deadjournal

[Angele]

I was shot! Twice! Once in the gut and once in the leg! I knew those cops were after me! It was not just me being paranoid. I have always ignored them when they call to me but they have never opened fire before!

Luckily I was not shot anywhere vital, although I don’t know what would happen if they did get me in the heart or the head. He shot me in the gut and the leg. Ruined a pair of skinny jeans and a pretty black tank top I was wearing. So now I have a ridiculous limp.

I used to think I had become invisible. I walk by groups of humans and they do not acknowledge me, even when I purposely run into them to snatch their valuables. They never say anything about my obvious rude behavior. The only humans that would talk to me were the occasional guards I find in the buildings I break into and, like the cops, they call out to me to stop. Sometimes I give them the slip. Even when I am caught rarely are there consequences and never have they shot me!

This only redoubles my resolve to stay away from those in law enforcement. They are no longer here to serve and protect me!

[Angele]

I got another one of those headaches again. The onset was sudden and made me almost faint. I hate these blinding, staggering headaches that suck my energy, make me hallucinate and tear me further from reality. At least I was at the cabin when it happened this time.

Rivulets of color, mostly crimson and black, streamed before my eyes like bloody raindrops on a pane of glass. I closed my eyes since I could not see anything before me; the colors formed a thin sheet over my vision, obscuring the pine trees outside the cabin and everything else that should have been in my vision. My eyes began to tear and I wondered if my teardrops would be crimson and black as well.

I put my hands to my temples and rubbed, trying to make the throbbing stop. All that did was add jagged flashes of yellow and orange to the streaking crimson and black. Silently I screamed. The sound filled my head, reverberating in my ears. It was the sound of my voice and yet, my mouth was closed. My voice was joined by a discordant chorus. The voices punctuated my pain in manic triumph.

I lose my body in these bouts. It became rigid, corpse-like and completely insignificant. I was numb to my limbs and it was only with extreme effort could I move them, as if swimming in quicksand. So I lay on the sofa wishing it would swallow me, the cushions and pillows providing no relief from the excruciating waves of visual and auditory stimulation. Time was irrelevant and endless. I lost everything and gained nothing.

In the end I am exhausted and spent. My tongue and lips were numb even when the rest of the symptoms have subsided. Weak and sore, I tried to sleep but it eluded me. I never had these headaches when I was alive. Maybe it is my body fighting my vampirism?

[Angele]

I have been losing myself more and more in my mind, trying to find the most meaningful memories of my life. In life, everyone has a lot of memories stacked in the back of their brains that make them sad or happy. All these pictures come from everything that one has seen and heard -- from being in their mother’s womb to when one starts questioning one’s environment, all the way though adulthood. They have gone through many routes and climbed many mountains. Even so, there are those who think that these routes and mountains in life have no meaning because the lines creating the images in their brain were not connected to create a defined picture of their environment. I want to make that map for myself.

For me, there is no difference between images and sounds. Sound starts pictures, images define sounds. There are people who see and hear but cannot adjust the sound and images they receive. Depending on what sound you hear and how you heard them the image which starts shaping in your brain can be a fuzzy blur or clear and sharp. So with all the inner strength that I can gather I clarify the images and sounds, making the aural links crisp and the recording of images vivid, removing the static my brain has concocted to mask the routes.

Each and everyone who says that he or she remembers clearly, has fervent inherent belief that he has a better and sharper images in the brain. Perhaps the truth lies in the smallest of details when our curiosities outweigh our discomforts, when light seizes the eyes so our eyelids can allow recording of images again by the brain. I hear the harsh scream of the night hawk and open my eyes. A new link has been forged.

[Angele]

I’m dead. Why am I still afraid of spiders?