Ex Nihilo » Oneshots/stories

Sympathy For the Devil

Kim — Tue, 02 Feb 2010 00:36:38 +0000

Sympathy for the Devil – The Rolling Stones (Neptunes Remix)

So, I got inspiration from the above song, and I though I’d share my results with you. I hope you enjoy this little story thing I wrote. It really says something about my state of mind. Haha.

On the third day of every month, he comes up for a breather. He finds himself in a hot desert, his black suit not helping with the heat. His cool skin bubbles angrily at the sudden feeling of warmth, muscular spasms across his body. He does not like heat; it is probably a cruel joke of his brother’s to make him surface in a desert every month.
On the little finger of his left hand, there is a ring. It’s rather large, a bit heavy, and the design is that of the Star of David. Its rather plain other than that; simple black and silver design. But he likes it, because it is the one other thing that his brother gave him, besides the dark and dank basement of the universe.
He loosens his tie as he clambers into the black mustang, dabbing at the collecting sweat on his forehead with a white handkerchief. He grabs the key, already in the ignition, and turns on his car.
He drives off into the approaching daylight, his greasy black hair hanging limply around his shoulders. The windows are up, no air is flowing. The heat in the car would be unbearable for any normal person, but he is not a normal person.
He has to keep quiet; he has to not make a fuss. He knows for a fact that, if he makes too much noise, he’ll be caught and probably locked up for a couple of days again. Every move is carefully planned out in his mind; every little movement that he makes is all part of a plan.
He’s attending a meeting. All business, and he has to make sure that he doesn’t say much. He has to keep his cool; he has to remain calm at all times. The scent of burning brimstone has filled the car with a sense of home, and the little pine tree that’s supposed to eliminate odors is doing absolutely nothing.
People think they have him all figured out; they think they know what he’s like. They think they know that he’s cunning, and evil, and filled with all the anger and rage of humans.
They’re right, but still… there is a little more to him than anger, fire and brimstone. He is pretty evil, but he isn’t the epitome of it. No, humans are the epitome of evil. He knows this. He made them that way to spite his brother.
That had been a fun time.
He’s more like the epitome of wit. His symbol ought not to be demons and fire, but foxes and fire. If he remembered correctly, there was an internet program called something like “foxfire” or maybe “fire fox.” He didn’t really remember. He didn’t use the internet. He just knew things that mattered to him. If he didn’t, then he asked. Unlike his brother, he was not afraid of his lacking knowledge of everything and anything. He was not nearly as insecure.
Of course, he wasn’t supposed to call his brother “insecure”. It was against the rules.
The rules of the game were simple. Do not disobey, do not insult, do not kill, do not touch the humans.
He and his brother played the game constantly. The Earth was their playing field, and they used the people as their chess pieces. Of course, the game was one sided. The rules didn’t apply to his older brother; the older brother could do whatever he wanted to get rid of the filth that he had lain down on the fresh soil, awaiting the chance to destroy.
His babies… most of them were dead.
So, one ought to be sympathetic with his trials and troubles. There were many of them, after all.
He was flawed, closer to the regular person than his older brother. He was not perfect, he was not beautiful. His hair was black and greasy-looking. His eyes were usually green, but sometimes turned to a more hazel color during the winter. His skin was rather pasty looking, and he bruised easily. He didn’t know everything, and he couldn’t do everything. He wasn’t in control of every aspect of life and death, and he was often ridiculed and punished for mistakes.
And yet, they still called him evil. Perhaps humans believed that flaws and imperfection were the embodiment of impurity and evil. Perhaps they believed that, if one was not beautiful and perfect, then they could not be a ruler, they could not be holy, and they could not have anything.
And yet, they never applied these factors to themselves. How very trite!
So, if one met him, they ought to have some courtesy, have some sympathy, and a bit of taste. He was average, he was not perfect, and even the people ought to be able to se that.
He arrived at his destination, finally. He turned off his car, and clambered out of it, grabbing his suitcase and bringing it with him into the air conditioned building. Floor six, he pressed the buttons on the elevator and waited. An annoying elevator song came on, and he was forced to listen to it as the machinery worked its way up the floors. He reached up a hand and brushed his hair out of his face.
The doors opened, and he exited the small room, his heart beat slowing down. That was another flaw; he was claustrophobic, but that wasn’t his fault. That was his brother’s fault. His wonderful brother loved to lock him in small, cramped rooms when he misbehaved.
Which, by the way, was often.
He walked down the hallway, to the very last door on the left. He could hear the sounds of a dozen elder men talking, plotting huge ways to corrupt their businesses ever further. He was going to be the youngest there, or at least, he was going to look like the youngest there.
He grasped the door knob, turned it, and pushed open the door. The room fell silent as every head in the room turned to see the newcomer. He paid them no mind, walking around the table to the empty seat beside the leader of the meeting, his seat. The one designated for him, inconspicuously labeled with his initials, “L.M.” He sat down, placing the suitcase on his lap and staring at the table silently. He would not allow his gaze to wander around thee room, lingering on the foulest sinners.
He wanted to, but he wouldn’t.
“Who is this?”
The leader of the meeting smiled greedily at him, “He’s our provider,” their leader replied, “He might not look like all that much, but he’s got the cash.”
It was usual.
He paid them, they took the money, and he didn’t leave for at least an hour. He didn’t drink any of the expensive champagne that they had ordered. He didn’t trust them, and he didn’t want to know what the old perverts would do to him if he allowed himself to become intoxicated.
The disgusting scent of smoke filled the room, marijuana and cigarettes being lit all around the room. The fire made him feel a little more at home, but he still wasn’t allowing himself to loosen up. He didn’t dare.
He didn’t know when his brother might decide to drop by, so he had to be prepared.
Out of seemingly nowhere, a hand wrapped around his shoulder. He leaned in the opposite direction. It was time to go. He made the usual excuse of needing to use the bathroom, and escaped. A howl of displeasure at his departure sounded through the room, disgruntled old perverts laughing and yelling for him to “come back and have a little to drink”.
He slipped out of the room, coughing a bit. The smoke was probably going to kill him someday. Another flaw; intolerance to smoke. He probably had weak lungs. He stalked down the halls, his head slightly lowered as he pondered things about the way he lived.
His left the building, and got back into his car, shutting the door and leaning back in his seat, allowing the scent of brimstone to fill his car. The scent of marijuana and cigarettes eventually faded away, and he turned the ignition on his car. He pulled out of the sandy lot, and turned back down the road the way he had originally come.
He drove to the middle of the desert, where he was supposed to be, and parked his vehicle in the sand. He turned it off, and got out, watching as his chariot sank into the sand. His eyes were forlorn, a feeling of sadness in his heart.
Well, some of them, anyway.
Some woman, young, pretty… her red hair and green eyes were vibrant in the sunlight. He stared at her blankly, slightly startled by how she was talking to him. She looked worried, concerned, anything other than what he was used to.
“Sure,” He finally replied, a slight smile gracing his lips. She leaned over in her car, opening the door for him. He clambered into her truck, buckling himself into the front seat, as he knew he was supposed to.
“My name is Mary,” She said, “Where are you headed?”
He turned to face her, his expression blank for a moment. He smiled more broadly, “I’m Lucifer,” He answered, “I’m not heading anywhere.”
She chuckled as he told her his name, “There’s no better way to travel.”
Mary put her large Chevrolet into drive, and pressed on the gas precariously, so as to not jump them off at a bad start. Lucifer laughed outright, rolling down his window and staring out at the scenery as she began to drive, “Definitely.”
They pulled off into the approaching sunset, her bouncy red hair flying all around her head as she told him about her journey so far. He listened, intrigued by her stories of adventure. Unlike his brother, he did not know everything.
Lucifer pulled the ring off his pinky finger and threw it out the open window, watching through the rearview mirror as it bounced in the sand a couple of times.
The world was a mystery, and he wanted to see all of it, without any rules to hold him back. He would live sympathetically, love courteously, and laugh tastefully. He’d use all his well-learned politesse and he would lay no more souls to waste.
Just as every cop is a criminal, and all the sinners Saints… As heads is tails, his name was Lucifer, and he was breaking free of his restraints.

Well, some of them anyway.

He loosens his tie as he clambers into the black mustang, dabbing at the collecting sweat on his forehead with a white handkerchief. He grabs the key, already in the ignition, and turns on his car.
He drives off into the approaching daylight, his greasy black hair hanging limply around his shoulders. The windows are up, no air is flowing. The heat in the car would be unbearable for any normal person, but he is not a normal person.
He has to keep quiet; he has to not make a fuss. He knows for a fact that, if he makes too much noise, he’ll be caught and probably locked up for a couple of days again. Every move is carefully planned out in his mind; every little movement that he makes is all part of a plan.
He’s attending a meeting. All business, and he has to make sure that he doesn’t say much. He has to keep his cool; he has to remain calm at all times. The scent of burning brimstone has filled the car with a sense of home, and the little pine tree that’s supposed to eliminate odors is doing absolutely nothing.
People think they have him all figured out; they think they know what he’s like. They think they know that he’s cunning, and evil, and filled with all the anger and rage of humans.
They’re right, but still… there is a little more to him than anger, fire and brimstone. He is pretty evil, but he isn’t the epitome of it. No, humans are the epitome of evil. He knows this. He made them that way to spite his brother.
That had been a fun time.
He’s more like the epitome of wit. His symbol ought not to be demons and fire, but foxes and fire. If he remembered correctly, there was an internet program called something like “foxfire” or maybe “fire fox.” He didn’t really remember. He didn’t use the internet. He just knew things that mattered to him. If he didn’t, then he asked. Unlike his brother, he was not afraid of his lacking knowledge of everything and anything. He was not nearly as insecure.
Of course, he wasn’t supposed to call his brother “insecure”. It was against the rules.
The rules of the game were simple. Do not disobey, do not insult, do not kill, do not touch the humans.
He and his brother played the game constantly. The Earth was their playing field, and they used the people as their chess pieces. Of course, the game was one sided. The rules didn’t apply to his older brother; the older brother could do whatever he wanted to get rid of the filth that he had lain down on the fresh soil, awaiting the chance to destroy.
His babies… most of them were dead.
So, one ought to be sympathetic with his trials and troubles. There were many of them, after all.
He was flawed, closer to the regular person than his older brother. He was not perfect, he was not beautiful. His hair was black and greasy-looking. His eyes were usually green, but sometimes turned to a more hazel color during the winter. His skin was rather pasty looking, and he bruised easily. He didn’t know everything, and he couldn’t do everything. He wasn’t in control of every aspect of life and death, and he was often ridiculed and punished for mistakes.
And yet, they still called him evil. Perhaps humans believed that flaws and imperfection were the embodiment of impurity and evil. Perhaps they believed that, if one was not beautiful and perfect, then they could not be a ruler, they could not be holy, and they could not have anything.
And yet, they never applied these factors to themselves. How very trite!
So, if one met him, they ought to have some courtesy, have some sympathy, and a bit of taste. He was average, he was not perfect, and even the people ought to be able to se that.
He arrived at his destination, finally. He turned off his car, and clambered out of it, grabbing his suitcase and bringing it with him into the air conditioned building. Floor six, he pressed the buttons on the elevator and waited. An annoying elevator song came on, and he was forced to listen to it as the machinery worked its way up the floors. He reached up a hand and brushed his hair out of his face.
The doors opened, and he exited the small room, his heart beat slowing down. That was another flaw; he was claustrophobic, but that wasn’t his fault. That was his brother’s fault. His wonderful brother loved to lock him in small, cramped rooms when he misbehaved.
Which, by the way, was often.
He walked down the hallway, to the very last door on the left. He could hear the sounds of a dozen elder men talking, plotting huge ways to corrupt their businesses ever further. He was going to be the youngest there, or at least, he was going to look like the youngest there.
He grasped the door knob, turned it, and pushed open the door. The room fell silent as every head in the room turned to see the newcomer. He paid them no mind, walking around the table to the empty seat beside the leader of the meeting, his seat. The one designated for him, inconspicuously labeled with his initials, “L.M.” He sat down, placing the suitcase on his lap and staring at the table silently. He would not allow his gaze to wander around thee room, lingering on the foulest sinners.
He wanted to, but he wouldn’t.
“Who is this?”
The leader of the meeting smiled greedily at him, “He’s our provider,” their leader replied, “He might not look like all that much, but he’s got the cash.”
It was usual.
He paid them, they took the money, and he didn’t leave for at least an hour. He didn’t drink any of the expensive champagne that they had ordered. He didn’t trust them, and he didn’t want to know what the old perverts would do to him if he allowed himself to become intoxicated.
The disgusting scent of smoke filled the room, marijuana and cigarettes being lit all around the room. The fire made him feel a little more at home, but he still wasn’t allowing himself to loosen up. He didn’t dare.
He didn’t know when his brother might decide to drop by, so he had to be prepared.
Out of seemingly nowhere, a hand wrapped around his shoulder. He leaned in the opposite direction. It was time to go. He made the usual excuse of needing to use the bathroom, and escaped. A howl of displeasure at his departure sounded through the room, disgruntled old perverts laughing and yelling for him to “come back and have a little to drink”.
He slipped out of the room, coughing a bit. The smoke was probably going to kill him someday. Another flaw; intolerance to smoke. He probably had weak lungs. He stalked down the halls, his head slightly lowered as he pondered things about the way he lived.
His left the building, and got back into his car, shutting the door and leaning back in his seat, allowing the scent of brimstone to fill his car. The scent of marijuana and cigarettes eventually faded away, and he turned the ignition on his car. He pulled out of the sandy lot, and turned back down the road the way he had originally come.
He drove to the middle of the desert, where he was supposed to be, and parked his vehicle in the sand. He turned it off, and got out, watching as his chariot sank into the sand. His eyes were forlorn, a feeling of sadness in his heart.
“Hey, sir,” someone came to a stop behind him on the road, “You need a lift?”
Some woman, young, pretty… her red hair and green eyes were vibrant in the sunlight. He stared at her blankly, slightly startled by how she was talking to him. She looked worried, concerned, anything other than what he was used to.
“Sure,” He finally replied, a slight smile gracing his lips. She leaned over in her car, opening the door for him. He clambered into her truck, buckling himself into the front seat, as he knew he was supposed to.
“My name is Mary,” She said, “Where are you headed?”
He turned to face her, his expression blank for a moment. He smiled more broadly, “I’m Lucifer,” He answered, “I’m not heading anywhere.”
She chuckled as he told her his name, “There’s no better way to travel.”
Mary put her large Chevrolet into drive, and pressed on the gas precariously, so as to not jump them off at a bad start. Lucifer laughed outright, rolling down his window and staring out at the scenery as she began to drive, “Definitely.”
They pulled off into the approaching sunset, her bouncy red hair flying all around her head as she told him about her journey so far. He listened, intrigued by her stories of adventure. Unlike his brother, he did not know everything.
Lucifer pulled the ring off his pinky finger and threw it out the open window, watching through the rearview mirror as it bounced in the sand a couple of times.
The world was a mystery, and he wanted to see all of it, without any rules to hold him back. He would live sympathetically, love courteously, and laugh tastefully. He’d use all his well-learned politesse and he would lay no more souls to waste.
Just as every cop is a criminal, and all the sinners Saints… As heads is tails, his name was Lucifer, and he was breaking free of his restraints.
Well, some of them, anyway.

Laugh Maker

Kim — Wed, 18 Nov 2009 02:26:50 +0000

When I hear the knock at my door, I jump. I can’t help it; more tears come spilling out of my eyes, drowning the floor beneath me. I couldn’t bring myself to open the door with such a face, but even so, something compels me…
“What do you want? Who is it?”
“It’s not that great of a name, but someone has called me ‘Laugh Maker.’ I’ve brought you a smile. Its cold so let me in.”
“Laugh Maker? This isn’t a joke! I don’t remember calling someone like that. Don’t mind me here, just go away, I can’t cry with you there!” I start shouting, and my fists slam against the door angrily. The bruises from earlier are burning.
I thought you had left; a long silence had begun, and I felt like I was alone. I heard another knock and screamed at the floor more than you.
“Didn’t I say for you to disappear!?”
“You’re the first person to tell me that in my life… I’m really sad now. What should I do? I think I’m going to cry…”
Laugh Maker? This isn’t a joke! It can’t be helped if you cry! I’m the one who wants to cry! I don’t remember calling someone like you! The voices of two people, far away and yet so close. I can hear the stifled sobs on the other side of the door, and start to bawl even harder.
Our backs against each other with a door in-between us, crying voices mixed with hiccups. Completely tired out, crying voices, hugging our knees to our chests, backs against each other.
“Do you still intend to make me laugh? Laugh Maker.”
“It’s the only thing I live for. If I don’t make you laugh, I can’t go home.”
I thought maybe I can let you in, but the door is stuck from the ice from our tears.
“Push the door from you’re side; it’s already unlocked.” Say un, or sun, or something like that so that I know you heard.
What’s wrong? Hey, it can’t be…
Laugh Maker! This isn’t a joke! Now you leave me behind by myself! You disappeared without minding me, you betrayed me the instant I believed you! Laugh Maker, this isn’t a joke…
A crashing sound of a window breaking catches my attention, and I turn my head to face her, my littler baby sister. Holding an iron pipe and smiling through tears.
“I brought you a smile.” You brought out a small mirror, and held it up before my face.
“Your crying face can smile, too.”
Amazingly, indeed, I smiled.

…

If you couldn’t guess, I’m the Laugh Maker, and Gina is the crying one. Hurrhurr. Anyway, the original song is called “Laugh Maker” by “Bump of Chicken”. It can be found in my music folder. Personally, I’m in love with it!

WANT

Kim — Thu, 12 Nov 2009 01:02:57 +0000

I am feeling a little bratty right now. I WANT THESE BOOKS!

This one

And this one

By the way, I thought I should just let everyone know; I fucking HATE WordPress. It lags like a BITCH, and my shitty computer can barely handle it, P4 or not. I hate this stupid thing; they shouldn’t have updated it and made it all flashy and cool. Well, not flashy, but you know what I mean. Whatever; I hate this stupid thing. I’m gonna kill it.

That Was Unprofessional

Kim — Sun, 08 Nov 2009 19:43:06 +0000

“So, Amy, what kind of thoughts did you have when you were… attacking this boy?”

“I was thinking… he looked like that guy who raped me when I was younger… He tied me up and hurt me… I wanted to kill him.”

“Haha! Oh, I’m sorry. That was unprofessional of me. Continue.”

“… You know, I don’t think I should be seeing you anymore.”

“Really? Why do you think that?”

“You don’t take me seriously, sir.”

“Why would you imagine that I didn’t take you seriously?”

“You just laughed at me!”

“No, that was because I thought it was funny. Not because I wasn’t taking you seriously.”

“Oh… Well, I still think…”

“Anyway, you were saying about this man who attacked you when you were younger…”

“Um… I… I have to go. Goodbye…”

“Okay, see ya’ later, Amy! Have fun.”

“What do you mean by that?!”

“I don’t know… I was just assuming that you would notice that the boy outside my office waiting for me is the same one you mauled the other day. I was hoping you’d enjoy beating the crap out of him again.”

“I am never coming back here again!”

“Okay then. Bye.”

“Goodbye!”

*End*

I Am Not The Person Who Originally Wrote This

Kim — Sat, 31 Oct 2009 04:28:18 +0000

Ok I guess this isn’t a very productive post, but I just read this on CNN:

Navy ship accidentally fires on Polish port

edition.cnn.com/2009/WORLD/europe/10/30/poland.us.navy.shoot/index.html
.
.
Now, the incident itself was already hilarious enough for someone reading with hetalia-lens active, but then the comments were even better. ” Good thing it wasn’t France, they would have surrendered.”
.
.
.
Alfred: Shit I’m sorry
Felix: (digs out some bullets out of his thigh with a butter knife) Don’t fret it, at least it only took you two rounds to realize you’re shooting.
Ivan: yeah, took me much longer

…

I didn’t write that above part at all: I found the post on a community on Livejournal. Its amazing, is it not? Felix is Poland, Alfred is America, and Ivan is Russia.

This is almost as amazing as the “Iceland Having Sex With Sweden’s Fridge” fanfic that I read earlier. Man, that was crazy… The best part was that he didn’t get caught, and then later told the Fridge that they should “Stop seeing each other”. I love people.

Beloved Sister of Mine

Kim — Sun, 20 Sep 2009 22:34:02 +0000

Even as I watch, I can feel the tingling, bubbling sensation in my heart. My head feels light, I could fly. She is smiling at me, thanking me for the drink. A strawberry smoothie; her favorite.
I wave off her thanks, telling her that ‘it’s nothing’, and head upstairs to my room.
Dear Diary, I write in my head, thinking over the entry before I even have the book out, I couldn’t tell you how much I love her. She is always there for me; she has stolen my heart without even asking! I, however, do not mind in the least. If I wanted to give away my love, she would be the one I would want to give it to. She is my most precious person.
I am writing now, wondering if I could imitate her pretty handwriting, her lovely signature. I try. I fail.
I don’t really mind; if I and she were the same, I would not love her, because I would be able to see all of our flaws.
She is self-conscious, she doesn’t like herself, she degrades the perfection that is herself. I wish she would stop; I don’t see these imperfections, these tiny flaws that she hates with a passion, and I do not understand why they bother her so much. Why can she not just see what is HER? Why can’t she just see herself for who she is? I love her so much, but nothing I say can express to her what I feel when she is angry with herself.
It’s painful to see someone so perfect see themselves as something so ugly. It is miserable, for both of us. I wish that I could show her the beauty of HER. I wish I could prove to her that she is not ugly, but the purest, more beautiful thing this Earth will ever see.
My sister, why must you hate yourself so?
Because, dearest younger, if I loved all in the world, how could I be called human?
But why, my love, must you choose yourself to be the one that you despise? Why can’t it be someone else? Someone more deserving of such loathing as you bestow upon yourself? Why, isn’t there someone else in this world that you could hate? There must be! I will find someone for you to direct your hatred towards… just please don’t be this way to yourself.
It pains me so to see such a lovely creature burdened and sullied by mere feelings of consciousness. To see her breaking herself down to the barest of herself, just to find the flaws.
Beloved sister of mine, how I love you so. I wish that we could be together forever… Nothing in this world could amount to the feeling I have towards you. I love you, I hate you, I feel everything about you. I wish that we could be together, but alas, we must be apart.
Dearest Regina,
I love you. How I wish that I could show you how perfect you are.

It’s DONE!

Kim — Wed, 06 May 2009 00:02:59 +0000

You might remember Butterfly of the Abyss… I changed the title, first of all; It is now known as ‘To Possess the Evening’. I finished it last night and I’m happy with myself. Exactly ten days to complete it. I’m brought of myself, if I must say so myself. I just said myself twice. >.<

Anywho, Gina is coming home this Friday. yay.

Kimmie has Creative

Kim — Thu, 23 Apr 2009 20:26:35 +0000

So, a few days ago, I had these sudden lovey-dovey poem like things come to mind, and I think that they’re really cute. So, I decided it would be pretty cool to share them with you folks so I can get some feedback. I love the, personally, and I hope you do to.

Lets fall in the snow and laugh at the cold, pretending it’ll never end. We can play in the leaves and never forget. We’ll plant some flowers and watch them grow. Together, we can run through the summer rain, and jump in the puddles and laugh. Lets pretend this will never end, because there’s still time for one more kiss.

That’s the first one.

Lets fly higher than the sky, lets laugh like it never happened. Lets dance until the sun rises and play like we’re children. It doesn’t matter anymore because you’re all I ever needed, and you’re all I ever wanted. I’ll always be here for you, and you better be there for me. We’ll dance in the rain, play in the snow, and run through the leaves of autumn. We’ll swim through the rights and wrongs and laugh through the good and bad. Nothing can slow us down, ’cause baby, we’re in love.

~~~ Weeee ~~~

They’re alot alike, I know, but they’re still really good, right? I’m proud of myself for spewing forth such lovely works. On that note, I suppose I should tell you about what happened that I found out about today in school.

David Gross, my boyfriend, is suspended. He beat up a kid named Billy Caiati. Do you want to know why?

Billy insulted me. Right to David’s face. He was talking shit about me behind my back and to David. Both of these are stupid moves. You don’t spread rumors about Kimmie. First of all, Kimmie has backup gear,(ahem, Gina, Kasedy, David, and a few others…). Second mistake is that he said all of this to David. Not to a friend. To David. To my boyfriend, David.

So, David flipped shit on Billy. According to him, he grabbed Billy by the throat and punched his ugly face in. I have already told him that he is Gina’s hero and that I love him forever. I don’t know the percentage of guys who stick up for their girlfriends, but I don’t care. David loves me, and personally, I don’t think he had to go that far to prove it. I appreciate it though. Its nice to know that there’s someone outside my family who truly loves me.

The Butterfly

Kim — Tue, 31 Mar 2009 00:43:24 +0000

I didn’t make this up. Lau Tao, from Kuroshitsuji, did. he’s dead now. Rest in Peace, Lau Tao.

In the past, Zhuang Zhou dreamed of becoming a butterfly. The Butterfly was so real. He thought he was a butterfly. But he didn’t realize that he was human. He suddenly remembered, he was using the body of a butterfly. Did Zhou dream of being a butterfly? Or did the butterfly dream of being Zhou? There’s a difference between Zhou and a butterfly. That’s what its like to be between two different things.

Butterfly of the Abyss

Kim — Mon, 30 Mar 2009 03:56:16 +0000

This is what I plan to use as a book cover for a future book that I want to write, obviously called Butterfly of the Abyss. It has a similar plotline to that of the anime/manga Kuroshitsuji, but it isn’t quite the same in both characters, how the story starts, and what its really about.

“Renatus Vespian is an semi-regular boy from France. He moved to America, because his parents wanted him to get out on his own at an early age, and learn to take care of himself. Or so they said. They wanted to get rid of him, in reality, because they believed him to be a cursed child. He has deep blue hair and yellow eyes; of course they would think that.

After returning to France to find that both his parents are dead and/or missing, leaving him with a large fortune, house, and everything else he really needs to survive, Renatus isn’t searching for the person who took his parent’s lives. Rather, he is searching for his parents themselves. He knows that they can’t possibly be dead; there is a secret that he alone knows, and that alone is proof that they aren’t dead.

After being constantly attacked by demons, vampires, and other beasts of the underworld that claim his soul, flesh, mind, and body are the most wanted things of the underworld, Renatus employs the help and services of Vlad Dracul, now know in this modern day and age as Dracula. In school, Vlad is a protective older brother. At home, he is a butler, working to see that all of his Master’s wishes are fulfilled, and that he has no complaints, while acting as a protective sort of guardian to make sure that Renatus is never hurt by any beasts of the underworld. In the night, he is a blood sucking, immortal vampire that feeds on the blood and souls of the weak.

This story will tell of their adventures, and how their relationships blooms into something that may be more than it seems, or is even less than it seems. Only time will tell.”

—-

On a side note, me an Gina are only a few chapters/several chapters away from finishing The Last Storm of Spring! Hurray!~…

You haven’t read it yet, have you?

Anyway, give me your thoughts on this story idea that I have, and blah blah. If you have any ‘omg, wouldn’t it be interesting if-…’ ideas, then TELL ME! I would LOVE to know! If you have any questions about the book cover, ask, and I’ll tell you, whether it be in person, or through the comment services that I have.

Well, its an hour past my bed time. I’m not going to school tomorrow, but I don’t want to stay up too late. If I do, then chances are I’ll screw my sleep cycle up… again.

Also, I didn’t sleep mmore than 1-2 hours last night. The least I can do is TRY to catch up on that. -.- ::sigh::

And somehow, the world moves on.