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Pride is the mask of one's own faults


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Gray Taylor

There is no casket, no body, no ashes. Ra Seo had been above all of that. Instead, a scarecrow sat upon the altar, black buttons for eyes and a sickly smile stitched upon it’s face. His burlap face would not show the same emotions that his friend had, instead only portraying what Gray would allow. He wonders, briefly, if this is what he had looked like before things had changed. Slowly but surely, he’d become more and more real, until the day came that Gray could no longer discern between what he had once been and what he was right then and there.

And then, as if it were his final act of humanity, he died.

His body has been long buried, and Gray had sat alone then, too. While he does not practice regularly, Ra had received a faithful Shiva from the man. It had been a long week, and the silence that enveloped the demon and the scarecrow had been deafening. In truth, he had thought on more than one occasion that he might be going mad. Memories would bubble forth, and at times, it felt like they were having those conversations all over again.

Reality had been lost to the broken man.

Gray Taylor sat in the funeral home, the only soul to have attended the quiet memorial. For as many that seemed to enjoy the presence of his bizarre, fabricated friend, death would always seem to out the truest of hearts of others. He is alone. No one understood their bond in life, and fewer still would comprehend in death. There is something impactfully different to feel half of yourself be pulled into the next world, but Gray Taylor would feel the sheer force of its magnitude. With one foot in the grave, he finds there is very little to consider living for.

Steely hues reflect upon the scene before him as he considers his options. It is a short decision to make, for Gray is standing and walking to the back of the room, closing the doors and locking himself inside the ornate viewing room. He had paid the attendants handsomely, and they would allow him nearly anything that he desires. Privacy is far from an odd thing to desire in a time of mourning.

There would be no comfort there. The man is untamed is his current state, and a danger.

The jacket of his suit comes off, and Gray drapes it over the back of a chair before he moves on to the cuffs of his shirt. Unbuttoned, he folds them up one by one, bringing them above his elbow. Finally, he releases the top button of his collar. He begins to pace once comfortable, a troubled storm brewing easily within his gaze.

Ra had been important.

He had been a key to his own curse, and without him, Gray would be forced to do more of what he hates. Sarah would join him soon, her life’s clock ticking faster and faster each and every day. Ophelia is gone; He blames himself. The only support he seemed to find was in the bottom of a bottle, and Spring is just as cagey as he is. How long before he claims her? And if he claims her, it would begin a procession of ugliness Gray Taylor is not prepared for.

He’d never survive it.

“I know you’re here. You have been following me ever since he died,” the bitterness in his tone seeps into his words, betraying him easily. “You had to know taking him wouldn’t go over well.”

He hasn’t purchased a single soul since it began. No contracts have been created, nor have they been appropriately terminated. Gray Taylor has effectively gone on strike, and the Devil has clearly noticed. It showed every time he saw his sweet sister’s face or heard her voice. She understood, she had told him when he called her with the news. Sarah had seen his unraveling coming from miles away, and despite her youth, her wisdom would always triumph.

“Who is next? Hm? What are you going to do, you f-cking bast-rd?” His rage has been building, simmering its way to a boil until his gaze lands upon the dark figure sat at the back of the room in its charcoal suit and mockingly mournful gaze. It’s when he makes contact that a chair flies into the wall by Gray's hand, unable to control his temper any further. “I’m not f-cking doing it anymore.”

In the face of Gray’s bellowed promise, the figure only smiles before speaking with a gravity only the young man before him would understand.

“Sarah says hello.”
September 28, 2017 08:58 am

Spring Taylor

Time passed by slow for Spring Summers Taylor. Was it only a month she successfully revolted The Order? Was it months? The thought didn’t linger in her mind long. She buries herself further into the duct taped couch with a slouched body to her right. Her blood covered boots propped over a second body. She ran out of drink because Gray Taylor decided every night to make her want to stab her f-cking eardrums with a butter knife.

Spring stared blankly at the television screen as the T-Rex pummeled the Jeep into the ground. This part usually warranted an uncharacteristic smile, but it didn’t anymore. Ra Seo had been dangerous. He figured out the secret to Spring Weed. Not many had lived to tell her secret. Hell, up until his death she still would have banged him in that f-cking closet. Now the anger rises with her form. Knuckles become pale as they clutch onto the neck of the bottle. It swings in the air until it collides with the television.

The bodies she had entangled herself in fall to the ground below her with an echoing ‘Thud’.

The television hadn’t cracked enough. The vein in her forehead pulsates as she lifts up her boot to kick the television off the stand. “F-cking sh-te. IT’S ALL STUPID. WHERE THE F-CK IS THAT MEMOIST WANKER GRAY TAYLOR.” The inanimate objects around her quake at the magnitude of rage that carries with her voice. During her regular fit she notices the smell first. Decayed flesh. Spring straightens and stomps in the direction of the source. If looks could kill, the world would have bloody died by now. She glares at the partial devoured naked corpses on the ground with their necks unsettling turned in a 180 angle. They would be dealt with later.

She passes through all these *rsehole’s rooms trying to figure out where the unpleasant scent was coming from. Spring knew it wasn’t her gas, because the Russians weren’t fully digested yet. Several minutes later she’s holding a box of decayed f-cking toes. She snarls and tosses the toes to squish under her boot unmercifully. Before Ra Seo’s death was that of her f-ckwad Douchlav forced marriage to Casey Noire.

“F-cking Casey. I’m going to find your ashes and take a sh-te on them.” A vow she would certainly make sure to see out. Not like that d-ckwad could even hear her raging insults now. Spring starts the search for Gray again, and wades through pausing outside of Victor’s doorway. He wasn’t here. She could do her b-tch an ace favour and light his.. Oh right. His dodgy @rse only had one pair of pants to begin with. Her stomps propel her back into the room where she had left a f-cking mess. Hurricane Spring moves onward shrieking Gray’s name at the highest pitch her hate could power.

If she had no quiet from a sloshed jew, then he would get no peace either. From her peripheral vision she can see a piece of gut stuck by dry blood to her hair. Moving a hand to pluck the piece and plop it into her mouth. The noise replaced from her yelling ‘Gray Taylor’ and ‘Memoist jew b@stard’ was instead of her chewing the piece of humanoid. She digs into her bosom irritably to latch onto a cig and her lighter. Taking both out, she lights the cig and balances it between her lips. Long draws taken as nicotine lessens the speed she’s searching.

Spring takes a longer drag from the cig and exhumes out the smoke from her lips. She had met the devil before, and he didn’t install any fear in her. Some people were too stubborn to be frightened by the prospect of Hell or even death itself. Spring gives no sh-tes or f-cks about it. The cold words exhale from her lips, and her voice carries with the power of an army of angry bulls. A scoff emits from her lips as she stares at the wooden shambles of a f-cking chair. Ire was her aura and she could sense the boiling blood from this *sshole 50 kilometers away.

“What the f-ck are you doing?”
October 20, 2017 02:10 am

Gray Taylor



By the time you've read this, it will be too late. Sit down, light a cigarette, and grab the nearest bottle of whatever you're drinking these days. You will not like this, but I could not tell you until it was done... mostly because you would have tried to stop me.

After the memorial service, I met again with my employer. It took a great deal of negotiating, but your freedom has been secured. No longer will you feel the emotions of another. For now, I am sure you are feeling angry. I respect that. You can be mad at me. But your life is your own now, and I know you will make me proud.

You always have, for the record, despite your temper.

You are the last person I have to live for, and now, to die for. Today had been a distant dream to me, but instead, it is something else entirely. Her end is mine, and your new beginning.

Thank you for being my most perfect end.

G. Taylor

P.S. Please inform Mr. Lockheed, once and for all, that I have never fancied him or any other man.
November 10, 2017 11:16 am

Spring Taylor

[Trigger warning this is brutal. Don’t read if you’re sensitive. Don’t read if you’re easily offended. IT’S REALLY BAD. You can pick off with the end of the trigger. Cheers. ]

“Liebchen. Do you want to go outside again? Daddy can keep you here..forever.” The man rattled off as the tip of the dagger dug into her cheek. Spring stared at him blankly. No fear or emotions to be gathered, as it was she would rather he just kill her. She knew what he wanted her to say, but Spring was a stubborn *****. This deranged Nazi ******* wanted her to acknowledge that he owned her. He owned every badgered bone in her undead body. Every dead muscle and that thing that thumped in her chest. There’s black bruised circles that circle her icicle optics, there’s a bone sticking out of her left cheek from a specialized exercise. Cracks and cuts covered the surface of her dry cornflower lips.

That anger turned to bitter defiance as she spat the dark liquid from her lips onto him. It causes a backhand with the blade slicing upward from mid cheek to her eyelid. “ **** off nutter nazi *******. I hate you. You’ve taken my life from me.” She hissed the words and ignored the throbbing pain of the freshly cut open cheek. Daddy as he called himself gave her a cryptic smirk, lowering the dagger from her face with newfound interest in something else. “Life? Your life my flower?” He left through the heavy wooden door as the light that swung above her head shattered. Leaving Spring Summers in darkness until he returned.

She could always tell when he was getting ready to open the door. There’s a distinctive skip to the beat of his whistling. But she heard something else. By now her cheek is number and there’s flies buzzing around the open incision causing her to shake her head furiously. Broken flesh claps against her exposed muscle as the door creeks open. The pit in her stomach does a harsh turn to the right when she notices in his arm is a baby. A ****ing baby. Spring doesn’t know why he’s wearing such a jovial grin, but she doesn’t trust it one bit.

He always found creative ways to punish her indifference. There’s a certain level of defiance he wants her to be. Not too defiant, not too docile. She’ll learn or she’ll break. If she breaks there are plenty of other Summers children to buy. But this would be his proudest moment, and the way he decided to show her the extent of what he had taken. To show her once and for all who daddy was.

“I took life from you?” He keeps the newborn cuddled under one arm, and slams the dungeon door shut with his other hand. Spring rattles the chains to try to gain enough momentum to at least crawl away from him. Stefan was used to his method and he’s five steps ahead of her. One foot comes crashing down onto her stomach harsh enough for her to choke up blood. “Do you think there’s love out there, Liebchen? Do you think you could have a family?” He chuckles darkly and lowers himself and this child to her legs. One hand grasps her thigh and tries to force it open.

“GET AWAY FROM ME. GET THE F**K AWAY FROM ME. YOU CRAZY PSYCHO MOTHER ****ER NUTTER. SOD OFF.” She shrieks the profanity from her stance as she tightens her legs together, and projects her spit towards him as it hits him square on the nose. There’s the growl she’s heard before, and she knows then that she done ****ed up.

Stefan cradles the crying babe to his chest, until his large hand envelopes the small head and turns it sideways with a sickening crack. Spring blinks stunned her mouth open to shriek, but nothing comes forth.. not yet. “I’ll show you death.” Through her fear the tears start to gather at her eyelids and drip down her cheeks. Spring Summers finds that vindictive voice, “I’ll get the **** out of here one day. And I’ll make sure I show you ****ing death.” The elder vampire grins at her whispers of fury, and she can feel his fingers back where they had begun. “I’m not opening my bloody legs you perverted ****. WHAT THE **** .” Stefan lifts the dead baby’s head to her lips to shush her, which it makes her wretch and gag loudly instead.

“Now Liebchen.. let daddy show you life.” Spring stares in disbelief as her legs start to part open no matter how hard she tries to close them shut. “WHAT THE ****” She shrieks and tries to move her body, but it’s paralyzed by something other worldly. “As long as your sister opens her legs.. you will too.. now my dear. Be very quiet..shhh…” With the speed of his vampire hand she felt the head of the dead baby at the entrance of where life all began. The shrieks that night lasted for forty eight hours until he left her a bloody mess in her cell. Upon parting he turns his head with a demented grin. “You see? You’ll only have the life I want to give you.”

[/end trigger].
Spring Summers had left the manor in one pint size angry piece. She learned to manipulate, but the overbearing master was never far from her. Even when she first meant Mackenzie, she could see him watching out of the corner of her eye. Those daft birthers had screwed her when they sold her to the likes of Stefan Wolfe for a gram of some questionable substance.

Then came Gray Taylor. She ****ing hated him. He persisted and even bought her affection by ways of free cigs and liquor. He was her first neighbor in the building Mercy, and he didn’t try to change her. His memoist jewish ways infuriated her, but it was the closest thing to home she ever had. Until her siblings started to show back up into the realm. One by one they surfaced. The first was Autumn, and the last …that’s just it with Summers there simply is no last one.

Confidante. What the ****ing hell did that even mean. Gray was horrible at explaining things, but she knew she could hand out keys to whomever she wanted. Even if it was Victor to make Gray want to kill himself in the hallway. That wanker wanted that cheese D. Soon he would follow her to Death, and he would be the only one that didn’t fall from her side. He had been there when Autumn put them in danger by trying to get the cure from Douchlav. Whatever happened to Autumn physically, Spring was cursed to feel. Countless times they were tortured to the eclipse of death only to be pulled back to their dark abyss. Lately, Gray has been depressed because of the death of Ra Seo. He was not her same jew, and try as she might she wasn’t helpful. Spring would give him all the alcohol she had, and let him sleep in her bed like a ****ing pot bellied bed hogger.

It’s this day she wakes up leaned against the large sapling. A tree that bends at the roof its branches spread out like a fictional forest green vine. Spring was used to Gray leaving her notes, and so she lazily slides over to the kitchen counter. The jew always liked to aggravate her first thing in the morning, the wavy unkempt curls of darkness sway across her shoulders. She’s about to open it until her phone pings an alert.

The huff of her breath escalates as she grunts irritably reaching for it on the other side of the sink. What the **** could be sooo important? Spring’s already rolling her icicle circles up to the ceiling of the abandoned Order base. The fake breaths she takes to feel human become clogged as she stares in disbelief at the screen.

“ ****ing bollocks. Wanker! GRAY. YOU’RE F**KING WITH ME. Sodding A**ehole” The statement booms through the hallway as she stomps towards where she knew he would be. But she pauses mid Spring stomp to remember that he did leave her a memo. “ ****ing bull ****. Can’t even ****ing wake up without a ****ing memo.” The bickering rants continue until she sits down on the duct tape rip to **** couch, her feet cross on the coffee table.

That’s when she reads this will be the last memo she gets from Gray Taylor. Because Gray Taylor is dead. Because of her. Because of Autumn. Because of ****ing Mackenzie. The memo goes airborne with the table in front of her. Everything will burn. Everything will die. Because that fickle thing Spring Summers ignored until the day he died, made her ****ing snap.

It’s a cue for certain memories to populate and she can hear them echo inside her scalp.

You, of all people, know exactly how rare any sort of good feelings are for both of us. So where the hell do you get off sneering a moment of my happiness off? Is it because Gray gave it to me, and not you? News flash, it isn’t always all about Spring. I LIKE GRAY AND THERE IS NOT A GODDAMN F*CKING THING YOU CAN DO ABOUT IT. If you have a problem with it, there’s the door.”

For a second she’s back in that room going toe to toe with Autumn.

” "News f-cking flash. If you're banging my f-cking neighbour and also a f-cking wanker. It involves me. You know what.." Spring taks a few deep breaths and makes a move towards the door. Allowing one final cutting eye to her sister.

"You're going to end up fcked up just like they are. You may f-cking end up with Gray, but do you still blow, Autumn? Don't bother sending me a f-cking card when you start seeing those invisible f-cking unicorns like mum and dad. Autumn Leaf, it's neither of our seasons. You're f-cking dead to me." Spring's voice icy and apathetic, she makes a final motion to where Gray was standing. "I guess you always make the right f-cking choices. Cheers."

Spring is blinded by her own hulking rage. She’s screaming and things are flying. This must all be one ****ing joke. They did this to **** with her. She paces over the pieces of the broken coffee table and steps into the shambles of wood. Her hands shakily rise to touch her face and her sides.Deep breaths as she blurs through the living quarters of the Order smashing everything and anything with her bare fists. Anything in her way she makes sure to destroy it at the core. There’s no evidence a single person lived in this place. Everything is in shambles.

Tears linger at her chin and between her shrieks of rage are heart wretched sobs. Autumn’s words begrudgingly circle in her mind, as she screams commands for them to shut up.

Is it because Gray gave it to me, and not you?

“Do you think there’s love out there, Liebchen? Do you think you could have a family?

Fingers curled until they turned a shade lighter white around the handle of the scythe. And she would take that scythe to carve through the hallway on her way to her room. Spring always stomped, but the steps today had an extra thump of hysteria. She burst her door open and tried to control the trembles of her hands. All of these feelings Spring Summers didn’t know how to control. But there was the pit of her despair when she saw the familiar body slumped against her closet door.

“W..Wanker? ****ing ******* is that you?” Despite her despair, she could never not call him a wanker. Spring trudged forward as her bottom lip wobbled with anticipation. The scythe leaned against her bedpost as she takes a few slow strides to catch the jew in her arms. Now she’s combing at her face trying to forget the lifeless eyes and the mouth caught upon agape.

As careful as Spring could she closes his open sockets one by one, and sits there with his lifeless head in her lap. Her shoulders lift and sag as her unwanted sobs grow louder. She forgets how to breathe. She forgets how to be angry.

“ Gray.. I ****ing loved you, memoist jew wanker.”

The anger floods back with a vengeance. She moves his head to rest on a dinosaur cover pillow (don’t ****ing judge her.) Then she grabs onto the scythe and race stomps the steps ten at a time. It’s here she knows it is. The command room. What’s in the command room? War. War lives there. War is created there, and she will find out that War ends there.

If her Jew couldn’t live. Then she would show the realm, Death.

Sending Text Cheesedick: The realm is going to fcking burn.

A deep throated screech leaves her lips as her hands start to hit all the ****ed red buttons. Whispering vehemently at the controls ‘ **** you. **** you. **** you.’ Eagerly pressing each nuke button whenever that fickle thing inside her chest made her feel broken.

War with Sonder – initiated

War with The Basement – initiated

War with Arcadia – initiated

War with Valar Morghulis – initiated

War with The Lycans Den – initiated

War with Azhi Dahaka – initiated

War with Channel 4 CNFOX BS – failed, cloak of protection activated.

War with The Faceless- initiated

Incoming Challenge

Spring stares at the caverns in hindsight and lets out a shaky wrathful grunt. Even in the throes of her emotional state, the ***** needed to eat. She takes her prey out in one hit, but when she falls back into the command room to hit the last war—she isn’t alone.

Daggers appear in her hindsight and before she has time to react, Darkness does indeed fall for Spring Taylor. She was just as dead as her mentor, but she resurfaces weakened like that of Autumn, and sits in Port au prince. Legs dangled over the harbor as she takes drags off a discarded butt of a cig she found. The blood and tears on her face, and then she hears a voice call out from behind her. Of course she recognizes the face and cants her head to the side. Victor? Spring stands up wobbly as accusations fly at her, and she yells back into the night. “I do whatever the **** I want.” With that Spring Taylor initiates the last war needed on the realm – and this one ends with the death of Alex Parker.

Once the cloak of numbness closes over her she finds Cassandra of the Darknezz had ran off to Cancun. Much to her displeasure she would have to find food elsewhere. After hours of traveling she lands where Death was born. This place is no longer that of her home. Spring finds Gray where she left him and lowers herself to her knees to scoop his limp body over her shoulder. On the way out she grabs a box of dinosaur Band-Aids from underneath a shredded sapling branch.

At a time that was what brought her pride – the fact that even though she was ****ed up, that she still possessed a green thumb. But in her grief she had cut the tree with an axe and timbered it through the ceiling. From where she stands she can stare up into the night sky. She feels nothing better, but at least she isn’t a blubbering mess.

At the graveyard she has put the scarecrow alter beside Gray’s plot. Make no mistake there’s a nagging sense of Spring as she stands over the open hole in the ground. She had secured Gray the perfect coffin from the funeral home – it was in use. But she didn’t know that ****ing *******. It suited Gray, and it was grey.

She takes in a deep breath and puts a few dinosaur Band-Aids on Gray’s cheek, and tucks a ****ing memo in his coat pocket. Spring still had a hard time understanding his sacrifice. He died for her, but he was the only person she could ****ing stand most days. Victor wasn’t a decent replacement, and she was pissed as **** at Mackenzie. It dawns on her that it’s probably frowned upon for her to sit here and cuss at his gravesite any longer.

One final wobbly breath, and she utters the words.

The night envelopes her and reinstates the overabundance of anger that resides in Spring Taylor. Only difference now is that fickle thing inside her chest that beats to the rhythm of her stomps, and carelessly murmurs things in her head like, ‘what if..’

November 14, 2017 12:16 am
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