Sign Up Ghosts In My View

[Raiha]

[SIZE="3"][COLOR="DarkOrchid"][FONT="Times New Roman"][i]My name is Grace, and I live with the memories of my best friend from high school in my mind. I can see Jennifer Tam’s thoughts all the time, respond to questions my friends ask me like she would, see things through her eyes when I want to. But I don’t want to. I want to be me. These days there are a lot of people out there with ghosts on their shoulders, in their thoughts, on their minds. I know one friend has the memory of every woman that came before her on the maternal line of her family. She’s not insane yet, but she has a focus for her life. I know my uncle lost his mind when he absorbed the memories of his ex wife and his current wife when both died under mysterious circumstances. These days I no longer stay near what’s left of my family. People too close to me have been dying left and right. My sister now holds our entire family in her mind, save me, and we only communicate every now and then. I live with Carol, the one with her female side in her mind, and we stay together as much as we can in the house that belongs to a Mrs. Young. Her two daughters and two sons live in her mind along with her ex husband. And she’s slowly been going insane ever since. Some days she sounds just like her daughter, Rochelle, who had the strongest personality, and other days she asks me if I have a match. Her eldest son was a pothead, and that discovery both reviled her and made her start to experiment more and more with things her conservative sensibilities had always shunned. Sometimes Eros joins us, not that Eros is really his name, but that’s what he calls himself now. My old friend Chris, has his ex girlfriends, all ten of them in his head now. A lot of us have changed our names to suit the thoughts we have in us now.

Grace was my middle name, but now it’s my first name, and my only name. I can’t call myself by my last name anymore because while I’m still D’Ann sometimes, I’m now a living embodiment of my middle name. Jennifer was a dancer, a gymnast, and my body now knows how to do what she could do. The other day I slipped and fell down the stairs but landed in the splits, landed perfectly in fact, and didn’t hurt myself even a little. This morning I needed to reach something on a high shelf in the kitchen, Carol actually wanted to make crepes and experiment with her great-great-great grandmother’s recipe and I found myself standing on the perfect pointe I’d never been able to achieve in ballet, capable of reaching everything. When I brought it down to her I sank down into a third position without even realizing it, and struggled for the next half hour to regain my own thoughts and put them in order. Right now I’m writing because I know if I stop I’ll have to think harder about those memories Jennifer has of me and her and our friends that went to high school together. I don’t want to think about them. I know she didn’t mind me, and I know we were friends, but seeing myself through someone else’s eyes makes me uncomfortable. I’m afraid too. Afraid I’ll turn out like the crazy people that roam the streets at night. Filled with the strength of more than just their own bodies, they’re capable of things. Things that I can do, multiplied by however many personas they have now. Carol for one can smash through a cast iron pot with just her fist. All those women, all of that power is now inside her. I’m afraid of what could happen if the right person had the wrong trigger, and came gunning for us.

But we keep a low profile. Life as we know it has disintegrated, but I knew I did the right thing when I came to Mrs. Young’s house. She was afraid of Y2K, and has a house well stocked for any emergency, generator, gasoline, tons of water and canned and dry goods. And she has a garden and a well guarded one at that. And dogs. We have dogs now. Several strays that we cleaned up, brushed up, and named and tagged. They consisted of Josie the bulldog, Carlotta the greyhound, and Escobar the Rottweiler, all of them members of our family. They followed Carol and me around the house, begging for food, pretending like we didn’t feed them. The posers. Chris visited earlier and he had yet another personality that had finally surfaced, and going through yearbooks, we were able to pin it on a girl that had always liked him, but never dated. I wondered what happened, but too late, her name appeared in the death lists that were always updating online. Some enterprising and relatively sane person had started a list, where you could update whoever you had in your mind. The people who had their personalities taken tended to die immediately, or go into comas and die soon after. I knew my family had died in a car crash. Kayla survived somehow by being thrown a safe distance, and I knew the memory of it was killing her slowly. Quietly. I sighed and threw down my pen and walked towards the window, drawing up the shades for the coming night.

As I did, I noticed a flicker of movement in the yard next to Mrs. Young’s, and I felt my body tense up in anticipation, the gymnast inside me preparing to unleash and unlock the muscles that would be necessary to respond. Upstairs I knew Eros was writing furiously in his notebook, he too using the only method we had at hand to keep the thoughts and individuality sorted out. And immediately across from me was the kitchen, open, exposed, where Carol was sorting green beans and tofu to prepare for our dinner. I checked the door once more, then unlocked it carefully and strolled almost uncaringly over to Carol, leaning against her shoulder as if helping her strain everything.[/i]

“Someone is coming. Might be an Eater. Someone going for Chris or you.”

“You’re being modest again. Why wouldn’t anyone want your body and all of your memories too?”

“Eh. I’m too boring. I’ll ambush from behind, do you have the knives ready next to you? It’s a straight shot to the door.”

“No worries. Get ready.” [i]I smiled and moved back towards the foyer, climbing up the raised marble walls to prop myself just above the front door. Legs spread to brace myself just above the entry way, I placed my arms out as well, the flexibility feeling both natural and unnatural at the same time. Carol quietly opened the drawer to her right and withdrew six throwing knives. Apparently one of her female ancestors had either been an assassin or simply a well-trained martial artist, she was close mouthed on the subject and I didn’t want to pry. As predicted, the door burst open beneath me and I dropped like a ton of bricks, my right leg extended for a quick blow to the back of the neck. The intruder, who not only was in fact an Eater, but clearly a very voracious one, turned to catch me but fell, pierced through the back in three places. I turned and for a brief instant I saw Carol with her right arm raised high above her head, two more knives held in an attack position. But it wasn’t necessary; already the Eater was coughing up his life’s blood and writhing spasmodically in his final throes of death. I backed away for an instant, then kicked his body out of the house, and slammed the door, locking it twice behind me. Carol replaced her knives in the drawer and returned to straining the tofu as if nothing had happened. Eros slid down the banister of the first staircase and walked into the living room.[/i]

“Another Eater?”

“Carol took him down.”

“With some help of course.” [i]I mugged a modest expression that I knew was Jennifer’s and not mine and turned to help with dinner. Eros walked back upstairs and went back to his journaling, wondering if he’d ever be able to get them all straightened out. I sympathized. Some of the personas had the same name. With a sour thought for the lack of creativity in today’s parents and in his choice of girlfriends, I sat down on the sofa and tinkered with the 9mm Jennifer had also known how to use.[/i][/SIZE]

[center]~~~~~~~~~~~[/center]

Welcome to Ghost In My View. As you may have guessed, the world’s gone completely insane. People are absorbing the thoughts and memories and entire lifetimes of people around them, usually significant others, family members, or very close friends. Some can accept it and go on with their lives, some go crazy, and some die soon after of self-inflicted wounds. Your job will be clinging to the frayed ends of your sanity and keeping one step ahead of the Eaters that constantly seek more people to consume. If you kill someone, you can absorb their thoughts if you desire, by keeping physical contact with them in the last moments of their life, but if you’re alive, you probably already have too many memories inside to keep straight without the help of the friends who are still alive.

Join me at Mrs. Young’s house, wake up from a coma, or quietly go insane on your own. This will be a dark, psychological game for the mature and intermediate to advanced writer. Signups should be relatively straightforward. Introduce yourself in a story format as I did, a little background, drop hints as to your build, abilities, and appearance, but if you have a real life face shot of yourself, or someone you know that you’d like to use, please include it.

You have, one week.
[/FONT][/COLOR]

[Korey]

[FONT="Franklin Gothic Medium"]Gah, this is complicated but I love the aspect of having other's conscious/memories being a part of my own consciousness...so why not?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
[COLOR="Gray"][I]If I would have known. If I would have known she'd betray me like that, I never would have met her in the first place. She's the reason why I can't sleep at night. The reason why I can't ever find peace. The reason why I'm constantly on the run from these "things". Why are they coming after me? What did I do to deserve such a hellish existance? Sometimes it's the voices in my head that scare me more than the monsters in the real world. They are always reminding me...

"You loved her. You still do. Now go and find her."

It drives me absolutely insane. The only way I can keep my sanity is to light up every now and then. It's a bad habit that never would have manifested had it not been for that night. What, you want to know what happened? Screw you. You don't wanna know, because if you knew...you'd be in the same boat as me and trust me, you wouldn't find it to be too comforting.

For some reason though, I'm good at two things. One, would be messing lives up. Two, would be martial arts. The second makes no sense to me, as I was never good at martial arts. That would have been my brother. He was always the jock-ish type, while I slinked around the anti-social circles. I hated him for being so popular, with so little effort. I wished he'd go die in a fire. Shockingly, he did. He was with his girlfriend doing whatever they did together on Friday nights. I didn't pry, because it was pretty obvious he was messing around with this girl. I hated her too. She was one of those "good girlfriends". The kind that always called you just to say 'Hi', the one who surprised you with a visit. The one that you would do anything for. Blech. I'm kinda glad she died, because she made me sick with her purity.

That's why I was relieved when I found her. She was a girl that always gave it to me straight, often times rather bluntly, but I appreciated that. She had skeletons in her closet and she would show them off to you with a sadistic grin on her face. She was rude, she was forceful, and I loved it. Oh here I go again, ranting about crap that is over and done. Now all I can do is run. So that's why I'm sitting here in this run-down apartment building, hiding out until they find me again. Clinging onto the one thing that I shouldn't be keeping. A small photo of me actually happy with her. It's probably the only picture that I have of me smiling. I feel something moist run down my cheek. I rub it off quickly.

"*sighs* Feh, old habits die hard"

I hear a crash outside the building. I peer outside and see a small house being broken into by one of them.

"What the hell? What is he going in there for? Can't he sense me? Unless..."

There's no way. No possiblity. How can someone else have what I have? I sit there and ponder what my options are. I don't just show up and go "Hey guys! You going insane too?". But curiosity only killed the cat, didn't say anything about me.

"*sighs again, to reassure himself* Ok Korey, let's see what the fuss is".

I grab my jacket, stuff the picture back in my pocket and take one last drag before heading out.

Showtime.[/COLOR] [/I]
~~~~~~~~~~

Since this thing is being a little bugger about the attachments, a link will have to do.

[URL="http://i89.photobucket.com/albums/k221/HaruharaK/DSC00083.jpg"][U]Bask in my BS.[/U][/URL][/FONT]

[Raiha]

[COLOR="DarkOrchid"][FONT="Times New Roman"]I probably should've mentioned, there's positions besides persona carrying humans, there are also positions of news broadcasters, scientists studying the phenomena, and also just plain eaters.

These are not full time posting positions, merely extras to distract from the main concept of people going snook-a-loopy.

Your signups however, should follow the same idea, although you don't necessarily have to include a picture. Aren't I nice?[/FONT][/COLOR]

[Imp]

[quote][color=indigo][right]18 August 2003[/right]
Dear Celia,

[i]"You've been cursed, my child. The Murakage blood coursing throughout you flows in dark rivers of misfortune. Try you may to infuse these rivers with the golden rays of the sun, yet no light by any means shall dispel the shadows."[/i]

Those words of yours resonate inside me so frequently nowadays that I often feel as if my life is a repeating melancholy song I just drift through in silence. I wake up every evening and these are the first words running through my mind, as if they're ghosts that gather around me at sunset and await my arising. For the first hour I watch the last specks of sunlight disappear underneath the horizon while contemplating these very words. While doing so, I think about how you kept saying them to my childhood self whenever you could. Coming from you, I remember those words resembled a lullaby, one designed to give me nightmares instead of pleasant dreams.

I also think about the Murakage family in general. All of our ancestors have been known to arouse bad luck, and some of us had an affinity and/or talent for putting curses on people. That I believe is where the origin of the Murakage family's own curse is. I know you know all of this; I'm just reassuring you that I have not forgotten about our heritage at all.

[right]Your great-granddaughter,
Yamiko[/color][/right][/quote]

[quote][color=indigo][right]27 May 2004[/right]
Dear Lupin,

Lupin... or Edwin, as your parents and foster parents still call you... I swear my heart cries out in agony whenever I think about you, which is really bad because I think about you pretty much every moment. Seriously, it is excruciatingly difficult to [i]not[/i] think about you. It even gets to the point where I'm slowly being absorbed by you. It's like I'm surrounded by a pack of wolves, just waiting to be devoured... (Does that add to the million reasons why "Lupin" is the [i]perfect[/i] nickname for you? Your higher self really spoke through you when you picked it.)

I miss the Black Cat Bandits--really, the idea of them was [i]brilliant.[/i] I especially loved how they were not as violent as your typical gang but were much more sneaky and clever, and didn't have some extraneous goal of ruling the world or something. In fact, I frequently have dreams about what you guys did before I was even in the picture. But they can't be ordinary dreams because I remember them so clearly. It's as if I can read your mind, that I have access to your memories!

Well, this reassures me. I feel now as if I can still contact you even after you've passed away. Yet no longer will we hold each other in our arms, and no longer will our lips rub against each other... There I go, ambivalent as usual.

[right]Your lover in peace,
Yamiko[/right]

P.S. Mr. D wants a second child, go figure... I still consider it a miracle how you and I were able to have a son. I guess Mr. D isn't satisfied with just Ringo.[/color][/quote]

[quote][color=indigo][right]2 April 2006[/right]
Dear Lupin,

Guess what I did for April Fools! I played a trick on Mr. D by stealing his wallet. I snuck up behind him, waited until he was occupied with reaching for something on a shelf, motioned my right hand to his pocket, grabbed the wallet with two fingers, and...flick!... a split second later it was hidden up my sleeve. Mr. D didn't know his wallet was missing until he went to the store and went to take it out! And later that night, I accidentally locked my keys inside my car, and had this wild idea of trying to pick the lock on the door to get in. I did it, flawlessly in fact. The strange part is that both of these were things [i]you[/i] would have been good at. It's as if I've acquired every single one of your skills! Not to mention I feel as if my senses have heightened a bit, and I can run faster and for a longer time than I could before. I really am amazed at this...

But I am also amazed at how perfect we are for each other, a wonderful combination of similarities and differences. We both came from poor parents. We both had to deal with cruel men in our early lives. Our complexions are both thin enough to barely avoid looking weak or dead, yet we both are able to move around well. True, your hair is curly and blond while mine is red and straight, you wear glasses while I don't, and we were born across the pawn from each other, but that only makes things more interesting between us. It's too bad all this is in the past now...

But I'm also excited about Panther--she'll finally be racing in the Grand Prix this year, as was her dream! I'm also excited about spending time with Suzette, my new daughter.

[right]Best wishes,
Yamiko[/right]

P.S. When I went to Merlin's a few nights ago, I tried on your coat--and it actually fit pretty well, other than the fact that Merlin will have to take the shoulders in a bit before he gives it to me. He said it looks lovely on me though, that I look "as beautiful as a night goddess" in black. Plus I love the purple satin that lines it. I think I'll wear it occasionally for a little fun.[/color][/quote]

[quote][color=indigo][right]7 October 2008[/right]
Dear Celia,

It seems I'm turning into you as well, for I've taken up an interest in gardening for some reason. I'm especially fond of growing herbs, roses, and strawberries, just like you were.

But my relationship with Remy is not going well. Our souls have our backs turned to each other, and are drifting further and further apart as time inevitably passes by. Lately I've been surprised at a new bitterness my personality has taken on, and I'm a lot less emotional than I used to be--in fact, nowadays I'm a bit afraid of showing my emotions, quite the contrary of how it was in my teenage years. I think part of what drew Remy to me was how freely I express my passion, my happiness, the beauty I see in life... and I swear his heart melted every time I cried. But now I'm seeming cold and stern, and for some reason I never feel like spending time with Ringo or Suzette. I [i]want[/i] to go back to my old self, but I just... can't; I have no control over it.

But back to the curse... although I have access to your memories, I still have one question about the curse: is there any way it can be cured?

[right]Your hopeless great-grandchild,
Yamiko[/right][/color][/quote]

[quote][color=indigo][right]18 July 2010[/right]
Dear Lupin,

The wolves that have been surrounding me have attacked me, and are about to devour me. I really need a pleasant dream now... for just as I predicted, I've been having nightmares about your past, such that make me wake up the following evening in tears. During one such dream, I screamed so loudly that I woke Mr. D and the neighbors up. I fear I am losing it...

These days, both Merlin and Mr. D are worried about me--in fact, both say I'm "no longer Yamiko--just a fusion of Celia and Lupin". As far as my turning into you goes... as you can tell by reading this letter, my handwriting has changed to match yours. I also speak in somewhat of a British accent. And, just like you did, I take every measure to avoid being in sunlight--I even carry a parasol with me during the daytime. And to Mr. D's dismay, I've become nocturnal, just like you were. In fact, I frequently wander about the city at night, usually looking for trouble or secret places. That's occasionally fun, but once morning comes, I face a slew of complaints from Mr. D about my behaviour. He really wants me to snap out of it...

Lately, all sorts of people have been turning away from me--not just Mr. D. Suzette refuses to talk to me or even look at me, and she often cries whenever I try to talk to her. Whenever I call Halberd, Warren, or Gon, or knock on the doors to their houses, they never answer. In fact, Warren has threatened to arrest me for various crimes I've committed if I "bother him" again. What in the world is going on? Why is everyone against me?

Thank goodness I still have Ringo, at least. And thank goodness Merlin still finds some kind words to say to me. Nowadays I feel like I'm barely hanging on to those good things, but one more calamity in my life and I fear I will fall into the abyss of insanity...

[right]Forever your lover,
Yamiko[/right][/color][/quote]

[quote][color=indigo][right]28 August 2010[/right]
Dear anyone who will listen to me,

Just as I feared, one more miserable weight pulled me down further, and I think this one caused the rope that held me high above the pit of insanity to snap. For just a week ago, Panther died shortly after a serious racecar accident, and I made the grave mistake of staying with her in the hospital while she died. Now [i]her[/i] memories and presence are haunting me too! It was such a shock that it paralysed me--not only physically, but mentally; I could hardly think straight.

Currently I am writing from the house of a Mrs. Young, but I don't know why I'm here or what to do with myself from this point forward. Perhaps I'll stay a while and tread the dark waters of doom, while voicing my final cry for help. Maybe there is the tiny chance that help will come, but chances are I'll just wait until I sink to the bottom and drown... and then hopefully I'll be reborn into a new, better life. It's a win-win situation, I suppose.

[right]A soul in distress,
Yamiko Murakage[/right][/color][/quote]

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
OOC: There, all better. Good thing I kept Yamiko's current location ambiguous...

EDIT:

[color=indigo][size=1][center][b][u]Glossary[/u][/center]
Black Cat Bandits:[/b] A sort of gang consisting of Halberd, Warren, Merlin, and Lupin. Disbanded after Lupin's death.
[b]*Celia:[/b] Yamiko's great-grandmother, who supposedly put a curse on her.
[b]Gon:[/b] A co-worker of Halberd and old friend of Yamiko. A geek, but still a good friend...
[b]Halberd:[/b] A mechanic and friend of Lupin.
[b]*Lupin:[/b] Yamiko's would-be husband, a thief to say the least.
[b]Merlin:[/b] A good friend of both Yamiko and Lupin. Has a fond interest in all things paranormal and is supposedly psychically gifted.
[b]Mr. D:[/b] Nickname Yamiko sometimes uses for Remy, especially when talking to non-French people about him. (If you're curious, D stands for Demange, his last name.)
[b]*Panther:[/b] Lupin's friend's sister; an athletic motorcycle/racecar driver.
[b]Remy[/b] Yamiko's husband.
[b]Ringo:[/b] Yamiko and Lupin's eight-year-old son.
[b]Suzette:[/b] Yamiko and Remy's five-year-old daughter.
[b]Warren:[/b] Another of Lupin's old friends. Oddly, he's now a police officer.
[b]Yamiko:[/b] My main character, so that you know who "I" is in my RPG posts.

An *asterisk next to the name indicates a dead person whose memories have been absorbed by Yamiko.[/color][/size]

[Vicky]

[size=1]Pending a picture. I'm not too sure about this, so drop me a line if you want anything changed.

---

[align=justify]I suppose I never was, by the social norm, a nice person. No. I was always a little blunt and mean when I wanted to be, swiftly followed by a half-arsed apology and a joke to make them smile. All the times I?d hurt people I wanted to see them smile again so I don?t feel too bad about myself. And it works, doesn?t it?

Another thing was mirrors. I had always had something for mirrors; when I walked past a reflective surface I would glance at it, not so much to check how I looked, just to see I was still there. Mirrors were great fun, to laugh into, pull faces into, and grin into to test your smile for the camera before the night out with your palsied group of friends.

But this time was different. There wasn?t just me in the mirror anymore, I could see it behind my eyes. Green eyes that weren?t as bright as they should have been, confused expression and a genuine fear of myself. Or rather, what was now inside my Gulliver. I hadn?t too much followed the recent events shown on the news and now I realised that perhaps I should have; it could be some sort of explanation for the stranger in the hindsight.

I ran my hand down the mirror and sighed at it. I knew full well who was in my head ? they were related to me, a long, long dead relative from Poland where my family hailed from originally. [I]He[/I], Leszek Balcerowicz, was a murdering, masochistic rapist long before the Polish-Lithuanian commonwealth in the 16th century. Records must have been bleak then for such a man to get away with those crimes and, as my family proves to this day, raise a family on his horribly sadistic terms.

He wanted to hurt people. I could feel it in the memories; in every instant there was a great sense of satisfaction, enjoyment and pleasure from wrapping his hands around their throats and maybe taking away their purity. There were hundreds of victims all with the same hare-eyed faces embedded into my mind, cries of fear and terror in a language I didn?t know all too much about.

Of course, I was still me. I was still sarcastically nice to people, not sharing [I]his[/I] tendency towards masochism. Then again, I can feel it seeping through the crevice of my own existence, fighting to be dominant, fighting to actually feel the blood on [I]our[/I] tongue again.

I think I was alright on my own. I was happy with my friends or whoever I could find, pushing the memories to the back of my head? but on my own? No, that was a different story. I had trouble remembering what memories were mine and what were his? sometimes I even believed I was living in 16th century Poland when I awoke from a nightmare. The truth was I had always been far from such a place all those years ago; my family were wealthily, I was an only child, independent, with my own home and my own money, the latest technology I could afford and a rather optimistic outlook on life.

From my memories of him he was the opposite. There were some sweet memories, like he had a split personality, or multiple ways of dealing with situations ? I don?t know. That?s why it was so hard to distinguish which part was mine.

I remember one distinct memory of his wife after his children had grown up and left; he sat there in a room where the walls squelched out death and the stench of an old, damp existence, the paint peeled away. She - [I]it[/I] - was sat there in a chair, silent, never moving. Its body is limp, blood stood still, frozen breathing, just sitting there seemingly staring at him. It wants to escape from this wretched shell, from him forever, but even he stares back at it as it sits silently dead. It wants to leave him but it cannot find its way through the dark, its legs twisted and thin like the old, crimson-red dress it wore, now torn and far from beautiful.

But it is not the smell, the darkness, or eyes that scare him; it is its flesh, the only part of it that still bears colour. A greenish tint equal to that of old wooden beams that rise from algae covered lakes; the skin has hardened over time, a grotesque carapace that traps whatever it is inside that wills for freedom, that is the thing that looks at me through those blank eyes. The grey room is silent, but it screams. It screams so loud that it racks his ears... he made it stop once. It?s silent and it?s screaming at him still. Why can't he stop it from screaming again? And why doesn't it move?

He remembers on that night she wouldn?t shut up, blurting about something silly and pathetic. The dogs wouldn?t stop barking, the walls joined in ? none of them would shut up. He guessed he would have to make them.

The images were so vivid in my mind; first, he hit the dogs, and broke their teeth before they could bite his hands. He kicked and hurt them until they tried to scramble away with broken legs, wailing and failing. Then, he told her to shut up. But she [I]wouldn?t[/I]. She just kept screaming, even more so after two black hounds lay bleeding from the snouts on the floor.

He tied her to a chair and wrapped his hands around her neck. He looked at her in the eyes, smiling like it was almost some kind of sick joke awaiting a final punchline, and savoured the moment. There was something ? I could feel it in the memory ? that edged him onwards. He pressed until his fingerprints were on her neck, until her breath became shorter and shorter, gagging in and out through her nose. It was quite a sight to him, quite a revelation.

When slipped limp in the chair under his touch and he blinked at her for a moment in the realisation of what he had done. No tear came from his eye and no regret; he just sat back on the couch and stared at the her. She loved him, he knew this. And maybe, he thought, maybe he loved her at some point too. But then?

?why didn?t she move?

I shook my head violently at the memory and the thoughts of a sociopath in my head. I looked back in the mirror and swallowed, hard. There was no way that I knew of I could live with his, no way that I could actually go on without hurting someone. I thought about the sleeping pills the doctor had prescribed my room mate, closing my eyes tightly as if it were ?

?Rose? Hey Rose, you ready??

There came a knocking at my door. I turned and looked at it, momentarily snapping out of my new found obsession. I breathed in and ran a hand through my hair, nodding to the mirror.

?Yeah. Yeah I?m comin?, give me a minute??[/size][/align]

[DeLarge]

[SIZE=1]The sound of clanging always woke me up, like a loud, brash alarm clock, as the guard slammed his nightstick against the thick metal door of my room.

[I]fuck off, pig[/I]
[B]
"Wakey wakey, kiddo,"[/B] came the voice, deep and harsh, through the hatch in the metal door, [B]"Rise and shine, you've slept in long enough."[/B] Part of me hated the guard for acting like such a prick all the time, waking me up from my drug-induced sleep, but another part of me knew that I needed him to keep me away from other people.
[B]
"Morning, Frank,"[/B] I snarled, hauling myself up from the floor until I was seated, crossing my legs into as much of a lotus position as possible, [B]"How's the wife?"[/B]

[B]"Why do you always ask that, freak?"[/B] the guard replied. I looked at him through the lank, hanging strands of hair that fell down into my eyes. I had been a handsome man once - dark brown hair, not too long, not too short, blue eyes, clean-shaven. Now my hair hung long and greasy, unwashed for a number of months, my chin was covered with a scruffy beard, and my eyes were bloodshot, with deep dark rings under them.

Suddenly, something came over me...
[I]
[B]"because i feel like paying her a visit once i get out, asshole!"[/B][/I] I snarled, my voice shifting an octave, now low and harsh. I clenched my eyes shut, grunting with the effort of shifting back, spitting foaming saliva onto the floor from between clenched teeth. As my normal personality slotted back into place, I noticed that there were flecks of blood in the saliva that was smeared on the floor. My breathing was heavy and laboured, and Frank looked on in amusement.
[B]
"We do this every morning,"[/B] Frank said, [B]"You're a freak, Madison." [/B]He slammed the hatch shut again, and I heard his footsteps fade away as he walked down the hall to check on the other inmates.

Gianni Franco was a dangerous man, an enforcer for one of the city's most dangerous crime bosses. He was, by descent, Italian, but he had lived and worked in America his whole life.

He was also a violent psychopath, and a dead man. He also just happened to be one of four other people who inhabited my thoughts, and struggled for supremacy at the forefront of my mind.

WE COULD GET OUT OF HERE SO EASILY, PHIL, came another voice, a third one in my head, WE DON'T NEED TO BE IN HERE

[B]"Shut up!"[/B] I screamed, rolling onto the floor,[B] "Shut up! Get out of my head! We need to be in here!"[/B]

It's always sad when someone goes off the rails. When I was an intern at the hospital, I saw my fair share of them. Grown men and women in such a state that it was difficult to look at them.

Now I was one of them.

The first person to die in my arms was my brother Matthew, shot in an unfortunate encounter on the street. The moment he passed on, his thoughts and memories entered my mind, and he became a part of me. The only truly difficult thing in this circumstance was my brother's intense OCD. It was an unrelenting chore to keep everything clean and tidy, but I did it to keep my brother's "spirit" contented.

Until I got locked up in here, that is.

[B]"The doctor wants me to give you your meds this morning, freak," [/B]came Frank's voice once again, sliding the door's heavy bolt back with a thunk. He came in, a thick-set man with short-cropped brown hair and stubble. His guard's uniform seemed crumpled - he had clearly been up all night.

[I]fucking do it[/I], said Gianni, [I]just fucking do it now[/I]

I closed my eyes, trying to force Gianni back to the corner of my mind that he inhabited, but he struggled back, and forced himself out.

The rest of the encounter happened as if I were watching it from a few feet above, an out-of-body experience. I saw myself, or my body inhabited almost entirely by Gianni Franco, lash out at Frank, my bare feet slamming into Frank's shins with unexpected strength, snapping them both backwards. The guard screamed, and collapsed onto the floor, where he stayed as Gianni jumped to my feet, slamming them into Frank's face again and again, smashing teeth out of his mouth, cracking the cartilage in his nose, causing blood to flow out of various wounds opening up across his face. Blood smeared on the floor, on my feet, on Frank's face, as a final blow caved in the front of the guard's face.

[B][COLOR=Black][I]NO![/I][/COLOR][/B] I screamed out, entirely unable to control my own body, as the doctors and other security guards rushed in, grabbing my thrashing body and pumping it full of sedatives.

Blackness ensued...[/SIZE]

[SIZE=1]---

Just so you know, the lack of capitalisation for when Gianni is talking is purposeful. I'm trying to have different styles of "speech" when each different "personality" is talking.
[/SIZE]

[Ol' Fighter]

[I]"My dear little sister...I will not allow you to suffer any longer...".[/I]

I stepped away from her reaching for my sword resting in its sheath, slowly and gently waking it from its rest.

[I]"This ancient sword dates back to the time of my great ancestor Minamoto no Yorimitsu in yet, it has retained its beautiful sheen for well over 1500 years never once faultering in any way...". [/I]

As I continued to admire the durability of the weapon, I felt a sudden sharp pain in my head yet it was a familiar pain almost soothing.

[I]"Great ancestor Yorimistu I must to help her...,"[/I] I said now realising my body has gone numb. [B]"Boy...do you think doing this will help your sister...," [/B]the thunderous voice Minamoto no Yorimistu replied.

This voice was soon followed by another then another and another. I had forgotten my mental condition up until now. These voices in my head were not my own but of my great ancestors and one of my late wife.

[B]"LET THE BOY CONTINUE THE MINAMOTO LEGACY OF PARRICIDE!," [/B]yelled the voice of Minamoto Yoshistune. Yoshitsune, who I've read about in my families scrolls was killed by his own cousin who I've yet to find out more about because he was exalted by my ancestor Minamoto Mareyoshi.

[B]"Death would be a release for her if anything...Marriru don't think much of it."[/B] a smaller voice replied that I have yet to determine how exactly we are connected. The entire situation was tearing me apart not only physically but mentally, no, a lot worse mentally. Every day I would feud with myself, listening to the words I speak, but knowing it's not me whom is talking but my late ancestors. The entire thing as I've said previously is incredibly vexing.

[I[I]]"I could end all of this now if I just drive this weapon into myself...," [/I][/I]I said aloud redirecting the tip towards my heart.

[B]"No I can't allow you to do that my love!" [/B]screamed a serene voice. It was my wife, Ayame whose persona I take upon whenever the thought of death comes to mind. She always was a very gentle and kind person every since we were little. I loved her without bounds and I still do.

I could hear others as well but I found out that just a quick slash to my leg or arm drowns them out if only for a minute. I can't handle them all.

"Brother...take me there...," a frail voice said before me. I couldn't believe it...it was my sister who hasn't spoken a single word for an entire week.

[I]"Were...were dear sister!" [/I]I said holding back my tears and dropping my blade reaching for her hands.

"....there....," she replied closing her eyes. As I lifted her up to take her towards the house she pointed out I could feel her pulse fading and I could hear her already fragile breath slowing.

[I]"Dear sister, I promise that I shall see to it that whatever curse has been inflicted upon this world be lifted no matter the cost..."[/I].

As I said this I felt my sister's life fade away.