Learning to Swim

A young boy pulled a burning branch from the searing bonfire and trotted over to his family, careful not to drop his flaming torch. His father grasped his hands, firming his son's grip on the branch. The blaring music fell silent, as did the masses of people. They lowered the branch to a damp puddle in the asphalt...

~

Calvin climbed from the Sun Angel's swimming pool, leaving behind an amorphous collation of redness floating within the water, clearly visible against the pale blue glow of the pool light. He stalked, dripping, to the entrance of the empty hotel. In the space of a day the entire of those in residence had fled. The staff were gone as well, many likely joining in with the rioters. He stepped over the body of a janitor, who he had surely killed. The televisions in the lobby all gave visuals of the rioting and the subsequent battle; gunfire intertwined with the cries of “Morningstar.”

He rode the elevator to the roof, still dripping reddish-brown water from his clothes. He stepped out and threw his shirt off onto the base of the Angel. Stepping up to the railing he stared out over the city, noting the occasional smoking building and the almost total lack of moving vehicles on the streets. A streak of flame caught his eye...

~

“You to wha-?” Brian was cut off in mid protest by Jenna tugging his attention toward the reason for the sudden cessation of the celebratory din. A man and a boy touched flame to fuel and with a deafening woosh the street adjacent to the one on which the crowed was standing burst into flame...

~

David Carlson sat safe inside his grandparents down town home playing with his pencil crayons. First he drew the star in black, lines intersecting to make five triangular points that surrounded a small pentagon. Then he drew over the star with a thin wavy line of blue. Finally he took his orange pencil and coloured in the flames.

“There!” he said. “Just like I saw in my dream.”

Agents

I'm currently in the process of looking for a literary agent. So if any agents stumble across this blog and like what they read, please make contact!

Wooden Stick

The wooden stick swung through the early morning air, cleaving its way through scores of imaginary enemies as if it were the finest sword ever made. Jonathan hacked and slashed the stick, spinning it expertly. He had been practicing a lot since he had arrived in Los Angeles. He did not know why. In fact he could not fully understand why he practiced at all. It was the twenty first century and people used guns and bombs and yet he still played the swordsman. A pseudo opponent fell to a carefully timed counter attack and then another to a disemboweling backward stab.

He closed his eyes, breathing deeply through his nose. He noticed the air stream in, cold inside his nostrils. He noticed the feeling of warmth on his lips as the air flowed out. The stick snapped up from the opponent's stomach, flicking into a high guard before his eyes. He felt his diaphragm expand and slowly deflate. His concentration fixed on his breathing, he let thoughts float across his mind. Let the voices speak their peace unnoticed.

“The world is rotting...”

“We came here for a better life, but we can see the place is falling apart. Why can't they?”

“The twenty-first century...”

“World War Four, sticks and stones...”

Downward slash!

His arms slashed the stick down, and he flowed subconsciously into a twirling set of movements. With a slow out breath he expand his awareness to the yard around him. He felt the prickle of the lawn beneath his feet. He felt the small vertices of cool air rushing past him. Without looking he noticed the last remaining removal boxes, empty now, sitting next to the recycling bin. He noticed everything around him, and pushed out. He could almost feel his mind racing outward faster and faster, but also pulsing with each breath.

The wooden stick thrust forward and up, leveled at a throat.

“Crumbling... Can't they see it...”

He could almost feel the earth spinning beneath him now, picture the the sun and the stars rushing into his mind. The enormity of the universe consuming and becoming him, but at the same time the minuscule became apparent in every contraction of his muscles.

Then in the darkness behind his eyelids he saw an army arrayed before him, spears leveled as he charged them. It did them no good. He slashed into their ranks a blur of motion, cutting and killing with his beautiful sword, shimmering in the moonlight. The enemy seemed frozen in time, as he carved a swath into them. But then, a pain erupted in his side and he turned to see a bearded man, moving ever so slowly amongst the statues, holding a spear that jutted from his body.

He forced his eyes open as the stick clunked against his bare foot.

“Legacy,” whispered a voice, so quiet he may not have even heard it.

Progress

Madman started at the end of 2005 and by early 2006, was a grand total of 15 A4 pages long.
It took another year to get to 45 pages, and now I'm sitting on 36,000 word manuscript and hoping to get it to 40000 by the end of the week.
None of this is counting the thousands of words of background material and side stories that I have included on this blog. Most of my writing time has been devoted to blogging lately so progress has been slow with the novel. I used to post about once every couple of weeks on my personal blog (see profile), but over the last 4 days I've written 8 and posted seven. So now I've decided to dedicate a week to this blog, and Madman's main story.
So expect more insanity in the Asylum.

More news, I've got a few ideas in the works at the moment. No pen to paper (or fingers to keys,) but I can tell you there will be a series of side stories, linked into my political/personal blog at some stage in the future.

-Al

New World Chaos

Online Compilation Project: The Post Depression Era pt 1
Peter Banes-McInnes
2063
Manhatan Prep School
Draft

Keynes, Joseph: the 46th President of the United States of America. Known by his opponents as the Emperor of Lies, Keynes is most famous for his decision to forcefully dissolve the Lower House of 121st Congress (also known as the Rebel Congress) after they attempted to remove his emergency powers, that he inherited from his predecessor durring the 2nd Great Depression

Rebel Congress: Raised and funded by a grass roots movement from around the US, a multi-partisan group who promoted liberty and adherence to the Constitution gained control of the Lower House with the mandate to rebuild freedom in the nation. But in their first weeks they were forcefully removed from office, the Lower House permanently dissolved, as they refused to allow the President, Joseph Keynes, more authority to go to war with China. They had also sought to reduce his power to that of which the Constitution intended. The Senate at the time, (Also known as the Imperial Senate by,) backed Keynes, as did the states. It was on this impotice, that the states and Senate dissolved the origional Constitution.
In July of 2018, the Rebel Congressmen anounced that they had impeached Keynes. News of this was not brought to the public, but the Rebels were declared terrorists and most fled into hiding.
In 2028, The March, claimed control of Southern California. Many of the Rebel Congress joined the March after this...
In 2036 after the outbreak of all out civil war, the Rebel Speaker, Grant Schiff, was declared President Elect by the states under the March....

The March: Led by General Aaron Meyer, the March began as a simple LA riot in 2018...

General Meyer, Aaron:... Born in the year 2000, Aaron Meyer grew up during the Depression. Seeing the economic destruction around him, and suffering personal torment at the hands of Peter King...

Peter King: ...

Understanding the Understanding

This post is on going, check back on the edits.

Francois D'Urban
The Sons of God: Notes on a Lost History.
Understanding the Understanding.

I scratch my head in wonderment at what I have discovered. It is hard to believe my own eyes. Hard to comprehend what I am seeing here before me. It is near inconceivable that this is more than ten thousand years old.

"By this, it is possible to predict that at some point, in the very distant future, intelligent life will have Understanding of the universe inbuilt into its genome."

It is clear that this ancient race understood genetics, but what is this implying? I can only speculate but it seems definite that Understanding means more than just simple comprehension of science. Considering current theories on genetic memory, it might be possible that our knowledge could be passed on from generation to generation... Perhaps these people, knew how to access it. I have spoken to a physicist, and he believes that it is more likely, were it at all possible, that Understanding works in the same way as muscle memory. We learn an action thoroughly and can repeat it subconsciously. The Physicist pointed out that we subconsciously understand that if we push on something it pushes back equally, so he believes that it is entirely plausible, if not possible, that if we reached the point of understanding why that happens subconsciously we would have greater a command of our universe.

This leads to the next portion of the text:

“These, future beings, may attain the latent ability to access knowledge of time and space, from the perspective of a multi-dimensional observer. They could manipulate metabolic, cardiac and other bodily functions at will, or even by inherent evolutionary programing. It is possible they may even be almost immortal."

I find this remarkable. The possibilities, if this were true, are incalculable. I shudder to think what I would do with all that power... A thing only a philosopher could begin to contemplate.

“With the nearly infinite potential of intelligent life, one is compelled to accelerate the process of evolution by not simply relying on random forces to guide non-random replicators; being intelligent life. As seen as we are a force in and of ourselves, why not seek to guide ourselves to a higher Understanding of our own universe, by programing the outcomes of our own evolution?
Think of it as fruit on a tree of knowledge, that is too high for a certain species to reach. The laws of the universe prevent that species from attaining that fruit of Understanding, but we, as the most advanced of all intelligent life, can simply take the time to fly up and pass it down to them, taking a number of bites for ourselves."

So it seems this race believed themselves capable of bettering evolution, perhaps they even succeeded to some degree. I am anxious to uncover more of what is buried here, it seems the wall extends further along this side of the mountain.

Deleted Scenes

Annette's Story arc

[Sometimes you've just got to face the facts. That character is pointless. Her story arc is confusing and doesn't fit in with the rest of the book. Sometimes you've just got to admit that what you've written is crap on a stick, no matter how emotionally attached to the style you are. I really like what I did with this arc, but it did not fit, it didn't flow and it confused even me as the writer. Standing alone on a blog, however, will give it whatever justice it deserves.]

Annette Hardy hated crowds. She hated crowded places, even if the crowd was comprised of her friends. They made her feel as if she was choking. Choking on their used air. She hated the thought. Used air swelled around the table her group sat around in the Dark Angel. She rose quietly from the chattering female banter that threatened to consume her. She walked toward the bar, where for some reason, she noticed a young man sitting on his own in the corner. He sat there staring at his drink as he swirled the contents around in the glass. She was drawn to him, she did not know why. Perhaps, because he too, seemed to dislike crowds. She pulled out the seat next to him, but he did not seem to notice, so she did not sit. “Bartender, I'll have...” she looked down at the man's drink. “A scotch.” The bartender slid the drink forward and she casually snatched it up. The loner still failed to notice her. “Hi, I'm... Never mind!” She turned away, but his hand came up and touched her arm.

“I'm sorry... I didn't notice you were there. I was in another place. My name is Calvin.”

“Anette.” She extended her hand, which he shook hesitantly. “So Calvin, tell me about this place you were. Is it nice?”

“Not really.”

Anette looked up at the ceiling. It was like every other ceiling in down town LA. Patches of mold grew in the corners, the middle sagged under the weight of, what Anette guessed was, the sleeping tenant above and cracks were showing in almost every square foot. She felt thirsty and rolled from the edge of the bed, she staggered to the bedroom door and realised she did not know where the kitchen was. “Calvin!” she called out trying to penetrate the sound of the shower. “Yup?” he called back.

“Where's your kitchen?”

“Go right and it's the first door on the left!”

“Thanks!” She walk into the kitchen and opened the fridge. Well there's beer, she thought. She walked over to what she thought must be the pantry cupboard. Opening it she retrieved a jar of instant coffee and moved to the kettle and turned it on.

Calvin walked in buttoning his shirt. “I gotta go to work,” he said.

“On a Sunday?”

“Yeah.”

She smiled. “Well would you like some coffee, before you go?”

“No thanks I gotta run.”

“Well I'll leave my number on your fridge, If you're not back before I go!”

“Alright.” He gave an awkward grin and walked out the door.

“Bye!” She tried to call out, but he had already closed the door. The kettle beeped as the water boiled. She saw an empty mug next to the sink so she rinsed it and began to scoop coffee into a teaspoon, when she heard a knock at the door. She then realised she was only wearing a T-shirt. “Hang on a sec!”

They didn't. There was a loud crunch as the door was kicked to shards. Two men charged into the room, guns raised. Both wore black balaclavas that cover their face's. She raised her arms. “Calvin's... not here.” She stammered.

“Are you Anette Hardy?” Snapped one of them.

“Yeah.”

“Good!” he said, pulling a black sack, around the size of a persons head from his jacket. “Please come with us.”

~

“Black bags,” said David Carlson. “Why do we use black bags, to put the garbage in?”

“Black tells every one that the contents are not wanted in society,” replied his grandfather. David smiled as he tipped the remaining contents of his dinner plate into the bin. “Why are they putting people into black bags then?”

“Don't be silly David, no one is being put into black bags.”

~

The water was freezing. The ice cut the skin of her face. Why are they doing this? Where are the questions? Why aren't they asking any questions. She felt the hands that held her head down move to her arms. They dragged her backwards pulling her along the concrete floor. She could feel the raw skin on her ankles being torn from her flesh. The hands that held her tossed her into a freezing cell and she hit the floor face first. The pain was intense, her cheek stung with a ferocity only paralleled by the torture she had just endured. “There is more to come,” said a voice in the dark. “Much, much more. What's your name?”

“Annette.”

“That will change. My name was Cynthia; now it is Polaris. A star,” She added as if clarification was needed. “Why am I here?”

“You are here because they like the look of you.”

“Who are they?”

“They are Them. They are the shadows in the dark. They are the White Coats with needles Not one of us really knows.”

~

The sharp pain of dry-ice against her shoulder turned to numbness. She did not scream as the needle slid through her skin. She did not feel it. “Anette Hardy, when you rise from this table you will walk of your own accord to the desk in the corner of this room! Do you understand?” She could not see the mans face from behind the light that shone from his forehead. “I understand.”

“Will you comply?”

“No!”

~

Calvin fingered in the digits of his ATM pin code. Work? Thought Calvin. I have no job. A thin wad of cash shot from the machine. I have an account filled with money, from every-time Marvin Banes made me do something illegal.

Calvin remembered the first time Banes had told him to go down town with a message for some pimp who didn't do business the way Banes wanted. The young man's name was Jose`. Calvin had shot him in the head three times. Calvin was nineteen at the time.

Why did I lie to her? She was so pretty. Was she the girl?

“No, she was not,” said the baleful voice of contempt, that he had come to know as Angel.

Then why did you send me to the bar last night?

“You think to punish you, perhaps? No, I have the greater goal in mind.”

“What is your greater goal, Angel? Why did you bring me back?”

“So you can die like a man!”

~

Annette landed heavily as she was flung back into the cell. She no longer noticed pain it had all been driven from her by hours of torture. I will not comply.

“I hear that they still haven't broken you! Three days is longer than most of em last. Well done!” Polaris' voice was a welcome sound.

“No, they haven't. How did you know that?” She replied conversationally.

“A little bird told me, it came in through the window.” Polaris chuckled at her own joke. There were no windows. Annette winced when her own light laugh allowed blood to trickle form a cut on her forehead into her right eye.

“They still haven't told me why I am here.”

“They won't! Not until you break.” Polaris had a commanding edge in her voice. “Or at least until they think you have broken.” If there was not total darkness Annette would have seen the wink the other woman gave her.

A strange sleepiness took over her and cradling her head in her arms she slept. Polaris saw the door to the cell open slowly. Only a trace amount of light came through but there was enough for her to see a shadow in the door way. “She has been given a sedative she will not wake for another few hours. I'll do what I need to while she sleeps. Perhaps she'll be more cooperative tomorrow.”

“Thank you I need to get out of this cell for a while.” With that Polaris walked from the cell.

The feeling of pleasure no longer existed. Everything was fear. Fear and hatred this was an invasion of the worst kind. She felt someone else's power being forced upon her body. She tried to fight back at this invisible invader, but she could not. She tried to scream, to cry out in protest the the thrusting assault; yet she failed. When it was finally over she lay there broken and defeated. Her pride, along with her will to fight, lay shattered at her bleeding feet.

“Annette Hardy, will you comply?”

“Yes.”

Anette sat in the corner of her cell. She rocked gently back and forth. Tears welled in her eyes but did not fall. The arms were grabbing at her; she could not see them, but they were there. She could not quite feel them clawing at her skin, but she knew they were. Comply. She would comply with them, to stop the scratching. To stop the thrusting. To stop the pain. Co-operate. She will co-operate, to make them stop the tortures. “Polaris,” she called out.

“Yeah?”

“I think its time I give them what they want.”

“You did well to last this long. They'll be gentle!” Something in the back of Annette's mind jolted her upright. How does she know? She's with them. She's been helping them. I know it. “Did you see it?” She asked.

“See what?” Polaris' replied.

“Did you see me get raped?” Her voice was flat and edged with anger.

“No!” Polaris sounded stunned. She paused for a moment and added hastily , “I think you were dreaming.”

“Dreaming? I guess I was.” Liar! I will kill you. I will kill them all! She slumped back to the floor. “How silly of me!” You're first, bitch!

Annette Hardy hated needles. She hated them more now. Injections everyday; that was how she judged the passage of time in the dark, suffocating cells. She was in truth not sure if the injections were daily, she could not count the seconds when she was sleeping.

Three hundred and forty-seven thousand eight hundred and ninety.

That was how long it was since the rape.

And One.... And two...

She wanted to remember how long. She wanted to remember so she could make Them suffer for twice as long as she had.

And three.... And four...

The door swung open.

And five... And six...

“Hello, Miss Hardy. Please stand and come with me.” The voice was bright and cheerful.

And nine. Three hundred and forty-seven thousand nine hundred...

She stood automatically, almost it was another person controlling her body.

And two...

She walked along the dark corridor, following the sound of the cheerful voice.

And five... And six...

She walked into a bright, sunlit room. Two, florally decorated, yellow chairs were situated next to a tan-curtained window that over looked the hazy city bellow.

“Please, Miss Hardy, take a seat,” said the man had lead her from her cell. He was a remarkably tall man. Long dark hair tied behind his head. His smiling face, seemed a portrait of surreality.

And nine...

She sat in the chair to her right, numbed by the change in surroundings, unable to comprehend her circumstances.

“Well, I should introduce myself, shouldn't I? I'm Emanuel Crow. I'm a Doctor of Clinical Psychiatry and a Neurologist. You, my dear, are in good hands.”

And one!

Doctor Emanuel Crow sat awkwardly on the soft yellow arm chair, trying to cradle Annette Hardy's chart against his long arm at the same time as brushing his recently released hair from his eyes with the other. Chairs weren't really made for him so he was either forced to perch on the edge and risk intimidating his patients or leaning back into the seat, stretched outward. This made writing things down more of a chore than it should have been.

Scary! He thought. What happened to her?

He forced the warmest, widest smile he could and tried to think of what to say to the terrified looking woman huddled in the chair in front of him.

“Annette?” The woman did not respond. She just sat there staring at him, lips moving rapidly as she tapped each of her right-hand fingertips against the end of her thumb.

“Okay then! I'll just wait a few minutes while you get comfortable.” He scrambled round under his white coat, retrieving a pair of earphones from inside his jeans. From the other pocket he pulled an aging music player. “And while I wait i think I'll listen to something nice and relaxing.” He held his smile even as he leaned his head back, eyes closed,slipping the earphones inside his ears.

The hard metallic sounds of the late twentieth century oscillated inside ears, both relaxing and exiting his mind. He loved it all, not discriminating between the subcultures each of the Metal sub-genres seemed to either create or appeal to. Music, to him seemed to have become a fascinating sociological phenomenon.

He would wait to see how she reacted to his serene presence, and why not enjoy the time spent inside his own head?

His forced smile became real when an image of his wife and son came into his thoughts. To say he loved those two would be an obvious understatement. He lived for them. Breathed their very existence. As pleasant as thinking of his family was, he now found he had to force back the desire to rush through all of the days work so he could go home and see them. He had to fight the urge to run there, turn on the television, sit his son next to him, and watch old Family Guy episodes with his feet up.

He felt something brush gently against his neck. His eyes shot open and he saw his new patient standing over him, staring down at his face. He flicked out the earphones, trying to rise, but she forced him back down, pressing a pen against his throat.

Understanding

I

“All life has risen from the simple, to the complex, to the intelligent, due the needs placed upon it by the laws and forces of the natural universe. However, because intelligent life has gained understanding of this, we too have become a force of nature and are able to differentiate the laws of the universe.

“By this, it is possible to predict that at some point, in the very distant future, intelligent life will have Understanding of the universe inbuilt into its genome.

“These, future beings, may attain the latent ability to access knowledge of time and space, from the perspective of a multi-dimensional observer. They could manipulate metabolic, cardiac and other bodily functions at will, or even by inherent evolutionary programing. It is possible they may even be almost immortal.

“With the nearly infinite potential of intelligent life, one is compelled to accelerate the process of evolution by not simply relying on random forces to guide non-random replicators; being intelligent life. As seen as we are a force in and of ourselves, why not seek to guide ourselves to a higher Understanding of our own universe, by programing the outcomes of our own evolution?

“Think of it as fruit on a tree of knowledge, that is too high for a certain species to reach. The laws of the universe prevent that species from attaining that fruit of Understanding, but we, as the most advanced of all intelligent life, can simply take the time to fly up and pass it down to them, taking a number of bites for ourselves.”

“The Son's Of God” Inscription; circa 8000 BCE. (Located next to the the frieze entitled: “The Conception of the Nephilim.”)

Discovered and translated by Dr Francois D'Urban; 5 PCE. (Post Common Era; sometimes referred to as the Age Of Armageddon.)

So this is how Madman begins... well kind of. This convoluted passage explains the begging, but only when you think about it later. I like to do that ;p

II

“What we failed to consider, as we built Understanding into the Human Genome, was the nature of Humanity and its nuances. Its eccentricities, its emotions, desires, all combined with the base level of Understanding, to cause them to fracture as a species. Some rose above the others, aspiring to be as we are. They call themselves the Nephilim, The Sons of Angels. Our sons.

“Instead of seeking the heights of Understanding within themselves, they seek to reach our height of power on earth, and they shall get there. We have seen what our meddling has done to the races of earth, and in order to prevent further damage to ourselves and others, we will leave it in the hands of those less capable of destruction. The other races will rise up against the Nephilim, and at some point they too will flee to the stars or die. We tried to guide the course of Human development, but all we did was add another variable to the formula; power.

“We gave the potential energy of Human evolution a current, a flow subject to the tides of it's people. They now expand across the world, diluting the genes of those blessed by Understanding with the blood of those who were not. Instead of removing the random nature of evolution we created a new, more complex subset to the already convoluted passage of progression.

“Our Understanding has changed. We now realize that Chosen Evolution is in the hands of each member of a species. The Group cannot defeat the random, but the individual can overcome it. The Species does not choose the path it, or another will take; the Person does.

“In individuals lies the hope of Mankind. It will be an individual who first gains full and total Understanding. And that individual will show other individuals the path to a better future, should they choose to forgo the random and the abstract that they have created to simplify their existence.”

“The Sons of The Sons” Inscription; circa 8000 BCE. (Located bellow the the frieze entitled: “The Conception of the Nephilim.”)

Discovered and translated by Dr Francois D'Urban; 5 PCE. (Post Common Era; sometimes referred to as the Age Of Armageddon.)

III

“Everything in the universe tends towards chaos. At first we thought life was an exception. We, as the pinnacle of intelligent life, worried over how to control ourselves, make ourselves better. But now we know the laws of the universe are merely abstracts we ourselves thought we Understood to be used to constrain our lives, and the lives of the Lower Races along the path we deemed best.

“Now as the light fades upon our civilization, and we prepare to leave the world, we begin to pray! We pray to nothingness. We hurl our praises at the infinite chaos of the universe in the hopes that life may be truly eternal. I, the First Arc beg on my knees that there be a creator, and that it should hear us!

“I hope that those who find these words heed them, for through the understanding I, the Fist Arc have foreseen an end to all life, in all the universe, by the Understanding.

“The end of all things will come when the Son of the Son turns on the Father and when Humanity goes to war with Chaos and its own Demons.

"I am the First Arc, M'Kai'el Isa'Dominary, and I as all who read this to Understand."

“The Father, The Sons, The Sons of The Sons” Inscription; circa 8000 BCE. (Located in a metallic case,concealed behind the, somewhat out of place, carving of an eye on the frieze entitled: “The Conception of the Nephilim.”)

Discovered and translated by Dr Francois D'Urban; 5PCE (Post Common Era, sometimes referred to as the Age of Armageddon)

My next post will be an explanation, pending any questions I get about the three pieces.

Hellloooo Nurse

“It is beautiful, Jonathan; an entire road made of gold, and you did it all for me!”

He smiled down at her; her dark eyes, her dark hair, her olive skin. He stroked her shoulder and turned to stare down from the megaron at the road bellow, its precious metal surface glinting under the moon. Both him and the girl were garbed in black, uniform like cloaks and leggings, both wearing belts with a single green eye embossed on the ivory buckle. The girl wore a sleeveless black blouse, and Jonathan a leather coated breastplate.

“I did, but it is not for you, it is you. It is what you are to me. The Golden Road away from Armageddon.”

“What about me, Jonathan?”

They turned toward the voice behind them. Jenna, adorned in the same black uniform and holding a spear stepped out from the shadow of a column. Her eyes fixed on Jonathan, she walked slowly, seductively, beckoning him away from the girl beside him.

He stood frozen as the spear-tip brushed gently across his cheek. He stood petrified as her lips subtly touched his own while she whispered, “Wasn't this all because of me? All because you love me? Where would you be without me, Jon? Who would you be?”

“You're not here! You're not real!”

“I am real, Jon. Maybe not here, but I'm more real, than your little waif. Your little, perfect princess, doesn't exist. Now kiss me!”

“I... won't.” He tightened his lips, physically fighting the nearly all-consuming desire that overwhelmed his senses. The girl he was with had vanished, and the spear now lay where she had stood.

“Will you kiss me?” Estel's voice echoed in his ear, her tongue tickling against his earlobe, her hands clawing at his belt, then pulling it free. Jenna pressed herself against him, arms wrapping around his neck as the nurse untied his cloak.

They dragged him down, ripping away his armour. Jenna straddled him, her mouth hovering above his. “Look at where we are! Do you really think you'll be able to walk away from what's coming? Don't fight it, Jon. Don't fight me, fight for me! Fight for me and you will have me!”

He gave in.

All the world vanished into the darkness, and all that was left were him and Jenna, naked in the nothingness. She rose up, allowing him to enter her, moaning softly as he thrust inwards. He rolled her over, her legs wrapping around his lower back and as his lips touched hers, he saw fire. He saw mushroom clouds rising above ashen cities, turning the sky black. He saw day turn to night in an instant. He saw the Golden Road melting into a river of blood.

Estel stood and watched Jonathan dream. His dark, fascinating dreams that made him writhe and sweat. She longed to be in that dark dreamworld, to see it in all it's tortured glory. She wanted to see his Assu'ria; his kingdom of the mind. He groaned with pain. She thought it was pain, it might have pleasure. For all I know it could be both. Walking to the foot of his bed she placed the tray down on the wheeled table, and rolled it to his waist.

She stared at his anguished face, his eyes moving behind clamped lids. What are you seeing? Amazing! She thought. With a half-grunted sigh his eyes shot open, and he gaped at her, standing over him. His cheeks flushed, and he shifted uneasily under her gaze.

“Hi!” he said sheepishly, which she thought extremely odd of him, considering how the day before he'd been all charm and tears.

“How... How long were you standing there?” She blushed now, not knowing what he would think if he knew. His eyes seemed to widen and he blushed more, now. Rolling slightly to his right, he appeared to be glancing at something in the middle of the bed. Then noticing the food table he smiled. Can he read my thoughts?

“Just a few seconds,” she lied. He looked relieved for some reason. Slightly confused she placed the tray down and shuffled, head down and embarrassed kicking herself for reasons she did not fully grasp.

Voices monologue

{There are different levels of conscious thought. An internal monologue can NEVER contain each strand that binds to the thread, and can hardly ever show all the threads of thought. I've tried to make two strands Itallics and Plain}

[he looks out on plains of chalky soil, the sky painted an odd blue, as if in a dream]

I am free. No voices plaguing me. I am jubilant.
Why am I telling myself that?
No matter. I am... Free at last. Silence? Yes! Silence for myself. Me!
No more voices [smiles... it wavers, but he forces it to remain] No one inside my head but me...

I waited for the response. The snide comment, the hollow threat... nothing. Why Did I wait for it?
Jubilant! I feel jubilant. Don't I?

[Takes some staggered steps forward]

I... The voices of my delirium are gone; silenced for my salvation. My! My head so long inhabited by them, clear now. I'm without discourse. Discourse? What? I am free. My path is free and clear. Silence is deafening, clouding my thoughts. My thoughts are clouded! It's hard to think without them. Hard to control! I need control now.
I need to know what happened to them. Yes... No! I am free now, it doesn't matter.

Empty...

Jubilant... No I'm not. I... should be? They were cut out of me. Killed off. I should feel happy, I'm free. Nothing left, empty! [knees drop to the earth, hand grabbing a fist of dirt and clenching a fist.] They were a part of me, weren't they? Emotions! I gave them names didn't I? Anger, Doubt, Mirth, Mallice... Hollow? I'm hollow... Fear? Never fear! That was left to me. Now what's left of me? Just me, free from feeling. Free from fear? I don't even feel that right now. I remember a thought like that used to make me smile to myself; humour in the darkness. Was that me?
Killed by a blade. The war is over! The war in my head. The war is over in my head. Reallity, yes. The war in my head made life make sense. No, I was confused. Reason! Reason was always right! I had voices in my head. A good voice, Reason. Always at war with Doubt. Not always...

I can picture them all, Shades of Me leaping from my body-- Doubt launching himself at the descending hordes-- I remember they lined up beside me at the bottom of the Hill-- Malice and Rage swirling swords together, they sometimes seemed to join and become one, then split apart-- It was a dreamworld, my dream!-- Self Loathing stood with me the whole time guarding my back when I got too confident-- The Shrink! I told the Shrink I wanted that battle more than anything. Alone, I wanted to be alone then-- They stood with me. All my own Voices of dissent and support and Reason-- Gone. Dead. Feel


[He rises from the dust, and staggers forward]

Cope. How will I cope? Alone. I don't want to be alone. Remake. Remake Remake. Remake. Rebuild. Rebuild...Feel! Feel!

[Smiles] I'm free to have voices in my head. Free to make them leave. They are me!

Yes
Yes
Yes
Yes
Yes
Yes
Yes
Yes
..............................

To begin

In this place you will find the Understanding

This is the dumping ground of the unused, unintended, or the side stories to the greater story named Madman.