A/N Guess what? It's over, it's finally over, the writer's block has
finally passed. Thank the lord, for those who didn't know I've had a
horrible case of writer's block for the last few months. And now it seems
to have passed. Okay I'm done, I'm just gonna write the story now.
Disclaimer: I don't own Pilot Candidate, New York, Slipknot, Cradle of Filth, or anything else, what I do own is the idea.
Warning: This story will contain drugs, depression, stuff like that, if that offends you in any way please leave. Also if you are an impressionable person and believe this may cause you to try and do some thing of the sort please don't read on, I really, really don't want to be responsible for some little 10-year-old silting his or her wrist, or something of the sort. BUT before you run away scared to your mommy, I must say, it's not that bad, it's just I don't want you getting any BAD ideas.
~~~~~
Down town New York City, a place filled with happy people bustling back and forth, loving mothers and fathers. Caring family, sweet little girls wearing white dresses and big sun hats, walking threw Central Park with their parents on a nice Friday afternoon. Kids playing jacks on the sidewalk, while others listened to pop music a few feet away. This was the sight that greeted Gareas Elidd as he stepped off the large, yellow bus.
Before I continue let me tell you this: Gareas Elidd's life was far from that of the children around him. I want to make sure that is clear before I continue it is important that you understand this, as it will soon be a factor.
"I'm home," Gareas's voice echoed threw the small apartment "if anyone cares." No reply, not that he was expecting one mind you. Chances were his father was still at work, and his mother was to drunk to tell night from day. He dropped his back on the ground and began to raid the refrigerator. By some miraculous feat of chance he had no homework, which when you're in ninth grade that is one heck of a feat.
After raiding the frige, Gareas hightailed it to his room, and turned his stereo on as loud as he could without sending the landlord into a frenzy. The lyrics to "Her ghost in the fog" By Cradle of the filth filled the room.
"The Moon, she hangs like a cruel portrait
soft winds whisper the bidding of trees
as this tragedy starts with a shattered glass heart
and the Midnightmare trampling of dreams
But oh, no tears please
Fear and pain may accompany Death
But it is desire that shepherds it's certainty
as We shall see..."
She was divinity's creature
That kissed in cold mirrors
A Queen of Snow
Far beyond compare
Lips attuned to symmetry
Sought Her everywhere
Dark liquored eyes
An Arabian nightmare...
She shone on watercolors
Of my pondlife as pearl
Until those who couldn't have Her
Cut Her free of this World
That fateful Eve when...
The trees stank of sunset and camphor
Their lanterns chased phantoms and threw
An inquisitive glance, like the shadows they cast
On my love picking rue by the light of the moon
Putting reason to flight
Or to death as their way
They crept through woods mesmerized
By the taffeta Ley
Of Her hips that held sway
Over all they surveyed
Save a mist on the rise
(A deadly blessing to hide)
Her ghost in the fog
They raped and left...
(Five men of God)
...Her ghost in the fog
Dawn discovered Her there
Beneath the Cedar's stare
Silk dress torn, Her raven hair
Flown to gown Her beauty bared
Was starred with frost, I knew Her lost
I wept 'til tears crept back to prayer
She'd sworn Me vows in fragrant blood
"Never to part
Lest jealous Heaven stole our hearts"
Then this I screamed:
"Come back to Me
I was born in love with thee
So why should fate stand in between?"
And as I drowned Her gentle curves
With dreams unsaid and final words
I espied a gleam trodden to earth
The Church bell tower key...
The village mourned her by the by
For She'd been a witch
their Men had longed to try
And I broke under Christ seeking guilty signs
My tortured soul on ice
A Queen of snow
Far beyond compare
Lips attuned to symmetry
Sought Her everywhere
Trappistine eyes
An Arabian nightmare...
She was Erzulie possessed
Of a milky white skin
My porcelain Yin
A graceful Angel of Sin
And so for Her...
The breeze stank of sunset and camphor
My lantern chased Her phantom and blew
Their Chapel ablaze and all locked in to a pain
Best reserved for judgment that their bible construed...
Putting reason to flight
Or to flame unashamed
I swept form cries
Mesmerized
By the taffeta Ley
Or Her hips that held sway
Over all those at bay
Save a mist on the rise
A final blessing to hide
Her ghost in the fog
And I embraced
Where lovers rot...
Her ghost in the fog
Her ghost in the fog
The music ended after about four and a half minutes, causing a comfortable silence to fall upon the room, its soul occupant was off in his own little world. Suddenly a door slammed shut and a yelling coming from the living room could be heard in the young teen's room.
"You're drunk again? Every day I come home to what? A nice meal? A clean house? NO! Every signal day I come home to you drunk, every fricken day!" A deep male voice yelled.
Gareas opened his door ever so slightly and popped his head out threw the crack. There was his father standing over his drunk mother yelling himself hoarse. The young woman, no older the then 31 sat on the living room floor, clutching the worn blue couch for support. A happy, stupid smile on her face.
And that lady's and gentlemen is the every day routine for the fifth teen-year-old Gareas Elidd.
Gareas turn in hopes of returning to the confines of his lair his unnoticed, but no such luck. His father spotted him, in a lighting quick moment he was down the poor boys throat, yelling every cuss word in the English language, and then some. The last thing he remembered was his father yelling at him for getting a D on his math test, and a sharp blow to the head from a stainless steel pipe.
Gareas opened his eye's to the darkness of his living room, he sat for who knows how long till there was only one couch, not several. A throbbing pain on the left side of his head reminded him of the earlier incident. Not that this was different, but usually he regained consciousness after an hour or so. One glance at the clock alerted him that he had been out for well over four hours. It's was now around ten o'clock, his sensitive ears picked up the sound of a television turned on in his parents room. Slowly he stood, clutching the wall so as not to fall, and crept in the most cat like way someone who had just be knocked out cold for four hours could.
~~~~~
Disclaimer: I don't own Pilot Candidate, New York, Slipknot, Cradle of Filth, or anything else, what I do own is the idea.
Warning: This story will contain drugs, depression, stuff like that, if that offends you in any way please leave. Also if you are an impressionable person and believe this may cause you to try and do some thing of the sort please don't read on, I really, really don't want to be responsible for some little 10-year-old silting his or her wrist, or something of the sort. BUT before you run away scared to your mommy, I must say, it's not that bad, it's just I don't want you getting any BAD ideas.
~~~~~
Down town New York City, a place filled with happy people bustling back and forth, loving mothers and fathers. Caring family, sweet little girls wearing white dresses and big sun hats, walking threw Central Park with their parents on a nice Friday afternoon. Kids playing jacks on the sidewalk, while others listened to pop music a few feet away. This was the sight that greeted Gareas Elidd as he stepped off the large, yellow bus.
Before I continue let me tell you this: Gareas Elidd's life was far from that of the children around him. I want to make sure that is clear before I continue it is important that you understand this, as it will soon be a factor.
"I'm home," Gareas's voice echoed threw the small apartment "if anyone cares." No reply, not that he was expecting one mind you. Chances were his father was still at work, and his mother was to drunk to tell night from day. He dropped his back on the ground and began to raid the refrigerator. By some miraculous feat of chance he had no homework, which when you're in ninth grade that is one heck of a feat.
After raiding the frige, Gareas hightailed it to his room, and turned his stereo on as loud as he could without sending the landlord into a frenzy. The lyrics to "Her ghost in the fog" By Cradle of the filth filled the room.
"The Moon, she hangs like a cruel portrait
soft winds whisper the bidding of trees
as this tragedy starts with a shattered glass heart
and the Midnightmare trampling of dreams
But oh, no tears please
Fear and pain may accompany Death
But it is desire that shepherds it's certainty
as We shall see..."
She was divinity's creature
That kissed in cold mirrors
A Queen of Snow
Far beyond compare
Lips attuned to symmetry
Sought Her everywhere
Dark liquored eyes
An Arabian nightmare...
She shone on watercolors
Of my pondlife as pearl
Until those who couldn't have Her
Cut Her free of this World
That fateful Eve when...
The trees stank of sunset and camphor
Their lanterns chased phantoms and threw
An inquisitive glance, like the shadows they cast
On my love picking rue by the light of the moon
Putting reason to flight
Or to death as their way
They crept through woods mesmerized
By the taffeta Ley
Of Her hips that held sway
Over all they surveyed
Save a mist on the rise
(A deadly blessing to hide)
Her ghost in the fog
They raped and left...
(Five men of God)
...Her ghost in the fog
Dawn discovered Her there
Beneath the Cedar's stare
Silk dress torn, Her raven hair
Flown to gown Her beauty bared
Was starred with frost, I knew Her lost
I wept 'til tears crept back to prayer
She'd sworn Me vows in fragrant blood
"Never to part
Lest jealous Heaven stole our hearts"
Then this I screamed:
"Come back to Me
I was born in love with thee
So why should fate stand in between?"
And as I drowned Her gentle curves
With dreams unsaid and final words
I espied a gleam trodden to earth
The Church bell tower key...
The village mourned her by the by
For She'd been a witch
their Men had longed to try
And I broke under Christ seeking guilty signs
My tortured soul on ice
A Queen of snow
Far beyond compare
Lips attuned to symmetry
Sought Her everywhere
Trappistine eyes
An Arabian nightmare...
She was Erzulie possessed
Of a milky white skin
My porcelain Yin
A graceful Angel of Sin
And so for Her...
The breeze stank of sunset and camphor
My lantern chased Her phantom and blew
Their Chapel ablaze and all locked in to a pain
Best reserved for judgment that their bible construed...
Putting reason to flight
Or to flame unashamed
I swept form cries
Mesmerized
By the taffeta Ley
Or Her hips that held sway
Over all those at bay
Save a mist on the rise
A final blessing to hide
Her ghost in the fog
And I embraced
Where lovers rot...
Her ghost in the fog
Her ghost in the fog
The music ended after about four and a half minutes, causing a comfortable silence to fall upon the room, its soul occupant was off in his own little world. Suddenly a door slammed shut and a yelling coming from the living room could be heard in the young teen's room.
"You're drunk again? Every day I come home to what? A nice meal? A clean house? NO! Every signal day I come home to you drunk, every fricken day!" A deep male voice yelled.
Gareas opened his door ever so slightly and popped his head out threw the crack. There was his father standing over his drunk mother yelling himself hoarse. The young woman, no older the then 31 sat on the living room floor, clutching the worn blue couch for support. A happy, stupid smile on her face.
And that lady's and gentlemen is the every day routine for the fifth teen-year-old Gareas Elidd.
Gareas turn in hopes of returning to the confines of his lair his unnoticed, but no such luck. His father spotted him, in a lighting quick moment he was down the poor boys throat, yelling every cuss word in the English language, and then some. The last thing he remembered was his father yelling at him for getting a D on his math test, and a sharp blow to the head from a stainless steel pipe.
Gareas opened his eye's to the darkness of his living room, he sat for who knows how long till there was only one couch, not several. A throbbing pain on the left side of his head reminded him of the earlier incident. Not that this was different, but usually he regained consciousness after an hour or so. One glance at the clock alerted him that he had been out for well over four hours. It's was now around ten o'clock, his sensitive ears picked up the sound of a television turned on in his parents room. Slowly he stood, clutching the wall so as not to fall, and crept in the most cat like way someone who had just be knocked out cold for four hours could.
~~~~~