(joseph&skye) cerebral thunder in one-way conversations

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cerebral thunder in one-way conversations
Don't wanna call you in the nighttime. Don't wanna give you all my pieces. Don't wanna hand you all my trouble. Don't wanna give you all my demons. You'll have to watch me struggle from several rooms away, but tonight I'll need you to stay.
Δ Joseph H. McGregor


It was one of those nights where I couldn’t breath anymore, where my lungs were unable to reach for air. One of those nights where my mind was completely immerse in the coldness of my soul, in the darkness of my past, struggling to get out, to breath. But all I could see, feel, was the cold running down my spine, the fear crushing my soul, the pain. Oh the pain, it was everywhere. Stuck in that room again, stuck on that cold table, naked. Another room, tied on a chair, blood running down my face, as my own screams echoes again and again, never stopping, and the pain growing inside my mind. Seeing that shadow balancing on the wall, a knuckle twice as big as me coming down to get me. I couldn’t breath. A scream stuck in my throat, someone touching me, my eyes opening on the reality, my body soaked with sweat.

One minute. Two minutes. My mind running to get down to the present, to understand. Forcing myself to sit up, to look around. And the memories flows back. The OBCM, the headquarters. I was waiting for someone that never came, I don’t even remember what was it supposed to be about, but I felt asleep, felt in my nightmare, again.

My eyes meet the one of a man. The one that got me out of my mind, of my past. Somewhere inside of me, I feel the shame of my situation, the irony. You, the one person that doesn’t like to be vulnerable, that doesn’t like to show the chaos of your mind, the rotting smell of your souls, you felt asleep at the one place that makes you vulnerable. Oh, and I know that my nightmare never skip a beat, never skip their turns. Every morning, I awoke in a soaked bed, every morning, I can hear my heart beating like a racing horse. Every morning, I deal with my mind, with the darkness of my soul, and one day, I know, it’s gonna eat me alive. And right now, at this very moment, I have no one, no one to hold on too. The one and only person I have ever cared for, I left him rotting in the cells that hold me prisoner. I left him there to die. I won’t hide myself behind false hopes and maybes, I know that he won’t survive, at least, he won’t survive as the man I used to know. I know that if one day, we meet again, he won’t be the same, the shadow of a man, more animal than human, cold as ice.

I look at the man in front of me, the one that got me out of the cold, of the pain, but I have nothing to says. I know him, both of us are henchman's of the OBCM, both of us knows how to kill a man, how to fight. Fight for our lives, fight for the others. I didn’t join the organization because of me, I don’t care about my life, I never cared, it’s just a big mess, chaos and darkness. No, I did it for the others like me, the others changelings, the one that still had a chance at life, that didn’t got corrupt by the pain and the killing. Me? I was helpless, good for nothing else than killing and torturing. I didn’t have an heart anymore, I didn’t cared. I could kill innocents without a blink of an eye. I was dead inside. But, somes of us still had a chance, still had the chance to roam for liberty.

And even if I know him, I don’t trust him. I can’t remember when’s the last time I trusted. Did I ever? But, here, right now, all I could think of, is that he saw me at my weakest, struggling with my past, with nightmares, and somewhere around my mind, I hate him for that.
© GASMASK
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My last peaceful night was eleven years ago now. When I still had a lovely wife, asleep by my side. She was like a barrier, the customs of bad memories, a border that prevented them to flow up in my mind, letting me with neither dreams nor nightmares. If I had to point the finger at one of my fears, my deepest fear, my index would return against myself. There's some days where I'm frightened of myself, nights mostly. The worst are the ones as two days ago. I have no memories of what I could have said or done. Only the fact that I woke up in a jump, with this feeling of falling apart, falling into the void. And the first thing I saw was my little princess, starring at me with these terrified eyes, standing up aside my bed, squeezing my arm. At this moment, I knew that the bad memories made their road to my mind. And whatever I could have done, it have been enough to pull her off her sweet night. I'm the father. I'm the one who's supposed to protect her against the monsters under her bed ; she should not have to protect me against my own monsters, hidden in the closet. This time at least, I didn't get out of my bed, or injure her. I begged her pardon, again. Then I rinsed my face with cold water, carried her in her own bed despite of its fifteen years old, and stayed until she felt asleep, caressing her hair. Since, my brain refuse to rest, to sink, fearful. When, by miracle, I start to sleep, there is like a little bell ringing, waking me up within five minutes. Then I know that I will be able to sleep only when I will be totally exhausted. Meaning the next night, with some luck, even if I'm not in a great shape right now.
 
So I wander around. In calm places, to avoid to put my nerves on edge. Meaning not going to my Grand Casino, 'cause the last time I went there because of insomnia, I pretty well clobber a guy who after all, didn't really deserve it. Not good for business. Sometimes, I think that my worst enemy, it's myself. Not the hunters. That even if my little daughter is killed by one of them, I will feel as the guilty one. The one we should charge, throw in jail, knock off six feet under. As for Rozenn. Though, if my daughter, my little girl would disappears one day, well, me, I can't imagine of what I could be capable of. I can say one thing for sure, I would became more insane than I already am currently. 'Cause yes, ladies and gentlemen, I'm well and truly aware that my spirit is a little bit more chaotic than what is tolerate in society. A part of me is lucid enough to realize it, at least. Otherwise, I would not take care to hide the mad men in me when my princess is around.

This time, the OBCM headquarter is my final destination to get a break of myself. It's calm during the night, nay desert. Nonetheless, something attracts my attention, some noises, agitations. Looking around, I see this tiny little woman asleep, like in a arm wrestling with her own demons. This Skye lately arrived among us. In appearance, she is frail, fragile ; the first time I saw her, I would have never imagine that she would be by my side as a henchman. And still. There's something in her eyes, something that I know to have in mine, that push people away from me. A way to be that makes the society not really well made, well built for us. My values and norms are far away to be the same as the common persons, and my little finger tell me that it must be the same for her. In spite of me, I can't prevent myself to look after her from the corner of my eye when we are out there, to watch after her. I'm convinced that she's stronger, burly inside. But from the outside, I don't know why, sometimes, I have the feeling to see my mom, even if they have physically nothing in common.

I take her arm, squeezing it gently to make her leave her hell. She stop to struggle. Her breath start to become slow, without gasp, then her eyes open up on mine. While she sit up, her eyes take few minutes to realize where she is, that I am here ; to leave this world where she locked herself on. "Everything's alright sweetie. I'm here. You're safe here." I hate to see a woman in distress, to feel like an intruder in its intimity, even if I did nothing more than wake her up. Me, 170kg for 180cm, the crazy beast, finally just a big teddy bear ? Bah. She is like a savage animal, who fears when someone approach too close.  "I was in the same shape as you two nights ago. I haven't been able to sleep since." The words get out of my mouth by themselves. I am feeling the need that I have to make myself vulnerable to make her comfortable. I can't stand a woman in a weakness situation. Nevertheless, I don't tell my little secrets to the first crying one to make her feel better. It's just… This girl is such a mystery for now. Such different than usual. More me.
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cerebral thunder in one-way conversations
Don't wanna call you in the nighttime. Don't wanna give you all my pieces. Don't wanna hand you all my trouble. Don't wanna give you all my demons. You'll have to watch me struggle from several rooms away, but tonight I'll need you to stay.
Δ Joseph H. McGregor


It’s strange how the past seems to overrule the present. How it gets in the way of everything, everyone, me particularly. It kept me wide awake at night, staring at the ceiling, avoiding the moment I would felt back into the past, into the darkness of my soul, into the living nightmare of my past, of my future. I know, I’m well aware that I am a ticking bomb, ready to explode any minutes, turning everything to chaos, destruction and death. And I look at the man standing beside me, look at him in the eyes, seeing that same pain, same insanity in his eyes. His darkness was echoing into mine. I was death, I was pain, I was nothing else than hatred and rage. I could feel myself burning from inside out, I could feel my blood boiling, and all I could see was the emptiness inside my mind, the hole that was getting bigger and bigger every day. I was death, I was pain. I feel is hand on me, burning me, and the pain growing bigger in my mind as I removed it, fast. I could only feel pain from contact, I could only feel the emptiness. Years of torture, years of physical pain given to you right after any signs of affections, tends to stay fit, to never move, and the pain never gets away, the pain never leaves. So you avoid touching people, you avoid people, you stay away from them, from the pain it causes to you. Like a stray animal. And the fox inside of me, the one that was screaming for affection, for contacts, it got buried inside my mind, inside my pain.

‘’I’m not safe anywhere’’

And even him wouldn’t be able to stop them, to stop the center to look for me. They were bigger, they were stronger, they weren’t known, they were subtility, shadow in the dark. I was safe nowhere, all I was doing was buying myself some times, living free the longest possible. But I knew they were after me, I knew that they would come for me, sooner or later. I’ll be dead again. Was I ever alive? Am I alive? It didn’t felt like it. I was hiding, surviving, but I wasn’t living, I didn’t even knew where to start, how to feel alive. I was dead inside from the moment my mother died, from the moment I screamt for the first time.

I looked at him again, straight into his eyes, darkness dancing in his pupils, he was pain, he was death. I could see myself in his eyes, I could see myself like a miroir. A bit of insanity, full of hatred, full of rage. The world could burn in front of us and we wouldn’t budge. Looking at it, almost smiling. Except, I didn’t know how to smile.

And the curiosity inside of me, raging into me, trying to rip off the cage it got locked inside. And for the first time, even if I hate asking question, even if it goes against my training, I let the curiosity out, ask. And I never ask questions, mostly because it meant I would have to answer too. But I needed to get away from the past, from the nightmare that was still gripping onto me.  

‘’Why?’’

I was the same, never being able to sleep, never being able to look into my past without this fear putting an heavy weight on my soul, without the pain burning my soul, without death lurking in the dark, waiting for me, waiting for the pain, the hatred and the rage. Waiting for the final word, the final glimpse of the past. One day, it’ll get me, but for now, I’ll dance with it, play with it. It made me feel alive.
© GASMASK
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Hunkered by her side, I say nothing when she takes my hand off her arm. And incline slightly the head, when she arouses my interest by stating she's safe nowhere. A paternalistic feeling instinctively comes to me, makes me think to my daughter. All my life, I managed my best to be sure she will never have this kind of fear, even after the murder of her mom by a hunter, of my wife. For her, I simply gave up my career ; the happiness of my baby was and is well more important.
And that this little piece of woman speaks out these words to me… I just want to take care of her, to watch over her. I would like to give her this beautiful sensation of having nothing to fear. Of being no more chained by the fear. And one moment I get lost in the past, one more time. I know far too well what she could feel.
There is an age where I was a simple little boy, with a mommy more overflowing of love for her son than for herself. And a father inherently wicked. I was playing the proud in front of him, I was showing myself strong to protect the one who loved me so, nonetheless deep inside, I was terrified. This good old Jo was punching, clobbing mom. I was unable to stay there without moving, hearing and seeing him hurting my mom. So I was always trying to hold between, preferring to take the blows. Mommy was strong you know. She wasn't able to leave him, to take us far away. After all, we had a roof thanks to him, food in our plates, a warm bed to sleep in. Yes sometimes, she let my father beat me. But how to do otherwise when you don't have enough strength left to stand up ? When you fall down the floor, unconscious ?
Dare to say she wasn't strong. She gave me all her love, all her knowledge. She didn't give me up. Never. There were some days when it crossed her mind. When she wanted to take me away with her. Like this time when we were seating several minutes on a bridge, our feet in the void. And she was crying, and constantly apologizing. Yes, there were unbeautiful days. Nevertheless at the end, knowing that I gave her the desire to keep living, it's beautiful, right ?

Sad one instant, I would probably have shed a tear if I would have been alone. Only by her souvenir. I blink my eyes and forget, storing this part of past in a drawer of my head. Looking at her in the eyes, I see her nightmares that keeps shooting, even awoke. But whatever what it haunts her, whatever what she would like to run away of more than anything, she seems deserving more than anyone to be in peace with her past. It's an angel. As all the women. And the angels should never be chained.
Then Skye asks me this easy question, why ? One word, leading to a various possibility of answers. Especially right now. I seat against the wall, next to her, taking care to not be to close of her. Why this difficulty to find sleep ?

" Because… ", I start without finishing, hesitating on what to say exactly. I give her a glance. I don't have the habit to open myself to others. To talk about me, truly. But having observed her since she arrived, watching at her now, I start to believe that I could tell her. And at the bottom, it could make me feel better. Because since Rozenn, I had no one. No one with who I have been capable to talk freely. No one close enough to my heart, my feelings. I incidentally believe that I never poured my heart out about her death, even if a lot of shoulders have been offered to me. I rather preferred to bury my rage by killing hunters. 
Perhaps if I open myself, the young lady will do the same one day. " Urchin, my father was beating my mom. And me, every time I was trying to protect her. Let's say that this is the beginning of everything. " Only my girlfriend and my wife knew this. Knowing that they're both dead by my fault now, I feel like I opened the doors of heaven to Skye. " The past is disrupting my nights, disrupting then the ones of my daughter. And I refuse this. " It musts not sound very clear. But I already have the feeling to have talked too much, so staying in blurred avoid to unveil myself too much. I don't ask her questions. I'm convinced that she will talk when she will feel enough at her ease. Safer.
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cerebral thunder in one-way conversations
Don't wanna call you in the nighttime. Don't wanna give you all my pieces. Don't wanna hand you all my trouble. Don't wanna give you all my demons. You'll have to watch me struggle from several rooms away, but tonight I'll need you to stay.
Δ Joseph H. McGregor


I had been made out of screams and pain, death and darkness. All my life, I had been surrounded by madness and hatred, by fear and rage. Only one person had ever take the time to protect me, to made me feel love. This man wasn’t blood, he wasn’t family, but it felt like it, it felt like a brother, the one that took care of me after the screams, the one that protect me from too much pain, from myself, from madness, from my own darkness. I never had anyone else, my father wasn’t much of a father. I was more of his own personal moving punching ball in fact. I was dead inside from the moment my mother died, from the moment I had my first breath of air. I don’t know about destiny, I don’t know about choice, but it didn’t felt like I had a choice, I had the one to fight, to survive or the one to die. But it didn’t felt like a choice, it didn’t felt like I had anything to say in what I would become, in what my life would be. It is like I was born to become a killer, the one that used to smile from the pain of others, the one that used to like the sound of other people's screams. Mostly because it wasn’t mine, I wasn’t the one screaming, not anymore. And now, it felt like their screams were following me, it felt like the people I tortured, the one I killed, they didn’t want me to rest, they didn’t want me to be alive, and I could understand. I was feeling the same for the ones that did the same to me. I didn’t want them to have a life, I didn’t want them to be alive, to smile, to laugh. So why should I ? It might be the guilt. Guilty of letting him rotting in there, guilty of leaving the only man that loved me behind, guilty of being free when he was still there. And I felt like if I met him again, if we ever see each other again, he wouldn’t be the man I knew, he wouldn’t be the same. One without the other, it was our death sentence, the moment our soul would take the great leap into the darkness of our mind. I was still alive, I was still sane, well, kinda sane. I wasn’t the type of person you would call normal, not the type of person you would seek to have a nice evening and certainly not the type of person you would go to if you need to laugh.

He sits next to me, leaving a reasonable space between him and me, and for that, I can only thank him. For normal people, it’s normal to touch people, simple as touching hand, but I couldn’t, I never could. Chase, he was the only one that I ever wanted to touch, the only one I felt secured with, the only one that could touch me, but even then, we never been the type of people that made hugs and everything. But with others, I could almost hear my soul screaming in pain, I could feel my blood stop, my skin burning. I could almost feel the cuts and the burns and the blood all over me again. Years of torturing is not kind for the soul. Years of torturing is not kind for anyone, anything. If my fox was hungry for the touch, he was afraid, we were afraid, and it’s crazy, but being afraid of it, it was against our own very nature, but it was only pain. Touching always never meant anything but pain. Pain and darkness, screams and death.

I listened to him, to what he was saying, and I couldn’t help but think that it was the same. The dad’s punching ball. The center’s toy. It was the beginning of everything, and then everything felt from it, inevitable. The screams, mines, others, the blood, the kills, the missions, the blood, again and again. I could almost feel my arm being dislocated, again and again, simply because they had fun making me scream, I could almost hear them laugh, right here, right now. But it wasn’t true, but sometimes, it seemed like the past was going over the present, mixing both in a strange mix of death and life, blood and nightmares. It took some times before I open my mouth. I loved the silence, loved the long pauses, loved to hear nothing else than my beating heart. I always felt comfortable inside the silence, it made me felt secured, away from the screams and the death. It might be an illusion, but one didn’t mind. But I couldn’t help myself, I never talked about my past, not about my father, nor about the center. But for the first time in a long time, it felt like someone understood, could understood.

‘’My father used to beat me too.’’

It might be stupid, but sometimes, I thought that my father beating me was worst than the center, than the torturing, maybe because over there, I had Chase, he was there, even when he wasn’t I could feel him around, but younger, I was by myself. I didn’t have anyone to lean on, anyone to protect me, anyone to take the beat when I was too weak, even if I didn’t want him too, even if I hated when he took the seance instead of me, but he still did it, he didn’t listened, and today, I was grateful, I was still alive because of him, I wasn’t totally mad. But, with my father, I was alone. Alone with him and his fists.

‘’Why’d he stopped?’’

All I could see was him hanging to the ceiling, his shadow swinging on the wall. I looked at the man beside him, trying to keep me in the present, to let the past in the past.
© GASMASK
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Silence. A long silence. A comfortable one, even regarding the topic. I guess she was just trying to balance if she should rather speak or not about her, open her heart, deliver me her secrets. Cause I was sure she's hiding as much things as me. Hiding her past, trying to forget it. Trying to turn the page, to move on. It was all about this. All about being able to deal with it and keep going. There is no way to put it out of your head. And if you don't go over it, it will eat you all. My cohabitation with my own past is not really going well. It's eating my nights. At least, I'm not the kind of guy who falls in alcohol and drugs. Even if their accessibility is like super easy for me. No, I'm more the kind who's putting is rage in killing hunters, or knocking out some duchbags who are looking for troubles. Actually sometimes, I could give a punch to the first man who talks to me. Even if he just wants to ask his way. There is some days where my rage is just controlling me, making me go a bit more crazy than usual. It's often when I didn't get enough sleep. Or when my nightmares make coming up some shitty memories. Alright, perhaps I'm not the best example of the guy who's coping well with his troubles.

And she started to talk. Just a small sentence. Nonetheless, that was enough. Enough to see that I was right. That she doesn't just remind me my mom, she actually is like her. Not the same age, not the same face, not the same reasons. But still a pretty girl who asked for nothing more than love and roses, and finally get hatred and blues by an asshole man. A man who deserves nothing more than a painful death. Same bad man in her life, that she couldn't run away of. I will always ask myself how can a father beat his child ? His own blood, his little baby. Cause being a father myself, I don't understand. I would never understand. And I'm not even the most sane one. I'm sincerely afraid for my daughter. Seeing her growing up, knowing that she will start to hang out with guys. She's actually already dating some. And I can't help but thinking that if one day, she says me she loves girls, I will surely be the happiest dad on earth. Even if I have a blind trust in her, I know too well that love can make you foolish. 
By hearing these words filtered her lips, I just want to hug her. This little body that from now, will always stay fragile and weak to my eyes, no matter what. That will need protection and care.

Then she asked me a question, and I became speechless. In one second, I just locked myself in this bad memory. It is like if I was back in this fucking shitty night. Like an awake nightmare. Actually, there were two shitty nights, bound to each other. Two where I killed people I loved more than anything else in the world. That I still and will always love.
The night when I remembered was a thundertormed one. Because of me and of what  was going on in my mind, I guess. I remembered the accident that cause the death of my parents only nine years later. I don't know why it just came up to my conscience at this moment.
I have been fighting a boy, when we were in a restaurant. I was six years old. My father went mad about it, and he just threw me in the car, making the "family" come back home. He kept yelling while driving, starting to threaten my mom who was trying to take my defense. I was no longer able to stand this. And the rage started to boil in my blood, pissing me off. All of a sudden, a bolt hit the road. I know it was me. The first time my supernatural thing made is coming out. And the car crashed, flying into a river.

"I killed them."

I whispered it. I was still stuck in my mind. Remembering. I'm not used to remember this by myself. Usually, it's always unconscious, during my sleep. I was just looking the void in front of me, feeling like if my mom was hugging me again, while I was apologizing, and she was saying me I love you. I still don't know how I get out of the water. How I survived to it. Why me and not my mom. By killing my dad, I killed my beloved mom. And remembering this night, I killed my beloved girlfriend. And I feel the arms of Kathelynn around me, I feel her like shaking, crying, afraid. And I actually want to stay in the past. At this moment when she was still here for me. At this moment when the bolt didn't hit her yet.
Both of them, alive.
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cerebral thunder in one-way conversations
Don't wanna call you in the nighttime. Don't wanna give you all my pieces. Don't wanna hand you all my trouble. Don't wanna give you all my demons. You'll have to watch me struggle from several rooms away, but tonight I'll need you to stay.
Δ Joseph H. McGregor


The silence. Long, comfortable. I loved the silence, it relaxed me, putting the past away. It helped me forget the screams and the pain. I could still see Death, lurking at me from the darkness of my mind, waiting for my turn, waiting for me to step aside, to go mad, to fall down, break down. It’ll get me, sooner or later, I’ll be better dead than alive, even now, I didn’t have much to fight for. The only reasons I was still alive, it’s because I promised him, Chase, that if ever I was free again, I’ll try to live, not just survive. But, I didn’t know how to, never knew how to. Even when we were in those cages, in the dark, talking to each other, only us together against them, even when I could feel his skin on mine, when I could feel hope, it was only surviving, it was always surviving. We were broken from inside, he was stronger than me, but I never stop fighting, never stop trying to be free. But the guilt that was eating me alive, the guilt to have let him inside, let him rot, but it wasn’t the worst, the worst was that he though that I was dead. And I didn’t know how to let him know. I knew if it was the other way around, if I thought he was dead and I was still inside, I would have gone mad, killing mode mad. He wasn’t much different than me. But all I could hear tonight, in the silence that was supposed to be relaxing, it was his screams. Again and again. Over there, you didn’t have a second chance. Over there, when you gone mad, they just tortured you until you forget everything. And somewhere, someplace, I hoped it didn’t happen, that he was able to control himself, that he stills remember me, remember the hope and the love. It was the only thing that kept me alive, that’s keeping me alive.

I looked at him, as he pronounce those three words. I don’t have anything to say, somewhere, I can see his pain, I can see his guilt, but I know that if my father was still alive, it would have been the first thing I would’ve have done, killing him. I would’ve took  pleasure in hearing him screaming and pleading, but I know that I am not totally sane, that I would never be, and somewhere, I’m glad he killed himself. At least, he did the dirty work for me. At least, I don’t have to fall that deep, to go that deep. Because if I did, if I had killed him, I would’ve fall into the darkness, into the madness women I was supposed to become, the perfect assassin for the center, the kind that doesn’t feel any pity, that doesn’t want to feel anything. Even Chase, he wouldn’t have been able to save me from myself. I was always the closest from the edge, the closest form madness, the farthest from her emotions. At the end, I didn’t even felt anything, I was an ice cube, I was killing again and again, without ever suffering from their screams, without ever caring about them. I was taking pleasure in torturing, hearing them screams, hearing them pleading for pity, but I didn’t had any pity left in me. I was so close from the edge.

It might be the years in the army that brought me down, that made me a little bit more sane, a little less sadistic, but it also might be the freedom, the forest and the nature. I was closer from my fox than ever, he was a part of me now, before I was almost resenting him for putting me in the center. Now, we are in peace, we are one, before he was an entity of his own, he was controlling my rage, my hatred. I would be an hypocrites if I judged him, I killed so many people, so much blood on my hands. And somewhat, I did killed my mother, it wasn’t intentional and I was a newborn, but I still did. It was the entire reason of the hatred of my father, of his fist against my skin, against my face, of my blood on his hand. He never forgave me, he would never had. It might would’ve been different if I had an older sibling, but even then, he would have hated me, probably, it would’ve been worse. But then, I had Chase, and he was like a brother, he was family, the only family I ever had.

‘’I used to kill people for a living.’’

And again, I still didn’t know why I talked, what I said that, but I did. And somewhere in my mind, I thought that it might be because we were more alike than I thought, that we had more to share than just being in the same organisation and having the same goal. It might also because I was lonely, so lonely.
© GASMASK
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So much blood on my hands. So many people killed by them, me. I am actually unable to say how many. I never start counting. Or yes I did, just for the four first, for the only ones that were, are important to me, my family. For the ones I will always regret. The only reason that makes me hate myself some days, hate the fact I am what I am. A tempestarii, a mad men. I do not find myself really mad after all, comparing to others. And it's perhaps in that fact that I am the maddest one. I'm just feeling like being someone who had some troubles, not an easy peasy life.

Still stuck in my own head, in my past, her sentence kinda wake me up. Half awake. I look at her, my spirit split between present and past. And I can't help myself but have this little smirk on the face. At least, she was pay for it. It is like charity for me. Killing people is nothing to laugh at, I know I know. Nonetheless it is not like if I was taking pleasure into it. I mean, beating someone, expressing my rage, letting go my anger, this makes me feel good. I just need it. Gestures are more talking for me, than words. And death is just the necessary and final word in that story, mine, all stories. Don't worry, I'm not killing your lovely grandma. Only hunters that cross my road, people who are "looking for" me, jerks, in general terms.

All lifes are made of choices. I do not and will never regret mines. They led me where I am now, and I do not think that I am in bad shape. Just been trough a lot. And even all the things that happen without letting us choose, I'm convinced that there is a why behind each. And karma is balancing the good and bad ones. So, when I look at her and see her sad, like full of regrets after saying those words, I just want to change that face. Perhaps not making her laugh, not sure that this can be possible yet, but at least make appear a little smile on it, or bring another kind of thought.

After all these years, thinking quite daily to all my beloved ones of which I am the murder of, I'm afraid to say that I get used to it. Then when I start to be sad, to even be to the point to be able to cry, I just stop thinking of it. No need to force myself now. My mind works by itself. It closes that huge closet, and chooses another subject to busy my mind. Then I start to talk of another kind of personal thing. Still and always wanting to know more about her.

" You know I have a girl ? My little angel, Malena. That's for her and her mom that I'm here. Hunting the hunters. You ? "
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cerebral thunder in one-way conversations
Don't wanna call you in the nighttime. Don't wanna give you all my pieces. Don't wanna hand you all my trouble. Don't wanna give you all my demons. You'll have to watch me struggle from several rooms away, but tonight I'll need you to stay.
Δ Joseph H. McGregor


It’s like I never made a choice in my life. It had always been taken from me. The liberty to choose what I wanted to do with my life, it was either survive or die. Do what they tell you to do or die. Kill or die. Surviving, it wasn’t much of a choice, it was more of a habit. And I choose to survive, I choose to kill, torture people. Because it was the only possibility I saw, the only thing that I could do. I couldn’t die, no, I couldn’t die because I made a promise, once, that I wouldn’t leave him alone, Chase, I wouldn’t let him by himself. We needed both the other one to survive from our own destructive mind. I needed him as much as he needed me. And everyday, I wanted to kill myself for the choice I made, the one to leave the center, even if he could have known, he would have wanted it for me. He was the only thing that ever kept me sane. I was mad. Completely mad. At least I knew about it, at least I knew I was dangerous even for myself. That promise I made, it felt like a lifetime ago, it felt like I made it in another life, but I kept my word, I couldn’t die even now, when I knew he was still there, still trapped. And then he talked, again, speaking of his daughter, of her mom, saying he was hunting hunters for them. But I wasn’t hunting hunters, I never did. I killed whoever was on the hit list, human, changeling, whatever, but mostly changeling, mostly creatures, because it was what the center wanted, to get rid of us, but still wanted to use some of us. For experiment they said, well, I would say it was more for they’re own personal pleasure than anything. It made me mad, for a certain time, that I was used for scientific purpose, and then it didn’t even matter anymore, the pain in my head, in my body, it didn’t care for what it was, it didn’t care for the purpose, it just wanted it to stop.

“I killed for them because I had to. It was never a choice. It was either that or be kill. And I couldn't die, I promised him that I wouldn't.”

He was a stranger, yet I was still talking, still saying things that I couldn’t take back. I think that in another life I wouldn’t even be a soldier. I could remember the first time I killed, the disgust in my life, the hatred I had for myself, for them to make me kill. No, I know that if I had the choice back then, I wouldn’t never choose to go on that path, to kill people, to torture them, to see the pain in their eyes, their tears, they wanted it to stop as much as I wanted it before. But I couldn’t feel this kind of pain anymore, my body so use to it that it didn’t even matter anymore.

“You are lucky. To have a family.”

I didn’t have one anymore, but I knew what it was to call someone family, to care for them. I knew what it was, and I knew that he would always be a part of my life, wherever I went, he would be there, even if he wasn’t physically. It was the only family I ever had, the only person I could call home, and I knew that if we ever met again, it would fell like home again.
© GASMASK
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The only thing I was willing for right now, was to hug her. To give her the love she never had, or nearly. That little girl, I was unable to call her woman by seeing her like this, she seemed to have been through so much things, to have met so many wrong persons. Just that "him" she promised to to stay alive, to fight. He might be the only one that really count for her. Perhaps the only one that was taking care of her, when she was in that nightmare place. This should not be. No one should feel that alone. I know too well that loneliness can be feel like a strength. Untouchable, no one able to hurt you, hurt your feels', no one to care of. In my case, I was so much not giving a shit of anything, myself, for a time, that I led me more than once close to death. The women, they have always been my unique family. And when I was without, because I killed them unpurpose,  I was simply alone. Fighting with the first who could dare, at the beginning even with some that I was sure to not beat. Fortunately, I was wrong, I was stronger than I thought, but I was in a really bad shape after. Broken bones, broken heart. And the pain of the bones was nothing comparing to the one of the heart.

" You're safe here. " I said again, truly thinking it, and willing to make sure of anytime around her. " And you are no longer alone. " I looked at her closer, her sad face, her fragile body, and thought that if she survived until now, then yes, she is a strong lady. One of the strongest for sure. Nevertheless I knew that I will always keep an eye on her. Even if she push me away, thing I was sure she will first try to do. But you don't get ride off me that easy. Perhaps she thought she didn't need it, that she was far better by herself, but I was sure one day she'll realize. Perhaps she was even realizing it right now, while talking quite openly. Everybody needs a family. I learned it, I created mine. Malena is surely the best thing that happened in my life. Sometimes I think that I can't lost her. That she is indestructible, she can't die. Because you know, she's not just a girl, she is my girl, my daughter, my blood.
But no need to be blood to be family.
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