Poison of the Wise

Chapter 1

      The window has the glaze of winter. gentle shine with the gloss of glittering water, thick condensation decorating the white ceil of the window peeling the paint from its home. Evicting it from whence it came, uprooting it from what it knows

Today is February 6th, 1920. The tacky nature of those in my life makes me feel drained. like a faucet that is giving but only the holes in the floor make the effort disappear. No trace of me, anything that I've ever done in my life. Only thing that keeps the water spitting is those who have stayed, the cold water not bothering them until it turns warm once again. Although I'm grateful, I wish others would have stayed. Not everyone can handle the lower temperatures, even if they should. He was everything for me. The light at the end of the line, if the line was thin, jaded, and translucent. Nothing makes the sun set faster than the despair of the day, feeling as if the day was wasted and we want nothing more than the sorrow that consumes us every waking day.

Today the bus was late, so I decided to write. Mother says i would have been a great writer if i was a man, but unfortunately people say "Wo, Man" when i walk by. She believes that she is the ideal woman, silent. Not really actually, she gets loud when you do something she was told was bad by grandma. Mother was raised catholic in the 18th century, so that obviously makes some impact on how you treat others.

if she would have it her way, every woman on this shining earth would be knitting sweaters for their husbands. But to her dismay, I have two left hands and can't understand all the stitches. I can barely read normally. How does she expect me to read the abbreviations that look like the Russians wrote it?

"And with that," My hands slam the covers together, "I think that old Missy could take a nice long time in the dark." as I shove the small journal into my messenger bag. The withered pages begin to crack and the binding decays. A large section falls out leaving its contents on the wonce colorful rug, or at least I can hope it was vibrating. The room has a light colored wall with mud lathered on the window saying 'Judgment day is gone, Nothing to live for.' The people who were here last were very cheerful, they wouldn't mind a guest.

I walk through the splintering frame running my fingers across the wood onto the table in the middle of the living room. the dust smudging my skin, taking the color and distorting the hue into a muted version of what it once was. Almost like taking the meaning out of poetry. A splinter finds a new home with me and I feel almost bad for it. The feeling disappears and I use my teeth to remove the scrap wood without another thought.

The wind runs by, taking the strands of hair out of their place and into the frame of my glasses ruining my vision. I move the loop out of my eyes to only see something flash. The holes in the walls clearly weathered with age that hasn't seen better days. The large gash is about 7 meters tall, taller than any human I have seen, that's for sure. Although I could have sworn on those above that somethin, even as small as an ant had passed by. The skin on my arms begins to chill and small bumps decorate incorporating itself with the ink I have stabbed into my person. The urge to leave is adamant, but I still haven't found what I'm looking for.

my eyes glaze the rest of the rusted interior, water stains largely prominent in the vision of the home. My attention is drawn when a rusted stair case comes into view, "God, I cant breath already." I've always hated thin staircases, the rust doesn't help its case. The light outside is fading and dark clouds begin to set in. Time is against me and I would very much rather set up camp as far away as I can without the ghost of Missy watching my every move.

"Oh my dear.... why are you here"

I wipe my head behind me, my breath catching in my throat from fear. My hair is covering my glasses again and in frustration I almost yank the damn things off. I feel the temperature drop around me and a cold layer of moisture covers my body. the feminine voice begins to rasp at the tail end of her sentence making her words lay in the air thickly like molasse. It's shockingly sweet, sickly even.

"Darling, don't come near. They know you're here"

"What?..... Ajax, I swear if they sent you. "

"Oh my dear, poor sweet Star, you can trust me."

Edge in their voice feels like a stinging wind on cold winter nights.

"Then... tell me something I can trust."

I'm not scared of the unknown and this place has been flagged for "Supernatural Occurrence" but i didn't believe it for many have gone insane in the institution.

I pray she can tell me anything of importance, This part of the woods is uncharted by credible sources and many don't come back the same, if they make it. Too many times have I seen my fellow people return in fear and obedience. I just hope she's the reason why and not who every "they" is.

"Poor, Poor star. you haven't gotten very far"

every sentence makes my ears ring, loud high frequency consuming my right ear

"I can show you what they want.... take my hand, Star"

my eyes gloss over and I step back, my boots making creaks on the warped wood. My body doesn't feel like mine, the strings that I thought I controlled are now bringing me closer to the middle of the room. The desolate atmosphere leaves me and the voice. My foot grazes the wrinkled carpet, tripping me and knocking me out of the captivate fantasy.

"Eyes. Up. Here"

A gentle wash of cold holds my chin wrapping its wisdom around my cheeks. My gaze falls on a translucent silhouette of a circle with many sockets around it. The cold wraps around me filling my adrenaline with fear, sharp looking spikes in sorrow like the voice, spikes almost seaming as if they were going right through my thoracic cavity.

The entity retreats towards the room where I found Missy's journal.

"where, why"

I begin to walk towards the door, my vision going blurry.

"Come back."

My hand reaches out as I begin to heighten my pace. 'She' turns around seemingly, looking softer, satisfied. My hand shoots through her property, feeling a liquid cold around the tips of my fingers turning to a burning sensation. My skin bubbles like a boiling pot of water of agony. My hand distorting in shapes I couldn't begin to describe.

My body Launches across the rooms slamming my back into the first step of the rusted stairs. The brick wall breaking the fall of my arm feeling an ache, warmth crosses down to my shoulder. A creak begins to enter my presents, beginning to feel the metal shift, fall, and slip.

my body falls, the light from the day seems to fade as I sink, my eyes grow heavy from the warmth of blood staining the cloth of my shirt. darkness begins to follow as my skull hits the bottom of the case.

"Good job my Star."