First I get a terse call from a sibling who wants me to spend the night out in who-knows-where-she-lives, even though another sibling is perfectly happy just leaving early Sunday morning. This terse call is answered by my mother, who proceeds to say in her own terse and irritated way how she is not staying the night at someone's house whom she doesn't know (neither would I, but nobody's listening to me). Then I have an aunt I'm not terribly fond of wanting me to come out my room so she can ask me a question, not thinking that since it is she who wants something from me, she should come to me to get it. This, added to the fact that I have said sibling who wants to leave in the morning calling me after twelve last night and more or less sobbing on my shoulder and telling me what a no good bum our sperm-donor is (tell me some news, man). And to top it off, I only get one Yue-less ep of Card Captors.
All this... and it's not even eleven yet.
So I'm finally going to take out my surreal CD, put in A Perfect Circle, and write out a nice, long, violent 'Mo`re Moment'.
You've all been warned. I don't know what's going to come out, but I'm hereby not responsible got any warping of perceptions.
FUTE
All alone again.
Why? If I crave companionship so much, why do I do these things?
Oh yeah... I don't crave it, just her.
Jarade.
And the streets aren't streets anymore, but trickles of red falling from open eyes no longer seeing anything. Bodies open to the falling rains from the moon kissed sky.
Gives new meaning to the term bleeding heart.
I searched. I searched through out this entire city of damned. They didn't know they were damned. none of us ever know. I certainly didn't. Now I'm the one who condemns...
...I've long since gone past the age of caring when I'm in a state of ill-lucidity.
So I searched, coming to know all of it's populous very personally. This was a truly idealistic city, for there were no elderly and no children.
Children were freeze dried and aged, the elderly conveniently disposed of.
...Even if I hadn't lost my mind again, this place would have been too shallow to leave it standing.
I know a city some miles back who will care for the children, at least.
Ah, I'm going off on a tangent again.
Let's see... oh yes. I'd come to know them all fairly well. It was necessary in order to find the perfect parts. I suppose from this one might be able to surmise that I was quite out of my mind the moment I stepped into this city. This would be incorrect.
I've been insane for a week prior.
So hearing about the perfect city would only serve to fuel my admittedly inhumane desire to go beyond my normal talents of merely painting.
I would create the perfect being, from the perfect city.
So we have to take a heart here, pull a spleen there...
Art is messy, never forget this.
Of course we need the perfect housing for the perfect parts. She's the last one still breathing on her own. I'm quite sure her mind has shut down now. I guess mines would have if it were normal. Heh, that goes right out the window.
Now I can't just kill her, or I'll ruin the body. But I don't really need all her insides. I have those in a large bowl waiting to be rearranged anyway. So I guess a poison is good.
They say the Egyptians of Earth had something they'd use to flush all the insides out from a person's corpse. Works beautifully for living people too.
I really should have worn gloves, but I like getting into my work.
...after spilling so many guts, you'd think putting them back in the proper arrangement would be a cinch...
Doctor Kevorkian, eat your heart out... literally.
I'm not sure nor concerned with how much time has past. This task of my fevered mind consumes my every thought. Part medical, part necromancy, part mortician...
I think I've create a new subclass of... something. I should think of a name for this kind of practice.
The perfect being, though it's still sleeping. Needs a soul, but not any soul...
Jarade's soul is out. I'm still looking for it, anyway.
So... ah yes, little sister... it's been... what, few thousand years?
I can hardly remember my family, save that I had one... before the coming of Hell.
She is a tabula rasa, this perfect being. Perfect eyes open up without a memory of ever having been several different people.
Proof that perfection is created, not born.
Nature is inherently imperfect anyway. Don't believe me? Then... why am I still here?
She doesn't need to see the mess an artist leave behind. I'll leave her with the sleeping children and a letter.
Goodbye, my dear. I have through you attained a new level of my work. I doubt if I can ever replicate it...
I doubt if I'll even remember doing it some decades down the line.
Such is the fate for this immortal.
...now, to go find an all night liquor store.
