so, marvel used to have an interesting series of books called "the end." it dealt with one way in which certain characters or groups in marvel would meet their end. so, the punisher kills the last people on earth after they shoplift in a post-apocalyptic future, the hulk is the only being left on the planet other than super roaches who keep eating parts of him every day, and so on. always liked the idea. always wondered what the dc version of "the end" might be like.

superman: the man of steel is the only sentient being left on earth. he has weathered through thousands and thousands of years. he has been its protector even after all the mankind has died off. the planet is unrecognizable. time has morphed the landscape to an alien visage, yet superman still lives here. the sun, however, is slowly dimming, and superman knows he wont be alive much longer without its glow. in the far distance, he sees a meteor heading for earth. it is massive: a planet killer. he flies into space to veer it off his path, and is astonished at what the meteor truly is. somehow, through chance or fate, the gigantic rock hurtling towards earth is a large fragment of krypton. the entire meteor is kryptonite. and yet, the man of steel is undaunted and he still flies towards it to try and push it away from his home.

batman: bruce wayne is the oldest living man alive. hooked up to the latest in life support technology, his body is nearly lifeless, yet his mind still burns with the same obsession and fire that it always had. he still fights as batman, using a remote robotic suit he controls from his bed mentally. the joker still plagues him, and after one final encounter with him, he decides to track down how the joker still lives, seemingly unaffected by time. he eventually discovers the truth: the joker has been dead for some time. the joker he fights now has been created by his unconscious mind. much like he created a robotic batman, he had unwittingly created a robotic joker. the batman simply cannot exist without the joker, and so, his mind had created one. realizing the joker would never be gone otherwise, bruce wayne turns off his life support systems.

aquaman: the ice caps melt and flood the planet, and the king of atlantis is left with a much larger territory to rule. however, the people who once lived on land begin to divide and stake pieces of the ocean as they once did on the continents. war breaks out between the atlantians and the humans who lived on land. aquaman is caught in the middle, trying his best to form compromises, but the tensions heat up to where he must choose a side. he chooses the freedom of the sea, and leads the war against the humans. the war is costly to both sides, but the atlantians lose on two ends as their people are killed and their oceans get polluted with poisons. as the oceans become so diseased and uninhabitable that it becomes clear there is little left to fight for, aquaman uses his telepathic powers to try and call forth a being he never wished to call. one who could win the war for good. he who sleeps at the bottom of the oceans in his dread city. when he awakens, he is much more powerful then aquaman could have imagined, and he loses his sanity completely. he never even gets to see the grotesque figure arise from ryleh.

green lantern: death stands upon the planetary green lantern mogo. she speaks lively with him and tells him that he is the last one left. everyone else in the universe, save her and him, are now gone. he has done his duty, and he has protected the universe from harm. but now, everyone is gone, and theres no one to protect and no one whom will harm anything. everyone is gone, save for her, and shes not going to harm anything. the trees around her then starts to turn orange for the first time, then yellow, then brown. death lightly pats mogos form, and then gets ready to leave herself.

“we must begin by separating fact from fiction. the walking dead are neither a work of "black magic" nor any other supernatural force. their origin stems from a virus known as solanum, a latin word used by jan vanderhaven, who first "discovered" the disease….”_”the zombie survival guide”

the apocalypse


“incoming shamblers, people! move it, move it, move it!” rick moved behind the sandbags we had stacked together on the roof and stabilized his rifle against them. i flung my shotgun onto my back and grabbed a handful of road flares, lighting and chucking them far into the darkness. wherever they fell, we could see the hoard slowly coming towards us. at least fifty, maybe even a hundred. the others took positions near rick or on the other three sides of the building. we didn’t need more of them sneaking up on us while we took care of ones in front.

“fire! fire! fire!” rick shouted at us, and we all let loose except for wally. hed been bit a few days before while on scavenger duty and his arm had to be amputated. luckily, we got to it in time, and hed stayed uninfected. as far as we knew, anyways. either way, we didn’t want him to have a gun and he couldn’t hold one even if he wanted to now, so he manned the spotlight tower. it took a lot of power, but the zombies had to be shot in the head to kill them, and it was too hard to hit in the dark. wed rather use up the gas for the generator then the bullets for our guns.

“aim for the heads or legs people! heads or legs! wally, wheres the light!” rick kept shouting orders wed all heard before. we let him though, it made us feel like soldiers rather then a small group of frightened bag clerks and taxi drivers. rick was the only one among us who had even held a gun before the outbreak. somehow, we were the lucky ones. far enough from ground zero that we had time to prepare. not far enough to run away, but far enough not to be overtaken easily. far enough to get time to listen to other survivors on the radio. shoot the head. don’t get bit. carry a machete, a crowbar, anything big enough to kill in one hit, yet light enough to run with.

“ammo check! run the rounds, mary!” mary was ten. her parents were the first to get turned. they ran to our barricade bloody and broken. unfortunately, they both got bit. rick was the one who had to shoot them, before they turned. luckily, the kid didn’t have a mark on her. she still hates rick though. hes got a gunshot wound in his shoulder from the first night after her parents were killed. it was tense to be sure, but its been two months now, and mary can understand the why now. shes seen our own get turned. friends who didn’t have the heart to shoot people who needed to be shot. friends who were too cowardly to tell someone to shoot them when they needed to be shot. there was twelve of us left. from thirty. every day, we sat with the radio, waiting for rescue. we could last a few more months. just a few more. but time was running out so fast. as was ammo. mary ran the rounds, handing ammo to those who needed it. we kept the ammo away from the front line to try to pace ourselves. you don’t need a lot of ammo to take a zombie down. just one to the brain. kill the brain, then the body goes with it. the virus is only as strong as the body it infects. we wasted a lot of ammo before, panicking and shooting blind. we had a system now. we were set in, on a pattern. we could last a few more months.

“we need light! hurry up!” i shot up and started tossing more flares over the edge. the flares were bright, but they didn’t last long nor did they cover a large area. it didnt take many zombies to reach the barricade before they became too much of a problem. two of them slipped through a week ago, and we lost track of them while shooting the others. we didn’t realize two had made it through until Julie came running up the ladder to the roof. all the kids down below didn’t make it by the time we got to the two. no chances now, keep the field lit. two guards below as well. more work for us above, but we don’t have a choice. we have to last a few more months.

“i count five! confirm!” i glanced quickly to the northern side. one, two, three, four. only four? others confirm five as well, so i mustve missed one. east and west sides count none. two on south. they all fall quickly, and the din of gunfire quickly runs out.

“at ease.” rick waits a few seconds after the rest of us put our guns away before he does as well. everyone except wally and rick goes back in to rest. inside, we all huddle around the lone radio, listening for anything new to listen to. most of the programs weve memorized by now. i don’t know where the broadcasts are coming from, but they were helpful at the beginning. they told what we were fighting, and how to fight them. some virus outbreak occurred. shoot in the head. stay on a roof large enough for a helicopter to land. the bomb fell too late to contain the outbreak. we saw the flash, but it took weeks before the bomb fell. by that time, we were already fighting. but the radio was comforting still. we may have heard it all before, but it was comforting to know what we were fighting. to know we were doing everything we could, and that it was working. we could last a few more months like this. 2 months. heh, its Halloween night, i think.

“incoming!” we heard rick yell. we ran back up. here we go again. this was a busy night.

“hurry up here!” rick shouted. jesus, he was in a mood. we were running as fast as we could up those steps.

“hurry, hurry, hurry!” okay, something was wrong. rick was never this impatient. he was always cool, calm, collected. what was going on?

“get the fuck up here now!” i made it onto the roof just behind mark. i saw the dimming flares from the last battle show a few forms in the dark. there was only ten or so, why was he so worried?

“flares! now! wally, give them light!” i chucked some more flares over the edge, and wally shined the shot onto the thickest line. then i saw them. something looked wrong. these zombies were old. decaying. flesh hung from bare bone, or there was no flesh at all. all were covered in mud and dirt. and some walked with no head.

“fuck,” i let out, “black magic zombies.”

"Relax... it's over, you belong to me I fill your mouth with dirt
Relax... it's over, you can never leave I take your second digit with me...
Love...
You are... my first, I can barely breathe I find you fascinating
You are... my favorite, lay you down to sleep It's all that I can do to stop...
Love...
So blue... so broken, paper doll decays I haven't left you yet
So cold... subversive, your eyes are full of bleach
Tomorrow, I will go away again...
Love...
YOU ARE MINE, YOU WILL ALWAYS BE MINE
I CAN TEAR YOU APART
I CAN RECOMBINE YOU
ALL I WANT IS TO COVET YOU ALL
YOU BELONG TO ME
I WILL KILL YOU TO LOVE YOU. (love) "_"iowa"_slipknot

lover in a cage

i made him out of sticks and mud, a pumpkin with a smile and eyes and a small candle, with feathers and with rags. i named him jack (short for jack-o-lantern). he named me love. i built him a cage of iron to live in, and spiderweb chains to keep him next to the wall. i didnt want him to go away, and leave me all alone again. i didnt want to be alone anymore, so i built jack.

i fed him spiders and roaches and flies from outside. his candle-lit eyes would stare longingly at me as i brought his bowl. and he would never take his eyes off me as he ate. for i was his love, i made him that way. he lived only for me, to keep me from being alone. and slowly, i lived for him too. he was my love as i was his. when he asked me, "love, could you open the window? my eyes shine upon you too dimly with candlelight to see you as well as i wish to see you," i opened the window for him, and let him see me in the sunlight. with the brightness of the day, he could see me as well as i could see him: dressed in a faded blue skirt, buttoned shirt, black slippers, gold hair, blue eyes. his eyes starred at me even more intently then. the candle-lit eyes glowing brighter then the suns rays. he loved me so much.

when i next came down to the basement with his food, those eyes still burned for me. he asked me to come closer to him, to let him smell my scent of lavender and cinnamon, so i slid him the keys to his chains in his bowl of flies. and he came towards me and gazed into my eyes, and stood closer to me then he ever had before. and we stood together until the sun went down, and i went back upstairs to sleep.

when he told me he felt so thin, i slit my hand and mixed in my blood into his bowl. the spiders and roaches and flies swam in the red drink, and jack ate. jack grew bigger with my blood, and he thanked me over and over for saving him. and he apologized over and over for causing me to bleed, but i told him it was nothing. i had done it for him, and so, it hurt me none. instead, every drop of blood brought a drop of happiness to my heart. for i was healing my love, and that made all pain go away.

when he said he still hungered, that he felt thin once more, i gave him my meals along with his own. my skin stretched to my bones, but jack became fuller. his mud and sticks no longer crumbled and snapped. they were thick and strong; larger then mine.

when he asked to feel my hand, i placed it inside his cage. when he placed my finger into his smile, i let him take it. when i pulled back my bloodied hand, i felt no pain. only happiness.

jack asked me if i loved him, and i told him i did. i told him my heart was his. and then, i gave it to him.

jack left the cage after that, but he still loved me. he cradled me in his arms before leaving the basement. he kept me in his arms as he crawled into the sunlight and moonlight for the first time. for i built him to love me. and he does. and i built him so ill never be alone. and i never am.

"we passed upon the stair, we spoke of was and when.

although i wasnt there, he said i was his friend.

which came as a surprise, i spoke into his eyes

i thought you died alone, a long, long time ago."_"the man who sold the world"_david bowie

the death of was and when

i met the man who killed god today. he was a nice guy, we talked over a couple of cokes and beers—i sat next to him at the bar up the street from neils house. i didnt notice him at first: he shaved his beard and had this blue cap on to cover where his hair had started to recede. he looked almost fifty. i asked him how he was doing, he replied, "not bad, not bad." i asked him about what had happened to him over the years since he killed god five years ago, and he looked sullen and sad and took a deep breath. the first month was the worst. the big hoopla and anger that everyone had for him, knowing that he killed god. it was an accident, of course. everyone knew that. god had been walking home that night drunk off his ass, down that street near the pier. it wasnt well lit at that point. no, the lights were only put up after he got run over. shows you just what it takes to get the city to notice when it needs to fix up a road. it truly was an accident. there was no way he couldve stopped in time on that road in the rain. but people didnt want to believe it. they couldnt let the man who killed god off that easily. so they had him in court, they had him on tv, they wanted the chair for him. they wanted to send him to texas. but then, after a year or so in court, appeal after appeal, the frustration over him just kinda died down. nothing changed after god died. the world didnt end, it didnt get any worse or better. nothing changed. and eventually, people just didnt care about the man who killed god anymore since nothing came out of god dying. life was just as it was before. it wasnt the same for him though. wife left him, lost all his money on lawyers, lost his job, lost his license. then, he just kinda disappeared from the public. hed gotten a job truckin from coast to coast, he told me. he was on vacation for a couple of weeks before the holidays started, and came back here again to have a few beers, see the old sights again. i wished him luck, and bought him a round on me. he smiled for the first time that night, and told me, "thanks."

"wish i was too dead to care,

if indeed i cared at all.

never had a voice to protest,

so you fed me shit to digest.

i wish i had a reason;

my flaws are open season.

for this, i gave up trying,

one good turn deserves my dying."_"bother"_stone sour

panacea number 13

i walked down the short aisle, scanning the labels down from a to b to c. my eyes stopped at p, and then i scanned down to panacea. number 1, number 2, number 3. i stopped at 13: minty taste, drowsy, also available in gel capsule. maximum strength, guaranteed or your money back. i checked the price: forty nine dollars, ninety nine cents. i grabbed the gel capsules and headed back to the cashier. she was a young girl, about half my age. she looked bored and was listening through a pair of earphones, reading on the job. i tapped her on the shoulder and she glared up at me before scanning the bottle and telling me my total. i reached into my pocket and pull out the single bill i had laying in there. i handed the bill to her, and she gave me my receipt. i told her i wanted my change back.



the day was sunny and bright. the sky blue and clear. the car was hot when i sat down in it, so i turned the ac on high and let it cool in the parking lot before driving away. i drove to the little hill behind where the old theatre used to be. in the seventies, this used to be lovers lane. where all the guys took their girls and made out with them in the back seats of their parents cars. now, the road was gravel. the theatre was covered in graffiti, and no one came here out of love or lust. they came here for drug deals or for privacy. i came for the latter. that, and i came to see the sunset. i turned the radio up until my ears began to hurt, and then made it just a little louder. i sat with the ac on high, and watched as the sun set slowly over the dead theatre. i could feel the pain more than ever. i missed you more than ever. i opened the bottle of panacea 13. there was only two pills inside. guaranteed or my money back. i dry swallowed them both, wincing as they went down my throat. i stared at the sun coming down over the theatre. my eyes were red and swollen with tears i held back. they burned from the bright light. panacea 13: the miracle drug. cures everything wrong with you. i watched as the sun finally went away, and the darkness of the night came over everything. i turned the lights off in the car, and closed my eyes. i laid the seat back, and listened to the radio. i couldnt focus on the music anymore, all the sounds started to blur and fade together. panacea 13: for when there is no other cure for what ails you. i could no longer hear anymore, and i couldnt feel the burning in my eyes anymore, so i knew it had taken effect. i knew that i would soon be another satisfied customer of panacea.

"the deathbird closed its wings over the earth until at last, at the end, there was only the great bird crouched over the dead cinder. then the deathbird raised its head to the star-filled sky and repeated the sigh of loss the earth had felt at the end. then its eyes closed, it tucked its head carefully under its wing, and all was night."_"the deathbird"_harlan ellison



holiday

the death walked past the lock-broken door through the open doorway. it moved with a silent step of dust and ashes and had the grace of a three stringed marionette. it pushed aside, left aside, and left behind the piles of cans, the piles of clothes, and the piles of sharp glass which littered and cluttered about the tiny homestead's tinier well-lived-in room. the television was still on, its screen still filled with the rhythmic movement of the young and the nude, its speakers still filled with moans and groans. the death paid no heed nor attention. it noticed the man and the woman, the husband and the wife, the father and the mother, the abuser and the abuser, all one and all same, sleeping on the sofa together. it made its way out to the back of the house, out to a grassy field filled with flowers, lit by a bright sunlight; though neither grass nor flower nor sunlight ever came into the backyard of the house without the death. here, in the middle of the grass, on top of the flowers, lying in a bright beam of warm sun, lay the girl in a bright yellow sundress, covered in white flowers, never worn since two years past when she came into the house. the death kneels down and wakes her, and she smiles a smile which the death cannot make, but it tries and the girl understands and stands up, brushing her dress clean and straightening it. the death pulls out a tulip for her it had plucked on the way here, and hands the flower to the girl in the flowery dress. she smiles and laughs and smells the sweet smell. the death takes her hand and the girl leaves the grass and the flowers, and goes up to the sun, tulip in hand, in her yellow flowered sundress. she sees the white clouds and the angels and the cherubs running around, and she plays and she plays and she plays. the death watches through eyes not there. the girl smiles to the death and thanks it for taking her here. but the death doesnt smile, the death doesnt laugh. the death has not taken her here to stay. its only a visit, a moment of joy, its all the death can do to help the girl. she has to wait still, for twenty. long. more years. the girl shouts and the girl screams and the girl rips the tulip in three. but the death takes her hand. the death wipes her tears. the death holds the girl in its arms. the girl cannot speak. the girl cannot see. she feels the rough, black fabric and the hard bones beneath. they are a comfort she has never known. the girl wakes in a bed, in a long, dirty shirt she found on the floor. the bed is bare and brown. the bed of grass and flowers and sun is gone. the bed of mice and filth and a television's glare in here. the bed where the monsters are not beneath the bed, but on top. and where hiding under the covers cannot stop them. the girl will not die here. the girl will have to live here. and the death looks through the window on the wall. the girl cannot see it any more. the girl cannot see the death wipe the flowing sand away from its eyes with its bony hand.

"Even if only for a minute for a minute its over.
Even if only for a minute.
So brave in the face of all those roots that ruin,
to stand so tall when in fact in ruins.
To face that corner of the box and dive in,
just the sound alone of its humble breath.
A murmur from the ruins echoes softly as the roots undo, and the branch becomes..."_"interview at the ruins"_circle takes the square



happy endings



a sixteen year old kid joins up with a bunch of his friends and stalks a girl from their school. they rush her as she leaves to go home one day, and rape her in a van. they leave her in front of her house naked and blindfolded. she never found out who the kids who took her were. she got pregnant from one of them, the sixteen year old, and had a son. her parents move with her far away from the school, the girl goes to therapy, runs away twice from home, and eventually gets a job as a kindergarten teacher. the guy gets caught shop lifting, and his parents send him to boot camp. he comes back and runs from home, living at one of his friends apartments until he steals his friends wallet and runs out one night. he lives in and out of alleyways and in and out of jail cells for the next few years, before he finally loses his pride when he gets shivved and raped in his cell. when he wakes at the hospital, his parents are there for him. over the next five years, he settles into a routine job at a supermarket. he meets the girl again one night right as he gets out of work. her car had stalled on the side of the road, and she was too afraid to get out. he stopped beside her, and talked her out of it. he jumped her car, and he followed her home to make sure she got there safely. she let him in, and while nothing happened that night, they got married two years later. they have two sons together, not counting the one he had with her years earlier. she never knew he was the one who raped her. he did, but he never was sure if the child she had from that event was his. he never told her.



a girl whos always wanted to go to australia finally pinches enough money together to afford a long weeks vacation there. she packs her bags, kisses her parents goodbye, and boards the plane. its landing gear never opens, and the plane crash lands onto the runway. the girl is the only one who dies instantly in the impact, but many more die with their legs broken, unable to get out of the fire.



a guy and a girl are speaking online. they have been for the past two hours. the girl goes out for a cigarette, but brings her phone with her outside. the guy goes outside with his phone, so that he doesnt disturb his roommate. he calls her, and she answers. they talk outside for three hours. it starts to rain slightly. it is january and cold. the guys hand is numb, his nose is running. he still stays outside, walking back and forth on the sidewalk, talking to the girl. finally, she says he should go to sleep because he has to wake up early in the morning, and he agrees with her. he hangs up, and she hangs up. they both come back inside, and say good nights to each other online. they say good night for over an hour, and it is past three am before they stop. the guy finally goes to sleep. its one of the best days hes ever had.



an angel comes down from the heavens before a young woman. he calls himself michael. he brings gods word. his feet touch the ground, and he rapes the girl on the bare earth. eight months later, she bears a son in a stable.



a man wins the lottery. although he never had luck with women before, he gets married only three months afterward. he has a daughter named mary. he buys everything he ever wanted in life. he never gets a job, and the woman he married never divorces him, even after she finds him cheating on her.



two bombs, made by man, are dropped on japan. it is one of the most horrendous events to ever occur in warfare, but it is not the worst, and its not the last.



four kids, tired of the utter pointlessness of adolescence, school, and the people in their lives, craft a murder-suicide pact. they take bombs and firearms with them on monday to school, and shoot everyone they can. they feel powerful and mighty for the first time in their lives. they make their mark, and their names are heard worldwide. everyone is afraid of them. they kill themselves with their last bullets.



a girl calls the police and says theres a dispute at a convenience store that shes at. she hides behind the dumpster there, and gets a pistol she stole from her father out. a female officer gets to the store first, and as soon as she gets out, the girl runs out and shoots her in the head. she continues to shoot her until the gun is empty, then she runs away. she cleans herself off, and changes her clothes and goes back home. she puts the gun back where it was before. she grows up to adulthood, never knowing why she killed the officer. eventually, she becomes an officer herself to redeem herself, although she never admits to the murder. after three years on the force, she gets a call from the same convenience store that she shot the officer at years before. as she leaves her car, she sees a girl pull a gun on her, and shoot her. coincidentally, the first officer, the girl who became the second officer, and the girl who shot her, were all named rose. the last girl never became a police officer.



it was cold outside, and the girl and the boy started getting closer and closer together. they warmed their hands together, and slowly, they get close enough that they could feel each others breath. they swayed with each other, hand in hand, to a song which only the two of them could hear. the boy remarked that he could die now because he was where he wanted to be. and he got his wish, for the world ended at that very moment.

"so its all come back round to breaking apart again,
breaking apart like im made up of glass again,
making it up behind my back again,
holding my breath for the fear of sleep again.
holding it up behind my head again,
cut in deep to the heart of the bone again,
round and round and round,
its breaking apart again,
over and over and over.

now that i know that i'm breaking to pieces
ill pull out my heart and ill feed it to anyone
crying for sympathy
crocodile cry for the love of the crowd and the three cheers from everyone
dropping through sky through the glass of the roof through the roof of your mouth
through the mouth of your eye through the eye
of the needle its easier for me to get closer to
heaven than ever feel whole again"_"disintegration"_the cure

i dug the knife in deep, past the rusted edges to the cracked and worn handle. deep into my chest, i popped the bone in two, i let the dust fall through to the floor. i reached in with two cold, shaking hands and pulled out the rusted iron box. i removed its lock, i unwound its chains, i polished and rubbed off as much dried blood, dried rust, dried tears as i could, and i opened it. i took out the little slab of flesh in there. it was rubbery, and looked like miscured leather. it was small and tough, jagged and torn. i held the heart close to me, and i embraced it. i held it tightly, and i hugged it. i held it against me, and i cried, and i cried, and i cried, and i cried, and i cried.

"sad sighs, hopes and dreams.

nimble feat from a naïve child.

laughs shared and all those foolish dares.

i was spent, affection sent.

your embrace, toward the hapless hours.

your embrace, toward the hapless hours.

and it was my own actions causing the retractions.

yeah, yeah, yeah.

and it was my own actions causing the retractions.

yeah yeah yeah.

my own.

and i love the way you hold me."

_"persephone"_the sinister quarter



persephone

she pulled the near empty box out from the pocket in front of her hoodie and shook it to confirm a lone shuffle inside. the last cigarette placed between her lips, she crushed the now empty package in her hand and threw it aside into the river to smolder and burn. she watched as the cellophane first melted, then the green box itself warp, the ink turning dark and purple, before finally shriveling into a charred ball. once the show had ended, she leaned her face closer to the fires of phlegethon, and lit the cigarette she still held in her mouth.

she straightened up, and stepped back from the edge of the river before exhaling the smoke around her. a wind blew across her face, and she pulled her hood up over her head. the underworld was a cold place, and even the rivers flames produced no heat. they produced shadow puppets on the opposite bank, casting stones on the sand as actors and dancers. the play was a comedy, a simple three acts. it was slapstick, meant to please the low brow humors, but there was a cunningly hidden satire disguised within it. the playwright knew that its deeper meaning would go above the heads of most, but he wrote in the oblique references and innuendoes anyways. his most admired audiences would be the ones who understood, and these were for whom he wrote his plays for. persephone understood his satire, and found herself grinning slightly at the comedy. she gave the playwright an affirming nod before heading away from the river, and he gave her a smile back, pleased with himself.

the way to the river cocytus was rocky, and persephone stumbled several times over her untied shoelaces. the soles of her sneakers had been worn smooth from years of constant use, and they were filthy with the dirt and mud of the black ground. the dark pervaded the way to cocytus more than any other river as well. in hades realm, the dark was a substance, as light was above ground. here, light was an absence of the dark. persephones hoodie had been blackened by the dark over many years; once a bright blue, it was now soot. her hair, golden during the spring, had already turned a deep auburn, and would likely become black before the winter was half over. the only source of light came from the orange ember on the end of her cigarette. the lack of light was no problem for her, however. she had walked this path countless times, and she needed no light to make her way there. she only needed to listen to the river to know that she was close.

once at the riverbank, she sat on one of the larger stones and held herself tightly. there was no wind near cocytus as there was near phlegethon, but the air was much colder here. she breathed in a long drag of the half gone cigarette, and slowly let the smoke exit her lungs. the smoke clung to the cold air around her and stayed there near her. she hunched herself forward, resting her elbows upon her knees, and closed her eyes. the river was starting its next performance. the screams of the spirits quieted for just a bare moment as they tuned their voices. the altos, the sopranos, the tenors, the mezzo-sopranos, the baritones, and all the rest spoke up clearly but succinctly. the cigarette having been finished, persephone crushed it into the earth beneath her feet, and she listened.

she was the only audience that night, as she had been every night. no one else heard the music of the river cocytus. the harmonies and melodies of the wailing damned were difficult to decipher into octaves and meters. they knew no order or rhythm. the choirs and operas of the river were messes of chaos and noise. this was the music the dead. this was the beauty of the underworld which persephone found. a beauty which no one else in the underworld cared for or even acknowledged. the music stirred her, and she drew a deep breath of the cold air into her lungs. she felt emotion within her rise up again. emotion which the atmosphere of the underworld deadened otherwise.

persephone reached into her pocket and pulled out the small flask her kept there. she put the wide mouth to her lips, and allowed the liquid to slowly flow onto her tongue. the waters of lethe were thick as honey, and tasted of phlegm. she allowed enough of the water as she could into her mouth, slowly letting it slide down her throat. it burned as it made its way down, and warmed her. she let the water flood her mind, and she could feel it as a haze between her eyes. she closed her eyes once more, and listened to the river, losing herself to the melody. she wished she had another cigarette, but there was nothing she could do about it. she kept listening to the songs until she lost herself to the lethe once more, and for one more day, she could forget where she was.

"Dissect a trillion sighs away
Will you get this letter
Jagged pulp sliced in my veins
I write to remember
'Cause I'm a million miles away
Will you get this letter
Jagged pulp sliced in my veins
I write to remember
I write to remember
I write to remember"_"one armed scissor"_at the drive in



pen pal



i found her first letter on my thirteenth birthday. it was written on a napkin, folded into a tight square, and dropped through the mail slot of my front door. my mother had just passed away a few days before, and my father and i were still in mourning. i had no party, no gifts, no cards that birthday. my father was drunk in the kitchen, and i was skipping school when i heard the mail slot gently open and close. the napkin was written in dark red letters in a flowy, bubbly script. it said, "happy birthday." i got my next letter on my birthday the following year. and then another five months after that. and then another three months later. the letters came more and more frequently, until i would get one or two everyday. they always came at a different time then the other mail, and i never saw who kept leaving me the letters. they were always written on different things: napkins, cardboard, postcards, anything which could hold onto the dark red letters she wrote me. she wrote about everything to me: how she felt, who she was, what the day was like, anything she felt like talking about. she told me she lived in a box underneath the stairs. she was afraid of her parents. she wrote in her blood. she ate the rats and roaches that crept to close to her box. she never told me how she got her letters to me. she told me how i could write back to her. i had to drop her a letter into a mail slot of the house in the woods behind my house. i had been there before, all the kids had. it was a condemned and empty building which everyone called haunted. which made it perfect for children to dare each other to stay there for a night. i spent many nights there. whenever i couldnt sleep at home, id sneak out into that house with my blanket. it was a comforting house for me, but the other children never stayed in it for long. i stayed there even more often after she told me to leave her letters there. id stay there all day, trying to catch a glimpse of her, but i never did. yet, she always got my letters. i wrote my letters in blood too. this kept me from writing too much at one time, but it never seemed to stop her. shed write me pages and pages of letters each day. she never seemed to run out of blood. she told me she loved me. i wrote her back that so did i. i wanted to hold her, to see her, to hear her and smell her. she was the only girl i had ever loved. but she never told me how to get to her. she said she could only write me, and she could only write as long as her blood lasted. i got desperate, and set up a camera in front of my door. that didnt work well. she stopped sending me letters until i took the camera away, and the day after i did so, she wrote back at me. she was angry at me for doing that. i wrote back, and i apologized. she stayed mad at me for a week, but she eventually forgave me. and we continued writing letters. about everything we had to say, and everything we didnt. we wrote because we were lonely, and all we had were each other. i lived at home by myself by then, my father having passed away when i was in my late twenties. she still lived in her box under the stairs. she still hid from her parents. i assumed she was going to stop writing before she warned me herself. her letters became shorter and shorter, and the words were fainter and fainter. she was running out of blood finally. in her final letter, she told me where to find her. she lived farther away then i ever expected. i had to drive down past the city. off the interstate, and off the main road, there was a small gate on a dirt road. i drove through it, and kept going up the narrow path. the house was small, and half of it looked burned. no one could have lived there in a decade. the door was missing, so i let myself in. i knew where to find her. she was in the basement, under the stairs. her box was locked from the outside with a large padlock, but it was rusted and brittle. i broke it with a pipe on the ground, and opened it. she was very pale. her bones were visible through her skin, and she was covered in her own urine and excrement. she only wore a thin, white dress. the rats and roaches nibbled at her ears and fingertips. her belly was distended and pregnant. she looked at me and spoke. she told me, "happy birthday." her eyes were bright green. i brushed the rats and roaches off of her, and carried her out to my car. i drove her home, and laid her in bed. she told me she loved me, and i told her i loved her. she told me the child was mine, and i knew it truly was. i slept with her in my arms. she said that i was warm. she was finally warm. she gave birth the next night, but she wasnt able to survive and my child was stillborn. i gave her a funeral, and had her buried with our child. i still write her letters, but i get no answer back now.

i cant see again.

i cant be again.

delicate faces are lost again.

fragile places are broke again.

song birds flock to mock me again.

the heart box has stopped again.

gears have crunched and crashed again.

hold it and mold it and scold it

cut it and gut it and hurt it

you know what you want to do

you know what you need to do

you know what you have to do

is everything wax inside of you?

is nothing inside is true?

can you still see the flowers, growing over gravestones?

can you still hear the liars, speaking through your headphones?

march to the beat of the little toy soldiers

walk along, walk along with your little clockwork soldiers

broken step, broken step, break the rhythm to save me yourself

hello my wall, i speak only to you.

you never reply.

talk to brick and mortar ears,

plaster and drywall and paint.

bubble, bubble, toil, and trouble

snaps and snails and puppy dog tails.

am i me again?

will i remain again?

seven year mirrors are whole again?

counterfeit smiles are drawn again?

dragonflies sleep to weep again?

the medication is new again?

needles are pricking and sticking again?

take it and make it and break it

mend it and tend it and love it.

she can see stars
they live closer then the sky
i can see walls
lit by flickering fluorescent lights

i pass the hours
walking to nowhere
listening to nothing
being no one

the walls of the maze trap me in
i can see the sky
open
clear
a sunrise passes over again
yellow
near

a waiting game i play with myself
five empty chambers
and a missing bullet
always lands on air

where i go now isnt clear
im lost in the maze
and the sky wont hold me
the ground wont budge neath me

so ill just stay here
following the same walls
walking the same circles
until im let out

or i lay down
in the dust
no bed
no pillow
no blanket

just sky above me
with no stars i can see
just walls around me
with no exits i know of.

"he lies right at you
you know you hate this game
he slaps you once in a while and you live and love in pain

she cries alone at night too often
he smokes and drinks and don't come home at all
only women bleed
only women bleed
only women bleed
only women bleed
only women bleed
only women bleed
only women bleed"_"only women bleed"_alice cooper



the wardens locked himself in with the inmates

he sits in the living room in front of the television set all night. The lights are always off, the volumes always loud, and the beer is always close at hand. It's the most peaceful moment of the night. He comes home later and later every day, but I don't mind. The longer he stays away, the more time I have to clean or to cook. But I never do. I just stay in the kitchen with a bottle of jack that I hide from his sight beneath the sink. My girl sits in front of the tv on the floor. The volume too loud. Sitting too close. I yell at her to turn the sound down. To sit on the couch. She never listens. I tell her to clean her room. I tell her to pick up her toys from the living room floor. She never does. I go and I lift her from the floor and scream at her face. I slap her across the cheek and she cries at me and screams at me and runs from me. She runs to her room and locks the door. And I always cry. And I always apologize. I always sit on the ground next to her door. I ask her to come back out. I tell her im sorry. So sorry. I love her. And she never opens the door. I open the bottle in my hand still, and take another sip. And I sit and drink until its dark. Until I can hear the car outside. When I panic and run to the kitchen. Put a pot on the stove. Turn on the oven. Hide the jack under the sink. He comes in. he yells at me. He hits me. Hard. I tumble to the ground. He grabs his beer from the fridge and walks to the living room. I turn off the stove. I turn off the oven. This is our supper together. Five days a week. On weekends, hes here all the time. I go out to buy groceries. I go out to get away. My girl never sees him. She stays in her room. every day is the same. He passes out in front of the television every night. I get dreamless sleep in a cold, empty bed.



Until I could no longer sleep. Until I got out of the bed one night. Until I saw him awake at three am on that couch. The tv was on at full volume, but he wasn't looking at it. he was looking at a square of paper in his hand. He was smiling. I hadn't seen him smile in months. He stared at that sheet for hours. Until he had to go to work. I made sure to run back to bed before he came into the bedroom to get dressed for work. I laid and pretended to sleep. Once he left, I laid and wondered what that paper was. Was it a letter? Was it a photograph? Was it an old girlfriend? A new mistress? Someone other than me who could actually make him happy. I hated him. I hated her. I hated myself. Every night, I crept down to watch him. Every night, he awoke to stare at his paper. He folded it up and put it in his back pocket. Every day remained as it always was. I saw jack more than my girl. My girl saw the tv more then me. The living room got more and more messy as she kept leaving her food here and there. Leaving her toys everywhere. She never listened to me. No matter how hard I yelled or how loud I screamed. No matter how much I begged. No matter how much I cried.



Everything broke when I ran out of jack. I ran out and had no money for more. So I went and took a sacred can from the fridge. One of his cans. And I kept going. Until there was none left. And I stood and realized what I had done. I turned the house apart, scrounging for change. He came home later and later each night. I still had time to go to the store and replace what I had stolen. Except this night, he came home early. He was laid off. He was in a foul mood. And I had given him an excuse to be angry with me. He hit me and yelled at me. Same as before, same as every day, only more and more and harder and louder. I couldn't stand anymore. I just curled into a ball and cried and begged him to stop. And he did, finally. Once I was battered and broken on the ground. Arms holding myself. No longer able to speak clear words. And I saw him walk to the living room again. It was dark. The lights were off. The tv was off. And I saw him step on my girls toy. A sharp toy. A hard toy. It went into his foot and he screamed and pulled it out. It was covered with blood. He stared at it for a moment before heading to the door. The locked door. My girls door. He yelled at her to open it. she wouldn't. he pounded and he threatened her to let him in. she didn't. and I saw him break the door open. And I heard my girl scream. I heard him yell. And I heard his fists hit her. And I was angry. I lifted myself up. I grabbed a knife from the drawer. I ran into the door. Finally open to me. My girl was black and red. He kept hitting her, over and over. His back was to me. My girl screamed and screamed. She screamed for me. I stabbed the knife in deep. I could see blood soaking through his shirt onto my hands. I could see him fall. I could hear him scream. and then it was silent.



I held my girl for hours. Until the sun came back up. Until after she fell asleep from the exhaustion in my arms. I couldn't move. I hadn't called anyone yet. I could see the paper in his pocket. Now splattered with a little red. His happiness that I could no longer give him. I laid my girl in her bed. I covered her up with her blanket. And I went and pulled the paper from his pocket. I unfolded the paper and looked at a drawing in crayon. Me, him, and my girl. Drawn in bright wax under a bright wax sun. green grass beneath our feet. Big, bright smiles on each of our faces. And in my girls handwriting from so many years ago was written, "my family."

“i built it up, now i take it apart”_”wish”_nine inch nails

.. ..

3 wishes

.. ..

gramma has cancer. shes eighty-six years old. and while shes lived through wars, lived through love, lived through kids and grand-kids, i still cannot believe shes actually dying. i think im less ready for her to die, then she is. shes wasting away in that hospital bed, laying in the dark with the tv on all day long, tubes and needles in her arms. i never wanted to see her die, especially like this. the docs are sayin shes got a month, a week, or a day left. mom and dads already seen her and left for the day, so im the only one left here. ive got nothing to say, and neither does she, it seems. shes just stirring her plate of jello, and staring at the tray of food she cant eat. i hear her take in a deep breath, and she breaks the long silence.

.. ..

“sonny, come closer. close the door.”

.. ..

“yes, gramma,” i tell her, before closing the door and walking over to her.

.. ..

“im not ready to die yet,” she tells me, while still stirring and staring at her tray.

.. ..

“im not ready for you to go either, gramma,” i tell her.

.. ..

she takes another long breath and sighs, “no, you dont understand what I mean.”

.. ..

“what do you mean, then, gramma?”

.. ..

“ive lived a long time, sonny. ive done just about everything to do worthwhile in this life. most would be pretty happy with the life ive lived. ive made two beautiful childrens, ive gotten three wonderful grandchildrens. ive worked hard for myself and gotten myself a good life. i had a great and truly loving husband, and when he died, he went peacefully.” she stopped to catch her breath for a minute. this was the most id heard her speak at once in quite a while. “come in close, lean your ear to me,” she whispered, “i need to tell you a secret.”

.. ..

i leaned my head towards her. she already smelled of death. almost all her hair was gone, the few remaining looked thin as spiders silk. her skin was weathered and wrinkly, like old, cracked leather. “what is it, gramma?” i asked her.

.. ..

“i always wanted to kill someone,” she whispers in my ear.

.. ..

before i can ask her what she meant, i feel the knife in my neck. shes grabbed it from the dinner tray. i stagger backwards, and fall to the ground. the blood rapidly rushes out and my strength goes quickly. i cant see straight anymore, but i make her out as she falls off the bed on top of me, with the knife still in her hand. she is weak, but fueled by desperation and desire pent up for decades. im her final chance, and im going fast. she stabs me again, and i try to scream, but i can only give a drowning gurgle. i can hear her labored breathing, shes too weak to be doing this, and even with my bloodloss, i can hold her back now. i keep one arm up to keep her from stabbing me, and with my other, i grasp desperately to find something to fight back with. i see it, out of the corner of my losing vision: the dinner tray must have fallen when she leapt from the bed. i cannot reach it. its just barely too far for me to reach. if only i could reach it, then i could knock her off of me. she struggles to jab the knife into me again, and i can barely hold her back. my fingertips brush the metal tray. “please,” i pray, “let me get this tray.”

.. ..

i get it. it seemed so far away, but i got it in my hand now. i raise the tray above me, about to swing it into my grammas head. but i can see her eyes. her eyes are filled with terror. this is her last chance. her last wish. this is her fighting for her life. its horrible. i can feel my blood pouring out of me. i can feel the tray falling from my hand. i can feel my eyes close and my arm letting go of hers and the knife coming down.

im hoping hell weeks over. by week, i mean, of course, 3 weeks. plus the mad rush to get ready for dragon con the week before the 3 weeks. plus the visit by oak ridge the week before that. so yeah. hell weeks been going on long enough, id like my slack job backs nows, pleez. thanks to my dear wumples for all her help getting me through it all. <3 bby, i luvs yous so muches. im moving all my stories to lj, it seems. so imma move the myspace ones first, then ill find my other ones later. see yahs laters peeps. you take cares nows.

man, i need to take my laptop to tech more often, its teh win. anyways, gotta go and get some work done again, but i guess some quick random updates:

gettin another new laptop (yaay!). okay, so its a netbook with only 8 gb of hd space, but hey, it was 150 washingtons and it gives me a reason to learn linux and carry a computer on me always.

hyons coming home from the army soon (yaay!). and gettin into a technical school. like i told him to. shouldve just listened from the start amigo.

gotta take a crash course in fortran (oof). i dont work long or hard, but man, i do some weird stuff outta nowhere sometimes.

makin a coffee table (yaay!). me and the ber found a wicked awesome piece of glass at the dumpster, so hey, coffee table here we go. and ambers gonna woodburn the piece under the glass as well. kickass.

got a room for dcon (yaay!). wasnt cheap, but hey, got a hilton room. of course, the rooms ajs friend got is also available, but at least i got a host room.

well, gotta go walk in the humidity and go work in a dungeon. peace peoples.

or something. just go away. wasting time, cause my throats woken me up and itll be a while before i can fall back asleep again. its cold in my room. doesnt ever really happen here, at my parents house, but it is. has been getting colder and colder each weekend. it never used to be like this. all the heat in the house used to rise up into my room and collect here, and the computer didnt help much either. so, my gaggingly gushy theory is that im cold cause a lack of an amber warming me up here. i miss you bby. youre soft and warm and sometimes smell like candy. and i like soft and warm and candy. ;) but yeah, i guess sleepiness is kicking my ass. just let me fall asleep, foul infection. oh, work update for those not in the know already: gonna be working with depleted uranium. not sure how personally, but hopefully enough to nab a little something something to warm up the home. not really, it shouldnt be radioactive. much. :p go to sleeps, you insomniacs.

so, im backs from south carolina. sorry i missed everyone this weekend, but yeah, the weekend was sorely needed. it was a good weekend. had a good time dan and sophie, see you at the cabin im hoping.

so, i had to go back to the lab yesterday night to finish making some things. i got up and was heading out when mom interuptted me and made me finish dinner before heading out, so i didnt leave the house til ten. i went to pick amber up so that she could keep me company, and off we went back to tech. the drive took a lot longer than usual because even that late, there was some construction or some shit going on that slowed us down so it was 11 before we got to tech. walking to the lab took 15 minutes, so i didnt get to even start working until after 11. i made amber a little trinket before i started, however, because i wanted to show off a bit on the stuff i was making, and then left her to work on the computer. i then proceeded to fuck shit up and get frustrated for two and a half hours trying to get the equipment to work, and ended up popping off the end of the equipment off like a very heavy rocket which flew up a half a foot, blowing out some threading and fucking it up. then i went emo-tastic and sat on the floor for a half hour, pissed at myself and everything around me. amber sat next to me and got me to calm down enough that i could stand back up and finish up work on a different project i had to do that night. by the time i dropped her back off and went back home, it was after 4 am, and i had to wake up in less than 6 hours and i felt like shit.

and, i got this text message during the whole time i was breaking expensive lab equipment:

"sorry to interrupt the post/coital joy, but i wish you'd mentioned you were dropping by here in your plans. id've really wanted to show you somfin."

so, how do i reply to that?

bonus: apparently people are pissed i had a 1 month anniversary? um...quoi? wtfs going on? im 22 years old. this is my first girlfriend. this is the first month ive had a girlfriend. yeah, its important to me. especially since the day before our one month, i was bawling my eyes out, wondering if i should break up then and there (bad day, dont wanna talk about it). im amazed ive gotten this far. sorry if i dont see people as much as i used to, but that is much more a factor of me working a full week then me having a girlfriend. i barely get to see her enough as is, and im not going to twist myself in two trying to fit myself into everyone elses schedules to see them all the time. try walking outside for a couple of hours a day right now. im. fucking. tired. and. hot. so try to be nice.

I, Wumples, has haxxored teh journal of Mr. Ho, and deathified it!
MAY YOU ALL FEAR TEH JOURNAL!
FEAAAAAAAAAR IT!

-shakes fist at sky-