Gotten further into Doctor Who. After watching a few episodes with the second Doctor (who, according to I-330, is actually the 10th Doctor), I realized that the blue suit/long brown coat I-330 wears sometimes is identical to the one the Doctor wears. When I asked her about that, she admitted that she had specifically designed her clothes to be based off the Doctor’s. Guess it’s pretty obvious by now how big a fan she is of the show.
But life isn’t all Doctor Who marathons. Yesterday I went out to buy groceries. Not usually something worth talking about, but that time, I-330 said she wanted to come along to pick up things for her cooking. That wasn’t something I could say no to, so she walked with me to the store.
Or really, I walked to the store, she strode to it. She moved down the sidewalk in a straight line, automatically assuming that everyone would make way for her…. And, surprisingly, they did. Whenever we had to cross an intersection, her usual method was to keep walking forward, glaring down any oncoming traffic as if daring them to try and hit her. I kept thinking that someone was going to get mad at us, but no one shouted or anything. Just moved out of the way, looking almost as surprised as I was to see someone forcing their way down the sidewalk so confidently. She was drawing a lot of attention to herself like that…. I tried to follow in her shadow and avoid it. Don’t know if anyone was looking at me as well, since I had my eyes down for most of the walk…. I hope they weren’t….
Halfway to the store, a car tire blew out down the street. Soon as she heard the bang, I-330 dove to the ground. I just watched, unsure of what she was doing. A few moments later, she looked around, stood back up, brushed off some dirt from her clothes, laughed, and started walking again as though nothing had happened. So…. Yeah?
I-330 didn’t mention that for the rest of the trip, and I didn’t ask. Rest was mostly normal, just picking out food, except when I had to stop I-330 from just walking out the store and remind her we needed to pay for things. She insisted that she pay, which was nice of her…. I’m still not used to actually being able to afford things. She had to force me away from the shelves of ramen and convince me that it was alright, I could buy real food for once.
And…. I think that’s it…. Kind of a pointless update…. Not sure why I wrote it. Talking about what happened during my day like it’s something important. And really, all the interesting stuff that happened were things I-330 did. I just stood in the background and watched….
Might as well post this now, get it over with.
-Lisa
Thursday, September 29, 2011
Friday, September 23, 2011
Doctor Who
This show is amazing and definitely not a medical drama!
We watched it last night until I was too sleepy to concentrate. We're almost through Series 1 now. Might make it to Series 2 today.
Even if we don't, I think I've found a new reason to watch television.
-Lisa
We watched it last night until I was too sleepy to concentrate. We're almost through Series 1 now. Might make it to Series 2 today.
Even if we don't, I think I've found a new reason to watch television.
-Lisa
Thursday, September 22, 2011
Living With I-330
Having someone else living in my home feels really, really weird. I’d gotten used to this house feeling like some giant, empty cavern; now it feels like the cavern has been filled. I wake up each morning, and instead of the grey silence I’m used to, all the lights are on and I-330’s busy making breakfast (seriously, she’s always awake before me; I’m starting to wonder if she sleeps.)
Can’t really say just what it is she does with her days; sometimes she’ll lounge around the house, reading books from my stacks, other times she’ll put on a suit and her coat, then walk out the door and not come back until after sunset.
Occasionally I’ve talked to her with the intention of asking the big questions I’ve had (what’s with those posts she made on my blog earlier? What really happened the night we met? Why does she need my house?), but I always get tongue tied, and can never figure out what I’m supposed to say….
I somehow managed to ask a few smaller questions, but none got very detailed answers from her….
-What’s her real name?
I-330. Whenever I tried pressing the question, she kept insisting on I-330. When I asked what name she was given at birth, she started ranting about the injustice of people getting no say in what they would be called for the rest of their life and that the entire system of conventional naming should be thrown out entirely…. Sounded a bit like a sore subject, so I dropped the question quickly.
-What does she do for a living?
Nothing. She said she’s just a traveler; all her money comes from investments. Made me wonder what she’s doing when she goes out, but I couldn’t bring myself to ask.
-Where did she learn to cook so good?
France. I wish I could go to France….
She used my questions as an excuse for her to interrogate me on my personal life. It… kinda reminded me of the conversation I had with John/Grendel, so I didn’t really answer them in much detail…. Still told her some stuff of the basics things about myself, but kept quiet about personal things….
The one thing we’ve been able to talk in depth about has been books. I’ve never had a chance to talk to someone who’s shared my interest like that before. We spent hours talking about S.M. Stirling’s Emberverse, and debating which book is the best from Garth Nix’s Old Kingdom trilogy (she says Sabriel, I say Lirael).
Talking with I-330 is…. Well, fascinating. I admit I haven’t spoken with that many people in my life, but out of those I have, she’s unique. Each word is boldly thrown into the air, laced with authority and bravado. She doesn’t give opinions; she states facts, and dares the rest of the universe to disagree with her. If Lirael wasn’t one of my favorite books, I’d have quietly acquiesced when she declared Sabriel superior, rather than try to stand up to such a commanding tone. And when she really gets into a subject, she puts her whole body into it; rapidly pacing back and forth while swinging her right arm in wild gestures with each emphasized word. It’s always the right arm, I’ve noticed. She keeps her left locked solidly at her side at all times, unless she needs its use for something.
Earlier today, a delivery man stopped at my house. Didn’t know why; I hadn’t ordered anything. Soon as I-330 realized who was at the door, she rushed over and practically ripped the box out of the poor man’s hands. I had to sign for the package, because she ran straight back inside and started to tear it open immediately. I’m not sure what the fuss is about; inside is just a bunch of DVDs from some TV show called Doctor Who. I-330 was looking at them like they were her long lost children, and handling each case with love. She’s made me promise to watch them with her; I don’t usually watch television (I haven’t even turned on my TV in over a year…), but it looked like something she’d insist if I disagreed, and I didn’t want to start a confrontation….
I suppose it can’t be too bad. Probably a medical drama like E.R. I’ll watch a few episodes, and maybe then she’ll let me off the hook.
-Lisa
Can’t really say just what it is she does with her days; sometimes she’ll lounge around the house, reading books from my stacks, other times she’ll put on a suit and her coat, then walk out the door and not come back until after sunset.
Occasionally I’ve talked to her with the intention of asking the big questions I’ve had (what’s with those posts she made on my blog earlier? What really happened the night we met? Why does she need my house?), but I always get tongue tied, and can never figure out what I’m supposed to say….
I somehow managed to ask a few smaller questions, but none got very detailed answers from her….
-What’s her real name?
I-330. Whenever I tried pressing the question, she kept insisting on I-330. When I asked what name she was given at birth, she started ranting about the injustice of people getting no say in what they would be called for the rest of their life and that the entire system of conventional naming should be thrown out entirely…. Sounded a bit like a sore subject, so I dropped the question quickly.
-What does she do for a living?
Nothing. She said she’s just a traveler; all her money comes from investments. Made me wonder what she’s doing when she goes out, but I couldn’t bring myself to ask.
-Where did she learn to cook so good?
France. I wish I could go to France….
She used my questions as an excuse for her to interrogate me on my personal life. It… kinda reminded me of the conversation I had with John/Grendel, so I didn’t really answer them in much detail…. Still told her some stuff of the basics things about myself, but kept quiet about personal things….
The one thing we’ve been able to talk in depth about has been books. I’ve never had a chance to talk to someone who’s shared my interest like that before. We spent hours talking about S.M. Stirling’s Emberverse, and debating which book is the best from Garth Nix’s Old Kingdom trilogy (she says Sabriel, I say Lirael).
Talking with I-330 is…. Well, fascinating. I admit I haven’t spoken with that many people in my life, but out of those I have, she’s unique. Each word is boldly thrown into the air, laced with authority and bravado. She doesn’t give opinions; she states facts, and dares the rest of the universe to disagree with her. If Lirael wasn’t one of my favorite books, I’d have quietly acquiesced when she declared Sabriel superior, rather than try to stand up to such a commanding tone. And when she really gets into a subject, she puts her whole body into it; rapidly pacing back and forth while swinging her right arm in wild gestures with each emphasized word. It’s always the right arm, I’ve noticed. She keeps her left locked solidly at her side at all times, unless she needs its use for something.
Earlier today, a delivery man stopped at my house. Didn’t know why; I hadn’t ordered anything. Soon as I-330 realized who was at the door, she rushed over and practically ripped the box out of the poor man’s hands. I had to sign for the package, because she ran straight back inside and started to tear it open immediately. I’m not sure what the fuss is about; inside is just a bunch of DVDs from some TV show called Doctor Who. I-330 was looking at them like they were her long lost children, and handling each case with love. She’s made me promise to watch them with her; I don’t usually watch television (I haven’t even turned on my TV in over a year…), but it looked like something she’d insist if I disagreed, and I didn’t want to start a confrontation….
I suppose it can’t be too bad. Probably a medical drama like E.R. I’ll watch a few episodes, and maybe then she’ll let me off the hook.
-Lisa
Sunday, September 18, 2011
Tenant
I’m never going to dig myself out of this mess. Goodbye, reasonable life of old. Can’t say I’ll miss you. But at least I had an illusion of control over you.
Couldn’t bring myself to leave my room while I-330 was out there yesterday. Frightened that if I did, I’d have to talk to her…. And that was a bit intimidating. Instead I tried waiting her out, hoping she’d eventually, I don’t know, go away? Stupid idea. Worked about as well as you can imagine. I gave up after the sun set and I was starting to get tired. Locked the door and went to bed, hoping that everything would be somehow fixed when I woke up the next morning.
Which brings us to this morning, when I woke up to the totally unfamiliar sounds of someone using the kitchen. Confusion doesn’t go well with sleepiness, so even after walking to the kitchen, it took me a while to figure out what I was looking at. I-330 was standing over the stove, cooking something. No longer in her fancy suit and tie, though I still have to wonder what type of person wears long sleeves when it’s 70 degrees outside (where did she get the change of clothes? She wasn’t carrying any luggage with her that I saw).
She smiled and greeted me. No one should be allowed to be that happy before 9 AM. No one. Told me she’d gone out shopping while I was asleep, and was making crepes. Before I could question any of this, she handed me a plate and dished up several for me. Then I, still horribly disoriented, was led by her to the table. She sat down next to me, and started to talk. Emphasized how sorry she was about what I’d had to go through. I just nodded and mechanically ate my crepes. Didn’t have a clue what I was supposed to say in that situation.
Then she told me that she was looking for a place to stay in the city, and wanted to know if she could rent a room. Why does she always have to say these things while there’s something in my mouth? I don’t want to die choking on crepes….
Before I could finish coughing and say something, anything to try and get this conversation under control, she pulled a check out of her pocket and said that she was willing to pay her first few months rent in advance.
That check had… a very impressive number on it. Lots of zeroes. More than I’ve ever seen on any check handed to me before. I must have mumbled something, because she thanked me, then ran back to the kitchen to clean up.
I’m so confused. I can’t tell her she has to leave now…. But I’m not sure I really agreed to let her stay…. So I guess this means I have a tenant now? Somehow?
-Lisa
Couldn’t bring myself to leave my room while I-330 was out there yesterday. Frightened that if I did, I’d have to talk to her…. And that was a bit intimidating. Instead I tried waiting her out, hoping she’d eventually, I don’t know, go away? Stupid idea. Worked about as well as you can imagine. I gave up after the sun set and I was starting to get tired. Locked the door and went to bed, hoping that everything would be somehow fixed when I woke up the next morning.
Which brings us to this morning, when I woke up to the totally unfamiliar sounds of someone using the kitchen. Confusion doesn’t go well with sleepiness, so even after walking to the kitchen, it took me a while to figure out what I was looking at. I-330 was standing over the stove, cooking something. No longer in her fancy suit and tie, though I still have to wonder what type of person wears long sleeves when it’s 70 degrees outside (where did she get the change of clothes? She wasn’t carrying any luggage with her that I saw).
She smiled and greeted me. No one should be allowed to be that happy before 9 AM. No one. Told me she’d gone out shopping while I was asleep, and was making crepes. Before I could question any of this, she handed me a plate and dished up several for me. Then I, still horribly disoriented, was led by her to the table. She sat down next to me, and started to talk. Emphasized how sorry she was about what I’d had to go through. I just nodded and mechanically ate my crepes. Didn’t have a clue what I was supposed to say in that situation.
Then she told me that she was looking for a place to stay in the city, and wanted to know if she could rent a room. Why does she always have to say these things while there’s something in my mouth? I don’t want to die choking on crepes….
Before I could finish coughing and say something, anything to try and get this conversation under control, she pulled a check out of her pocket and said that she was willing to pay her first few months rent in advance.
That check had… a very impressive number on it. Lots of zeroes. More than I’ve ever seen on any check handed to me before. I must have mumbled something, because she thanked me, then ran back to the kitchen to clean up.
I’m so confused. I can’t tell her she has to leave now…. But I’m not sure I really agreed to let her stay…. So I guess this means I have a tenant now? Somehow?
-Lisa
Saturday, September 17, 2011
I have no idea what is going on anymore.
So I’m going to blog about it and hope doing so somehow makes everything better.
That last post, and the comments with it, freaked me out. Never should have read it at night. As I was looking at the comment Grendel made about him coming to get me, I could hear footsteps again in another room, coming closer….
Ran out my room, out the front door, and away from my house without stopping to think. I swear I could still hear the footsteps even outside the house, always just behind me…. I kept running until I found myself surrounded by lights and people. I was someplace in the city, close to downtown I think. Fairfax isn’t exactly known for its nightlife, but that doesn’t mean the place is abandoned once it gets dark. I think. I’d never before been downtown that late at night, so I can’t make too many claims about what’s normal for it….
It was like I was in a trance or something. I saw a bar, lights and music dancing out onto the street, and I slowly was pulled inside. Didn’t say anything to anyone in there; pushed through the clustered groups of friends to an unoccupied booth in the very back, and sat down. Just wanted to be someplace with lights and people, where I could feel safe from whatever imaginary monsters had been chasing me.
Probably sat there for forty minutes by myself. The staff didn’t bother me, which I was grateful for. I had just started to calm down, when I heard someone ask me if the seat across from me was taken. Jumped slightly in panic, all my prior fears rapidly returning, looked over to the source of the voice….
My first impression on the man was that he was gorgeous. Movie star gorgeous. No, more than movie star. No-real-person-could-possibly-look-that-good gorgeous. He was tall and slim, but you could still see the muscles underneath his black shirt. Angular face, with high cheekbones, rich black hair, and a smile which practically gleamed…. Spending too much time on describing, focus Lisa, focus.
There was no way I could try to respond to his question; my attempts at doing so ended with me stammering meaningless syllables. He laughed at that, and sat down anyways. Ordered us both wine; as soon as my glass arrived, I drank it as fast as I could. Needed something to help me out with this crazy swerve my night had taken.
That drink did help, enough that I could actually talk to the man. Said his name was John. I didn’t learn much more about him than that, except that he said he worked as a historian… For most of the conversation, we were talking about me. Didn’t know how to deal with that; no one’s ever shown real interest in me before, much less a guy like that. I told him about myself…. How I’d been working as a librarian until I was fired a few months ago, that I loved to read and write… Even got into a few more private details as I drank more. Told him that most of my family was dead, that I lived alone in the big house on the hall just outside town, and as the hours passed, I even started talking about Elizabeth and the black chest. I thought he’d laugh at the story, but he was actually interested, and I ended up telling him the whole thing.
Lost track of hours after a while. John was funny, smart, sophisticated (I don’t think I’ve ever before heard anyone else use “thereof” in casual conversation). This was the first time I ever been in a situation like that. It was…. exactly like my craziest romantic thoughts had imagined it would be. Sometimes I thought that I had to be dreaming. No way could this be happening to me.
Completely forgot there was a world outside the booth until we were told that the bar was closing up. How many hours had we been talking like that? I was feeling a bit dizzy from the drinks (I am such a lightweight), but John offered to walk me home.
Walking down the streets at night, leaning on John to keep my balance, feeling happier than I had in such a long time…. I swear I had fallen into a romance novel.
Then the genre changed.
We were passing by an alleyway when John stopped. Still was a bit drunk, so his sudden stop caused me to stumble. He grabbed my arm to keep me from falling, but his grip was no longer gentle; felt like a vice crushing my arm, enough to make me shout in surprise. I looked at him, confused, and….
…. Until that point, I couldn’t tell you what color his eyes were. I’d seen his eyes, I even remember thinking to myself how beautiful they looked…. But my brain couldn’t focus on their color. Except right then, I suddenly could.
His eyes were bright red, like fire…. And when he smiled, his teeth were razor sharp….
I wanted to scream, but my lungs couldn’t draw the air. He threw me into the air, as though I didn’t weigh anything, into the alley. I must have flown at least twenty feet before hitting some trash bags stopped me. Opened my eyes, and he was standing over me, grinning wide enough to show all the teeth in his mouth.
“Hello, Lisa!” John’s voice had become harsh, sounding almost like an animal’s growl. He grabbed me by the throat with one hand, and easily lifted me into the air, squeezing my neck until it felt like it was being crushed. With his other hand, he started casually ripping buttons off my shirt. I wanted to fight back, hit him or kick him or something, but I couldn’t move. My limbs were frozen, and all I could do was stare into those burning eyes.
“It’s DINNER TIME!” He growled.
Nononononono, not this, not again, no…..
Heard a bang, and half of John’s face ripped apart into blood, bones, and black… shadow… stuff…. Not sure how to describe it…. Almost like oil, but too ethereal to be liquid….
He let go of me and I hit the concrete. There was a woman at the opposite end of the alley, pointing a gun at John. Hard to see that late and night, but it looked like she was smiling.
“Evening, Grendel!” She shouted.
I turned my head slightly.... Moving my neck just a little brought pain…. So I could look back at John…. Grendel…. Whatever he’s called. The shadows were flowing back into the hole that had been shot in his head. Bone, muscle, and skin started to grow back over the shadows, until there was no sign that he’d been injured. His smile was still there; almost seemed to grow even larger, if that’s possible.
“Darling!” He kicked me violently to the side. “I swear, it’s not what it looks like! I was just-“
The woman shot him through the head again; a few seconds later, that new injury was gone as well. He still didn’t stop smiling.
I still couldn’t move my arms or legs, no matter how hard I tried. It was still hard to breath…. The two were saying something, but I couldn’t make out any of it. Could barely see them, as my vision started to go fuzzy.
At some point, I went unconscious. The last thing I clearly remember is a burning white light, and what sounded almost like Grendel shouting “No fair!” Then I woke up in my bed. Again.
Had another freakout as I remembered what happened last night, but calmed down when I reassured myself it had to be a dream. Well, maybe not the drinking part; I had the hangover to tell me that was real. Everything else? I dunno, maybe I had drunk more than I thought….
Door to my room opened, and a woman came in holding a cup of coffee. The cheery way she said good morning didn’t help with the headache, but the coffee and pain meds she gave me was nice, so I suppose-WHY IS THERE A STRANGE WOMAN INSIDE MY HOUSE.
It was the woman from last night. Nearly spit out my coffee all over her when I realized it. What had I been doing then….
How am I supposed to talk about her. Let’s start with the normal stuff. I think I can handle the normal stuff for now. She had long black hair (see? Normal enough.), was wearing a blue suit with a long brown coat over it (even had a tie. Bit formal, but I suppose that’s still regular clothing, right?), a black glove (just on her left hand. O-kay, only one glove, bit odd….), two scars on her face, a curved one on the left cheek and one going diagonally across her nose (not used to seeing facial scars on people, but I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation….), and an eye patch (kay, I’ve got nothing for that).
Never could shake the feeling that I was looking at a well dressed pirate girl.
Then she introduced herself.
“Sorry about what you had to go through last night. Hope you’re feeling a bit better today. Oh, by the way, I’m I-330.”
Yes.
I-330.
The person who’s been posting on this blog.
That time, I wasn’t able to stop myself from spitting out the coffee. At least she’s got fast reflexes, and ducked out of the way before any of it hit her. Started to feel faint again. That was all way too much for me to be taking in. The room started to spin around me, I heard I-330 asking if I was alright, and then I blacked out again.
Woke up less than an hour ago. The coffee cup was sitting next to my bed, contents cold, next to a plate with a peanut butter sandwich on it, and whatever mess my spit-take had made was cleaned up. I cautiously peeked out my door and looked around. Soon as I saw I-330 lying on a couch, reading a book she’d picked up from my mess on the floor, I closed my door and ran back to my bed. Couple of minutes later, got out my laptop and started writing this post. Then I ate the sandwich because I haven’t eaten anything at all since last night.
Really don’t know what to do here. Should I try talking to I-330? I have a lot of questions I need to ask her…. But I’m too nervous to try. What if those things I remember actually happened last night? Does that mean all the posts she’s made were also true? If they’re true, then…. I don’t know. Someone took my conception of what the world was like and smashed it with a hammer last night. Can’t say when I’ll get over that….
-Lisa
That last post, and the comments with it, freaked me out. Never should have read it at night. As I was looking at the comment Grendel made about him coming to get me, I could hear footsteps again in another room, coming closer….
Ran out my room, out the front door, and away from my house without stopping to think. I swear I could still hear the footsteps even outside the house, always just behind me…. I kept running until I found myself surrounded by lights and people. I was someplace in the city, close to downtown I think. Fairfax isn’t exactly known for its nightlife, but that doesn’t mean the place is abandoned once it gets dark. I think. I’d never before been downtown that late at night, so I can’t make too many claims about what’s normal for it….
It was like I was in a trance or something. I saw a bar, lights and music dancing out onto the street, and I slowly was pulled inside. Didn’t say anything to anyone in there; pushed through the clustered groups of friends to an unoccupied booth in the very back, and sat down. Just wanted to be someplace with lights and people, where I could feel safe from whatever imaginary monsters had been chasing me.
Probably sat there for forty minutes by myself. The staff didn’t bother me, which I was grateful for. I had just started to calm down, when I heard someone ask me if the seat across from me was taken. Jumped slightly in panic, all my prior fears rapidly returning, looked over to the source of the voice….
My first impression on the man was that he was gorgeous. Movie star gorgeous. No, more than movie star. No-real-person-could-possibly-look-that-good gorgeous. He was tall and slim, but you could still see the muscles underneath his black shirt. Angular face, with high cheekbones, rich black hair, and a smile which practically gleamed…. Spending too much time on describing, focus Lisa, focus.
There was no way I could try to respond to his question; my attempts at doing so ended with me stammering meaningless syllables. He laughed at that, and sat down anyways. Ordered us both wine; as soon as my glass arrived, I drank it as fast as I could. Needed something to help me out with this crazy swerve my night had taken.
That drink did help, enough that I could actually talk to the man. Said his name was John. I didn’t learn much more about him than that, except that he said he worked as a historian… For most of the conversation, we were talking about me. Didn’t know how to deal with that; no one’s ever shown real interest in me before, much less a guy like that. I told him about myself…. How I’d been working as a librarian until I was fired a few months ago, that I loved to read and write… Even got into a few more private details as I drank more. Told him that most of my family was dead, that I lived alone in the big house on the hall just outside town, and as the hours passed, I even started talking about Elizabeth and the black chest. I thought he’d laugh at the story, but he was actually interested, and I ended up telling him the whole thing.
Lost track of hours after a while. John was funny, smart, sophisticated (I don’t think I’ve ever before heard anyone else use “thereof” in casual conversation). This was the first time I ever been in a situation like that. It was…. exactly like my craziest romantic thoughts had imagined it would be. Sometimes I thought that I had to be dreaming. No way could this be happening to me.
Completely forgot there was a world outside the booth until we were told that the bar was closing up. How many hours had we been talking like that? I was feeling a bit dizzy from the drinks (I am such a lightweight), but John offered to walk me home.
Walking down the streets at night, leaning on John to keep my balance, feeling happier than I had in such a long time…. I swear I had fallen into a romance novel.
Then the genre changed.
We were passing by an alleyway when John stopped. Still was a bit drunk, so his sudden stop caused me to stumble. He grabbed my arm to keep me from falling, but his grip was no longer gentle; felt like a vice crushing my arm, enough to make me shout in surprise. I looked at him, confused, and….
…. Until that point, I couldn’t tell you what color his eyes were. I’d seen his eyes, I even remember thinking to myself how beautiful they looked…. But my brain couldn’t focus on their color. Except right then, I suddenly could.
His eyes were bright red, like fire…. And when he smiled, his teeth were razor sharp….
I wanted to scream, but my lungs couldn’t draw the air. He threw me into the air, as though I didn’t weigh anything, into the alley. I must have flown at least twenty feet before hitting some trash bags stopped me. Opened my eyes, and he was standing over me, grinning wide enough to show all the teeth in his mouth.
“Hello, Lisa!” John’s voice had become harsh, sounding almost like an animal’s growl. He grabbed me by the throat with one hand, and easily lifted me into the air, squeezing my neck until it felt like it was being crushed. With his other hand, he started casually ripping buttons off my shirt. I wanted to fight back, hit him or kick him or something, but I couldn’t move. My limbs were frozen, and all I could do was stare into those burning eyes.
“It’s DINNER TIME!” He growled.
Nononononono, not this, not again, no…..
Heard a bang, and half of John’s face ripped apart into blood, bones, and black… shadow… stuff…. Not sure how to describe it…. Almost like oil, but too ethereal to be liquid….
He let go of me and I hit the concrete. There was a woman at the opposite end of the alley, pointing a gun at John. Hard to see that late and night, but it looked like she was smiling.
“Evening, Grendel!” She shouted.
I turned my head slightly.... Moving my neck just a little brought pain…. So I could look back at John…. Grendel…. Whatever he’s called. The shadows were flowing back into the hole that had been shot in his head. Bone, muscle, and skin started to grow back over the shadows, until there was no sign that he’d been injured. His smile was still there; almost seemed to grow even larger, if that’s possible.
“Darling!” He kicked me violently to the side. “I swear, it’s not what it looks like! I was just-“
The woman shot him through the head again; a few seconds later, that new injury was gone as well. He still didn’t stop smiling.
I still couldn’t move my arms or legs, no matter how hard I tried. It was still hard to breath…. The two were saying something, but I couldn’t make out any of it. Could barely see them, as my vision started to go fuzzy.
At some point, I went unconscious. The last thing I clearly remember is a burning white light, and what sounded almost like Grendel shouting “No fair!” Then I woke up in my bed. Again.
Had another freakout as I remembered what happened last night, but calmed down when I reassured myself it had to be a dream. Well, maybe not the drinking part; I had the hangover to tell me that was real. Everything else? I dunno, maybe I had drunk more than I thought….
Door to my room opened, and a woman came in holding a cup of coffee. The cheery way she said good morning didn’t help with the headache, but the coffee and pain meds she gave me was nice, so I suppose-WHY IS THERE A STRANGE WOMAN INSIDE MY HOUSE.
It was the woman from last night. Nearly spit out my coffee all over her when I realized it. What had I been doing then….
How am I supposed to talk about her. Let’s start with the normal stuff. I think I can handle the normal stuff for now. She had long black hair (see? Normal enough.), was wearing a blue suit with a long brown coat over it (even had a tie. Bit formal, but I suppose that’s still regular clothing, right?), a black glove (just on her left hand. O-kay, only one glove, bit odd….), two scars on her face, a curved one on the left cheek and one going diagonally across her nose (not used to seeing facial scars on people, but I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation….), and an eye patch (kay, I’ve got nothing for that).
Never could shake the feeling that I was looking at a well dressed pirate girl.
Then she introduced herself.
“Sorry about what you had to go through last night. Hope you’re feeling a bit better today. Oh, by the way, I’m I-330.”
Yes.
I-330.
The person who’s been posting on this blog.
That time, I wasn’t able to stop myself from spitting out the coffee. At least she’s got fast reflexes, and ducked out of the way before any of it hit her. Started to feel faint again. That was all way too much for me to be taking in. The room started to spin around me, I heard I-330 asking if I was alright, and then I blacked out again.
Woke up less than an hour ago. The coffee cup was sitting next to my bed, contents cold, next to a plate with a peanut butter sandwich on it, and whatever mess my spit-take had made was cleaned up. I cautiously peeked out my door and looked around. Soon as I saw I-330 lying on a couch, reading a book she’d picked up from my mess on the floor, I closed my door and ran back to my bed. Couple of minutes later, got out my laptop and started writing this post. Then I ate the sandwich because I haven’t eaten anything at all since last night.
Really don’t know what to do here. Should I try talking to I-330? I have a lot of questions I need to ask her…. But I’m too nervous to try. What if those things I remember actually happened last night? Does that mean all the posts she’s made were also true? If they’re true, then…. I don’t know. Someone took my conception of what the world was like and smashed it with a hammer last night. Can’t say when I’ll get over that….
-Lisa
Friday, September 16, 2011
HELLO LISA
DID YOU LIKE THE LETTER I SENT YOU?
Staying up all hours of the night? Not healthy for you at all, Lisa dear. Why, when I stopped by, you were sleeping on the floor, using The Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man as a pillow while cradling Sabriel like a teddy bear. Of course it wouldn’t do for an upstanding lady to be found in such a compromising position, would it? I hope you don’t mind that I took the liberty of moving you to a more respectable location.
My, what a large house you live. How strange it is, for a lone woman to be living in a house so very large. One filled with so many memories and skeletons. Have you told our audience why it is that a young woman like yourself is in possession of such a spacious house?
Did you ever tell them about Daddy Dearest? Poor young Lisa, always so desperate for parents’ love. What a futile hope. Daddy never could be made happy, could he Lisa? You were always disappointing him. If only you had been smarter, maybe if you’d been prettier, perhaps if you hadn’t failed at every task he gave you, you wouldn’t have gone to sleep every night after night after night covered in bruises. But you could never too that. You were too much of a failure for that.
So many years this went on! Even a monster such as myself could have learned a few things about causing pain from Daddy. His only failing was that he did not realize what your breaking point would be; had he just held that awareness, how many more wonderful years could he have continued the performance?
You always have been so fond of your fantasies, haven’t you Lisa? Running away to your little make believe lands, where you don’t think the real world can hurt you. Daddy hated your little escapes. Hated that you possessed a way to hide from his grasp, even if it was only for fleeting moments. And one day, his hatred turned into action. What a brilliant fire those pages must have created!
For the first time, little Lisa gained her voice. In response to this threat against her one refuge of happiness, little Lisa spoke out. Harm to your own person was tolerable, but harming books? Heaven forbid.
You should have known better than to defy Daddy. He didn’t like that. Not at all. I don’t believe he had ever held as much rage before, which is a true accomplishment. Bruises? Those were the least of your concerns in the beating which followed. But it’s not as though you needed your left leg’s bones to be intact. Or your rib cage. And this time, when he took his belt off, it wasn’t because he meant to hit you with it, was it Lisa? WAS IT, LISA?
Hours later, you were still lying there, next to the ashes of your books, clothes ripped apart, salt on your cheeks from your dried tears. Practically comatose. What was it that sparked you into movement? Maybe after I have devoured you I will know, but for the time I can only watch in wonder. Ignoring the crippling pain which you no doubt were experiencing, you stood on your feet, took a knife from the kitchen, and limped to your parents’ room. Lying there before you was the brute, asleep and snoring. You finally wanted your long desired revenge, Lisa? Finally would have the courage to meet violence with violence? Snicker snack went your knife, through the sheets, through the skin, trailing red everywhere….. You might have killed him there, had your mother not woken in time to stop you.
When the ambulances arrived, the story was that your injuries had been a result of Daddy trying to defend himself from his insane daughter’s unprovoked attack. No one was surprised by the tale. They always did think of you as the odd sort. “It’s always the quiet ones who snap,” they all told each other.
Sometimes I wonder what delightful tortures would have been inflicted on you had Daddy returned. I have no doubt that they would have been AMAZING. But so fortunately for you, Daddy was burned alive in his own hospital bed the same day Mommy experienced a fatal car crash. The beatings were over, but they were replaced by the years of apathetic therapy. Judging by your current state, I don’t believe it helped much.
With your legal guardians dead, it fell onto your relatives to assume care of you. But why would any of them want to raise YOU? They didn’t even want to associate with you. You were a black mark of shame on the family. They simply wished to push you aside and keep you out of sight until the scandal went away. So they sent you to one of the family’s old homes in Fairfax, where they would regularly check to make sure you were staying silent, praying you would die quietly and they could stop dealing with you.
I really should apologize to advance to them. As you most certainly are not going to be dying quietly. NOT. AT. ALL!
I wonder. If spontaneous combustion is the karmic retribution for those that rape you…. What horrible punishment could be given to me after I inflict what I am planning to do to you?
Oh, shivers of anticipation run down my spine whenever I consider it.
Sincerely,
Grendel
Staying up all hours of the night? Not healthy for you at all, Lisa dear. Why, when I stopped by, you were sleeping on the floor, using The Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man as a pillow while cradling Sabriel like a teddy bear. Of course it wouldn’t do for an upstanding lady to be found in such a compromising position, would it? I hope you don’t mind that I took the liberty of moving you to a more respectable location.
My, what a large house you live. How strange it is, for a lone woman to be living in a house so very large. One filled with so many memories and skeletons. Have you told our audience why it is that a young woman like yourself is in possession of such a spacious house?
Did you ever tell them about Daddy Dearest? Poor young Lisa, always so desperate for parents’ love. What a futile hope. Daddy never could be made happy, could he Lisa? You were always disappointing him. If only you had been smarter, maybe if you’d been prettier, perhaps if you hadn’t failed at every task he gave you, you wouldn’t have gone to sleep every night after night after night covered in bruises. But you could never too that. You were too much of a failure for that.
So many years this went on! Even a monster such as myself could have learned a few things about causing pain from Daddy. His only failing was that he did not realize what your breaking point would be; had he just held that awareness, how many more wonderful years could he have continued the performance?
You always have been so fond of your fantasies, haven’t you Lisa? Running away to your little make believe lands, where you don’t think the real world can hurt you. Daddy hated your little escapes. Hated that you possessed a way to hide from his grasp, even if it was only for fleeting moments. And one day, his hatred turned into action. What a brilliant fire those pages must have created!
For the first time, little Lisa gained her voice. In response to this threat against her one refuge of happiness, little Lisa spoke out. Harm to your own person was tolerable, but harming books? Heaven forbid.
You should have known better than to defy Daddy. He didn’t like that. Not at all. I don’t believe he had ever held as much rage before, which is a true accomplishment. Bruises? Those were the least of your concerns in the beating which followed. But it’s not as though you needed your left leg’s bones to be intact. Or your rib cage. And this time, when he took his belt off, it wasn’t because he meant to hit you with it, was it Lisa? WAS IT, LISA?
Hours later, you were still lying there, next to the ashes of your books, clothes ripped apart, salt on your cheeks from your dried tears. Practically comatose. What was it that sparked you into movement? Maybe after I have devoured you I will know, but for the time I can only watch in wonder. Ignoring the crippling pain which you no doubt were experiencing, you stood on your feet, took a knife from the kitchen, and limped to your parents’ room. Lying there before you was the brute, asleep and snoring. You finally wanted your long desired revenge, Lisa? Finally would have the courage to meet violence with violence? Snicker snack went your knife, through the sheets, through the skin, trailing red everywhere….. You might have killed him there, had your mother not woken in time to stop you.
When the ambulances arrived, the story was that your injuries had been a result of Daddy trying to defend himself from his insane daughter’s unprovoked attack. No one was surprised by the tale. They always did think of you as the odd sort. “It’s always the quiet ones who snap,” they all told each other.
Sometimes I wonder what delightful tortures would have been inflicted on you had Daddy returned. I have no doubt that they would have been AMAZING. But so fortunately for you, Daddy was burned alive in his own hospital bed the same day Mommy experienced a fatal car crash. The beatings were over, but they were replaced by the years of apathetic therapy. Judging by your current state, I don’t believe it helped much.
With your legal guardians dead, it fell onto your relatives to assume care of you. But why would any of them want to raise YOU? They didn’t even want to associate with you. You were a black mark of shame on the family. They simply wished to push you aside and keep you out of sight until the scandal went away. So they sent you to one of the family’s old homes in Fairfax, where they would regularly check to make sure you were staying silent, praying you would die quietly and they could stop dealing with you.
I really should apologize to advance to them. As you most certainly are not going to be dying quietly. NOT. AT. ALL!
I wonder. If spontaneous combustion is the karmic retribution for those that rape you…. What horrible punishment could be given to me after I inflict what I am planning to do to you?
Oh, shivers of anticipation run down my spine whenever I consider it.
Sincerely,
Grendel
Last Night
Couldn’t sleep last night. I swear, I heard footsteps coming from the other rooms the entire night long. I would go to investigate, but the rooms were always empty…. Then I’d hear footsteps again, from a different room. Spent the entire night walking through all 28 (yes, I counted, it was a long night) rooms in this house, keeping the light on in every one. Some of those rooms, I haven’t been inside in over a year. The dust was completely undisturbed, but I could still hear footsteps coming from them….
Exhaustion took me around 7 in the morning, and I collapsed into a pile of books in the kitchen (of course I have books in the kitchen… I might want to read something while waiting for the microwave to finish cooking….) Woke up about an hour ago, lying on my bed.
…. I’m kinda starting to freak out a bit here….
-Lisa
Exhaustion took me around 7 in the morning, and I collapsed into a pile of books in the kitchen (of course I have books in the kitchen… I might want to read something while waiting for the microwave to finish cooking….) Woke up about an hour ago, lying on my bed.
…. I’m kinda starting to freak out a bit here….
-Lisa
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