eyes were familiar. Those eyes were a message from the grave. Those eyes were a message from the living dead, or just the plain living. Semmi couldn't tell. Everyone had their own secrets.

Secrets of Life! Secrets of Death! Secrets of Secrets! They were all connected, all related by waiting. Waiting to live. Waiting to die. Waiting to know. Humanity was constantly waiting, waiting for something or another. Waiting for the rain. Waiting for a sale. Waiting for money. Waiting to kill. Waiting to birth. Waiting to eat. Waiting to fall asleep. Waiting to awake. Waiting for a dream. Waiting for love. Waiting for hatred to come. For hatred to go. Waiting to forgive. Waiting for forgiveness. Waiting was everything, a summary of human life. Sakura loved the wait.

The little girl appeared again, this time right next to her. Semmi turned her head to meet the girl's multi-colored orbs. One bled black, the other red. Her pale golden hair contrasted against it, and her face was in shadow where light hit.

"You wait," the little girl asked straightening herself up and putting her hands behind her back. She twirled around, her girlish cotton dress spinning with the motion. "How silly."

"Silly." Semmi said. The girl nodded dancing. "I wait for him."

"For father?" Semmi blinked and the little girl jump around the room in constant play, in constant motion.

"I don't wait. I go after. You're silly." she said again. The crow cawed calmer this time. Her ears bleed more.

"Father?" Semmi mouthed. The girl nodded.

"Yes father. No father. I have no father. My father died. I think. I can't be sure. Maybe so. Maybe not." The girl laughed twirling her pink, pink hair and spun around again. She held out her arms, but Semmi was too scared to take them.

"Are you scared to die? Scared to quit waiting?" the girl asked sagaciously like only a child could, and Semmi found that she couldn't answer. The girl continued.

"Are you? Are you?" she hummed. "Are you scared to live? To disobey? To forget? To know? What is there to fear? Why fear? Are you worried that the rain won't come this year? Next year? This month? Today? Now?"

"Stop." Semmi stated quietly.

The girl continued to spin as did her voice. The room darkened, but somehow the shadow the girl was posses with brightened glaring with intense force in the room.

"Why should I stop? There is nothing to stop me. Everything stops me. I'm not scared. I'm scared not to be scared. I'm blessed not to fear. I'm cursed to fear for an eternity. I'm here. I'm there. I'm father. I'm mother, sister and brother too. I'm you. I am. I am this and I am that."

"You make sense." Semmi said.

"I make no sense, but that's what I am." The girl laughed and disappeared. The crow tapped the window twice. Outside the sun was there. In the distance, rain clouds hovered.

The crow flapped its wings once more and Semmi screamed out the number six. That was six times! The bird laughed once more and flew away. Light flooded the room as Semmi crawled towards the bed. It was dirty. She clasped the sheets in her hand.

In her mind that girl spun, spun, spun around.

The crow laughed and screamed and cried.

The light poured into the room, flooded and chocked her.

Particles of dust floated in the sun beams.

In the distance rain clouds danced and fought and loved. Semmi peered up into the darkness of those far off, hovering clouds. She saw herself as a thing driven by habit and hopelessness, continuity, and her eyes burned with both anguish and anger...

While the early sun hung in a bright blue sky.

In the most general sense people bored her.

That is what she knew in the simplest of terms though she was not a simple creature by the most abstract. Her thoughts and dictation were simple, versatile, and fluid. People looked at the way her lips moved as she spoke entranced by the scorching, blood red they were naturally shaded - a little too naturally as some people have said on occasion. But yes, even those words spewed from her bloody lips were simple - uttered without so much as a second thought. At times they were illogical little sayings, random bursts of insight and stupidity, but they were merely words and no word could rightly claim her.

It was her essence. The mere idea of herself was that which was disorganized, intelligent, and oh so complicated. She assumed this of all people tracing their personalities back to her own as if she were the god who created them. Some might have called her haughty for this attempt to understand her fellow kind, but she knew it to be the easiest way to know another.

And more than likely she was correct.

She assumed nothing of man. Even when she discovered them in that intense, laid back way of hers she continued to not make any assertions about their personalities. She could predict what they would say, how they would react, but she contented herself with just that. She wanted nothing more to do with their lives as she wanted them to do with her own. Though she did, on many occasion, tell anyone who would listen her life story.

She could go on for hours about the tiniest of things - one such case as was reported by a friend on the subject of sporks. But when they left her, filled with her words and thoughts, they still knew nothing of her. They would tell many about how well they knew her when in fact no one knew her at all. No one, maybe not even her creator, could wrap his or her mind around the idea of this one female.

"One cannot know me. One cannot be me."

This was one of her favorite lines to say, and she said it with such frequency that it became bland and utterly monotonous. Often times she fancied herself a philosopher of sorts. She liked to hear her own voice above all others, but cherished their thoughts more so than her own. She especially took interest in those who stood against her; she thought their ideas marvelous.

She was condescending in her speech, kind in her ways, and god-like in her appearance. She boosted no special features about her figure, but was gifted with a flame of creativity which burned both bright continuous in her soul.

She liked to think she was many things and none at all, but not even she could wrap her mind around the idea of such a character. And because of this she slowly became obsessed with actors and actresses; the embodiment of malleable human perfection. They could be anything and nothing.

In their films and plays one never knew who they really were. As such she was reminded of her own characteristics. Behind their painted faces, sweet voices, and epic lines there loomed another soul which burned behind their actions. A man, woman or child who took on the role of an imaged person and made them real whilst sacrificing the 'self' to that character was something to be envied and personified. She thought this such a gift that when a good line, scene, or particular action caught her attention she wept silently frightening all around her.

And now one might be wondering what this particular girl's name is. What she would say in response, dear reader, you should already know. A name to face is of no importance for it only hides their true persona; much like if one knew a little girl named Nicole in the days of youth, detested that Nicole, and then met another by that name and disliked her on principal alone. But I shall spear you this girl's words and tell you the name her whimsical mother gave her.

She was named Eris, the goddess of discord.