Thursday, December 18
Am annoyed at amount of work. Might have to cancel Saturday with Anna. I haven't even got time to update my website as Am'es is doing all the work. The last time I saw it was like the first week of December and despite Ame's urgins that I must see it due to all her nicness and hard work to make it even better, I have been detained. I would go now but I must be off doing what is stated below. (That and I'll be tempted to do some if I go to play around with the html, ohhhh! *whines*)
At the moment, Em is giving me a quick-run down on PSP brushes and a quick tutorial on how to better images without taking them to the photo place. I love Anika's brushes. Sooo beautiful. Want to download some. She's so fantastique (as is her site's name). Not her brush site, her main one. I love it. So pretty. And a little goth, which makes it even cooler. She's an author which makes her (if possible) even cooler.
~ The NightHours ~
I approach the room, cautiously and sneaking, accompanied by a faint croaking of the leaf frogs in the distance and the gentle creak from a floorboard under my feet. A pale window is hung in the darkness at the far end of the corridor, but only a smoky blackness glooms from it.
The night is hot and humid. A musky smell of sweat lingers in the air and fills my nostrils. I register another smell as well, a smell I know, but suddenly don't like: Rachel's perfume. The one with the unpronounceable French name, the one she saves for special occasions.
I hear the low sound of satin sheets rustling and bedsprings that stretch in rhythmic protest. A lightning in the far distance flashes over the sky and lights up the corridor, and in the peculiar blue light, I catch a glimpse of my own tortured face, pale and distorted with rage, in the big mirror covering the east wall. I look like an axe murderer from a horror movie. My hair pokes up in a crazy way, as if it is attempting contact with the higher powers, and my eyes, under the dark brows, are nothing but two black, bottomless wells in a white wax masque.
I pause for a moment, close my eyes, while I listen to my heart beating hectic in my chest, irresolute, terrified of what I am going to witness and yet too hungry for the truth to walk away.
(CUT FOR INDECENITY - she walks in on them doing stuff...lets just leave it at that. its not graphic but toddlers could accidentally fall upon this page and therefore I must have a disclaimer)
While I at first wanted to beat them both to pieces, I now want to kill him. But even more so, I want to kill her.
"Whore!" I scream.
She slowly turns her face, but doesn't otherwise let herself be distracted from the task and continues the copulating movements as if nothing had happened She is smiling, just as I knew she would be. I want to wipe that smile off her face for good, but her tender voice brings me to tears.
She looks at me for a second, then breaks in to laughter. She laughs and laughs, the sound growing in to a surreal delirium in my ears.
I grab a lamp from the dresser beside me, take one step forward and smash the lamp in her face. Blood starts running from her eyes, like tear tracks, but she bends her neck back and breaks in to another laugh.
I hit her again and again, and hear the low sound of her skull when it caves in. My head is filled with the smell of her blood and her voice that calls out my name.
~ Fin ~
Its just an exceprt and its originally Danish (she is so good as to provide a translation) but I love her descriptiveness. Not as much as I love Cassie Claire, but she's good. And her art. Oh wow. Go Anika.
~ M.M.W ~
