Thursday, 19 April 2012

APRIL 18, 2012

Log from April 18th:

She is here, in my bedroom.
I am endlessly honoured, but she is in poor condition. I will enter her logs, and then explain further when I reach today’s date.

April 13:
I feel high. Starting at about nine o’clock tonight, I felt like I’d gotten some kind of surge, jolted directly into every nerve – it was energy and power and climax and everything good. It was fucking incredible and I had no clue what caused it. I can’t even remember what I was doing at the time…which would worry me, normally, because it was a few hours ago, maybe. I don’t even know what to do with this kind of energy.
Everything is tinted red.

April 17:
I can’t remember the last few days, but I’m buzzing. I mean that literally. My entire body is filled with this vibration, and I can’t figure out whether it feels good or not.
Jack says we’ve been playing. I don’t know if that’s good or not, either.
What I do know is that there’s blood up my arms, a gash across my throat, and I’m stuck in a church overnight. Not to call myself a prophet, but what the actual fuck.
I spent the last hour or so stacking bodies. Every single one has a tattoo, and if you guessed that they’re bearing twin triangles, you win a goddamn prize.
Strangely enough, Jack doesn’t seem bothered even slightly. He isn’t batting an eye. He’s just sitting on a pew, reading from his story book.

As a Timberwolf, I swear to play across the board.
We promise to do anything to get us our reward.
For all of a moment, I knew rapturous bliss.
Now we reminisce
And fall to the abyss.

April 18:

The writing is childish and misspelled, but the vocabulary is hers. I imagine she was dictating.

On our way to safety. Spent the night inexplicably clawing at my own throat. It was like a trance. I kept pulling at the old scar until my neck was so mangled that there were strips of flesh hanging from my nails. Jack had to snap me out of it. He had grabbed my head and was shaking me, almost violently, trying to get me to stop.
I’m still not fully aware of what the fuck I was doing.
And then, out of fucking nowhere…Razzie had found us. We’d left him by the car – I figure, even if he runs off, he always finds us again. And he sure as hell had found us. Growling, snarling. He lunged at my face. Was trying to rip at it with his claws and teeth. Opened two gashes under my eyes – he nearly managed to shred my corneas.
We’re going the only place I can call relatively ‘safe’ for the moment. Jack is upset. He thinks I may have hurt Razzie when I split him in half.
That damn dog will be fine. He always is.

The log ends there. Now, she and the child are asleep on my bed.
The gashes on her neck and face are hollow. She is not bleeding. I watched what looked to be blood sometimes peek out the surface of the wounds, and retreat into her. Like a sentient liquid in a human shell.
Naturally, I slit my wrist over her wounds. I will bleed for the Mistress.
My blood entered her body, and I think I heard something in her chest laugh.

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