Empty: Book 2

41 : God of Disaster

PANA

In science, or in fate, I can't tell where pregnancy must be guided to pursue in this kind of reality I'm playing with my eyes half open and heart fully closed. For all that Anthony's competitiveness to win is where I'm relieved; him, arising from his grave to end my artificial life as my every night's curse to sleep. Everything I'll be enduring for their trust to remain even without them knowing their vessel will be dying very, very soon.

Chasing disciplinary medicine, it's not ideal for a patient to deliberate a move at this point where no one would believe I'm alive walking human. All that I need is my coat and I'm ready to head off but unfortunately, the patient's illness is seen by an accident glance in a mirror to be a slowly returning corpse, a hideous monster in her melting beauty through a karma of devouring decay superseding my bodily totality. Mm, a bit painful and the ugliest— the dead-colored lips, natural for the dead prime to be buried but wished to be burnt.

The dilemma is forgetting to own any kind of paint for the lips for always thinking it'll be kissed— and to paint it is a ruinous decision. Thoughts do really control me.

I seized the advantage of owning this robber's mask to be used again in a different disguise 'cause another layer of band-aids will do me worse. So for tonight, I return as a dead lady in a nightgown layered with a dark coat keeping a fatal snack, matched with a masked face concealing the greatest deadness in my head presenting a sick criminal in pursuit of a cure.

Where can I find the next lucky corpse to trade my pit?

A mirror holding my reflection is in one frame with another reflection involved from behind. The dress, that white dress symbolizing my past, the same dress I'd lost my innocence with, a wake-up call clinging on my closet as it has been illegally borrowed then messily returned by someone I'm fatigued enough to know. Brilliantly, all memoirs relapse for me to forgive the way it's touched, it wants me to be right by looking back at who am I forgiving. A past's meaning. It's on me to decide.

"Who the fuck are you!?" Conan's scream compelled my gun to slap his forehead as I barge into the middle of his sleep, now he's awakened.

"Where can I find Mikol?" my voice muffled under the cloth of the mask but clear enough for him to recognize his master.

I gain a response in his frozen posture, shivering voice like he knew he shouldn't ask, "What's... the day today?"

"May 18, year 2000" I answered, whereupon his eyes stop blinking just to cast his most ridiculed stare on mine, very dramatically, fear is gone. I'll answer what I only know.

Choiceless servant eventually shook his head, "I don't know where he is but I'm sure you can find him at the Rail Casino every Friday. In his unit when it's a regular day."