This morning, I had the weirdest string of phone calls. It was a number in my area code, but one that I didn't recognize. I didn't answer, because I usually don't when I don't know the number. When the machine picks up, I'll answer if it's somebody I know, and if it's not I won't. So, I waited until the call went to the answering machine. It was just measured beeping, for as long as it would record.
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
On and on like that, until finally the answering machine would cut it off. And then, between forty-five seconds and two minutes later, the same number would appear. Over, and over, and over again. A couple times I picked up and tried to see if someone would come on, but that ear-piercing beep just continued. I put it on speakerphone hoping that would make waiting it out easier, but nobody ever came on. Two solid minutes of that beeping. Even when I attempted to call someone, they would call back again so quickly all I ever got was them.
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
I tried looking up the number, but got no information on it.
It just wouldn't stop. It actually started to get kind of scary. Every room I went to, I'd just hear them calling back again and again, with more of that meaningless, repetitive, ear-piercing beeping. Given that I've been on a bit of a creepypasta kick lately, it made it that much worse. I was beginning to feel like I was in one. Was I going to find the phone cord cut? Were the calls coming from inside the house? Were they coming from...somewhere else? Amazing how when you're home alone even during the day, your imagination can run wild. Rationally, I knew that there was nothing otherworldly or malevolent to it, just a really annoying, persistent caller. The relentlessness and the pointlessness of the calls made them seem like something they weren't.
Hell, even when I finally managed to make a phone call, they were still beeping in on the call waiting. I was fully expecting thick static and garbled human voices at this point. Possibly some tortured screaming. Rest assured that if that's what I got, I'd have chucked the phone out the window.
I remember once getting nothing but staticy beeps and vague voices from a number marked only as "Out of Area". Yeah. "Out of Area" indeed. Out of the area of sanity.
As for this caller, it only ended when I unplugged the phone for a few hours. Who knows how long it would have lasted if I didn't. I really don't want to know.
Wednesday, June 26, 2013
So, about that Red Wedding...
Yeah, the one a couple weeks back. People made a really big stink about it as I recall, considering they all were under the impression Robb Stark was the hero of the series and would win out in the end. Nasty shock that he died horribly instead, right?
I won't go into my own feelings that Robb deserved to die for being an oathbreaker, because nobody wants to hear it. Also, that's not what I came here to talk about. No, what I want to talk about are some of the things I heard people say. Things like how writers "shouldn't be allowed" to kill off their characters, or accusing them of having "God complexes". I even came across somebody rallying people to "make a difference" by not buying novels in which good-guy characters die.
What. No, seriously, what? That's just really ridiculous, isn't it? I wonder if the Harry Potter fanbase got this distraught about it when Dumbledore died, or when anyone who was killed in the last book did. I don't know, but somehow I can't see them saying that Ms. Rowling should not have been allowed to do what she did.
A writer has the freedom to choose what happens to their characters. They created them. They decide what they look like, act like, speak like, and yes, even when and if they die in the story. It's their right as the creator of the character to do so. It has nothing to do with a "God complex". I'll bet you nobody's ever sitting there rubbing their hands and cackling fiendishly, going "Yes! I will kill my hero just to make the audience upset for weeks! BWAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"
Saying a writer shouldn't be allowed to do things to their characters as they see fit really annoys me. Who are you to decide what I can and cannot do with the setting I created? Did you sit there and come up with them? No? Then you don't get to tell me that I can't do as I wish with them. When it's your story, you can do whatever you like, as is your right and privilege. If it's not, then you don't get a say. I'm working on a book myself, and, since people seem to need a warning about this sort of thing, I'll tell you right now. Allysdair, my main character, dies very early on. In fact, most of the story takes place after he dies. He's not the only one either; quite a few people get the axe besides him. There, now you know.
As to the "making a difference" crowd, all I can say is get over it. You're not doing good by trying to force people into only writing happy things that make you happy. I also really can't fathom being upset for weeks over a fictional character. There's people who still blubber about Aeris dying and Final Fantasy VII came out what, sixteen years ago? True, people get attached to their favorites, but at the end of the day they're not real. Nobody actually died, so there's no need for all this wailing and gnashing of teeth so long afterwards.
Also, admit it. Once a villainous character (like I dunno...Joffrey) dies, you'll be the same bunch that gloats for weeks on end.
Sometimes the hero dies. If every book, movie, or anything else only had the villains die, it would get dull and repetitive indeed. Good doesn't always triumph over evil in the real world. It doesn't have to in fiction either.
I won't go into my own feelings that Robb deserved to die for being an oathbreaker, because nobody wants to hear it. Also, that's not what I came here to talk about. No, what I want to talk about are some of the things I heard people say. Things like how writers "shouldn't be allowed" to kill off their characters, or accusing them of having "God complexes". I even came across somebody rallying people to "make a difference" by not buying novels in which good-guy characters die.
What. No, seriously, what? That's just really ridiculous, isn't it? I wonder if the Harry Potter fanbase got this distraught about it when Dumbledore died, or when anyone who was killed in the last book did. I don't know, but somehow I can't see them saying that Ms. Rowling should not have been allowed to do what she did.
A writer has the freedom to choose what happens to their characters. They created them. They decide what they look like, act like, speak like, and yes, even when and if they die in the story. It's their right as the creator of the character to do so. It has nothing to do with a "God complex". I'll bet you nobody's ever sitting there rubbing their hands and cackling fiendishly, going "Yes! I will kill my hero just to make the audience upset for weeks! BWAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"
Saying a writer shouldn't be allowed to do things to their characters as they see fit really annoys me. Who are you to decide what I can and cannot do with the setting I created? Did you sit there and come up with them? No? Then you don't get to tell me that I can't do as I wish with them. When it's your story, you can do whatever you like, as is your right and privilege. If it's not, then you don't get a say. I'm working on a book myself, and, since people seem to need a warning about this sort of thing, I'll tell you right now. Allysdair, my main character, dies very early on. In fact, most of the story takes place after he dies. He's not the only one either; quite a few people get the axe besides him. There, now you know.
As to the "making a difference" crowd, all I can say is get over it. You're not doing good by trying to force people into only writing happy things that make you happy. I also really can't fathom being upset for weeks over a fictional character. There's people who still blubber about Aeris dying and Final Fantasy VII came out what, sixteen years ago? True, people get attached to their favorites, but at the end of the day they're not real. Nobody actually died, so there's no need for all this wailing and gnashing of teeth so long afterwards.
Also, admit it. Once a villainous character (like I dunno...Joffrey) dies, you'll be the same bunch that gloats for weeks on end.
Sometimes the hero dies. If every book, movie, or anything else only had the villains die, it would get dull and repetitive indeed. Good doesn't always triumph over evil in the real world. It doesn't have to in fiction either.
Tuesday, June 25, 2013
Single-Player Hide-and-Seek
Ever heard of Single-Player Hide-and Seek? It's not something you'd ever catch me trying, I'll tell you that. It's a variant of hide-and-seek that came out of Japan, in which you summon up a likely-malevolent spirit that will murder and/or possess you if you lose the game. Sounds fun, right? I thought not. However, if you really feel like taunting some otherworldly entity, here's what you do.
For this game, you'll need a doll. NOT a human doll. I can't stress that enough; every account I've read says to never use a human doll. The thing you're calling upon won't want to leave a human-shaped doll, and you do want it to leave. A teddy bear or similar stuffed animal is a good choice.
Aside from the doll, you'll need the following:
-Uncooked rice
-A needle and a long piece of red thread
-A glass of salt water or sake
-Something to stab the doll with. A pencil or needle would be safest; anything more dangerous will only make it easier for the doll to kill you.
-Something from your body (ex: fingernail clippings, hair, blood...)
-A bathtub full of water
-A hiding place. I hear closets are good.
Pick your hiding place first, and leave your glass of salt water or sake there so you don't forget it later. It's extremely important that you have it; without it the game won't end. Well, not in your favor anyway.
Name your doll. Naming the doll gives it an identity, and allows a spirit to inhabit it. For the purposes of this post, let's call your hypothetical doll Spooky. Nothing I've ever seen says anything about avoiding giving it a normal human name, but you never know. I'm calling it Spooky.
Cut Spooky open and remove all the stuffing. Replace the removed stuffing with rice and whatever material from your body you're using. After that, sew Spooky back up with the red thread. Make sure it's a long piece of red thread so you can wrap the excess around its body. The red thread symbolizes blood and acts as a restraint for the spirit. You need every advantage you can get, after all.
Start at 3 AM, as this is the time when spirits are at their most active. Take Spooky into the bathroom and fill up the tub. Hold Spooky in both hands and say "For the first game, (Your name here) will be it". Say this loudly and firmly three times, then drop Spooky into the water.
Run around your house, shutting all the lights and electronics off. After that, close your eyes and count to ten. Open your eyes, grab your weapon, and go back to the bathroom. Say "I found Spooky!" and stab the doll three times. You win the first round. Now it's Spooky's turn.
Now say "Now Spooky is it," and leave the still-impaled doll in the bathroom. Run to your hiding place, where your glass of salt water (or sake) should already be. Take a mouthful of the glass' contents. The salt water's all that's protecting you from the spirit that's now inhabiting the doll. Don't swallow it. Just hold it in your mouth. Do not make a sound, because Spooky's coming for you.
People who have taken part in the game have reported various phenomena during play: the sound of laughter, the T.V. switching on, off, or changing channels, flickering lights, sharp drops in temperature, nasty smells, and other noises. If they had any pets, they could hear them cowering or crying.
To end the game, you need to find the doll. Don't be surprised if it's not where you left it. It might be on the floor in the bathroom, or in the hall, or maybe even close to where you've been hiding. When you find the doll, you need to spit the salt water on it. Dump whatever was left in your glass on it too.
After you've doused the doll in salt water, close your eyes and say once again in a loud and firm voice, "I win!" three times. The spirit will give up.
Never play longer than two hours. The spirit gets stronger the longer it remains in this world, and if you drag the game out for more than two hours, you won't be able to drive it out.
Lastly, burn the doll. While you may be safe from possession, spirits can be sore losers, and you did just screw with one for your own amusement. Don't be surprised if you feel like you're being followed for a while afterward. People who have played the game have said they've become ill afterward, gotten into accidents, or like I just said, felt like someone or something was still there.
After the game, it's a good idea to spread salt around all the corners of your home and in the areas where the doll was, just as an extra measure.
Most importantly, this game is meant to be played alone. If anyone else is in the house, they will be a participant whether they know it or not. If the doll finds them instead of you, they'll be possessed. And that will be on your head.
For this game, you'll need a doll. NOT a human doll. I can't stress that enough; every account I've read says to never use a human doll. The thing you're calling upon won't want to leave a human-shaped doll, and you do want it to leave. A teddy bear or similar stuffed animal is a good choice.
Aside from the doll, you'll need the following:
-Uncooked rice
-A needle and a long piece of red thread
-A glass of salt water or sake
-Something to stab the doll with. A pencil or needle would be safest; anything more dangerous will only make it easier for the doll to kill you.
-Something from your body (ex: fingernail clippings, hair, blood...)
-A bathtub full of water
-A hiding place. I hear closets are good.
Pick your hiding place first, and leave your glass of salt water or sake there so you don't forget it later. It's extremely important that you have it; without it the game won't end. Well, not in your favor anyway.
Name your doll. Naming the doll gives it an identity, and allows a spirit to inhabit it. For the purposes of this post, let's call your hypothetical doll Spooky. Nothing I've ever seen says anything about avoiding giving it a normal human name, but you never know. I'm calling it Spooky.
Cut Spooky open and remove all the stuffing. Replace the removed stuffing with rice and whatever material from your body you're using. After that, sew Spooky back up with the red thread. Make sure it's a long piece of red thread so you can wrap the excess around its body. The red thread symbolizes blood and acts as a restraint for the spirit. You need every advantage you can get, after all.
Start at 3 AM, as this is the time when spirits are at their most active. Take Spooky into the bathroom and fill up the tub. Hold Spooky in both hands and say "For the first game, (Your name here) will be it". Say this loudly and firmly three times, then drop Spooky into the water.
Run around your house, shutting all the lights and electronics off. After that, close your eyes and count to ten. Open your eyes, grab your weapon, and go back to the bathroom. Say "I found Spooky!" and stab the doll three times. You win the first round. Now it's Spooky's turn.
Now say "Now Spooky is it," and leave the still-impaled doll in the bathroom. Run to your hiding place, where your glass of salt water (or sake) should already be. Take a mouthful of the glass' contents. The salt water's all that's protecting you from the spirit that's now inhabiting the doll. Don't swallow it. Just hold it in your mouth. Do not make a sound, because Spooky's coming for you.
People who have taken part in the game have reported various phenomena during play: the sound of laughter, the T.V. switching on, off, or changing channels, flickering lights, sharp drops in temperature, nasty smells, and other noises. If they had any pets, they could hear them cowering or crying.
To end the game, you need to find the doll. Don't be surprised if it's not where you left it. It might be on the floor in the bathroom, or in the hall, or maybe even close to where you've been hiding. When you find the doll, you need to spit the salt water on it. Dump whatever was left in your glass on it too.
After you've doused the doll in salt water, close your eyes and say once again in a loud and firm voice, "I win!" three times. The spirit will give up.
Never play longer than two hours. The spirit gets stronger the longer it remains in this world, and if you drag the game out for more than two hours, you won't be able to drive it out.
Lastly, burn the doll. While you may be safe from possession, spirits can be sore losers, and you did just screw with one for your own amusement. Don't be surprised if you feel like you're being followed for a while afterward. People who have played the game have said they've become ill afterward, gotten into accidents, or like I just said, felt like someone or something was still there.
After the game, it's a good idea to spread salt around all the corners of your home and in the areas where the doll was, just as an extra measure.
Most importantly, this game is meant to be played alone. If anyone else is in the house, they will be a participant whether they know it or not. If the doll finds them instead of you, they'll be possessed. And that will be on your head.
Monday, June 24, 2013
Storytime with Lauren: Part 1
Every now and then, I'm going to post a short piece of fiction on here. I'll shoot for every week, but this may vary. Maybe it will be once a month, or every two weeks. Maybe twice a week if I'm feeling ambitious. We'll see how it goes. Anyway, here's the first one. I'm actually cheating a little because it's a piece I wrote a while back, but I still like it. Next one will be a fresh one. Hope you enjoy.
Unkindness
He told me he loved me. That's how he got me. Amazing how powerful that one little word is, "love" and sad how it can be --and often is-- used as a weapon.
I was a nerdy little college girl: mousy brown hair, brown eyes, thick glasses and not much to speak of in the way of a figure. My mother would try to console me by saying I had "a good personality". We all know what that's code for. Tell me how many guys are actually attracted to a woman on the basis of their personality. I'll wait.
...I thought as much.
Anyway, at the risk of sounding cliché, then he came into my life. Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome. Mr. Perfect. Mr. Right. He had these green eyes that were just to die for, and he was so kind, caring, intelligent, and most importantly, he was interested in me. Not any of the other girls on campus, me. Right then and there I should have figured something was wrong. You know how they always say that whenever something's too good to be true it probably is, right? I should have been at least a little bit suspicious, a little bit more wary...but I didn't want to be. I wanted this. I wanted somebody I could be happy with. I wanted somebody to want me. Hindsight may be 20/20, but I can't really blame myself.
I suppose I made an easy target. I didn't really have much in the way of friends, so I was often alone in a corner of the Student Commons reading a book or working on my laptop. I was always a little shy, and hardly ever was the type to start a conversation. No, actually, that's a lie. I was never the type to start a conversation. Ever. Giving presentations in class was always hell, what with thirty-something pairs of eyes boring into me and the professor telling me to speak up while I'm barely managing the little squeaky voice I'm speaking in. I always hated presentation days. But you'd think that if I couldn't speak in front of thirty people I could at least talk to one, right? Hahahaha, no. It was just as bad.
But there he was, this magnificent specimen of manhood. Like a god in the flesh, he'd descended from the heavens --or the stairs-- and sat himself down next to me. I just kept working, figuring that he was probably only taking a break for a few minutes and wasn't interested in a flyspeck like me at all. Why would he be? Then...then he spoke to me. It was only a simple "How are you?", but still. I managed a tiny response of "Good", and figured that would be it. Just polite small talk, and then he'd be on his way and forget I ever existed. Then he continued to talk to me. He didn't just go away. He actually seemed interested in me as a person, and the further it went on, the easier it became for me to speak. My usual anxiety when dealing with other people just melted away after a while, and I was terribly disappointed when I realized that my next class was in five minutes. I didn't want it to end. I figured he was some mythological creature, kind of like a unicorn, and if I left, he'd vanish in a poof of smoke never to be seen again.
But he asked for my number. Told me he'd like to see me again. You know very well that I gave it.
I don't remember what the day's lecture was in class. I wasn't paying very much attention, you see.
In the coming days, my new friend and I spent a lot of time together, chatting on the phone, through IMs, or in person. I was happy. Even in light of what he did to me, I have to admit he made me happy. It doesn't mean I want to admit it, especially as I know now it was all a sick game for him, but I'm not in the habit of lying. Maybe that's why I didn't kill him. Oh dear, I just gave part of the ending away, didn't I? Never you worry. There's still more.
In time, he asked me out. This was the first time anyone had asked me out ever, and I was half-convinced that this meant I'd really been in a coma all this time, and all this was probably a figment of my imagination, the delusions of an unconscious mind. Even if it was, there was no reason not to accept. Of course I said yes. I'll admit, I was a little worried that he might want to go farther than I was comfortable on the first date, but I really shouldn't have. He stayed within my limits, took me out for dinner and a movie, and didn't ask me to come back to his place. No, he took me back home, gave me a kiss, and told me he'd see me again tomorrow. I could have melted. Had I died right there, I would have died the happiest woman in the world.
We went on a lot of dates. Museums, a play once, more movies...he had money to throw away on me, I'll give him that. I had him meet my family, and my parents were happy that their little girl had finally found someone. Then, he closed the door of the trap. He said it. Those three little words. "I love you". Those three little words, and that was it. I would have walked into fire for him if he told me to. From that moment on he'd won, and he knew it. Those three little words had sealed my fate.
The day finally came when he asked me if I'd like to meet his family. They didn't live in this city, but rather in a quiet suburban area about a three hour's drive away. Of course I said yes. I said goodbye to my parents, told them I'd see them when I got home, and off we went. He'd remained as sweet and affectionate to me as ever as we drove out of the city and off into no-man's land. We'd been in the car about an hour and a half when he pulled over, and asked me to get out. There was something important he needed to show me. I obliged him, thinking it was a bit peculiar but not anything bad, right? Yes, it was clueless and stupid of me, but remember: I loved him, and I thought he felt the same way about me.
The thing he wanted to show me? A gun. A gun aimed directly at my head. I barely had time to process the danger, his smile, my imminent end. I didn't want to believe it. But in hindsight, I should have known.
Bang. Dead.
He left me there to rot, and eventually the ravens came. I'd never liked ravens. They always creeped me out, all big and black and always staring at you like they knew far more than they let on. As carrion birds are wont to do, they began to eat me. I don't know what happened or how, but my mind or soul or whatever you want to call it overwrote those of the birds. One moment nothing, the next I'm staring out of twelve pairs of eyes all focused on my dead body, in full 3D Gore-o-Vision. You never look good when you can see yourself from twelve different angles. More than that, I could taste myself in my mouth. Mouths. Beaks. I was effectively eating myself. I'm honestly surprised I didn't go stark raving mad right there.
The birds are many, but they're all me. They no longer have wills of their own. Each one is an extension of myself.
It took a while, but I found my way back home. Flying's a bit odd, and I was shaken by my ordeal and my new state, but I found my way back. And I found him, merrily going about his life like he'd never taken mine.
Do you know what a gathering of ravens is called? An unkindness. An unkindness of ravens. It never seemed appropriate until right then.
I descended upon him then like a goddess of vengeance. There's very little one frail, unarmed human can do against so many angry birds. I beat him with my wings, I screeched, I flapped, I ripped and tore. I pecked out his eyes, those perfect green eyes. My claws raked the skin of his face, his lips, his neck, anywhere I could find bare skin. I tore away his ears. I didn't kill him, I told you that. But I left him disfigured, hideous. He'd never be able to charm another girl ever again.
An unkindness for an unkindness.
Unkindness
He told me he loved me. That's how he got me. Amazing how powerful that one little word is, "love" and sad how it can be --and often is-- used as a weapon.
I was a nerdy little college girl: mousy brown hair, brown eyes, thick glasses and not much to speak of in the way of a figure. My mother would try to console me by saying I had "a good personality". We all know what that's code for. Tell me how many guys are actually attracted to a woman on the basis of their personality. I'll wait.
...I thought as much.
Anyway, at the risk of sounding cliché, then he came into my life. Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome. Mr. Perfect. Mr. Right. He had these green eyes that were just to die for, and he was so kind, caring, intelligent, and most importantly, he was interested in me. Not any of the other girls on campus, me. Right then and there I should have figured something was wrong. You know how they always say that whenever something's too good to be true it probably is, right? I should have been at least a little bit suspicious, a little bit more wary...but I didn't want to be. I wanted this. I wanted somebody I could be happy with. I wanted somebody to want me. Hindsight may be 20/20, but I can't really blame myself.
I suppose I made an easy target. I didn't really have much in the way of friends, so I was often alone in a corner of the Student Commons reading a book or working on my laptop. I was always a little shy, and hardly ever was the type to start a conversation. No, actually, that's a lie. I was never the type to start a conversation. Ever. Giving presentations in class was always hell, what with thirty-something pairs of eyes boring into me and the professor telling me to speak up while I'm barely managing the little squeaky voice I'm speaking in. I always hated presentation days. But you'd think that if I couldn't speak in front of thirty people I could at least talk to one, right? Hahahaha, no. It was just as bad.
But there he was, this magnificent specimen of manhood. Like a god in the flesh, he'd descended from the heavens --or the stairs-- and sat himself down next to me. I just kept working, figuring that he was probably only taking a break for a few minutes and wasn't interested in a flyspeck like me at all. Why would he be? Then...then he spoke to me. It was only a simple "How are you?", but still. I managed a tiny response of "Good", and figured that would be it. Just polite small talk, and then he'd be on his way and forget I ever existed. Then he continued to talk to me. He didn't just go away. He actually seemed interested in me as a person, and the further it went on, the easier it became for me to speak. My usual anxiety when dealing with other people just melted away after a while, and I was terribly disappointed when I realized that my next class was in five minutes. I didn't want it to end. I figured he was some mythological creature, kind of like a unicorn, and if I left, he'd vanish in a poof of smoke never to be seen again.
But he asked for my number. Told me he'd like to see me again. You know very well that I gave it.
I don't remember what the day's lecture was in class. I wasn't paying very much attention, you see.
In the coming days, my new friend and I spent a lot of time together, chatting on the phone, through IMs, or in person. I was happy. Even in light of what he did to me, I have to admit he made me happy. It doesn't mean I want to admit it, especially as I know now it was all a sick game for him, but I'm not in the habit of lying. Maybe that's why I didn't kill him. Oh dear, I just gave part of the ending away, didn't I? Never you worry. There's still more.
In time, he asked me out. This was the first time anyone had asked me out ever, and I was half-convinced that this meant I'd really been in a coma all this time, and all this was probably a figment of my imagination, the delusions of an unconscious mind. Even if it was, there was no reason not to accept. Of course I said yes. I'll admit, I was a little worried that he might want to go farther than I was comfortable on the first date, but I really shouldn't have. He stayed within my limits, took me out for dinner and a movie, and didn't ask me to come back to his place. No, he took me back home, gave me a kiss, and told me he'd see me again tomorrow. I could have melted. Had I died right there, I would have died the happiest woman in the world.
We went on a lot of dates. Museums, a play once, more movies...he had money to throw away on me, I'll give him that. I had him meet my family, and my parents were happy that their little girl had finally found someone. Then, he closed the door of the trap. He said it. Those three little words. "I love you". Those three little words, and that was it. I would have walked into fire for him if he told me to. From that moment on he'd won, and he knew it. Those three little words had sealed my fate.
The day finally came when he asked me if I'd like to meet his family. They didn't live in this city, but rather in a quiet suburban area about a three hour's drive away. Of course I said yes. I said goodbye to my parents, told them I'd see them when I got home, and off we went. He'd remained as sweet and affectionate to me as ever as we drove out of the city and off into no-man's land. We'd been in the car about an hour and a half when he pulled over, and asked me to get out. There was something important he needed to show me. I obliged him, thinking it was a bit peculiar but not anything bad, right? Yes, it was clueless and stupid of me, but remember: I loved him, and I thought he felt the same way about me.
The thing he wanted to show me? A gun. A gun aimed directly at my head. I barely had time to process the danger, his smile, my imminent end. I didn't want to believe it. But in hindsight, I should have known.
Bang. Dead.
He left me there to rot, and eventually the ravens came. I'd never liked ravens. They always creeped me out, all big and black and always staring at you like they knew far more than they let on. As carrion birds are wont to do, they began to eat me. I don't know what happened or how, but my mind or soul or whatever you want to call it overwrote those of the birds. One moment nothing, the next I'm staring out of twelve pairs of eyes all focused on my dead body, in full 3D Gore-o-Vision. You never look good when you can see yourself from twelve different angles. More than that, I could taste myself in my mouth. Mouths. Beaks. I was effectively eating myself. I'm honestly surprised I didn't go stark raving mad right there.
The birds are many, but they're all me. They no longer have wills of their own. Each one is an extension of myself.
It took a while, but I found my way back home. Flying's a bit odd, and I was shaken by my ordeal and my new state, but I found my way back. And I found him, merrily going about his life like he'd never taken mine.
Do you know what a gathering of ravens is called? An unkindness. An unkindness of ravens. It never seemed appropriate until right then.
I descended upon him then like a goddess of vengeance. There's very little one frail, unarmed human can do against so many angry birds. I beat him with my wings, I screeched, I flapped, I ripped and tore. I pecked out his eyes, those perfect green eyes. My claws raked the skin of his face, his lips, his neck, anywhere I could find bare skin. I tore away his ears. I didn't kill him, I told you that. But I left him disfigured, hideous. He'd never be able to charm another girl ever again.
An unkindness for an unkindness.
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