H2H Content Site ( Mirror ) - New Content Added 11/22!
 
HomeHome  SearchSearch  MemberlistMemberlist  RegisterRegister  Log in  

Share | 
 

 Hellhound, Hellfire.

Go down 
AuthorMessage
Ethereal
Intern
avatar

Male
Number of posts : 413
Rank : Mad Hatter
Points : 86
Rep! : 1
Registration date : 2010-07-04

PostSubject: Hellhound, Hellfire.    Mon Mar 21, 2011 3:36 pm





Rat tat tat tat……rat tat tat tat…..rat tatatatat….
“A sad little thing these dreams of ours. Already established is the number of dreams and that number is twenty four. XXIV. Twenty four is the number of dreams, but also the number of truth. A guardian of what is true and loyal. But its double edged. Dreams and truth go hand in hand but rarely does one see the truth that they present. In the place of dreams, and other scary things ( for rarely does truth come without fear) we saw things that we didn't understand. That we couldn't understand. Threes always been thoughts to the past even before the silence took me, took us all. It was in that place where I saw things, and a second death had encapsulated me. But it was not truly a death. For what is it that we call the life before now. Before birth were we not dead? Or is it that we were simply not yet living. Two truths that go hand in hand, yet much like the dreams and what they bare two opposite sides of a similar spectrum. Only when one bends the laws. Dothese two points ever touch. Bending laws however in this way isn't always as easy as you'd think. A great author once wrote that nightmares exist outside of logic. And threes little fun top be had intrying to explain them. For all intents and purposes this is true. However when one has a nightmare so vivid. So startling. So out of reality that it continues to exist beyond the curtain of dawn. We can't help but try to understand the logic beyond that orange hue of madness that signals the sun. Dreams that I see lasted little beyond that damp rotting place. Where I sat and dreamed, a nightmare that only existed in my own reality. The dream was preferable.

That alleyway was my decaying womb of silence. A life beyond the drums was born here. A life beyond a life. Beyond a death. I had to think that maybe in the noise and drums that came before, the freedom was merely the precursor to the silence. When we are children .Are we not free, do we not have that innocence. That speck of madness that tells us we need care for nothing. A Childs view theta the adults will take care of everything. That all we must have is fun. That was the life that I saw, that I existed inside. Me and that other part. No limits. No regrets. No feelings. No emotion. Only what was fun. Only what we wanted. There are still times when I look back. When I long for that sense of freedom again. In this new life born of that womb of silence. I was born into chains. Chains I put around my own wrist. Into a slavery which I gladly accepted. To wake from a dream of freedom. Into a world of nightmares. When I put pen to paper like this and see my own thoughts, it occurs that little of it makes sense. Why would one move so gladly from freedom to captivity? The short answer is the same in every story. It began with a face.

I do not know what link or bond that we forged that told her. Possessed her that night or thereafter. But she ran to me, and brought the chains clinking behind. In these chains, in this servitude. I found twenty four. Dream and truth. The library. A place were both existed in perfect harmony to one another. At first this place held fear for me. Little more than a nightmare. But soon, it developed its own sense of peace. At first there was little among the books and their pictures. Nothing that I could see or understand among the pages, the odd word that I could not read. An illustration that I could not discern. A meaning I could not grasp. A story could not understand. The thoughts and memories of the sea, the beach and that day. The only theme that seemed to be similar in this library and all its stories and pictures was that of waiting. It too after all had been my XXIV. So why would it not show up among these places. Soon the meaning of this place became both clear and cloudy. The goal was not to read the bottom of the building. Not to get to the place where the pages gathered. But even then, now that I know this is not the goal of the library of my time within. I do still not know the answer of just what is. The grave. The woman. The flowers and the cloth. The butterflies moving through the foist. All was subjective. All was power.

Then if the number of truth and dreams is XXIV. Then the number of lies is XXVI. Twenty Six. An uncaring merciless guardian of far more than truth. Its said that each truth is merely made up of the lies that surround it. That one can only truly know the truth by reading into the lies that surround it. In my time among the silence and among these people I know that XXVI is not merely a symbol of lies. But of life. Of Karma. Indeed. Of god. A fated number that brings with it both misfortune and realisation. No surprise then that my office in the corporate HQ is floor two, room six. That the date emerged from the silence. Was the twenty sixth. Inevitably. This number and its power are representations of my own life. And the inner workings of what I should be. But only it knows the answer to that question. For I certainly don't. often I have wondered what I will do when I reach the bottom of my library. When I find the truth of who, and what I am. When I contort my XXVI and XXIV. So far only one thing calls out for me to do.

I want to burn this place.

Burn it all.

In that book, in the gray. In the womb of silence and place of dreams and death.(Life). I saw the man with mirrored eyes. Afraid to look in them for knowing what I would see. Of what I would expect. By an opponent I can't remember. By a lady that, damned my soul. I love more than I can describe. I have been called a hound. A dog. A loyal but lowly companion. A faithful follower. Is this all I wish to be? What is wishing? Perhaps before yes, all I saw was her in those mirrored eyes. But now There is more. Little remains the same in this world marked by that number. Once we shared the same XXIV. But no more. Long has it been since her scent passed my door. Since her eyes looked into mine. Since her smile danced with my blankness. My nothingness. But I smiled on the inside. They say that absence is like the wind, it extinguishes the weak, but enflames the great. What does that say for my truth? What does it say for me, if this hound has now become a wolf. If she rests her hand, do I move away? if she orders my leaving. Do I tear away her throat? I created that place to serve her. But in the end as always. It is only I that serves. Now I serve that place and serve her. I rule, but am a slave to all. Slave to myself. My own nature. At first there was only confusion, now there is only doubt. Anger stemmed from one. Sadness from the other. But its not sadness in that...I mourn what has happened. Sadness in that I know what has to come. That place changed what I was. Infected what I am. All the while I told myself it was to protect her. To make me strong. And both it did. . But at its own price. Now what I have become contradicts what I want to be. What I want to do.

Sharing existences is getting more difficult, becoming little more than a ludicrous falsehood in which I cast my coat. I got back there every now and again, that womb of silence. And utter my silence prayer to a god and to a number that long since for sought what I wanted. I think I remember that much. That there was a night when I cried in the rain ( I like rain) and no one answered. When no one answers. We look elsewhere. Sometimes the help you get is not the help that you need. Things are no longer how I saw them before. Now I see, blinking through blood. The blood and bodies of those who I build this wall of protecting with. If she knew, what I had done to build this wall. Would she forsake me too? Worse yet. When I am finished. And XXIV rears its head. Will I care?

I am like Hero stratus. And now. The temple of my artimus burns around me. My name is not my own. Stricken from the books within my library. Stricken from the pages and the eyes to which it matters. Beyond my dreams I see that woman who stood before the grave, the grave in which I was trapped. And screamed and clawed. The dream (existence) from the womb of silent memories. She tossed to me that handkerchief. Not throne that I hold now. Not the one on the beach. Seeing her again in a memory was surprising. For long has it been since such terrors erupted. I slept in the building as I do each night. In one hand the glowing ember of my vice, one of the few and little lights for my room. Other than my eyes of course. Watching. No. Staring. At the door. The guards outside have never seen this, never known it. But each night waiting here for one presence. One that never comes. It has been some time since I have done that, waited. Perhaps that says enough of what has become of the hound inside Like all nights before. The one face did not come, nothing more but the snuggled warmth before my knees. That soft comfort that was there even before the silence. That has always been there. The one I share my eyes with. It was another face I saw that night. Moved to the bathroom to see what things I could be rid of. Lights irrelevant, my eyes stronger than the weaker ones of humans, senses stronger.

The mirror though was a gate to dreams. I saw in it something that wasn't my own face (aneyeofmirrorsofXXIV). A woman standing there, top hanging loosely. Not like before, now dressed in clothes of modern use. She looks at me like she had before. Not at me , but through me, past me. As if staring down once more at that coffin lid. Down into the grave. She speaks but no words, after all it is nought but a mirror. Nothing but a reflection, nothing but a nightmare behind a truth. I stared with careless eyes. She breaks a smile. Then the image falters. Behind her is a large demonic creature. Black leather like skin, its chest a muscular carapace. Wings outstretched in a manner that was impossible for the size of the room. It brought a clawed hand around the woman’s throat. She still smiled. Only then did I realise that my own hands were moving. Mirroring those of the beast. Or. Was it mirroring me? Lifting from the throat, Tearing off her clothes. Driving a hand through her chest. And the mirror shatters. I stare on. And in the shards of the mirror. I see the face of that demon. Looking back up at me.

Truth is rarely clear. In that way it mirrors a lie.

A man with mirrors in his eyes. I have to run from that man. I have to run from her.

I cannot wait anymore. I cannot wait till the wolf bites.

I want to burn this place. Burn it all.

Signed...PW

He set down the pen upon the table, several pages. A book he had written, today’s point was merely the last chapter. He'd been writing it for a long time. Ever since he'd emerged from the silence. It was a diary, and a log. A journal of thoughts and madness. Whilst it was philosophical it was clear just what kind of mind had spawned such thoughts. He looked down at the Pen. Knowing that this was to be the final page that he left of it. He looked on at the several pages of a 4 paper in front of him. He picked up the manuscript. Inside there was far more than just the last page. It told of everything that he'd done since he'd emerged from the dark. From the drums. The building of Gera'Sey. The laws of the city. The trips with Shiori. His feelings on those people. he worked with. He stapled the script together. And then placed with careful hands down on the desk once more. He flipped out a packet of cigarettes and pulled one out with his mouth. For a moment his hands shook as he took out his lighter and lit it up. He headed outside to the balcony and looked out over the east city. There was a knock on the door. One of his men stuck their heads through.

“ Its time, I’m done. Tell the men to leave”.

Silent nod. Head popped back out. It began to rain, making his cigarette slightly soggy as he stared out over the city. There was a mild meow as Mittens padded her way into the visual line of the balcony. Not stepping out into the rain. The cat had gotten too used to the comforts of living in the human world. Penny turned and removed his cigarette. He felt it in her. She was looking at him and knew that there was something different. Had been something different each time he left and came back. She looked up at him with curiosity as he walked back over to his desk. Grabbed his manuscript, then bent down and picked up the small cat in one hand. “ Well girl, its been nice. But where I’m going. You can’t follow”. He saw the eyes widen with understanding with what he was about to do. “ Try and find Shiori, I’m sure she’ll look after you”. With that, he dropped the cat down below along with the manuscript. Both landing with a thud inside the waste bin below. He moved back over to his desk. Pulled out a canister of lighter fluid and sprayed it across. He turned back to the balcony and stared out at the night sky. He flicked his cigarette at the table.

It didn’t take long for fire to engulf the apartment. He stood there at the balcony. Listening to the sirens get closer and closer. The heat from the fire on his back. He let out a mild smirk, closed his eyes then shook his head.

“ Hell hounds don’t make good pets…But…A better guard dog…there is none…”

Darkness and power engulfed him as he changed, transforming into the large winged demon form of his Onihume transformation. With a gust of wind and flap of his wings. He took to the sky. Leaving the inferno behind him.

Word Count: 2564
Total Word Count: 2564
Trained:
Heightened Senses
Darken




Back to top Go down
View user profile
Ethereal
Intern
avatar

Male
Number of posts : 413
Rank : Mad Hatter
Points : 86
Rep! : 1
Registration date : 2010-07-04

PostSubject: Re: Hellhound, Hellfire.    Fri Mar 25, 2011 3:26 pm

Sent to UYB
Back to top Go down
View user profile
 
Hellhound, Hellfire.
Back to top 
Page 1 of 1
 Similar topics
-
» Hellfire Warlock Needed
» The Hellfire's Manor
» Hellfire Magic
» The Silver Hellfire
» Galatea Zalkand'r, Space Pirate (Finished)

Permissions in this forum:You cannot reply to topics in this forum
 :: RP Boards :: Earth :: East City-
Jump to: