Ravenstorture

I had a friend in London, named Matt, we were pretty close but I had only known him for a month or so because I didn't live in london at the time. We were playing around, waiting for the train at Kentish town underground station, and the signs said the next train (blackline, if anybody knows what I am talking about) was due in about five or so minutes, and we were pretending to push eachother onto the tracks, and talking in a really loud voice of what happens to you if you get your foot caught in "the gap" between the trainstep and the platform, how you foot is ripped off if you're lucky but if your not your whole body is dragged with the train to the tunnelclosing and then your body is knocked off your foot and your ankle is mashed into the tiling. We were exaggerating a bit, of course, but the punks at the other end of the platform were having a good time watching us scare the oldies. Any way, the train came closer and matt was fooling around on the edge of the platform and he fell onto the tracks, and was knocked unconscious. I screamed and tried to jump down to drag him out of the way of the train that was coming but one of the punks grabbed me and spun me around and held my face into his chest, facing away from the tunnel as the train came. He wouldn't let me look at matt, he just kept me facing the other way and walked me back up into the street. People are nice that way, I reckon if that guy hadn't done that for me I would probably have died too.

[color=darkgreen] Spyder: Depends on where you are going, I suppose. Davien: No, it doesn't. Get in. Spyder: Ok, ok, but for the record - I planned this. Cathos: So, even demons save face? Spyder: Funny, you [I]act[/I]like you know I'm a demon. Cathos: I have nothing to fear from you. Davien: Please, Spyder, if you are going to do somthing to him wait until we are OUT of the car. [I]Spyder is angry, but respects Davien's wishes anyway. She had already made far too many mistakes tonight, and perhaps if it was better just to tag along for a while until she became more alert. Besides, Spyder felt that she had caused enough mischief for the night, and desperately wanted to lie down somewhere, and not move for a while.[/I][/color]

This is brilliant, you have excellent possibilities of extending the story in many directions due to the fact that you described much of your surroundings first. The contrasts between the two storylines, unlinkes, is also a good technique for building complex storylines. But I am starting to sound like I know what I'm talkng about, and I don't - I am just talking from experience. You have a brilliant mind for detail.

[color=darkgreen][I]Spyder watched Davien and his companion walk towards her. She leant back against the shelves of liquer and alcohol and smiled, crossing her arms.[/I] Davien: Hello again. This is Cathos. Cathos: Um, hi. Spyder: Odd of you to show up here... Davien: Not really, after all... it is a nightclub. Spyder: But it is not night. How quaint. Davien:....? [I]Spyder smiles at her nonsensical jabberings and, pausing briefly to hug Davien, walks back down the hallway and outside. The alleyway is empty except for a dead teenybopper lying in the gutter and a very flashy, black sportscar. Spyder chuckles to herself once more and takes Davien's car keys out of her pocket and unlocks the boot with them. Then, after depositing the teenage corpse in the trunk as a little present, Spyder gets in the car and floors it down the alley and up the street.[/I][/color]

The ability to speak, read, write and understand any foreign language fluently.

I, too, believe in everything. Perhaps I read too much Douglas Adams (RIP), but I am very open minded. It is easy to see how some things could be false accusations, however. Let people believe whatever they want to believe, just don't kill people for not sharing your veiws. Like lost of people do... (in my part of the street, anyway...)

The BEST way to play monopoly is if you are thousands of dollars in debt to everybody. I know it's against the rules, but if you have property, you just go around and jack your debt up by landing on other people's property, and they ayy off your debt by landing on yours!! (ok, so we [I]had[/I] drunk about three litres of coke each and it [I]was[/I] one in the morning, but man was it FUN...)

I was checkmated by a pawn once. Apart from being damn embarrasing, it was also thought to be impossible until then. But i just wasnt paying attention to it...

[I][color=darkgreen] Spyder, hearing the sudden eruption of noise from inside the club, simply dart-throws the syringe at the group of girls and runs inside, smiling as screams drift in through the iron plateing. As she runs ito the nightclub, the scene of a very, very large fight unfold infront of her. She laughs, thinking back to the last time she had seen a fight this big. None on this earth, that much she was sure of. Scanning the dancefloor, she smiled as she saw Davien and another gothic human in the centre of the fight, pulling off some very impressive moves involving furniture and other people. Deciding not to get involved, she pours herself a drink in the now deserted bar and, tipping it onto the counter, strikes a match and sets the already alcohol-sodden bench ablaze. Watching through the flames, she sees Ben emerging from his hiding hole and duck quickly back inside.[/I][/color]

(oh, I'm just dying to see where this is going...) [I][color=darkgreen]Spyder stalks back out of Hell, and leans against the slimy bricks next to iron doorway. Looking out into the alleyway, she spots a bunch of young gils, dressed in short, bright clothing weighed down by minature mobile phones and makeup bags. One of them is wearing a visor. Spyder takes the hypodermic out fo her pocket and fills it with her own black, poisonous blood and begins twirling it in her fingers as the girls come closer. "Time to have some fun..." Spyder thinks malevolently.[/I][/color]

[color=darkgreen][I]Spyder stood before the gates of hell, hesitant and worried. She looked to an outsider to be tired, old, and fed up. Fingering the keycard in her hand, she looked back up the dark, digusting alleyway before turning to the old, iron doors and running her card through the high-tech lockswipe next to the doors. Then, after precisely three seconds, the doors swung open and Spyder slipped inside, immediately straightening up and stalking down the hallway into a nightclub, packed with people and creatures from all walks of life and death, from every imaginable dimention. She slipped the card into a coatpocket and pressed through the dancers, not slowing as she reached a doorway on teh opposite side of the club and kicking it hard with the heel of her 60mmm FMB. It swung back to revel a another hallway, and this she walked down drawing a 9mm pistol from yet another coat pocket. Reaching a doorway at the end of the hall, she entered it in the same manner she had the first and aimed the pistol straight at the bed infront of her, occupied by not one, but seven young men.[/I] Spyder: You all make me sick. Ben, get the hell up. Ben(not moving): Give me one reason why, you evil piece of ****. Spyder: Apart from the weapon I'm holding now? [I]Ben gets up and walks over to Spyder, attempting to kiss her. Spyder spits acid at Ben and as he drops to his knees screaming, she kicks him in the face and turns her attention to the bed.[/I] Spyder: I advise you all get out ofhere. (uncatching the weapon and placing it on the floor): I'm really sorry, Ben... Ben: Nah, you did a good job. Nobody has caught on to it yet. Spyder: I hope not. [I]Ben attempts to rise from the floor but Spyder stops him.[/I] Spyder: No, stay there. Ben: You sadist. What the hell do you wnat, anyway? Spyder: Well, I met the slayer tonight. Ben: ...... Spyder: Yeah, that's right. I want to know why I was not informed. Ben: Because it ain't got nothing to do with you, that's why. You're a demon, for christ's sake... Spyder: No, it does have something to do with me. When I start getting hunted by slayers after running from vamps that I am attracted to - Ben: ?! Spyder: - no, shut up. After running from vamps that I am attracted to into slayers that are hunting vampires that I have created from my lesser days, then it starts to concern me. you know I don't like the past coming back to haunt me. Ben: Listen, it was not your fault that you were killed before you could properly feed off that blue haired freak you "befriended" at high school. It was not your fault that you just started heading down, after your little run in with the law, and then your run in with the vampyre, and then your untimely death - Spyder: You call that untimely?! I didn't even finish the transfer! Now look what has happened to him! He's stuck halfway, in limbo, half vamp, half human. He's still living with his parents, for christ's sake. And don't you dare call it "befriending" - I only stalked him for a little while. Besides, he's kinda cute... Ben: Speaking of which, what's this about you getting friendly with a vamp? Spyder: Forget it, I was exaggerating. But I want you to tell me who he is. Ben: Got anything for me? Spyder: Here, have this. *she kicks the 9mm at him.* It's a hunk of **** anyway. Ben: Yeah, thanks for nothing. Spyder: ...so? Ben: Got nothing on him, I'm afraid. Sorry, you picked an elusive one this time. Spyder: Oh, shut up. I may be a slut, but you started it. Ben: And aren't I gald that I - [I]Ben's reply is cut short as Spyder kicks him in the face again, breaking his nose. Spyder gets up, pockets a hypodermic and leaves, not without cremating three people on her way out. One barman comments to another as they watch the FireDemon leave Hell, the most underground nightclub of the city.[/I] Barman1: Man, she is in a bad mood tonight. Barman2: You call that a bad mood? So I guess they never told you why this place has been rebuilt three times in the last ten years...[/color]

[color=darkgreen][I]Evelyn notices that Harlequin has disappeared and that the group ahead are not slowing. She senses something is wrong and calls out to the others.[/I] Evelyn: Uh, guys... Kune: Yeah, what? Evelyn: Do you notice anythin wrong? Raistlin(to kune): what is she on about? Kune: I don't know. (to evelyn) Nah, nothing. Evelyn: Just keep your eyes open, ok? [I]Evelyn sticks to the side of the road and walks carefully, watching her back. Suddenly the road behind her is too quiet, and the group ahead of her is too loud...[/I][/color]

[I][color=darkgreen]Alastuin stored the rest of the meat and retires for the night. In the morning, she grabs her purse, spiderbox, satchel of clothing and items and walking staff and sets out again for Kendale. She does not plan to return until the runic symbol on her forehead is explained.[/I][/color]

[color=darkgreen][I]Evelyn, not paying attention, did not notice Harlequin slow down until he was standing beside her. Infuriated, she focused all her attention on the road ahead of her, her concentration killing small weeds and grasses and parching the earth dry.[/I] Evelyn: What the hell do you want, Harlequin... [/color]

[color=darkgreen]Alastuin: One, no, two, you were there. Is that enough for you? [I]Alastuin begins to carve the animal, and Davien notices that Alastuin's spider is crawing ontop of her head. Hiding his laugh behind a hand, the warmth begins to penetrate his skin and he leans against a table, relaxing slightly.[/I] Davien: So... what do you do? Alastuin: Isn't it painfully obvious what I do? Davien: What, annoy strangers and cook rabbits? [I]Alastuin ignores this and instead gestured with her knife the hundreds upon hundreds of bundles of hanging herbs, glass vials filled with various potent liquids, and the charts of the human body and it's various systems and ailments lining the walls.[/I] Alastuin: I'm a healer. Davien: A witch. Alastuin.... Davien: I'm not saying it's a bad thing, and after all, you do have some kind of strange mark on your forehead that also appeared on mine a minute ago and you have a spider in your hair. Alastuin: May I remind you that I am holding a knife at this point in time? What do you mean I have a mark on my forehead? Did you get that too? I mean... what are you talking about.... [/color]

Has anyone seen House on haunted Hill? That movie was the SCARIEST movie I have every seen, and ask anyone, I laughed the WHOLE WAY THROUGH the exorcist. I grew up in an asylum, and the scariest thing i can imagine is an insane person with a knife. And this flick is stuffed full of insane ghosts and insane doctors and it's set in a haunted asylum. I just flipped when I saw it. But, the ending was crap. Apart from that, the background music to the Shining with jack nicholson (that kind of growling, revving sound) freaked me out and although I would have to say it was THE WORST movie I have ever seen in my life, Ghosts on Mars was pretty scary with the whole people turning wierd and cutting themselves up. But I wasn't really scared because the movie was so shockingly bad the whole way through, and this is in a cliched american every girl is blond, every guy is trying to get onto her kind of way. the only other scary movie I can think of at the moment was Bring It On, I couldn't sleep for weeks after that one.

[color=darkgreen][I]Alastuin watches Davien stalk off into the night. Chuckling, she returns to the main living room and lights a fire, and then walks into the kitchen to check on the rabbit. As she leans down to open the oven, an overwhelming feeling of intoxication overcomes her and she staggers, steadying herself on the benchtop. She fills a tub of hot water for herself and places it on the floor, but as she stands up again her reflection catches her. There was a distinctive rune-like marking on her forehead, as though it was burnt into her flesh. Alastuin rubs her eyes and sits down, thinking. When she checks her reflection once more, the marking is gone. She checks the rabbit and finds it to be ready to eat. Throwing sand onto the oven-fire, she drapes a cloak around her and stepps out into the night, piclking up her purse and walking down the pathway, sniffing the night air for any traces of beings. Soon, the liceridden stench of a foul bird fills her nostrils and she beings to look around her for the mysterious person she watched walk away from her home. [/I] Alastuin: Please, whoever you are, come join me for a meal. It is getting cold, and it is the least I can do for someone so kind as to... Davien(from behind her): Before this gets any further, I would like to point out that it was not my choice in returning your money. Alastuin: Well, join me anyway. I cooked for two, and I do not eat for two. Besides, I am actually seeking company at the moment for a different reason, one that I shall not reveal to you at this point. [I]Alastuin walks past Davien down the track to her house. She leaves the door open a crack. Davien sighs and follows her reluctantly.[/I][/color]

[QUOTE][i]Originally posted by Duo Maxwell [/i] [B] Oh yeah theres a few good shops, and pretty good beaches... but I AM dying to leave adelaide, and sadly that might come to fact seeing my dad might get a payout from his job and everyone wants to move up to queensland, but I don't want to leave at this point in my life. [/B][/QUOTE] [color=darkgreen]Yeah! Come up to Queensland, I reckon it's the best state of australia.;) I am originally from Glastonbury, UK, but I have grown up & lived everywhere (wales, ireland, england, greece, egypt) and now I am residing in Toowoomba, Queensland. I would like to take this opportunity to advise everyone to STAY AWAY from here - it really isn't worth the journey. Cloricus, Liamc2 and Harlequin will all agree with me when i say that Toowoomba is just another hole. If not a slightly larger one, at that.[/color]

I did not see Anathema again for a whole day. The suspicion that she had left me saddened me greatly, yet it did not come as a surprise. I was sitting on the back veranda with Greg, looking out over the overgrown garden and vine-covered trees that banked a winding stream below us. We lived in an old, wooden, colonial house. The white paint had nearly all peeled away, and there were piles of interesting-looking junk everywhere. It was dark, draughty, and was older than both of us put together but I loved it and Greg couldn't give a damn about where he lived. We were both pretty involved in our studies - Greg was doing a TAFE course in food prep and I was at uni doing a medical strand that included biochemistry, toxicology, psychology and anatomy. My abnormal fascination with death and the human body was frowned upon by my conservative, rightwing family, even though my tendency to wear black and live in run down houses and fall madly in love with evil, satanic beasts that flew in my kitchen window didn't help either. Mind you, nobody knew about that last one. In fact, even I didn't know why I said I was in love with her - I had known her for about twelve hours, and I had been asleep for ten of them. Now that I thought about it, though, I realised that it was true. I missed her desperately. The smell of nectarines was enough to give me a pretty embarrassing erection, and I carried the feather she had shed with me everywhere. Greg noticed that something was wrong, but was hesitant to ask. At the moment, it was just two nineteen-year old boys sitting on a dilapidated porch, one in the dark and the other in love with it. "Tell me what the **** happened last night, Damien." Said Greg, suddenly, startling me out of my depression. I ran my hand through my long, black hair and closed my eyes. "I don't know." I said, only half telling the truth. "There was a girl in your bed last night?" he began, but I cut him off. "There was something in my bed last night, but I don't know what it was." Luckily for me, Greg was very open minded, and rather intelligent. "Good or bad?" he asked me, thinking of something. "Both. Well, bad, really, really bad, but?" I was lost. "Safe?" "More than that." I really didn't know what to say. "What did you suspect it was?" he asked, still deep in thought. "She appeared to be a? um, angel of sorts, but a demon of others?" This did not sound right at all. What was a fallen angel, I thought? I had heard the term, but did not know what it meant. "Where from?" asked Greg, suspiciously. I told him everything that happened, leaving out the parts I thought he didn't need to know. When I had finished, Greg sat for a while, digesting what I had told him. I was surprised to see that he believed some, if not most, of my story. After a while he said, "That doesn't explain the way you have been acting lately." This I did not know how to respond to. "Would you believe," I began cautiously, "that I have fallen madly in love with her?" "No, I wouldn't." He said slowly. "Although? I wouldn't put it past you." "What do you mean?" I asked. "Well, for one thing - look at yourself." He gestured to my various facial piercings, blue-black chin length hair, my long, black clothing, the black nail polish on my fingernails, the army boots, and the black feather in my hand. Probably the track marks down my arm too, if he had known the real story behind them. "Secondly," he continued, "I saw her myself. If I wasn't so bloody queer I'd understand exactly how you feel." Greg was more than unashamed about his homosexuality, he was damn proud of it. He knew that some of the nicest people in this world were bent. Greg was a beautiful person, blond, blue-eyed, tall, tanned, well-built, well-spoken, well informed, a pleasure to be with. It wasn't intimidating in the slightest having a gay housemate - he showed no interest in me whatsoever. He loved me, but he loved everyone he was close to and I accepted and was honoured by the fact that he thought I was a good person. Greg was amazing - a flower growing in a crack of the thirty-acre parking lot of this broken planet earth. I hated what we had become as humans, and revelled in anything that seemed unaffected by the general destruction of the human race. People destroyed - Greg created. I loved that about him. The fact that he was discriminated against and hated throughout the community because of his sexual orientation, and that it ran right off his back, just added to the amazing qualities he possessed. I am a Libran, a great appreciator of beauty. I could find beauty in a motorcycle accident, so my fascination in my housemate really isn't the contradiction to my heterosexuality it seems. "You saw her?" I asked him, thinking back to how I had left Anathema that night. "Yes, she was lying on her back. The blanket you must have given her had been thrown off. I was? well, not entirely surprised until I saw her?defect." "I don't see her wings as a defect." I said darkly. "I thought you wouldn't, which is why I'm not surprised you love her. Or, at least," he added, "are attracted to her." "Anyway," I said, on a lighter note, "You think her wings are a defect? You should see her tongue." "I don't think I want to get into that?" Greg replied uncomfortably. I laughed and twiddled the feather in between my fingers, dreaming of stonefruit. It was a pleasant Saturday morning. "Is she coming back?" he asked me. "I don't know." I said quietly, suddenly close to tears. "If you love something, set it free?" he whispered, more to himself than to me. "If it doesn't come back to you, hunt it down and kill it." I said, feeling my consciousness allocating 'delirium' as a descriptive. "I'm going to bed." I said sadly, and left Greg to his thoughts. I awoke again to the smell of nectarines. I was in an orchard, it was winter - the fruit trees that surrounded me were either dead or dormant, their branches laden with rotten fruit and thousands upon thousands of ravens. A gunshot startled them into flight, a swirling black tornado above me raining black feathers. From the fluttering mass above me, droplets of blood began to stain the snow on which I lay, causing me to look up and see Anathema hanging above me, her white skin cloaked in green robes, her eyes bleeding profusely. She seemed suspended above me by some invisible crucifix, her wrists and ankles stretched and immobile, her robes hanging loosely from her frail body. All of a sudden, she dropped slightly and seemed to open from a slit directly down her middle - a sudden deluge of blood engulfing me and causing me to sit upright - - in my bed, covered in sweat. What a cliché way to wake up, I thought. I will have to try harder next time. Bad dreams were not uncommon to me, most nights I spent in strange, dark gardens, windowless dungeons, my childhood home's kitchen, where I was frequently abused by my father as my mute stepmother was forced to watch. Contrary to many fairytales, she loved me more than my father did, and I felt the same affection towards her. My father had never forgiven himself for the way he treated me, but I had, as physical and sexual abuse was hereditary in our family, to a point. My mother told me before my father killed her when I was six that I was strong, and it would not have the same effect on me than it did on him. I had had problems with my sanity in the early years of my adolescence, but apart from that there were no other manifestations of my childhood treatment. My mother was murdered, my father committed suicide on my eighteenth birthday, my stepmother mute as the result of an attack from my father but otherwise unharmed. I pitied her for falling into such a harmful trap as my father, but she was a kind, intelligent woman and dealt with the 'evils of the world' as she called them, with grace. She took care of me when my father was jailed when I was fifteen, having married him when I was seven, and taught me sign language and everything I needed to know but was never taught. When my father was released three years later, he talked to me one night about his time in jail and how he did not deserve my forgiveness. I gave it to him anyway. Seemingly content with the way things had ended but scared of it getting any worse, he hung himself later that night. My stepmother, a seemingly sweet woman, approved of his decision and watched him do it. Although I could not see my father, I could see her in the doorway to the living room, and was in plain view of her face, and her beautiful smile. It all made sense when I walked towards her and saw my father hanging from the exposed rafters, jerking like a marionette puppet from the electrical cord and grasping at his neck like he'd changed his mind. Perhaps he had, in those last few moments of his life. Perhaps he had glimpsed death and shied away from it, promised to be a better father, a better man. Perhaps they all had? but a few seconds later he was still. I don't tell people my story because I myself am surprised at how unaffected I was by it. If I had told them the truth, about how my life got better after I watched my father die his violent death, how that event made me a happier person, they would just think that I was messed up and leave me alone. I am confused as to whether or not I want this from people. My uncles, aunts and grandparents all frowned deeply upon my father and both of my mothers' lives, and this did not change when two of them passed away. My immediate family was corrupted, understandable, forgivable, but nevertheless wrong - my lesser immediate family was cold, heartless and ignorant. I was stuck in the middle of it all, ensnared in many webs of many descriptions. I was distant and peaceful, quiet, dark, brooding - an enigma. I had scars, both emotional and physical, but never did I let my past direct me. I distanced myself from people, as not to hurt them, but those I came close to I didn't hurt anyway. I preferred to not ponder too hard upon why. It was Monday evening when I saw Anathema again. I was walking home from work when I passed her in the street. She had tied her hair back into a stylish bun, and was dressed in a black business suit, a blue mobile phone on one ear, a briefcase in the opposite hand, wraparound sunglasses covering her daunting green eyes. She looked completely different, yet I knew it was she. She smelt strongly of nectarines, and spoke into the mobile phone showing neither teeth nor tongue. It were as if she was only there simply to walk past me - to assure me of her existence, her safety. I did not see her eyes but felt watched enough to know. Her sudden appearance and disappearance - she was nowhere to be seen when I turned around - promised a return. I walked home quickly. A garden, cloaked in shadow, every plant withered and dieing, all stems writhed in thorns and spikes. Monochrome. Crumbling stonewalls still impassable. A flash of colour. I look down - a nectarine. I pick it up, it seems supple, ripe - it's aroma is strong and erotic to my seemingly dull senses. I rip the flesh open with my hands and watch as the inner flesh writhes with black maggots, fattened on blood and rotting flesh. I hear a laugh, and look up - Anathema is standing before me, clad again in green robes stained with blood and (I suspected) the juice of nectarines. She snatches the nectarine and eats it greedily, swallowing the stone at the centre and smiling contently, wickedly. She reaches out for me and I do not resist, she kneels down pulling me with her, and then on top of her as she lies back on the mat of dense, rotting foliage. I closed/opened my eyes to see Greg sitting next to me, a cup of coffee in his hand. "Sleep well?" he asked me brightly, showing no knowledge of any sign I may have shown of my dream. "No." I replied, taking the coffee from him. Greg suddenly leant forward and took the cup from me, placing it on the floor and then kissing me passionately on the mouth. A long, rancid, black tongue curled out and parted my teeth, moving inside my mouth and taking me completely by surprise. I was to shocked to move, but when I pulled away however it was not Greg who sat beside me but Anathema, sitting naked and as lovely as ever on the side of the bad. She ruffled her wings excitedly and laughed. "You sure?" she asked jestingly. I laughed and lay back on the pillow, looking up at the ceiling. Anathema crawled under the covers with me and, to my utter astonishment, retracted her massive raven black wings into her trapezius, leaving only two slits about twenty centimetres long each, running parallel down either side of her spine. She kissed me again, this time not tasting of rotting flesh but of nectarines, her sharp teeth abrading my tongue as I slid it inside her. I tasted blood, my own or otherwise I couldn't tell. It was the most enjoyable sensation, I had ever experienced in my life. Anathema seemed to think the same thing, and after what seemed like hours, she pulled away from me and fell fast asleep next to me. I picked up my cup of coffee and noticed the newspaper beside it. Picking it up, I read the headline with mounting horror: TEENAGE STUDENT MURDERED Late Monday night, residents reported screams in the CBD area of the city. Early this morning, the body of Melissa Harding was found by investigating police officials. The eighteen year-old's body had been horribly mutilated and appeared to have been fed on by something human, according to a coroner's postmortem report. Much of the girls flesh had been removed completely, bitten off by what appears to be sharpened human teeth, and the body had been scratched deeply by human fingernails approximately 1.5 inches long. No part of the girl's body was left in tact. The only evidence to the killer was a multitude of black feathers found at the crime scene. Close study of the feathers turned up no match to the animal they may have some from. Investigators are baffled as to what creature could have been capable of such a crime? The rest was lost as Anathema reached up and expertly slit the newspaper in half with a bloodstained fingernail, and shredded the rest in much the same manner. I, adapting much the same nefarious attitude in my stepmother and in Anathema herself, kissed Anathema on the forehead, lay down beside her once more and went back to sleep. To Be Continued.....

Aha! The long-awaited story has arrived, at last. I know people find it hard to tell me it's good to my face, but despite that I have been told that this is an excellent story and that I am probably the best writer [people] have ever read!!! (you are right, [person] does not get out much.0 But I am very proud of this story, and I think you will enjoy it!!!! (BTW, this is only the beginning....) Anathema She sat, devilishly, picking the recently devoured nectarine from her teeth and staring me dead in the eye. I felt myself pinned to the wall by her green jewelled gaze, the irises highlighted as it seemed the only coloured part of her. White skin, jet black hair, even the sleek reflective feathers coating the massive pair of winds sprouting from her sharp scapulars were pitch black, the faintest tint of midnight blue edging the reflections of light. I was quite sure it was a she - her nakedness betrayed that. I called her Nowonmai, which is backwards for I am no one, my interest in horror films paying a part in that decision. Her voice had a rough, scratchy quality, probably through disuse I assumed, and although she was naked she seemed clean and unflawed. A closer inspection from a safe distance did not turn up any scratches, stains, bruises or the like on her skin and her hair was slightly ruffled but well looked after and was untangled. We sat in the kitchen for what seemed like hours, her perched upon the bench in front of the open window in which she flew, I having slid down the wall and now sat in the corner opposite her, our eyes locked in a confusing battle. She seemed terrified, quivering and tense - but her eyes conveyed a different set of emotions. Trust mainly, intense caution, and acute mounting curiosity. I dared not move, but the sudden attention from a neighbourhood cat hissing at the back door startled her and she attempted to fly out the window. Her wings outstretched suddenly measured what could be three metres at least. Caught up in the framework of the window, she quickly became a screaming, thrashing mass frantically struggling and twisting to free herself. My aunt was a falconer, so I had some experience in the matter of struggling birds and I felt if I did not do something soon she might smash the window and injure herself. I went to her and reached up and out, grasping the top of her wings and pushing them in towards her back. She was incredibly strong, and I found myself torn suddenly between her power and animosity and stunning allure. Momentarily distracted by the twisting, smooth curves of black and white under my fingers, the pressure I was applying waned. She seized the advantage and turned to face me, ducking under my left arm. There was a pause, and I detected the scent of rotten flesh mingling with the aroma of nectarines on her breath. This was not enough, however, to bring me back to earth about what I really held in my arms. Still breathing heavily from the struggle, my heart beat quite strongly and this became apparent to her when she suddenly reached forward and placed her palms against my chest to push me away. She stopped, however, when felt my racing pulse. Changing tactics swiftly, she took my fascination to her advantage and pushed herself closer to me, laughing savagely. A long, rancid black tongue curled from behind sharp, yellow teeth and ran itself up my cheek. Her approach had the desired effect - I found myself recoiling quickly across the kitchen. Long, talonous nails scrabbled across white tiles and I closed my eyes tightly against the pain when she stood on my bare feet and rose to her full height, pinning my arms to the wall behind me. "Insolentia?damnum!" she breathed into my face. "I don't understand you?" I whispered back, frantically trying to understand what she was saying. Slowly, she lessened the pressure on one of my wrists, and pulled my hand towards her, fingers outstretched. I resisted, but my strength was no match and her fingernails, an inch long each at the least, were dangerously close to the delicate skin on my inner wrist. She smiled horribly and pressed my open palm against the soft curve of her breast. I gasped, my heart racing, the blood draining out of my head and finding business elsewhere. She laughed, placing both of her hands on my shoulders and leaning in towards me, smiling. I found I could not pull my hand away, and was confused as to whether I wanted to or not. Leaning close to my ear, she whispered something that sounded startlingly like "you don't want me, so don't touch me?". I gasped again, and looked at her confusedly. Pulling my hand away quickly and scrabbling into the corner once more, I said to her, "I was? trying to help you? you were going to hurt yourself?" thinking that a show of amazement over her sudden language change would bore and infuriate her. She gave me a confused look and stood up over me once more. Her beautiful figure (what made me think that?) was momentarily silhouetted against the window light, giving her the appearance of an angel. I had no idea what she really was, she may have been an angel, I had no prior experience of paranormal beings so I was not sure. Whatever it was, I was disgusted at myself for being turned on by it. She sensed it, and kicked me in the groin before stalking off down the hallway. I passed out from a combination of shock, distress, fear and pain. When I awoke, my watch told me it was eight o'clock. Four hours had passed. I found her lying asleep on my bed on her stomach, a half-devoured nectarine on the pillow beside her head. I felt a great sense of awe as I leant in the doorframe and watched her as she seemed so fearless and relaxed, whereas if I were in her position I would be so scared that I would have never ceased my struggle with the kitchen window. She was still unclothed, and night had fallen bringing the cold with it. Resisting the urge to touch her pallid skin, I held my palm above the small of her back and was surprised to feel the iciness radiating from it. Glancing around, I found a spare blanket folded up under a chair and threw it over her, careful not to run it up against the feathers on her wings. Pulling it down to cover her feet, I went to sleep in my housemate's bed, hoping he would not return for the night. "Damien, wake up." I opened my eyes groggily and blinked in the darkness. Greg, my housemate, was sitting next to me. "What time is it?" I asked. "About eleven or so. I just got in. Why are you sleeping in here?" Straight to the point, he was worried. "Go and have a look why. Don't touch her, mind." "I saw that. It's not Melissa, I know that." "It's not human, either." Silence. 'Um, well? I suppose tonight we'll sleep here and? sort it out tomorrow." Greg and I weren't that close, but this was really the only option. "Sounds good." I said, and rolling over to the far side of the bed, I fell fast asleep. I awoke the next morning to the smell of nectarines. She was sitting on my abdomen, straddling me, a half-devoured nectarine in her hand. Greg was not yet awake, and I felt the urge to keep it that way, at least for the time being. She offered me the nectarine, but I could see she didn't want to part with it. This confused me, as it implied some sort of courtesy, which was quite out of place for some demon beast that flew in my window late yesterday afternoon. But my life seemed full of surprises lately. "Last one." She said. "We'll get some more, if you like." I whispered, motioning for her to keep quiet. When she looked at me questioningly, I thought she didn't understand me at first, but when Greg stirred beside her, she clamped her hand over her mouth and looked at me apologetically. Greg was sound asleep however, and I continued the conversation in a hushed tone. "You speak english now? I asked her. "Yes." "What do you speak usually?" "Latin." This made sense - the phrases she spat at me yesterday sounded familiar yet I could not place them. I motioned to the nectarine in her hand. "You like those?" I asked her. She nodded and shoved the rest of it in her mouth as if to confirm the statement. I suddenly became horribly aware of the presence of a naked angel/demon thing sitting on my pelvis and the consequences it brought, and immediately became scared as she seemed to be able to sense it and it tended to infuriate her, as yesterday showed. "Can you tell what I am thinking?" I asked her. "Sense emotion sometimes if strong." She told me. "And now??" "Fear?" she mused. I showed relief. "?Arousal?", she continued, noting with obvious glee the horrified reaction I gave. "It's alright," she reassured me. "I know you won't try anything. You are too scared of me." She was right. This was the most I had ever heard her speak, and a slight european accent was showing through the rasped edges of her voice. By now, her voice had taken on a tone not of disuse, but a tone of evil. She sounded demonic, baneful. She suddenly appeared to me in a different light - not a scared creature shot from the sky, but a nefarious, vile creature from depths only the mad speak of. Her incredible beauty did not contradict that, either, but rather compliment it - a tool with which she could reach people easily, a cunning deceitful trap or guise. Pure evil. I suddenly realised that she was a magnificent and wicked creature that deserved as much reverence as caution. "Anathema?" I muttered under my breath. "As you wish." She whispered in apathy, she had other things on her mind. "What you call me is your choice. What I call me, however?." She paused. "Yes?" "?is irrelevant." Anathema glanced around, taking in her surroundings. I noted, with some surprise, and much confusion, that I was not scared of her in the slightest any more. She had obvious tendencies for violence, pain, and I was assuming bloodlust, but why I did not think it would apply to me I was not sure. "Anathema?" I started, still careful to keep my voice down, as Greg was still fast asleep next to us. She looked at me sharply. "Why am I not scared of you?" I asked her, an intelligence test of sorts. "Because you have nothing to fear of me." 'Why?" "I would not harm you. I have no reason to. You seem to think that I am the type of demon that harms people unnecessarily. You are quite right - I cause harm because I enjoy doing so intensely. But with you? you did not cage me, you did not attempt to fight me, neither did you run from me. In fact, you helped me, and fed me." "Well, actually, you fed yourself." "No matter. I have experienced people with evil that exceeds my own. You are different. Besides, you actually really like me. Even though you know what I am capable of. Well, you think you know?" "I have a feeling that I have no idea what you are capable of." I said, a compliment to her more than anything. "You are right." I had a feeling she was not bragging , simply telling the truth, as she would have no reason for modesty. After all, she was right. Another thing sprang to mind. "Where are you from?" I asked her, genuine interest on my face. "I can honestly say you would not believe me." "Don't standardise me." "I was created out of the minds of those who know the real truth of evil. The broken, the?" she paused, searching for the right word. "?insane." Startlingly like a previous thought of mine, I realised. "The knowledge and truth of darkness was too much, it shattered their consciousness and drove them mad." "Who, specifically, are they?" She just snorted, and stood up, muttering under her breath, "Chemical imbalance my ***." This statement told me alone that she had been in this realm before. The english she spoke was fluent, but the sudden use of slang surprised me. It also implied that she knew much, perhaps all, about who she was and why she had come to be. In fact, it would not surprise me if she knew everything. Perhaps I had just read too many Anne Rice novels. "What are you?" I asked her as she stood over me eating the nectarine, oblivious of the view her position gave me and the effect it had on my genitalia. "I don't know." "You're lying to me," I said, with some sincerity. "I know." She replied, with complete sincerity. Suddenly Greg awoke beside me, and as I turned to him there was a fluttering sound and Anathema had disappeared. A black feather lay beside me on the blanket. Greg looked at me and blinked. "Have you been eating my nectarines?" he asked me. "Yes." I said, and left.

[color=darkgreen][I]Alastuin stops running after a few minutes and leans against a large oak tree, removing the spider from her mouth and replacing it in it's box. Peering around her, she was glad to see no signs of pursuit. However, after what she had just seen from this person, there probably would not be any signs of pursuit. She pats her pocket reassuringly and continues on, and then suddenly swears loudly and wheels around on one foot and begins to walk back to the campsite. 'That's why he didn't tell me what he did, he's a bloody thief!!" Sniffing the air for trces of smoke, and finding none, she soon finds herself back at her house. Cursing loudly, she walks back inside her house and begins to pack.[/I][/color]

[color=darkgreen]Alastuin: My name is Alastuin. Davien: I know that. Alastuin:..... Davien:..... Alastuin:..... Davien(very annoyed): Well?! Alastuin: Well what? Davien: Who are you?!? Alastuin: Oh! you want to know [I]more[/I]. Davien:[I]Yes...[/I] Alastuin: I am a healer. i ran out of witchhazle, went off to get some more from Kendale, and I smelt smoke. I went into the forest to look for it, and climbed up that tree to see down into your little hollow. Then, figuring that it was probably dangerous for me to be out this late, I decided to...um... use your company as a safety shield for the night. But now that the morn hath risen... Davien: You spyed on me and then used me? Alastuin:...I am going to run away now. Goodbye! [I]Alastuin slipped the spider into her mouth and began sprinting through the forest, picking up her staff as she ran past it. Davien, after a moments pause, ran after her but could not keep up with her for long. Soon, she had disappeared down the track to Kendale. Deciding to be done with her, Davien decides to forget all about the treacherous cow until he sees her moneybag lying on the bracken near the firepit. Curseing, he retrieves it and gathers his belongings, setting off down the road to Kendale, Raiett circling high above.[/I][/color]

Haha, is it a true story? My dog is scared of pasta, and all three of my cats can't stand Neighbours, the TV show. but then again, neither can I.

Wow, I would never have thought the bible would come up with something like that. Lest of all the corinthians, whoever they are... And although I am deeply in love at the moment, that didn't really strike a note with me. Personification of an emotion doesn't seem to click, I think... perhaps it just means that they are the qualities love brings ou in a person. Nice rhythm, though.

Well, if it's easy to get OUT of the us, and you live in NZ, and EVERYONE LOVES new zealand... why doesn't your dad come and visit you for three months? Then you wouldn't have to leave your pc! Or go to an american public school, which happens to be one of my worst nightmares! And everybody will be in NZ, and everybody will be happy, including the US, because that's one potential terrorist (a fourteen year old new zealander at that) out of the way. See, you can't go wrong with this!!!! Until, of course, your father returns to his country and tells everyone what a fantastic time he had, and suddenly EVERYBODY wants to go to NZ, and that INCLUDES all the people from the american public school system, and all the terrorist trainees, and the us government, which includes the us immigration services... and I don't think that NZ deserves that. No, hang on - I don't think the US governmental department of immigration deserves that. And it CERTAINLY wouldn't afford that, what with the $110 dollars they made out visa fees... besides, they are probably far too busy denying visas to spend the time on a holiday....