061 x 160 // video/dream/action // the plague 19th - 26th

[dignity_misery]

VIDEO/ACTION

[Carla has experience this sensation before. While languishing away in her one-true-god's domain, she had felt exactly like this. Trapped inside a fading shell, unseen by the world and increasingly unknown to herself. It had led her somewhere dreadful the last time, she had tried to fend it off with a false sense of purpose: her love for her 'master', her place as his 'art.' She still hates herself for it, still wishes she had let go of her vanity and taken sweet, bloody vengeance on the arrogant man who had pulled her back from death to play doll for him.

She can't stand it. Can't stand going unrecognized by those she depends on, going unheard and unnoticed. All she ever wanted, long before the bullet pierced her skull, was to leave marks on the world, to scratch herself into others with a pain they would remember fondly.

She hates this rotting feeling.

It does her very little good, but she has the video of her device trained on her face, is talking with a great deal of emphasis, anger and panic showing in her expression, in the way she motions with her hands and tries to grip someone's, anyone's, attention.

But there's no sound, and for some there may be no woman visible either.]

JULY 19th - DREAM - Creepy and Violent

The throng is suffocating, a pool of bodies all jumping and moving together, dancing as lights flash overhead: red and green and blue. There might be music playing, but that's hard to tell, there's so much noise from the crowd, feet stomping, lungs breathing, delighted screams and chatter. But the bass is palpable, thundering like a pulse from the corners of the room, huge with high-ceilings. A warehouse; steel rafters and sheet-metal walls ring tinny, another layer of noise and echo in an already overwhelming scene.

And there you are in the center of it all, bathed in waves of bodies, their sweat and their scent. Hands with no face to give them personality brush against you uninvited. Eyes with bodies obscured by dancing figures smile at you, flickering in and out of shadow. Mouths coated in glitter beckon. You smile, black-eyed and lithe.

They are all prey to you, and whether it's their innocence or their life that you take... you know it won't be missed. You'll take and you'll use and you'll toss them aside again, on to the next need. There's always something that you need, always a constant emptiness in the center of your being and an animal shrieking in the back of your mind that demands bones and meat. You need to drown them out, you need to satisfy yourself.

You're never satisfied, and it infuriates you.

You take it out on the crowd, one by one. They continue to dance, despite screams of delight and of pain. Despite the tears and blood.

Your hands and face are wet and your heart is racing, thumping in time to the music you are not listening to.

And slowly, your suffering heart relaxes and you think of nothing, you exhibit no control.

(I've come to burn you down.)