::mercuryblue_22@hotmail.com::
-------------
You let me violate you
You let me desecrate you
You let me penetrate you
You let me complicate you
Help me I broke apart my insides
Help me I've got no soul to sell
Help me the only thing that works for me
Help me get away from myself
I wanna fuck you like an animal
I wanna feel you from the inside
I wanna fuck you like an animal
My whole existence is flawed
You get me closer to God
You can have my isolation
You can have the hate that it brings
You can have my my absence of faith
You can have my everything
Help me you tear down my reason
Help me it's your sex I can smell
Help me you make me perfect
Help me become somebody else
Through every forest
Above the trees
Within my stomach
Scraped off my knees
I drink the honey
Inside your hive
You are the reason
I stay alive
"Closer"
Nine Inch Nails
-------------
The Crow: Sacred Flame
Part Four
By Mercury Blue
-------------
Gabriel shed his red robes as he walked into his apartment, an
attractive woman following him, hanging off of his arms like some
decorative object. After a day of preaching, he was glad to have the
opportunity to indulge himself in the sins of the flesh.
Sins. To him, the word was laughable, despite the fact he was the
leader of the most feared religious group in Tokyo. As founder of
the Church of the Truth, he made the rules as he saw fit. Crime, sex,
drugs- all was okay as long as it was in the best interests of the
Church, or in lesser terms, him. He was proud of the little empire
he'd built himself, proud of the fact he controled so many. Every
night, his boys would loot and steal in God's name, and bring the
profits back to him, and in return, he'd preach the word, and allow
them to destroy temples and shrines across Tokyo, and beyond. He saw
it as a nice investment, considering he didn't much care for those
other religions anyway. They took away from his little gathering of
faith, let his followers' minds wander. He couldn't let that happen.
So now he was stinking rich, and he loved it.
Glancing at his reflection in the mirror as he passed, Gabriel smiled.
He was a handsome man, and knew it, with the face of one of
Botticelli's angels, and a name to match. Neither woman nor man could
resist him, and that was one of the things he attributed to his status
as leader. He was charming, suave, beautiful. A wolf in sheep's
clothing.
With a smooth turn of his head, and a graceful wink, Gabriel lay down,
his bed partner quick to follow. It was easy for him. So simple.
An arm around her, a kiss to her throat. Gabriel gazed behind her at
the clock on the wall. He still had an hour or two before his soldiers
came to speak to him.
* * *
Amy writhed in her bed, sweat glistening on the parts of her flesh
that weren't covered by the thin bedsheet. She was dreaming again;
this time, it was worse than ever.
::She was there, at the shrine, the night of the murders, and not
afterward as had actually happened. Faceless men surrounded her,
holding guns in their hands, but it wasn't her she was after. No,
no, their guns were trained on Raye, on Chad, and on Raye's
grandfather, who were crying. Their mouths moved, and no sounds came
out, but Amy could hear them in her head. The were begging for
help, but she couldn't move. She was frozen. [Please, Amy, help us!
Help us.] Grandpa. And then Raye: [It hurts, Amy! Their fingers are
like knives in my flesh- please, set us free!] Worst of all was
Chad, hands outstretched, pleading with her. [We need you, Amy. I
haven't even given her the ring yet. I need to give her the ring!]
And tears, so many tears falling down their cheeks as the faceless
men laughed and laughed.
But no, suddenly, the tears were gone, and it was blood. Blood
trickling down the faces of her friends. And they were dead. They
stared at her with hollow eyes, empty sockets in exposed skulls.
Decaying flesh hanging from loose bits of skin. Still crying,
pleading with her to release them, to save them. Chad telling her
over and over he never got to give Raye the engagement ring; he never
got to propose. Animated corpses dancing among their killers. Tears
poured down Amy's face as she watched them, not able to move, frozen
in place. Then suddenly, suddenly the nameless, faceless men turning
towards her, one extending his arm, and in his hand, a gun. A gun.
Amy stared blankly at the weapon, terrified, yet unable to move. The
faceless men still laughed, and her friends still pleaded with her.
The pull of a trigger. Oblivion.::.
Amy awoke, shivering in a pool of her own sweat, damp and cold in
the blanket of moonlight that covered her. Her head throbbed, and her
mouth was cottony. "Raye, Chad, Grandpa," she whispered, running her
hand through her wet hair, "Why did you have to die?" Her heart
pounded in her ears, so loud she was positive the entire world could
hear it, and her throat tightened against the tears that threatened
to overwhelm her. She'd hoped the pain would go away in time, and
yet, she felt as awful as ever. Alone in her apartment in the dark
of the night, she cried.
* * *
All simple monkeys with alien babies
Ampehtamines for boys
Crucifixes for ladies
Sampled and soul-less
Worldwide and real-webbed
You sell all the living
For more safer dead
Anything to belong,
Anything to belong.
"Rock is Dead"
Marilyn Manson
With little more than a soft 'thud', Raye landed on the roof on top
of Duke's. It had been easy to find, easy to get to, and with her
new-found powers, all she had to do to get there was leap from roof-
top to roof-top under the two crows' guidance. [What are you going
to do?] Deimos asked her, focusing her eyes on the people that spilled
out of the building, not quite sure if they were coming or going.
[It's too crowded to attack] Phobos pointed out. Raye said nothing,
merely glaring down at the masses of wasted youth this hovel had
drawn.
"I'll find him first," she said finally, decisively. "The fat one,
the one who attacked me, and helped the other hold me." She turned
to face her two companions, rage in her dark eyes. "They kept me
from saving the ones I love, they hurt me. They will pay."
Skittering down the nearby fire escape, Raye found herself in front
of the building, among teenagers younger even than she. They were
all so alike, painted up and put on the streets, knowing nothing of
the real world. Deluded. They wore leather, and some spiked their
hair, adorning their earlobes with silver ornaments. Make-up on the
faces of boys and girls alike. Rebels, fighting conformity by
dressing exactly alike. The irony of it was mind-boggling. She
could only take comfort in the fact she went unnoticed in this crowd,
which would make her job easier.
Fighting the crowd, she made it to the door, entering easily. There
was no doorman; this place wasn't classy enough. Inside, a band
performed, the lead singer tall and handsome, gyrating his hips to
the throbbing, almost sexual pulse of the music. With his long hair,
and dark clothes, he looked a little like Chad, reminding her of her
purpose again.
Bodies pressed against one another in erotic dance, pulsing lights,
hazy smoke; all blended together to form the party atmosphere that
made Duke's a popular spot to hang. It was the perfect cover for a
dead girl needing revenge. Raye weaved among the sweaty bodies,
sharp eyes in search of her target. Her body throbbed to the music
as she walked; her face remained expressionless.
Finally, the crowd broke, and she was at the bar, fingers tapping
impatiently against the soiled wood- one of them should be here. Any
time. Moments passed, and she still nothing. Then, suddenly, she
saw him.
Overweight, and sweating, he parted the crowds with considerable ease,
shoving away rudely anyone who chanced to get in his way. His ice
blue eyes scoured the room, looking for what, she couldn't be certain,
finally coming to rest on her, sensual, and leaning against the
filthy bar. He leered at her behind a short, yet considerably
matted goatee. She'd got his attention. Straightening her back, she
tossed her long hair over her shoulders, and returned the smile,
forcing her painted mouth upwards in a morbid grin as he approached
her, enticing him, daring him. She knew exactly what he wanted from
her, as well as what she expected from him. The hunter had found its
prey.
"Baby." He was beside her now, the fat fuck. She could feel his
hot breath in her ear, rank with liquor, and cigarettes. "What the
fuck you doin' in a place like this."
Bile rose in her throat as she suppressed the urge to kill the vile
little man then and there. But no, that would spoil her plan- and an
intricate plan it was. "I'm waiting for a man like you, baby," she
said finally. He liked that. Chuckling to himself like a pervert at
a magazine rack, one hand grazed the inside of her thigh,
:.The blonde man, taking a gun, running it up her leg, lifting the
skirt of her *miko* uniform, and shoving the gun inside her.:
resting it there. She didn't shudder, she didn't kill him,
she didn't react, period, as much as she wanted to do both.
"You going Goth tonight," he asked her, his mouth at her ear again.
"That's all right, baby. I like that,". His hand was on her thigh
still, and her eyes focused on it, despising the filthy creature it
belonged to. "Come on, baby, let's go up to my place. We'll have our
own little party."
She smiled. A good idea, though she had something else in mind.
* * *
Sirens screamed, and the alley-way was filled with the hustle-bustle
of busy cops. Dave Green held a cup of hot coffee up to his lips,
and watched as the body of one of Tokyo's most notorious criminals
was zipped into a heavy black bag.
"It's been a busy night," he said to a nearby police officer, nodding
towards the fresh corpse. They'd found him hanging by his throat
from a rusted wire only a half-hour earlier. "That's Jeremy Kaan,
better known as Pockets. He was one of 'The Churches' footsoldiers;
been a suspect in three homicides in the past two years, with never
enough evidence against him to hold him. Looks like someone decided to
take justice into their own hands." The cop next to him whistled.
"First that cult-killing on third, than this. You think they're
related?"
Dave shrugged, taking another sip of coffee. "Could be. Just like
Pockets here, we've never been able to find enough evidence to link
the Church of the Truth to these shrine-killings." He cracked his
sore neck, and sighed. "Ah, well, the streets are better without
scum like him anyway."
"Hey- hey Detective, you've gotta see this!" The urgency in the
cop's voice drew him to the fire escape where Pockets had been
hanged.
"What is it, officer?" Dave kneeled next to the cop who'd called
him over. "What did you find?"
"This." The officer pointed to the blood that had pooled beneath the
hanging body, black as oil in the limited lighting of the alley-way.
The wire had cut into Pockets' throat, causing the blood to spill
onto the pavement below. Dave's eyes widened.
"What the fu-?" He trailed off in confusion as the sight imprinted
itself in his brain. "How is this possible?"
"I don't know, Detective. But I sure as hell would like to know how
the blood would do that all by itself." The officer stood up,
running a clammy palm through his greasy black hair.
"That's the strangest thing I've ever seen," Dave muttered. He too
stood up. "I want you to photograph this," he said finally, his gaze
fixed on the nearby cop assertively. "This could be gang, or even
cult-related. There's no way this happened accidently. After that,
I want you to wrap this up. It's been a long day, and I've seen
enough death for one night."
The other officers nodded as he headed towards his car, his long
black coat flying behind him in the wind, stopping only to cast a
final glance at the pool of blood he'd been gazing at moments before.
It had dripped into the perfect shape of a bird.
-------------
Comments, questions, flames, as always go to mercuryblue_22@hotmail.com
Ja,
Mercury Blue
-------------
You let me violate you
You let me desecrate you
You let me penetrate you
You let me complicate you
Help me I broke apart my insides
Help me I've got no soul to sell
Help me the only thing that works for me
Help me get away from myself
I wanna fuck you like an animal
I wanna feel you from the inside
I wanna fuck you like an animal
My whole existence is flawed
You get me closer to God
You can have my isolation
You can have the hate that it brings
You can have my my absence of faith
You can have my everything
Help me you tear down my reason
Help me it's your sex I can smell
Help me you make me perfect
Help me become somebody else
Through every forest
Above the trees
Within my stomach
Scraped off my knees
I drink the honey
Inside your hive
You are the reason
I stay alive
"Closer"
Nine Inch Nails
-------------
The Crow: Sacred Flame
Part Four
By Mercury Blue
-------------
Gabriel shed his red robes as he walked into his apartment, an
attractive woman following him, hanging off of his arms like some
decorative object. After a day of preaching, he was glad to have the
opportunity to indulge himself in the sins of the flesh.
Sins. To him, the word was laughable, despite the fact he was the
leader of the most feared religious group in Tokyo. As founder of
the Church of the Truth, he made the rules as he saw fit. Crime, sex,
drugs- all was okay as long as it was in the best interests of the
Church, or in lesser terms, him. He was proud of the little empire
he'd built himself, proud of the fact he controled so many. Every
night, his boys would loot and steal in God's name, and bring the
profits back to him, and in return, he'd preach the word, and allow
them to destroy temples and shrines across Tokyo, and beyond. He saw
it as a nice investment, considering he didn't much care for those
other religions anyway. They took away from his little gathering of
faith, let his followers' minds wander. He couldn't let that happen.
So now he was stinking rich, and he loved it.
Glancing at his reflection in the mirror as he passed, Gabriel smiled.
He was a handsome man, and knew it, with the face of one of
Botticelli's angels, and a name to match. Neither woman nor man could
resist him, and that was one of the things he attributed to his status
as leader. He was charming, suave, beautiful. A wolf in sheep's
clothing.
With a smooth turn of his head, and a graceful wink, Gabriel lay down,
his bed partner quick to follow. It was easy for him. So simple.
An arm around her, a kiss to her throat. Gabriel gazed behind her at
the clock on the wall. He still had an hour or two before his soldiers
came to speak to him.
* * *
Amy writhed in her bed, sweat glistening on the parts of her flesh
that weren't covered by the thin bedsheet. She was dreaming again;
this time, it was worse than ever.
::She was there, at the shrine, the night of the murders, and not
afterward as had actually happened. Faceless men surrounded her,
holding guns in their hands, but it wasn't her she was after. No,
no, their guns were trained on Raye, on Chad, and on Raye's
grandfather, who were crying. Their mouths moved, and no sounds came
out, but Amy could hear them in her head. The were begging for
help, but she couldn't move. She was frozen. [Please, Amy, help us!
Help us.] Grandpa. And then Raye: [It hurts, Amy! Their fingers are
like knives in my flesh- please, set us free!] Worst of all was
Chad, hands outstretched, pleading with her. [We need you, Amy. I
haven't even given her the ring yet. I need to give her the ring!]
And tears, so many tears falling down their cheeks as the faceless
men laughed and laughed.
But no, suddenly, the tears were gone, and it was blood. Blood
trickling down the faces of her friends. And they were dead. They
stared at her with hollow eyes, empty sockets in exposed skulls.
Decaying flesh hanging from loose bits of skin. Still crying,
pleading with her to release them, to save them. Chad telling her
over and over he never got to give Raye the engagement ring; he never
got to propose. Animated corpses dancing among their killers. Tears
poured down Amy's face as she watched them, not able to move, frozen
in place. Then suddenly, suddenly the nameless, faceless men turning
towards her, one extending his arm, and in his hand, a gun. A gun.
Amy stared blankly at the weapon, terrified, yet unable to move. The
faceless men still laughed, and her friends still pleaded with her.
The pull of a trigger. Oblivion.::.
Amy awoke, shivering in a pool of her own sweat, damp and cold in
the blanket of moonlight that covered her. Her head throbbed, and her
mouth was cottony. "Raye, Chad, Grandpa," she whispered, running her
hand through her wet hair, "Why did you have to die?" Her heart
pounded in her ears, so loud she was positive the entire world could
hear it, and her throat tightened against the tears that threatened
to overwhelm her. She'd hoped the pain would go away in time, and
yet, she felt as awful as ever. Alone in her apartment in the dark
of the night, she cried.
* * *
All simple monkeys with alien babies
Ampehtamines for boys
Crucifixes for ladies
Sampled and soul-less
Worldwide and real-webbed
You sell all the living
For more safer dead
Anything to belong,
Anything to belong.
"Rock is Dead"
Marilyn Manson
With little more than a soft 'thud', Raye landed on the roof on top
of Duke's. It had been easy to find, easy to get to, and with her
new-found powers, all she had to do to get there was leap from roof-
top to roof-top under the two crows' guidance. [What are you going
to do?] Deimos asked her, focusing her eyes on the people that spilled
out of the building, not quite sure if they were coming or going.
[It's too crowded to attack] Phobos pointed out. Raye said nothing,
merely glaring down at the masses of wasted youth this hovel had
drawn.
"I'll find him first," she said finally, decisively. "The fat one,
the one who attacked me, and helped the other hold me." She turned
to face her two companions, rage in her dark eyes. "They kept me
from saving the ones I love, they hurt me. They will pay."
Skittering down the nearby fire escape, Raye found herself in front
of the building, among teenagers younger even than she. They were
all so alike, painted up and put on the streets, knowing nothing of
the real world. Deluded. They wore leather, and some spiked their
hair, adorning their earlobes with silver ornaments. Make-up on the
faces of boys and girls alike. Rebels, fighting conformity by
dressing exactly alike. The irony of it was mind-boggling. She
could only take comfort in the fact she went unnoticed in this crowd,
which would make her job easier.
Fighting the crowd, she made it to the door, entering easily. There
was no doorman; this place wasn't classy enough. Inside, a band
performed, the lead singer tall and handsome, gyrating his hips to
the throbbing, almost sexual pulse of the music. With his long hair,
and dark clothes, he looked a little like Chad, reminding her of her
purpose again.
Bodies pressed against one another in erotic dance, pulsing lights,
hazy smoke; all blended together to form the party atmosphere that
made Duke's a popular spot to hang. It was the perfect cover for a
dead girl needing revenge. Raye weaved among the sweaty bodies,
sharp eyes in search of her target. Her body throbbed to the music
as she walked; her face remained expressionless.
Finally, the crowd broke, and she was at the bar, fingers tapping
impatiently against the soiled wood- one of them should be here. Any
time. Moments passed, and she still nothing. Then, suddenly, she
saw him.
Overweight, and sweating, he parted the crowds with considerable ease,
shoving away rudely anyone who chanced to get in his way. His ice
blue eyes scoured the room, looking for what, she couldn't be certain,
finally coming to rest on her, sensual, and leaning against the
filthy bar. He leered at her behind a short, yet considerably
matted goatee. She'd got his attention. Straightening her back, she
tossed her long hair over her shoulders, and returned the smile,
forcing her painted mouth upwards in a morbid grin as he approached
her, enticing him, daring him. She knew exactly what he wanted from
her, as well as what she expected from him. The hunter had found its
prey.
"Baby." He was beside her now, the fat fuck. She could feel his
hot breath in her ear, rank with liquor, and cigarettes. "What the
fuck you doin' in a place like this."
Bile rose in her throat as she suppressed the urge to kill the vile
little man then and there. But no, that would spoil her plan- and an
intricate plan it was. "I'm waiting for a man like you, baby," she
said finally. He liked that. Chuckling to himself like a pervert at
a magazine rack, one hand grazed the inside of her thigh,
:.The blonde man, taking a gun, running it up her leg, lifting the
skirt of her *miko* uniform, and shoving the gun inside her.:
resting it there. She didn't shudder, she didn't kill him,
she didn't react, period, as much as she wanted to do both.
"You going Goth tonight," he asked her, his mouth at her ear again.
"That's all right, baby. I like that,". His hand was on her thigh
still, and her eyes focused on it, despising the filthy creature it
belonged to. "Come on, baby, let's go up to my place. We'll have our
own little party."
She smiled. A good idea, though she had something else in mind.
* * *
Sirens screamed, and the alley-way was filled with the hustle-bustle
of busy cops. Dave Green held a cup of hot coffee up to his lips,
and watched as the body of one of Tokyo's most notorious criminals
was zipped into a heavy black bag.
"It's been a busy night," he said to a nearby police officer, nodding
towards the fresh corpse. They'd found him hanging by his throat
from a rusted wire only a half-hour earlier. "That's Jeremy Kaan,
better known as Pockets. He was one of 'The Churches' footsoldiers;
been a suspect in three homicides in the past two years, with never
enough evidence against him to hold him. Looks like someone decided to
take justice into their own hands." The cop next to him whistled.
"First that cult-killing on third, than this. You think they're
related?"
Dave shrugged, taking another sip of coffee. "Could be. Just like
Pockets here, we've never been able to find enough evidence to link
the Church of the Truth to these shrine-killings." He cracked his
sore neck, and sighed. "Ah, well, the streets are better without
scum like him anyway."
"Hey- hey Detective, you've gotta see this!" The urgency in the
cop's voice drew him to the fire escape where Pockets had been
hanged.
"What is it, officer?" Dave kneeled next to the cop who'd called
him over. "What did you find?"
"This." The officer pointed to the blood that had pooled beneath the
hanging body, black as oil in the limited lighting of the alley-way.
The wire had cut into Pockets' throat, causing the blood to spill
onto the pavement below. Dave's eyes widened.
"What the fu-?" He trailed off in confusion as the sight imprinted
itself in his brain. "How is this possible?"
"I don't know, Detective. But I sure as hell would like to know how
the blood would do that all by itself." The officer stood up,
running a clammy palm through his greasy black hair.
"That's the strangest thing I've ever seen," Dave muttered. He too
stood up. "I want you to photograph this," he said finally, his gaze
fixed on the nearby cop assertively. "This could be gang, or even
cult-related. There's no way this happened accidently. After that,
I want you to wrap this up. It's been a long day, and I've seen
enough death for one night."
The other officers nodded as he headed towards his car, his long
black coat flying behind him in the wind, stopping only to cast a
final glance at the pool of blood he'd been gazing at moments before.
It had dripped into the perfect shape of a bird.
-------------
Comments, questions, flames, as always go to mercuryblue_22@hotmail.com
Ja,
Mercury Blue