We Are Stardust

[Belle] Prompt #1: Who Are You?

2007-08-25T15:14:08Z

"Who are you?"
That's a dangerous question, if you know the answer. Kind of a Pandora's Box for the mind.
Or soul, if you believe in such things.

My name's Belle, and I'm a toy created by a child who wanted to play at being a god. (Yeah, nice to meet you too.)
Fuck, trying to decipher all the reasons for anything they do would only drive you crazy. Angels manufactured to serve mankind and Arks built to survive the "end of days". Cos what a god creates a god must destroy and the sins of the father are such an easy gift for a child to take.

I read all that in the secret files me and Jez took too many risks and too many lives in obtaining. My name and yours on almost every page, darling. Not what I'd call a bedtime story, but what do I know anyway? I went to too many lengths to grasp what little knowledge I have, and knowledge is power and power is madness. Tearing myself out of the foggy dream, trying to wake up, always trying to wake up, and left here naked and bleeding.

And to think that Jez was actually jealous. He always wanted to be "more than human", be the one who was "special". Jealousy courts deceit and hatred, and then I had to kill him. I even tried to enjoy it, for his sake at least.

I know this won't make sense. Not to anyone but you. You didn't believe me then, but only cos you didn't understand that you and I were the same.
Maybe you didn't want to. I wouldn't want to either if I were you, and how I wish I were you.

Do you understand now, at last--all alone, and against your will?
Where are you? I should be able to feel you.
Perhaps the embers of Gehenna burnt away all those feelings.

No. I don't want to talk about that, not yet.

Funny how I still say "you" as though it was still yesterday, and you'd never left.
Funny how I say "you" even though I was the one who left.

I think I wanted to die, that day I jumped over the side of the Ark's middle layer, free-falling hundreds of feet to the wretched earth, the unfinished rubble of its ground floor.
I've been trying to die for a very long time, but if there's a way for this body to do it, I don't think I'm capable of figuring it out.
I've tried fire and ice and
razor-blades and viruses and
broken glass and broken bones and broken hearts and
silver bullets and little pills.
Everything dissolves and then everything heals.

Okay then, I'm here, and I remember too much, and I want to tear my eyes from my sockets but like flower buds in spring they'd probably only grow back again.
Really, it's kind of funny. There's blood on my hands, but it's not mine. So much blood it oozes and sparkles like iridescent globs of satin.
But anyway, I'm waiting.

Morgan, where are you? I know you followed me after the fall; I felt our shadows like leaves entangling all the long way down.
So why don't you come and find me? Why doesn't one of us come to our rescue?

Just like in their fairytales...

I don't want to go to sleep tonight.

Oh, and did you know we're not alone?

[Morgan] Prompt #1: Who Are You?

2007-08-12T03:18:07Z

Who am I...

The easiest thing to say is that my name is Morgan, and--for what such things are worth--I'm a twenty-seven year old ~~child~~ ~~boy~~ man. I'm almost sinfully proud of my prolific red hair; I slide into all the leading roles required by society and circumstance with the art of a chameleon--oh, and I have wings that no one else can see, or so it seems.

I'm a page of broken words scribbled ad infinitum and hidden away in the journals I've kept since I was sixteen years old: the first time in my life that I truly understood the real difficulty in answering that question who are you?; the year I realised that everything reset within my memories every so often--too often--erasing too many fragments of things I held dear.
Like her face, in the dream.

And I thought, by writing down my experiences of my world, that it would keep me safe; that by reading the words, I'd be able to remember who I was.
Who I am.

Not so.

For I'm nothing more than a page of broken words, hidden away in a tattered book, being dragged around the warzone: this life, my beautiful Chaos. Searching for an ideal I can barely remember.
A fallen angel dreaming of Eden as a distant star glimpsed from beyond Gehenna's tower, a star borne over the indigo sea upon her fingertips, her sighs.
A shadow. Nothing. No one.

I only know this much because of the night. In the liquid darkness I can see more clearly, and then the visions come. In them, I sense the answer--just like drawing nearer, nearer to the fire--and so I've begun to write down these vague whispers of life instead. My secret shards of diamond threaded in-between the bits of feathers and wire I've magpie-collected from my flights to and from the Library. Words and sketches by me and the madmen, all sticky-taped and stapled together haphazardly, a beautiful thing.
One of my favourites for today; mind if I share?:

It was in the garden of a madhouse that I met a youth with a face pale and lovely and full of wonder.
And I sat beside him upon the bench, and I said, "Why are you here?"
And he looked at me in astonishment, and he said, "It is an unseemly question, yet I will answer you. My father would make of me a reproduction of himself; so also would my uncle. My mother would have me the image of her illustrious father. My sister would hold up her sea-faring husband as the perfect example for me to follow. My brother thinks I should be like him, a fine athlete.
"And my teachers also, the doctor of philosophy, and the music-master, and the logician, they too were determined, and each would have me but a reflection of his own face in a mirror.
"Therefore I came to this place. I find it more sane here. At least, I can be myself."
Then of a sudden he turned to me and he said, "But tell me, were you also driven to this place by education and good counsel?"
And I answered, "No, I am a visitor."
And he said, "Oh, you are one of those who live in the madhouse on the other side of the wall."
Gibran - The Wanderer

They do not know me, I do not know me, but she knows me, and even from here, wallowing in the murky pit of the insane, fed only by the waters of Lethe, I will still come to remember my self.
And in remembering myself, I will find her again.

[Eve] Prompt #1: Who Are You?

2007-07-28T14:02:23Z

I am Alpha and Omega, the beginning and the end.

Perhaps not 'who am I?' but 'what?' might be the better question for my answer.

I was given the name 'Eve' by the one I came to know as God--for, in creating me, He believed me to be the first of my kind, a perfect amalgam of two life forces destined to remain in opposition. A creature of free will versus a creature of fate. The perfect evolutionary escape-route for two dying species.
A DNA string, acquired by accident, excavated from the wounded earth, and interwoven among the more familiar mortal strands. Trapped inside a vial of blue light, held aloft in His hand, then implanted in more wounded earth.
Human and angel, a new kind of kin, born of science, to confirm or shatter faith.

Just like this, two shards of self are now at war within my being:
Let's storm heaven together, find the throne room empty. The reason for my existence.
The blood in this body runs so cold; let me go back, let me go back... The curse of a seedling grown within a mortal mother, a woman who would never be given the free will to hold me, a woman fate would never allow me to love.
And yet, in creating me--part Child, part Fallen--man recreated himself, in his own image of God.

But my God is dead now. They came, as they always must, seeking the golden forbidden. And so our Eden crumbled away, falling into the sea. Now I walk the wastelands of the world, ever alone, yet seeking...

I would have chosen not 'Eve', but 'Lucifer'.