Author: Aduial
Title: Like Something You Wrote
Plot: Farfarello speaks of himself, his life, and so on & so forth.
Rating: +15. May Contain Adult Themes
Verdict: 77 / 6.1
WARNING - MAY LEAD TO HOSPITALISATION
In the Beginning - Who I Am and Why I Write
Ecclesiastes 12: 14 Fear God and keep his commandments, For God will bring every deed into judgement, including every hidden thing, whether it is good or evil.
To be honest, I didn't mean for it to happen. I was young, I was alone and afraid, and then everything went wrong. I didn't know who I was, I didn't know where I was, and I didn't know what to believe. That's why I killed my "family".
I believe everything in this world, every person, every experience - can be described with colours. Colours can make you feel different. If I gave you a picture of the desert, the gold sand and gold sun would tell you it was warm - and if I gave you a picture of the mottled grey-blue sky back home in Ireland, you could tell it was cold. I used to paint, back in Ireland. I loved painting angels, their soft wings, soft faces, soft eyes. Painting was hazy gold.
I lived in Dublin as a child. Childhood was like a ribbon of lime green on crisp white paper - there was always a bigger picture, but you never could see it. And it would be black and white when you looked at it again and noticed all the flaws, all the things you never noticed in the beginning. But my childhood went grey, then red, and a fathomless blue. Blue was my favourite colour. It was the sky, it was the water, it was my mind before it happened, when half of me went black - and SAW black when I lost my eye.
I was raised by nuns to have a strong religious belief. I loved everything. Everything was bright, everything was shining, LIFE ITSELF shone on me. I'd look out the church doors after morning mass and I'd see the blotted sun shining, the clouded sky was shining, the damp grass was shining, and even inside the dark cathedral everything shone. Remember that line in the Bible when God looks upon all of his creations, "and He saw that it was good?" It was like that for me. I saw everything around me, and saw that it was good.
I didn't think anything could destroy that illusion, but I was wrong. Hardly any of us ever tell ourselves our entire life is a lie, and then find out it's true. I was Jei, a typical Irish boy who was educated, who was fed, clothed, played, and was teased. Yes, shocking isn't it. They used to tease me. They called me a Ghost because of my pale appearance. It was rather odd how I managed to have fair skin, fair hair, but dark eye- brows and eyelashes. No-one ever pointed that out. I consider myself fairly attractive. The nuns would giggle and describe me as running around like a demon. I was well behaved, just always in a hurry. I would be dressed in my good clothes for Sunday mass, but would come running over hill and dale with twigs in what- not entwined to my mussed hair. The nuns soon became accustomed to it, and came prepared to mass with their wooden combs to unravel my knots.
It's these little details that determine who we are, and how we are. I had a big shock, which changed me. That's why I write. I'm "crazy". Mentally disturbed, they say. It's all a load of jimjar, if you ask me. I admit that I am a sadist - or a masochist, I don't know the difference. I guess that's one reason people still call me a Demon. If someone tells you that pain hasn't at least once given them an erotic feeling, they're lying. To me, pain is the same colour as sex. Red. But not any red, a dark bloody red - somewhat crimson, hazy, suffocative, and tinted with mottled maroon hues.
Bet you think I'm crazy, now? I don't blame you. But the truth is, I love that colour. I can't get enough of it. And when I cut myself, I not only feel it, I can see it. And when I see that colour before me, still warm and creeping, thick, as it rolls slowly down a dead mans neck. I can feel it, I can taste it, and I love it. They hang me upside down so I can't kill myself just to see the blood. Thanks for the idea. I really do want to know what it feels like to know you're about to die. I wonder, when we die, where do we go? What happens? Is there really Heaven, Hell, Purgatory, or Children's Limbo? We might never know.
When you die, do they call you by the name you were born with, Christened with, or died with? If they call you what you were christened as, what do they call you if you were never baptized? There are so many Christian things which I don't understand.
Don't get me wrong, I don't worship the anti-Christ. I'm just. I guess you could say, somewhat of an anti- Christ myself. I would never worship Satan, though I would most like to know what Lucifer was really like. The Light Bearer, the Day Star, son of Dawn. What a rebel.
-------------------- Chapter two is on it's way. *does happy dance* I don't know why, but whenever I read this, it reminds me of Anne Rice's Vampire Chronicles. --------------------
In the Beginning - Who I Am and Why I Write
Ecclesiastes 12: 14 Fear God and keep his commandments, For God will bring every deed into judgement, including every hidden thing, whether it is good or evil.
To be honest, I didn't mean for it to happen. I was young, I was alone and afraid, and then everything went wrong. I didn't know who I was, I didn't know where I was, and I didn't know what to believe. That's why I killed my "family".
I believe everything in this world, every person, every experience - can be described with colours. Colours can make you feel different. If I gave you a picture of the desert, the gold sand and gold sun would tell you it was warm - and if I gave you a picture of the mottled grey-blue sky back home in Ireland, you could tell it was cold. I used to paint, back in Ireland. I loved painting angels, their soft wings, soft faces, soft eyes. Painting was hazy gold.
I lived in Dublin as a child. Childhood was like a ribbon of lime green on crisp white paper - there was always a bigger picture, but you never could see it. And it would be black and white when you looked at it again and noticed all the flaws, all the things you never noticed in the beginning. But my childhood went grey, then red, and a fathomless blue. Blue was my favourite colour. It was the sky, it was the water, it was my mind before it happened, when half of me went black - and SAW black when I lost my eye.
I was raised by nuns to have a strong religious belief. I loved everything. Everything was bright, everything was shining, LIFE ITSELF shone on me. I'd look out the church doors after morning mass and I'd see the blotted sun shining, the clouded sky was shining, the damp grass was shining, and even inside the dark cathedral everything shone. Remember that line in the Bible when God looks upon all of his creations, "and He saw that it was good?" It was like that for me. I saw everything around me, and saw that it was good.
I didn't think anything could destroy that illusion, but I was wrong. Hardly any of us ever tell ourselves our entire life is a lie, and then find out it's true. I was Jei, a typical Irish boy who was educated, who was fed, clothed, played, and was teased. Yes, shocking isn't it. They used to tease me. They called me a Ghost because of my pale appearance. It was rather odd how I managed to have fair skin, fair hair, but dark eye- brows and eyelashes. No-one ever pointed that out. I consider myself fairly attractive. The nuns would giggle and describe me as running around like a demon. I was well behaved, just always in a hurry. I would be dressed in my good clothes for Sunday mass, but would come running over hill and dale with twigs in what- not entwined to my mussed hair. The nuns soon became accustomed to it, and came prepared to mass with their wooden combs to unravel my knots.
It's these little details that determine who we are, and how we are. I had a big shock, which changed me. That's why I write. I'm "crazy". Mentally disturbed, they say. It's all a load of jimjar, if you ask me. I admit that I am a sadist - or a masochist, I don't know the difference. I guess that's one reason people still call me a Demon. If someone tells you that pain hasn't at least once given them an erotic feeling, they're lying. To me, pain is the same colour as sex. Red. But not any red, a dark bloody red - somewhat crimson, hazy, suffocative, and tinted with mottled maroon hues.
Bet you think I'm crazy, now? I don't blame you. But the truth is, I love that colour. I can't get enough of it. And when I cut myself, I not only feel it, I can see it. And when I see that colour before me, still warm and creeping, thick, as it rolls slowly down a dead mans neck. I can feel it, I can taste it, and I love it. They hang me upside down so I can't kill myself just to see the blood. Thanks for the idea. I really do want to know what it feels like to know you're about to die. I wonder, when we die, where do we go? What happens? Is there really Heaven, Hell, Purgatory, or Children's Limbo? We might never know.
When you die, do they call you by the name you were born with, Christened with, or died with? If they call you what you were christened as, what do they call you if you were never baptized? There are so many Christian things which I don't understand.
Don't get me wrong, I don't worship the anti-Christ. I'm just. I guess you could say, somewhat of an anti- Christ myself. I would never worship Satan, though I would most like to know what Lucifer was really like. The Light Bearer, the Day Star, son of Dawn. What a rebel.
-------------------- Chapter two is on it's way. *does happy dance* I don't know why, but whenever I read this, it reminds me of Anne Rice's Vampire Chronicles. --------------------