It's finished! (Jack Fan Fiction)

[Striker]

Let me know what you think about it. It's a first attempt and probably not exactly high literature, but hey, I've got to start somehow.

DISCLAIMER: This story takes place in the world of 'Jack', an online comic strip by David Hopkins. The story is Copyright 2002 . JACK, it's characters, themes and related information are copyright Dave Hopkins and appear without his explicit permission in this story.




'And the Rock cried out...', by Matt Striker


Hell.
The land of the damned.
A bleak, grey place...the only patches of colour...various shades of blood and flesh.
Dusty, and always filled with the howl of the wind...and, mixed in with the wind, the cries of anguish, of torment.
Still, there were...local differences. There were deserts. There were dark, nightmare-haunted forests of dead trees. There were swamps, and there was even a city...Necropolis, the city of the damned.
The path the strange visitor was calmly walking along led far from the city, into a barren wasteland of sharp, jagged rocks. The wind howled even louder here amid the rocks, but somehow it failed to obscure the steady clicking made by a slender black cane held in a delicate, black-gloved hand. Click...click...click...it went on, for step after measured, deliberate step as the being holding the cane walked up the rocky path. Click...click...click...
Silence.
The figure had stopped in front of another unremarkable rock. One among thousands, up here in the bleak mountains. He paused for a few moments, as if lost in thought...
And tapped his cane against the hard, grey surface.
'Wake up.'
What had seemed like just another wind-sculpted rock formation began to stir and opened weary, bloodshot eyes. The visitor calmly regarded the wretched creature he had just awakened.
She was female. Abundantly so, in fact, and in another situation she would have been considered attractive, even beautiful. In her present state, however, arms and legs fused to the rock, covered with a mixture of grey dust, sweat and dried blood, she only appeared pitiful.
Through the haze of pain and weariness she tried to focus on the figure standing in front of her.
He was apparently of average size and build, wearing an outfit that looked so ridiculously anachronistic that, had she still had the strength after all those years, she would have laughed out loud. Black suit, black opera cloak, black cane and top hat. A cloth shawl -also black- wrapped around his face, to keep out the wind and the cold. Somebody who had missed a century or two.
Then she noticed the eyes. They were blue, sapphire blue. And glowing. They flickered with an inner light, as if they weren't solid at all, but rather...flames. Dancing blue flames.
'Who are you?', she tried to ask, although it came out more as a dust-choked croak than as words.
Her visitor apparently understood her, though, and responded, 'That doesn't matter. This is not about me. This is about you. Therefore...who are YOU?'
'What sort of bullshit is this?'
She was angry. She had been almost constantly angry for most of her time in hell, until at last she had been to empty to even feel anger anymore.
'Who are you?'
She didn't really know why she responded at all, why she didn't just close her eyes again and ignore the strange figure...but there was something about those eyes that made her answer.
'Jennifer. My name's Jennifer Martinez.'
'That WAS your name. Who are you, here and now?'
'I'm still Jennifer! Look, what do you want from..'
He cut her off in mid-snarl.
'Jennifer Martinez is dead, obviously. She died from a heroin overdose, in a cardboard shack, in a dirty back alley of a dirty city. She died as she lived, in dirt, squalor and pain. Who are you?'
'I'm Jennifer's soul, then.'
'That is only a description of what you are. Not WHO you are. Who you really are.'
'What's more real than that? How real do you want to get?'
'Real...unreal...the line between those concepts is blurred, here in hell.'
He stepped aside, to the edge of her limited field of vision.
'Do you think this place,'-he indicated the barren landscape with a sweep of his cane-'is real? Does it truly exist?'
She managed a dry, humourless chuckle.
'It feels pretty solid to me.'
'Of course it does. Your senses tell you that the rock is indeed there, they speak to you of rough texture, of coldness...and of pain. But are those sensations real? Is the pain real?'
'What does it matter?,' she yelled, 'It FEELS REAL! I FEEL THE PAIN! It hurts. It...hurts...'
Her words began to fade away into uncontrolled sobs again.
The figure waited for a few moments, then he continued.
'The pain will not go away, you know. Not until you finally face the truth. Not untily you begin to understand the nature of your chains.'
'The nature of my chains? What the fuck is that supposed to mean?'
More out of habit than out of any actual hope of freedom she once again strained her muscles and tried to pull her limbs free from the rock holding them, to no avail. Trying to break free had never brought her anything beyond even more pain.
'They are my PUNISHMENT. I fucked up, somebody decided I had to pay with...that.'
'If that is what you think they are, then that they will be. For eternity.'
'What does what I think have to do with that?'
'Everything.'
He paused again, for a few moments.
'You still have a very wrong idea about the nature of your punishment. These bonds holding you are chains of your own making.'
'Yeah, yeah. Dickens and all that shit. "I wear the chains I forged in life". Hah. So do I, you know. Now, whoever the fuck you think you are, knowing that doesn't help ONE BIT. Not at all. It just makes it even MORE FUCKING UNBEARABLE!'
She was screaming with rage now, with the force of all the pain, all the frustration and all the hopelessness behind every word.
The dark figure remained calm.
'And so you add to your chains. Piece by piece, they grow stronger.'
'What?'
'You give in to despair. You surrender to hopelessness. To fear. To hate. To all those things that bind you here, that slowly turn you into just another piece of hell. And thus you fail the test that was laid upon you.'
'A...test? What's that supposed to mean?'
He paused again.
'You trap yourself. You cannot hope to overcome your bonds if you cannot overcome yourself. Your own darker side. The part of you that is truly damned.'
'Stop being so fucking cryptic! What is it you want to tell me? What is it you want from me?'
'What I want is immaterial. This is not about me. This is about YOU.'
'So you keep saying.'
'Once again...do you believe that this is real?'
'Yes, it...it's...'
'You're beginning to question it. That's good. Forget about your preconceptions. Forget what you have been taught, forget what you have been told. Look around you. Listen to what your heart tells you.'
'This is pointless. All of this. The rock. The pain. You. Just more pointless pain...and that's WRONG!'
'Wrong? How's that wrong?'
His voice had taken a slightly mocking tone again, but there was also something else to it this time...Jennifer couldn't really pin it down, but there was...eagerness? Expectation?
'It just IS wrong. The pointlessness of it all. The futility. It's all...empty. There's no meaning here. No purpose. I remember...I remember dying, and then seeing the reaper, and thinking..."So there IS a meaning to life." All my life I had been...looking for a meaning. For a deeper truth. For a reason to keep going. A purpose. And then this. It doesn't...doesn't FIT!'
'You cannot wrap your mind around that. Everything in you screams it's wrong. You cannot bring yourself to believe it. Why not? All the evidence points to it, doesn't it?'
'Because...I KNOW it's wrong.'
She didn't even know why she kept talking at this point. Why she was talking to this...whatever he was. But she somehow felt that she had to go on.
'In my heart I know it is wrong.'
'No doubts?'
Jennifer closed her eyes and thought about this for a few seconds. She was in a state of turmoil now, more so than ever since she had arrived, but she found that amid that emotional storm there was an area of calm, absolute certainity.
She opened her eyes again, and looked directly into those of her opposite.
'No doubts', she said, and meant it.
And for just an instant, it seemed as if those eyes, those brilliant, piercing, sapphire flames, had lost a bit of their hardness.
'No more doubts. That is the first step.'
His voice, too, had lost its chilly, diamond edge. There was warmth in there now. Feeling. Empathy.
And then the moment passed, and the cold, steely glare was back, along with the deathly calm of the voice.
'But you still have a long journey ahead of you.'
And without another word he turned away, and began to walk down the rocky path again, his cane steadily clicking on the stones with every measured, deliberate step.

He came back the next day, and the day after that.
Day after hellish day the dark figure walked up the path, cane clicking with every step. Day after day he stopped and talked to her. Asked her questions about her life and death. Her perception of things. Her feelings, hopes and fears. Often the questions -and the answers they led to- were painful, and the few explanations offered by her visitor were frustratingly cryptic. Still, she found herself already looking forward to his next visit whenever he left, and every time the blood-red sun of hell rose she was already straining her ears to pick up the first echoes of a clicking cane among the rocks.

Thus, one grey morning, she immediately knew something was wrong. The clicking sound she had come to expect was missing, for one thing. And there was something else...fear. It was in the air, the ground, the rock she was bound to...everywhere. Almost tangible. And embedded in her stony prison, Jennifer had nowhere to run, nowhere to hide.
And nothing to lose either, she suddenly realized. The worst had already happened to her. She was dead, she was damned...and that realization was suddenly somehow comforting. What was it he'd said a few weeks ago? 'Here, fear itself is the only thing to be afraid of.' It hadn't made a lot of sense then...just another one of his usual cryptic sayings. But now...'Face whatever happens. Don't try to run away, don't hide. Stand.' That seemed to be the message.
She fought down the fear, calmed herself and concentrated on the sounds around her. Still no clicking, but there was something else, still far away, but coming closer...laughter?
Yes. Laughter...horrible, evil laughter...and screams.
It didn't take long for the source of the disturbance to come into view. Hunters. She had seen them before, from a distance. A wild, bloodthirsty mob that lived for no other reason than to inflict pain. They would pick a target at random and hunt it for hours until it could no longer flee...and then they would close in for the kill, grinning, leering figures that no longer held any resemblance to the souls they must have been once. Their prey for the day was a wretched creature, wrapped in dirty rags, starved and weakened. Still he ran, his legs pumping frantically out of sheer terror, and for a while it seemed like he might outdistance his pursuit.
Then a piece of rock shifted under his feet. He fell, hard. He scrambled to get up again, to keep running, but he was limping, and after only a few steps he fell again. It was painfully obvious that his leg would no longer support his weight. The hunters saw it too, and their maddened howls showed their excitement clearly. Soon they would catch their prey. Soon their fun would truly begin. And their victim knew it. He looked around in panic, trying to find something, anything that might save him...
And by pure chance he spotted Jennifer, up on the slope above him. For just a second their gazes met, and she saw the silent cry for help in his eyes, saw the fear and the terrible knowledge of what was going to happen. Saw the helplessness.
He would be powerless to stop them. Just as she had been powerless to refuse her 'boyfriend', the one who had kept her supplied with the drugs she needed to keep going, when he told her to sell her body on the street. Helpless, like when he had beaten a girl who had refused him, beaten and kicked as she struggled helplessly until she had stopped moving forever, while Jennifer had cowered in the corner in a drugged stupor and had only been able to watch. Helpless, just as in that moment when he had ordered her to let them rip their child from her body...
Again, she remembered something her visitor had said...'There is a central theme to your situation. A pattern, if you will...you must learn to recognize it.'
Helpless. She was tied to the stone, helpless. As she had been in life. No...as she had claimed she was. Helplessness had just been an excuse. She would have been able to fight. She would have been able to resist. She just hadn't.
And she saw the pattern. Staring into those fearful, hunted eyes, her own filling up with bitter tears she finally understood the terrible irony behind her punishment.
Throughout her life she had claimed to be helpless. A victim of circumstances. She had told that to those around her and to herself until she had truly believed in it, when in reality...
She had always run away. Always avoided the fight and taken the path of least resistance. She hadn't been powerless to stop her life from sliding into the abyss. She hadn't even tried. Her sin had not been in any of her actions. It had been her failure to act when she should have.
And in that seemingly endless moment of recognition she understood with perfect clarity what she had to do.
The crazed hunters would tear their prey apart. Unless...someone presented them with a target that offered more opportunities for 'fun'. Maybe, just maybe that would give their erstwhile victim the time to get away. Maybe not. But that didn't matter. The risk of failure did not matter, nor did the pain she was certain to feel even if she succeeded. She had to try. She had to act.
And she knew how. She smiled as she thought about her plan, and even though it promised to leave her in agony she appreciated the irony. Helplessness was the key.
'Help! Help me!'
She was surprised at the strength of her voice as it rang out across the rocky slope. The hunters were surprised as well, and several of them turned around to find the source of the sudden noise.
'I can still pull back', Jennifer thought. They hadn't spotted her yet. If she didn't move, they would...
No.
She dismissed the thought, banished her fears and shouted out for help again, taking care to struggle visibly. She had to be an inviting target.
And they saw her. By the suddenly leering faces and excited cries of the maddened crowd she recognized that her ploy had worked. She was a far more interesting plaything for the hunters than the poor, wretched creature they had chased before.
And she played the role of damsel in distress with absolute perfection. She remembered how she had enjoyed pretending to be someone else as a child, remembered her drama classes in school, her dream of becoming an actress.
This would be her show, then. Her first and final performance. She twisted and struggled against the rock, turned her naked torso away from their prying stares in mock shyness. And kept screaming.
The hunters had already been far beyond sanity before, but the sight of Jennifer writhing against her stony prison and the sound of her screams drove them to new depths of madness. And they came. As one wild creature, mindless and controlled only by bestial urges, the mob surged forward, up the slope. Just before they reached her, Jennifer saw their previous victim crawl away, into the jumble of boulders where he wouldn't be spotted. He would get away. She held on to that thought, used it as her shield against her fears, and against the pain that she knew would come now. She closed her eyes and prepared to accept her fate, pleased that at last she had not run, had not tried to hide. That she had finally listened to her conscience and done the right thing.

And then the world exploded around her.

She came to what was left of her senses in a heap of rubble. Her entire body ached, and she wasn't entirely certain about such things as the exact location of 'up' or 'down', but she didn't care about that at the moment. She was far too busy trying to figure out what exactly had happened.
Jennifer only remembered a thunderous crash, then a sensation of movement - FAST movement - and then, on the very edge of the chaos, screams of pain.
Not her own, although she had certainly been hurt as well...she felt bruises and cuts all over her body, and blood trickled down into her eyes from a gash in her forehead. She reflexively wiped the mixture of half-dried blood and rock dust away with her hand...
And stopped in shock.

Her hand.
She was able to move her hand.
Both her hands.
And her legs.

Still disbelieving she waved her limbs around, kicked into the air, thrashed around on the heap of debris...
Freedom. She didn't really know how to feel. She wanted to laugh, she wanted to cry, and the resulting sound came out as a sort of tear-choked hysteric giggle. It felt so great to finally move again that Jennifer didn't even notice sharp-edged rock fragments cutting deep gashes into her flesh as she slammed her arms and legs into solid stone.

She did, however, notice the voice.

'Are you quite finished?'
Through a haze of blood, tears and dust she saw him standing above her, sapphire eyes calmly looking down.
'I am free?'
'Free of the rock? Yes. Free of hell? That remains to be seen, doesn't it?'
'What happened?'
'Here, the line between 'metaphor' and 'reality' is thin indeed.'
Lying naked and bleeding amid the debris, she couldn't supress a chuckle at the familiar, cryptic style of conversation and the surreality of the situation.
'So what you are saying is that I did something metaphorical?'
She had learned quite a lot about his way of telling her things during their daily talks.
'You did something REAL. Something metaphorical happened as a result.'
Jennifer thought about this for a few moments. Something real...she had overcome her self-imposed helplessness, had broken free of...
Suddely she remembered something that he had said on his very first visit, so long ago...'These bonds holding you are chains of your own making', he had said. She had screamed at him then. Now she began to understand.
'I broke my own chains.'
'Yes.'
'And the rock...' she turned her head and tried to get her bearings in the now changed landscape. 'Her' rock, as far as she could tell, had vanished, reduced to a field of debris.
'You broke them quite violently. None of your attackers remained unscathed.'
'What happened to them?'
'A landslide.'
There was a hint of satisfaction in his voice as he went on, 'Some of them managed to dig themselves out and ran for it. The others were dragged out by scavengers. They appear to have lost their appetite for 'entertainment', at least for a while.'
'And why wasn't I buried?'
'You were.'
'You dug me out.'
It was a statement rather than a question.
'Yes. Come now.'
He stretched out his hand to help her stand up. Jennifer took the hand, briefly overcome by the incredible feeling of finally holding somebody's hand again and stood up shakily. She stood for the first time in decades, maybe even centuries.
'Why did you help me?'
'Because I saw hope in you. Because there was still a spark of life in you that hell had not yet managed to extinguish. And because every soul is a soul worth saving, no matter what the cost.'
'So you...saved me?'
'No. I just helped you save yourself.'
She stretched and continued to fully explore her new-found freedom of movement.
'Can you imagine how great that feels? And it's all because of you. You helped me out. How can I ever...'
'Do not talk about repayment. None is necessary.', he interrupted her.
'But...I owe it all to you.'
'To see you stand free again is thanks enough for me. Come, now. Let us...', he paused a moment, apparently for dramatic effect, 'go for a walk.'
He extended his arm for her to lean on in the manner of a classic gentleman. Jennifer couldn't help but be amused by this strange image, but she also accepted the support.
She was weak at first, and had to work hard to even remember the correct sequence of movements for a single step. But she was determined, and she felt full of energy. She persevered, and soon Jennifer was walking beside her visitor, walking across the highlands, towards a cliff overlooking the vast hellish plain and the city of the damned.

With every step she took, the deathly chill that had gripped her for so long grew weaker, and weaker...and warmth spread through her body. So much warmth, in fact, that it almost felt like...
She suddenly stopped, a worried look on her face.
'What's happening to me? I feel...hot.'
'You are changing. Adjusting to your new existence. Do not be alarmed.'
She held up a hand and stared at it. Something was happening to it, she felt that...it felt as if there was a fire, burning beneath her skin...
'Do not fear the fire. Embrace it. Fire means change. It takes away the old and the rotten and makes room for new life.'
'I am burning...'
'Yes.'
The hand had started to smoke by now, and smoke was also rising from other parts of her body. And still the heat grew.
'Don't worry', he said, his voice suddenly once again normal, mundane, without that deathly, emotionless calm. Alive. Concerned. 'It won't harm you. Nothing can harm you now. Keep that in mind, and it will be easier.'
'What will be e...aaaAAAAHHH!!!'
The hand, the arm, had suddenly burst into flame from within. She stared in disbelief and screamed as she saw her flesh wither away, saw skin dissolve and muscles char, saw her bones blacken under the onslaught of the fire. And the fire wasn't stopping with her arm. Quickly her entire body was immolated. In absolute terror now, she screamed with all her remaining strength...and stopped, astonished.
There was no pain.
The heat had risen far beyond the point where it should have burned, should have turned into pain and then unbearable agony. But still, she was only feeling hot. Incredibly hot. Burning from within...and then she realized.
The fire wasn't burning her. She was the fire.
She looked at her burning limbs again, with eyes that had already burned away, and saw with perfect clarity of vision the last, charred remnants of bone and flesh crumble away into ash. In their place, a new structure had formed. Veins of light pulsed with liquid fire. Solidified flames made up her hands, her arms, her legs...her new body. Her new chance. She began to understand.
She tried to force herself to remain calm, but no amount of willpower could hold back the powerful sensations welling up in her fiery soul.
She threw back her head, raised her hands to a sky that didn't seem quite as bleak anymore and screamed.
As if a dam had broken somewhere in the depths of her soul an eternity of pain, lonelyness and fear left her in the whirlwind of emotion that was her scream. Jennifer felt the last of her uncertainity and despair fade away, replaced by hope and confidence. Overwhelmed, she sank to her knees.
'What am I?'
'A light in the darkness. A beacon. A symbol. As you have always been, beneath your skin, beneath your faults and follies, deep within your soul. This is what you truly are, what you always were, beyond mere superficial appearances. A fiery soul, a source of warmth and light for those around you.'
'An...' she paused, aware of how ridiculous it sounded, 'an angel?'
'No. Something different. In time, you may meet them, and you will understand the difference. Your journey is not over yet.'
She thought about it for a moment. No, it was far from over. She had been given a new body, a new chance. But she would have to do something with it. He had said she was a beacon, and she understood what he had meant. She would show others the way, as he had shown her.
'It has only begun. I've still got so many things to do...all those others like me...they need their chance too. I want to do something.'
'You won't be able to achieve much. Hell is vast, and there are countless lost souls out there. You will face defeat again and again. And even if you succeed, there will be no recognition. No heroes' reception. No celebration. Not even a 'thank you'. You will be shunned and distrusted by damned and blessed alike. Is that truly the path you wish to take?'
'Yes. Because...because every soul is a soul worth saving, no matter what the cost. You said that. And I believe in it. I can't just sit back and relax now. If I don't at least try to help, I'll never be able to look into a mirror again.'
He turned away and looked out over the plains, to the distant city.
'Then so it shall be. You chose to sacrifice your own body for a complete stranger, and you sacrificed your newly won freedom for the damned souls of hell. Your soul burns very bright indeed...
When we first met, I asked you who you were. Do you know now?'
'Yes.'
She didn't mention a name, didn't try to explain anything. She just knew who she was, what she was and what she was meant to do. Only one thing still remained to be asked, in fact.
'And what happens now, ...' she paused '...you know, you never told me your name?'
The figure turned towards her again, and those strange, fiery eyes seemed to flare up for an instant. To the spirit who had been Jennifer Martinez it seemed as if he had, under his shawl, just smiled.
'They call me...Purgatory. And as for what will happen...we shall see.'

The End? No.

This is The Beginning.







A few final notes:
Some of my 'Inspirations' have to be mentioned here.
Purgatory himself comes largely from watching way too much Babylon 5...he's somewhere between 'Sebastian' (who, incidentally, is also known under the name 'Jack') from 'Come the Inquisitor' (largely in appearance, voice, mannerisms and the cane he holds) and Lorien the First One, with maybe a touch of Morden mixed in. He also has an interesting personal history which may be explained in another story if I ever get around to writing one.
Jennifer's 'punishment' is rather similar to that of Fnar's mother in the first story arc, and I freely admit that I've been influenced by that scene.
The 'style' of the story ('action' sequences alternating with somewhat philosophical dialogue) is based on something I do whenever I'm truly bored...I pick a subject and run a discussion with myself, 'playing' two or more roles. I didn't really know how it would look written down, but so far I'm rather pleased with the effect.
As a final final note, no, Matt Striker is NOT my real name. However, it has been my online alias for a long, long time and I have used the name offline for far longer. In a way, Matt Striker IS me.

<font size=-1>[ This Message was edited by: Striker on 2002-03-27 07:48 ]</font>

[Geardog]

Huuhh???

I thought you were suppose to e-mail your fan fic to him. Oh well...


JACK

JACOB BLACK
By Geardog

CHAPTER 1


(The story takes place in heaven. Jack is escorting a soul of an anthro germen-shepard wearing a blue security guard uniform to heaven

[Arcaton]

Striker: That reads well. I enjoyed it immensely; and what will she do now?

[Xzadfor]

Hey cool stuff. Gave me an idea so I'll jot it down for the thread of my quick, off the cuff Fan-Fic. Not even spell checked.

(start)

LIFE ON THE FIRST PLANE OF HELL

Bright light, ugh! I sit up and blink away spots in my vision for a minute then it's dark again. Grumbling, I rub my eyes and a sigh, seeing the sliver of light that pokes through the shade, making a spot on my pillow right where my eye was.

I swing my legs out from under the covers and yelp as my bare feet touch the cold, wooden floors of the bedroom. I thought I left my slippers right there? Damn! I can never seem to find them.

Dust motes swirl through the sliver of light as I walk to the offending shade and adjust it. Turning back to the bed I stumble as I stub my toe in the dark, whimpering and sitting on the edge of the bed. Eventually the pain fades and I pull the now chilled covers over me, promptly smacking my head on the headboard, having mis-judged where my pillow was.

Finally, I'm back and curled up under the blankets, my feet never warming back up but I try and push that from my mind.

This is Sunday, the day I always sleep in. No shade or winter cold is going to keep me from my dreams.

<click>
I close my eyes tighter..
<Click><CLICK>
I pull the blanket up over my head.
<CLICK><CLICK><CLICK>
I can't block it out. The damn cat needs his claws trimmed again. No doubt he heard me up and wants his can of food. Maybe if I lay very, very still he'll go away and I can sleep for a few more hours.

The bed shakes as my cat, Mr. Cup-ears hops his fat butt up and posts himself near my pillow watching. One wrong breath and he

[Michael Ezaiany]

Hey, Xzadfor, can I translate your story to Czech and give it to my friends to read it? With your copyright of course.

[Michael Ezaiany]

[Striker]

Geardog: Actually, I was in some sort of a hurry when I finished it (which was roughly 5 minutes before going off on a three-day skiing trip) and didn't quite manage to completely explain: What I posted here was a 'test run'. I wanted to know how the forum inhabitants reacted to it before 'officially' sending it to the artist.

Arcaton: Let's just say 'They lived happily ever after' doesn't quite cut it when damned souls are concerned (she is still damned. She just switched from prison to community work, so to speak). I've already got the second story lined up (this one will include one of David Hopkins' characters, though, so I'll politely beg for an official permission before going on ).

Xzadfor: Everyday, boring hell. Somehow that's far more evil than all the gutting alive, sodomization by dolphins or similar physical tortures combined.
I like it. Great writing.

[-Penance-]

Shit, Xzadfor, I really liked that... For some reason it really gives me that whole... sense of foreboding without knowledge... That's what Hell for people like your story's narrator and Silverblue is all about, huh?

You begin to fear the realization of events that have already happened.

[Supernerd]

This stuff rocks too much for your own collective good. Write some books so you can make money off of your talents!

Now, time for me to write something. Hmm...

_________________
Can't sleep Digimon will eat me.

<font size=-1>[ This Message was edited by: Supernerd on 2002-04-02 16:53 ]</font>