Plague Stuff?
Man, I don’t even know what I’m doing right now. I keep rambling and there are way too many POVs here, but I just keep writing like ‘whelp, I guess I’m doing this. This is happening’. I seriously need to learn how to focus when I write. I wanted to stick to one POV at first. It didn’t feel right though since this character is weird and age differences and what not. It’s not even finished …
My life has always been subject to various patterns, many of which set to repeat like clockwork. Whether for reason of my own involvement in the game or of my own conscious, these patterns have always managed to draw back to the black mistress. I wish that I could say that I do not think back on my happenings of the blackmistress with ill will, but not even time has managed to keep away my thoughts long enough to prevent them from souring. Again and again I have tried and lied to myself to say that these memories find me fond, and again and again I have failed. It is such that I refer back to these memories now, as I had perscribed them in my youth, of what I can remember as my first involvement with her, and of course it had to turn into another pattern for me.
You pause your reading on the next page in favor of examining the pages. The handwriting is messy, but the letters are pressed hard and sure into the pages, as if the writer had been putting forth all of his focus while writing these words. In the corners, the ink is even more splotchy and smudged, but after looking at the notes for a while, you decide that they must be sets of numbers. You can’t quite tell if they’re meant to show the date, page number, or something completely different. From page to page, it does not seem as if there is a logical progression, so you decide to ignore the numbers for now.
The writing at the top of the page is so much lighter and precise than the rest that the writing looks like calligraphy to you. And it would be perfect, you think to yourself, if the writer had not jerked his hand around so much, evident by the occasional erratic jump in the lines. You find this annoying to read; luckily, the rest of the page seems to be fine, though it appears to have been written by child, with over large letters that can’t quite stay on the lines. It is not how you would do it, but you guess that the owner of this book must have thrown this book together with jumps in time. You skim through later pages, and this seems to be one of the few places where the writer acknowledges this.
It is aggravating to think that you might have to piece the order of events together by yourself, but you would rather keep on reading than put the book down. Ramsee’s either dead asleep or he’s left for further off than usual. If he is here, you will surely hear his hooves on the wooden boards from up in your room. You return your focus back to the book, eyeing the many scribbles and scratch outs that lead up to the next section before beginning to read once again.
I don’t really think that it will help, but Lee told me that going over what I’ve seen might help me calm down. Calm doesn’t really seem possible right now, but I feel like if I don’t try my heart might burst straight out of my chest. I don’t really want to tell my parents or anyone, because it just seems too weird to be real, but I have to do something. I started to shake real bad like I was all frozen on the inside when I asked Lee what I could do calm down after something really bad had happened. She seemed kind of lost on that front, but she gave me this book because she her grandma likes to write things down to help her think things through. I’m not much into writing like her grandma is, but if Lee really seemed convinced that it might help me at least sort things out, so I’ll give it a shot.
I was watching the “bar fight” unfold in front of me, the two demons struggled and sent each other flying through the town’s buildings which lined the walkway. Somehow I have gotten used to keeping a tally of this memory imprint, even though I know that this won’t do a thing about the memories. Today marked the seventeenth time this month that this memory had replayed across the street from my home. My mom says that old loops like this one like to make patterns and stick to them. This one likes to play every day at two o’clock from the first day of the month to the twenty fourth. I don’t know why, and mom says that there is not always a reason, so I try not to think too hard about this memory.
As I tuned back in, the rat-faced demon plunged his knife into the feathered raptor’s breast; down they both fell, a mass of screeches, feathers, and flailing limbs. In the chaos, the knife clattered to the ground and was knocked away causing the image of the knife to pass through a nearby house. The rat demon jabbed his knee down between the raptor’s shoulder blades, but the raptor shrieked twisted. His elbow knocked the rat to the side in the raptor’s struggle. Just as the raptor managed to pin the rat demon, a large hoof stomped down into the scene and the two dissipated.
“Boy, are you listening to me?” My teacher’s voice carried its usual heft, causing my whole body to shake so badly that I was forced to bite my lip to keep my mind from blanking. He’s really been making it his habit to break the memories before they finished, but I’m still not used to it. “You’re late enough as it is Orion, don’t test my patience with these silly daydreams. If they don’t mean anything, then don’t listen to them.”
With that, he turned around and stormed off. His centaur blooded hooves shook the stone walkway, but I couldn’t bring myself to follow him at first because I was still hoping that I might be able to escape this session. It’s not that I don’t like having him as a teacher, but I knew that he was mad at me and things usually turn ugly pretty fast when he’s really mad. Of course, running off again only would have made things worse with him so I quickly caught up to him. It isn’t a big town, so most of the demons here know who I am, though usually it is just because of my parents. I wasn’t really surprised that all eyes seemed to be trained on me, but I still couldn’t pull my gaze up from the ground. Some demons are good at handling all of those eyes, and sometimes even love it, but I can’t stand having my neighbors stare at me. The feeling of being watched, just pulls and tugs at my attention, until I’m scrunched up and staring at nothing.
Another thing that I can’t stand is all of the grey and stone of town that just blurs together if you stare long enough. Feeling those first soft crunches of grass as the town falls behind me is like go of something heavy and dark. I hope that this never changes because that relief is such a blissful feeling. The session was almost worth it for the chance to leave town for a bit.
I guess that I deserved this little one on one session after avoiding Gregor all week. It wasn’t his fault that I ran off, though him breaking my favorite checkers board certainly didn’t make me not want to leave. If he’s going to insist on playing games for most of our sessions, I wish that he would quite breaking the board games every time he begins a losing streak. That’s not the point though. I don’t know why I avoided all of our sessions last week. Actually, that’s a lie; I don’t know why I wrote that down. Lee’s school was out for some holiday and since we don’t get to see each other that much, I thought that it would fun to pretend to be on holiday too. It’s just not right when you rarely get to hang out with your best friend.
It was probably asking way too much to hope that he would understand and pretend that nothing had happened. Yeah, way too much. I knew that he was going to be mad, but I tick him off all of the time. After a while, his tantrums just kind of lost their edge to it, and we both knew it. Maybe that’s why he didn’t just explode when I finally came home; it was actually pretty freaky. Usually Gregor is all shouts and blinding fury, but he was just so quiet. Well, quiet for him at least.
