Chapter 1

It seemed to draw a line, a line she could not cross. She knew so much, but the world seemed to say she knew nothing. She said she knew nothing, and that was certain too. As certain as nothing could be, and she fell into the trap of thought again. It's not like she didn't realize that, she did, it was just the way she was that she couldn't think in any other way. She knew and she didn't know, of everything and nothing. She was a dream, a part of some virtual reality and at the same time more substantial than reality itself. She and others called her person Dawn, but that was just a string of words laced around an empty piece of tainted clay if it was even clay.

Life to Dawn was a corridor that held a myriad number of doors of a myriad number of forms, metaphors for life's eventual end. Other's end though, although if they were the end of her perception or their actual life she didn't know. She didn't know. That statement seemed to resound in her head as she walked down her metaphorical dream-state. She could see the line and she was walking towards, unable to stop. It was blurry, but it was there. She was walking down the corridor, quietly observing the different doors and thinking about how her mind subconsciously assigned each person as tidy a summary as a door. But as always her eyes returned to line she was approaching. It seemed like she had been walking for quite a while now. She wondered why she was walking but there didn't seem to be an explanation for it, there didn't seem, didn't seem to be one here.

Then something seemed to click and Dawn stopped walking her metaphor, she stood still and looked at the door on her right. It was a mask that chilled her very spirit, very appropriate for the abyss the corridor was carried in. There were line markings and a slit for both an eye and part of a mouth, in both their places darkness seemed to be quite happily resting. Although not sure why, Dawn reached over and opened the door to see darkness smiling in a manner that implied pain. Dawn tried to run but after ages of walking her legs were still. The darkness took her into its embrace smiling, still like her legs. And then there was pain. Seeemed.

It's a very lonely house Dawn thought as she walked aimlessly through the different rooms. It wasn't that large a house; it was all one story containing three bedrooms, two bathrooms and all the other essentials. A misnomer though that it was since a house wasn't really necessary except for the self-actualization dependent. She headed outside to grab the paper, and once inside Dawn grabbed a poptart and some orange juice. Cups weren't really necessary when the house was yours alone. Paper, poptart (strawberry), and orange juice (extra calcium and pulp free) in hand Dawn sat down at the kitchen table and turned to the comic section. She liked Dilbert, Doonesbury, Pickles, Mallard Fillmore, etc. She wasn't sure why she even got the paper even more, it's not like she read it for the articles and she could just read the comics on the internet for free, but there was just something about reading real print, be it book or comic, that couldn't be replaced by computers. Her favorite was Doonesbury, at times it felt like they were borrowing from her writings, Bush was indeed a Sith Lord, it was most palpa-ble when he ate with a -tine, a.k.a. fork.

Dawn chuckled to herself and finished up with her poptarts, it didn't take her too long to eat since she liked them cold rather than toasted. She had never really tried them toasted but she liked them this way and using the microwave took longer anyways. She lifted up the lid of defective trash can, the ones where you can step to open always break sooner or later, and tossed the crust of the pop tart she didn't like stuffed into a napkin which in turn was stuffed into a cup she had decided to use after all into the almost full bag. She would have to clean that soon she thought, and walked back into her room. It was painted a light blue that remained dark as long as the curtains over her two windows were closed, and they always were. She picked up her blue blanket from her bed, the bed was a child's bed, and she had never really felt the need for a new one since she didn't mind extending her legs off the bed. The computer, though, was new in a line of computers, windows of course. She turned it on and while she was waiting for it to load, she had a lot of junk programs on it, the pack rat that she was, or the lazy rat that she was didn't really want to get rid of it, got her I-Pod and turned it on. The screen flickered for a second and Love Fool by the Cardigans showed up and in her ears she listed to its haunting yet upbeat melody. Dawn liked those kinds of songs, Duvet and such. She had her I-Pod set to repeat the song and its melody played through her mind continuously, the lyrics joining her soul until she only picked up the random word and so entrenched in her mind that it seemed to be out of it.

The computer was on now; it was a drug of sorts that had her addicted. It had taught her patience and gave her pleasure in return, she spent days now surfing Wikipedia. She learned every name of Solomon's seventy-two demons, their titles, the number of legions they possessed and even their servants, she had made up stories for every one. Her favorite was Astaroth, it was pretty funny actually, some theologians actually thought him to be Astarte in disguise, which meant he would be the goddess of love. Ha! A demon prince of hell the goddess of love in disguise, sweet Aphrodite favors demon flesh. And that was just one article, and just one website.

Dawn spent her days reading books and comics online, when paper was not available or she didn't feel like shopping she had no qualms about reading things free online. She also enjoyed the vastness of mp4's; she had watched Serial Experiments Lain on veoh and bought it in real life just because it was so good. And that was just one philosophically wrought method of storytelling, and it was just one of many video sites on the Internet.

She usually kept a word window open at all times, since she didn't leave home that much it was like her notepad where she kept all he random thoughts. Instead of recording them in a tape recorder she used a word processor. It was also where all of the thoughts went into whatever story was currently being written, but mostly it was her thoughts recorded.

I believe nothing, for I write of Everything.

Great men are forgotten, and in their place truly great men are remembered.

I believe that everything is made of belief.

The god of atheists tossed paradox into existence and laughed.

Of imagery and Philosophy, the first carries Poetry's heart and the latter her mind.

Charon's a stickler for three sided die.

I'm so alone, but is it not better for it to be so? Will someone tell me?

Immortality lies in the technologic future; the present demands no rest for me.

Black holes expand, doom just takes a while.

Rhyme cry with die! Do it!

The French Entente of Royalist Necromancers claims all; it's a form of future form.

Appreciate my errors, for chaos I write and in May I die.

She woke out of her surrealist induced trance to the sound of music in her ears, that and she could swear she heard the doorbell ring. She wondered if it was one of those televangelists, she always wanted to have a debate with them, she swore one of these days she would try to proselytize a priest to her religion. It went by many names, Nusquamism, FRNism, Reificism, like all good small religions it was whim-based. She reached the door and peered out the peep hole and saw a friend of hers, which was astonishment in and of itself.

Jack Richard Kuceyeski invited her out into her patio, the cat was currently enjoying the ministrations of his hand and he enjoyed the feel of light as he sat on the patio bench.

"Hello Dawn, fancy meeting you here! Care to join me and this marvelous feline of yours. She's such a nice cat."

"Señor Patches is a he for your information. And he's not mine, he's the neighbors. I have allergies remember? Couldn't keep a cat in the house for more than a few hours before I'dve used up all the tissues."

"Still your cat though," he held up the very agreeable Señor Patches and made him wave at Dawn with his cute little paw. "See, cat's only wave to their masters you know."

"Sure Dusk," Dawn rolled her eyes in the most exaggerated manner possible. "Pray tell me why you've come to my patio today."

"The gang was wondering if you wanted to join us for dinner at El Adobe Saturday. We could get Suzie's table and enjoy ourselves, so how's about it?"

Dawn thought about refusing but then she remembered she had to do at least this to say she had friends.

"What time?"

"Do I hear an implied yes? I think I do! We'll be there at five; we'll catch up and enjoy the bread and wine eh? Nice book by the way." Accomplishing what he had set out he waved goodbye to Señor Patches and her master and set out. He waved goodbye from his green Toyota and drove away from Calrtop Street leaving Dawn with Señor Patches. She sat there in the patio for a while petting him, and eventually just letting her hand lay on his warm body both of them content and the feline sleeping.

Dawn quietly said to no one in particular, "I have all the time in the world." She chuckled and brought the I-Pod out of her pocket. She turned to the Beatles section and choose When I'm Sixty-Four, it reminded her of her parents. They always used to say this one thing when their parents, her grandparents, were over. If we're like that, her grandparents always arguing with each other and oblivious to the world, for god's sake tell us! Dawn knew they would've, and that she wouldn'tve. It was nice to reminisce every once and a while about the future she thought to herself as she listened to the homicidal rock band that killed the music, she could picture the headlines, The Day the Music Died. She chuckled at her joke and decided she had spent as much time with Patches as she should, inside the house she washed her hands of any allergen containing cat hair and retreated into her cave/sanctum room. It was really a matter of perspective.

Dawn sat down in her chair and gazed at the computer screen that still held up the word screen she hadn't closed. The music in the background helped her forget about the meeting she had promised. It's not like she didn't like her friends, it was just that her imagination was better company. It was a land of fantasy she could afford to live in, after all people paid to see her dreams and have her dream them. She was listening to Hey Jude while she wrote whatever philosophy came into her head.

Dawn was modifying the FRN texts, it was still far from complete, in fact it would probably never be complete but she felt compelled to write it, to write about the French Royalist Necromancers, her own little conspiracy she shared with the world. Hg(Mercury(Hermes)), the god, was a saint. Tim, the god of Atheists, was the official but not often recognized god of FRN. Dawn sighed, and thought of writing down the truth of Pan Twardowski, necromantic son of Hermes(Mercury(Hg)). Her steady gaze was interrupted by a mask she could have sworn she had seen before; it had a slit for the eye and one for the mouth. A yellow eye and black lip greeted her from behind the mask of which could be seen a slight curl as if to suggest the man was smiling at her. She could hear an echo of a laugh, presumably directed at her.

The man spoke in a sepulchral voice but all the while she could hear the amused undertone in which he continued to speak.

"Feeling down Dawn? Well I can remedy that in a magical way, and no, you did not take acid and then forget about in and then proceed to dream that a man in a mask is talking out of your monitor if that is what you're wondering. Now if you will just come with me I am quite confident you will be the happier for it."

Dawn thought, something she had tried recently not to do as much of, it made her feel a bit off, but she was thinking now and when Dawn really thought it was quite a ride.

If I'm on acid, then I might as well do what strange people tell me, after all their opinions are probably my own manifest. Or at least better than my own. But such logical reasoning probably means that I'm not on any drugs, hallucinogenic or not, and that I'm either suffering from a mental disorder (very likely) or that a man does in fact have magical powers and has chosen me for whatever reason a man with magical powers may have. Yet through my own reasoning it is better to acquiesce, for even if I am suffering from a mental disorder the worse that could occur would be losing my grip on reality, and as time and my own previous reasoning have proved is not that necessary and should be thrown away if one is presented with a better alternative, namely me and the opportunity I'm being offered right now.

"That's just what I was thinking Ms. Dawn. So if you will," the man in the mask reached out and displayed a hand for her to take, dressed in a crimson red sleeve and white glove it seemed to suggest grandeur.

Dawn thought, and she stressed the past tense in her mind, she had made her decision. In fact, she had given up on reality a long time ago. She reached out to grab his hand. And then there was pain and darkness. A copy of The Principia Discordia lay open on her desktop to page ten.

"What is this?" mumbled one to the other, "A religion based on The Goddess of Confusion? It is utter madness:"

And with those words, each looked at the other in absolute awe. Omar began to giggle. Mal began to laugh. Omar began jumping up and down. Mal was hooting and hollering to beat all hell. And amid squeals of mirth and with tears on their cheeks, each appointed the other to be high priest of his own madness, and together they declared themselves to be a society of Discordia, for what ever that may turn out to be...

And on the now placid computer screen a word processor screen was open.

The Saints of FRN:

Hg(Mercury(Hermes)):

A god in Roman mythology whose domain is comprised of trade, profit and commerce. He is the son of Maia Maiestas and Jupiter. He is the evolution of the Greek being known as Hermes. In the Aeneid and many other sources it is stated that he owns golden and winged sandals that let him fly through the air upon conjured winds. It is in the Aeneid and through dissection of Roman Mythology that Mercury's true nature is revealed, as the patron god of necromancy in Roman society and it is assumed in the total Hellenistic period also due to his association with Hermes by the people of that era. Mercury carries upon his person a wand given to him by Apollo that he uses to guide the souls of the dead to the Lower World. He controls the living and the dead with it, and it also has the ability to turn anything to gold. This wand is called the Caduceus, loosely translated meaning magic wand. The wand contains three parts, a rod, a pair of wings and two intertwined serpents. The Caduceus originally belonged to Tiresias who separated two copulating snakes with his staff, the Caduceus, and was transformed into a woman for seven years until he repeated his action and was transformed back into a male again. This staff was given to Apollo who then proceeded to give it to Mercury. The story of this exchange is a testament to our Saint's guile. The young Hermes came upon Apollo's cattle and took them for his own pleasure; he slaughtered and ate two and hid the rest. He used some of the cow's sinews and the shell of a turtle he had killed and hallowed to make a lyre by stringing the sinews through the shell. When Apollo came looking for his missing cows he sought out Hermes and the god of commerce promptly showed Apollo to his missing cows and apologized for the whole affair. Apollo, not wishing to invite the matter any further accepted Hermes' apology and was about to make his way when Hermes' began playing the lyre he had made earlier. Apollo, who was the god of music among other things saw this new instrument and desired it as his own. When Apollo asked for the lyre Hermes refused it to him. Apollo then offered the Caduceus in exchange, demonstrating its power by subjugating two snakes, upon which Hermes graciously accepted in trade for his lyre. Hermes engineered the situation to his advantage so that he would acquire the rumored staff of Apollo, and by doing so he gained control of the dead and godhead over early necromancers. For this he is remembered by FRN as a saint of our wholly organization. Mercury's death has not yet been confirmed and it is likely he is still alive due to the popularization of ancient thought during the Renaissance that has yet to fade completely from modern thought. Blessed be those that hold the god who is quick with silver liquids high in their minds.

Short, concise, and to the point,

Might to avid readers disappoint.

Yet who has the strength of will, of mind,

To deny those span so short and unkind?

Quite, a few or so It seems,

And from my idiomatic language one must gleans,

That everything I say is right,

And if not, then everything is wrong. Alright,

Perhaps the world is not so black and white,

But at least everything I write,

And I write of everything, can not be believed.

At least all may know my wisdom once of life bereaved.

Pan Twardowski?

…