Getting Gray

Well look at that.  I almost missed it, but luckily we have little date and time counters in the bottom corner of our computers.  If we didn't I think that maybe I'd forget what year it was entirely.  But time is always moving, even if maybe we aren't.  Or if we maybe don't want it to.

Today's April 13th.  It's my birthday.  I'm sixteen.

I opened up this post and I started writing it cause I figure this is significant but now I don't know what to say.  What does it matter?  I'm just the same person I was yesterday, gaining an extra year hasn't made me any better.

Well, I'm glad that I'm putting this up anyway.  Who knows what's going to happen in the future.  This may be something to help me remember myself.  I don't know.  Birthdays seem important, so I'm glad I didn't forget it.

To another year, and many happy returns.

-Gray

Grasping the Kor Concept

As much as I hate to agree with that asshat Fracture, there is one thing he has been right about.

Cordelia is not to be fucking trusted.  Luckily for Gray, I'm keeping an eye out for the both of us.  If it were up to me we wouldn't be living within three states of her, but he needs this right now so I'll deal.  If anything looks even remotely dangerous I'm getting us as far away from this disaster waiting to happen of a group as I can.

I went to visit our lovely red prison guard the other day for the first time.  Gray had been keeping us apart because apparently he was concerned that I'd make a bad impression.  As if I made a bad impression on the other members of the group.  Besides, I kind of went there hoping to leave a bad impression.  Let the bitch know it isn't just the pushover kid she has to get through.

She was completely unrepentant about the way she's using my Gray.  It's disgusting and I will stop her if it goes any farther.  He is not her tool, neither of us are.  She needs to realize that it is a favor that I even allow her to talk to him.  And the lies that pour from her mouth about pacifism and not wanting to hurt people.  Does she realize how fake she sounds?  Seriously, I don't think anyone other than Gray could ever believe her.

I mean, Gray's trusting and naive nature is adorable and I love that about him, but that's why he needs to listen to me when I, as the common sense between us, tell him NOT TO TRUST HER.  But he's busy being a hopeless idiot.  Sigh.  Sometimes loving him is hard.

Ugh, and she reminded me about that bitch Jessica, who I also need to remember to murder.  I owe her a chopped off arm at least but with any luck I'll get to really fuck her up.  She deserves it.  Gray still has nightmares about what she did to him, and I don't blame him.  

BUT THE MAIN THING I'M PISSED OFF ABOUT IS THIS CRAFTING THING.

If you knew Gray like I did you would know that filling his head with delusions of grandeur is a really bad idea.  He breaks down.  It's what he does.  It's all I can do to keep him pulled together, like herding freaking emotional cats.  And now he's got some weird freaky power where he can change the world with his mind?  That's not stable, that's not helping.  I know how to help him and taking away the solidity of reality is not helping his ability to keep a grasp on it.

If The Red Bitch keeps pushing him to fuck with the universe and he keeps doing it and hurting himself inside I'm going to stop it.  I'm going to shut it the fuck down.  His destiny or not his fucking destiny, if it is hurting him IT WILL STOP.

So yeah, if you're reading this Cordelia, and I hope you are, watch yourself.  And watch yourself around Gray most of all.  He's mine and I will protect him.

-The Kor  

Crafter Gray

I'm scared.  What have I become?  What do I have the capacity of turning into?

It was me, I know for sure now.  I was the one who made that prison out of my house.  I was the one who made blood run down the walls and come out the sink.  I was the one who tore months of my life away in what felt like a single day.

The entire time I was there, all it took was a thought and I would have been free.  All I needed was to picture it and the blood would be gone and the smell would be flowers and my mom's body wouldn't be there.  All I had to do was will it and the front door would open up into my front lawn like it always had and I could have just walked away.

So why didn't it?  Didn't I want it enough?  I thought I did.  I hated every second I was trapped in there.  I wanted to leave with every fiber of myself.  I was sure I did.  More than I wanted the ceiling to come lower and the walls to move in to their rightful position in that messed up room.  Why was it so simple this time when I couldn't even make dead bodies stop continuing to bleed in my last loop?

Why have I still not taken the picture of my mom out of my backpack?

What good is being magic if it came too late to save anyone.  What good is being able to fix things that are broken if it means you are the only one who knows they're broken because you're the only one who hears the screaming?

After learning about my abilities, all I wanted to do was use them.  But now I'm not so sure if that was right.  He is the one breaking reality, He is the one that makes the screaming.  I don't want to do that.  I don't want to turn into someone who disfigures what God has created.

I'm not sure what I am.  I used to take comfort in the fact that no matter what I did, I was still human.  Now I'm not sure if I can even say that anymore.

I need to go to sleep.  I didn't sleep all last night, I need to go to sleep.

Double Up Gray

I never wanted to be a writer when I was a kid.  I mean, I guess most people would still consider me a kid, but I don't feel like I have the capacity to think about what I want to be when I grow up.  Most of my former classmates are probably just preparing themselves to work towards their dream jobs, or at least starting to work towards their dream colleges but I'm never going to college.  It was unrealistic, money-wise back then and it's impossible now.

I wanted to be a fireman when I was really little, back when everything was still normal, which is disgustingly ironic.

But it's not worth trying to have dreams now.  I just have to live from breath to breath, and try to glean some joy from the anti-joke that is my life.  Like, what did the mentally broken boy hunted by a monster get for Christmas?  Being locked in a room with his mother's corpse.

Ha ha.  So funny.  I'm not very good at jokes.

But I'm horribly off topic.  I was trying to say that I never wanted to be a writer, but it's all I seem to do these days.  Case in point, I am now on another blog.  Miss Cordelia's blog, actually, but she wants all of us living with her to contribute.  I don't know how much I'm going to be able to "contribute" but I'll do it if she asks me to.

I'm still going to be posting on here, too.  Just, probably not so much the what happened as all those mushy gushy feelings that are the reason I have this blog which is kinda a diary as much as an obituary.  I know, ew, right?

Feel free to not read it cause hey, I hate my whiny feelings, so I bet you all are sick to death of them.  But there's more than just me on this new blog so it's probably better reading material.  God knows we may as well try to read something enjoyable while suffering.

Catch you later.

Floating Gray

I'm not sure what my life is anymore.  I can barely recognize it.  It's like I'm floating outside my body, but I'm not really there.  Just....floating.

It's not a bad thing.  Oh my dear God it is not a bad thing at all.  In fact, everything is just perfect.  My bed is so soft that it makes me want to cry.  I can watch TV while lying down and drink soda and nobody tells me not to.  I have windows that look out over a city with so much color it's hard to make out any individual neon signs.  I have warmth and food and safety, I haven't even felt like I'm stalked lately.  I don't feel hunted, just like I'm living from day to day.  It's all so perfect, so scarily perfect.

I'm afraid to touch anything in case it shatters and falls apart like an elaborately painted mirror.

I haven't taken my things out of my bag except my computer.  I haven't needed to.  Miss Cordelia bought me new clothes and a new toothbrush and a new gray sweater because my last one was covered in blood.  There's no blood here.  Everything's really clean and white.  I always lie in the same spot on my bed and creep under the covers without moving them.

I haven't even set up my mom's picture on the nightstand.

I don't want to believe that this is real because I don't think I could stand having it taken away from me.  Maybe it's a life, a beautiful life that some people have, but it's not mine.  My life is full of blood and death and snow and darkness.

Not cities laid out like sparkling jewels and soft, soft beds.  So soft it makes me want to cry.  Too soft to close my eyes sometimes.

Miss Kordelia~

Fuck am I SICK of that name! Doting over her like some stray puppy, Gray has looked even more pathetic lately. It's complete trash. I'm supposed to be the one hugging him while he cries! I'm supposed to be the one who lets him curl up next to me in bed when he has nightmares!

I'm the one who's supposed to give him the happiness and safety he deserves. ME ME ME.

The kid, fuck, Gray adores her. It fucking pisses me off. I'm not buying her whole charity giving loving mother play. It stinks like a pile of shit. So what, she drove all the fucking way to Maine from Las fucking Vegas just to go help Gray because she felt bad for us?

Cause her stupid anorexic asshole of a boss apparently gives a shit about us?

That's a new one.

I abide by her for now because she gives us food and seems to be keeping us alive and safe, and because Gray really does seem to love her. I don't want to deal with that idiotic kid's meltdown if I try and separate him from yet another protector. Though I have a feeling this one won't die so easy as the last.

So yeah, bitch witch, I know you're reading this blog, and I know we've yet to meet in person, but just know that I'm watching you. We may be going to Las Vegas with you but that is far from meaning either of us is your willing slave. If you try anything that could harm one single fucking hair on Gray's head I swear to God you will burn. Even He won't be able to save you. Trust me.

I'll probably be gone by the time you wake up since I'm sneaking out while the kid's asleep, but let this post stand to show that I am here and I don't like you.

And don't you fucking call him 'My Love'. He's my love. You don't get to take him from me. You will never take him from me.

Have a Great Day!

~ The Kor

Rescued Gray

Miss Cordelia. Isn't it a beautiful name? I have never been so glad to hear such a name. She has been my salvation.

I was dying on the streets. Starving, yes, but also dying in spirit. There was nothing in my life. And then there was her. Red against the white snow, against the bleary monotones of my life.

But I couldn't see her red as the sticky red of blood, or even as the red of fire that only consumed. Her's was the red of sunsets, the red of strawberries and valentines. The cold itself could not touch her.

Her touch was as warm as her smile when she found me on the street and told me she had come to save me when she read my despair through my blog. She cared more from thousands of miles away than anyone walking these frozen streets had.

She came right out and told me what she was. A proxy. She didn't try to hide it or lie to me. A proxy, of course I was scared. I have read enough stories to know to be scared, but Miss Cordelia wasn't like that at all. She is just as saddened by the hating and killing in this world as I am. She had been sent to me by Him, but not to kill me, to save me.

I wasn't going crazy when it seemed that He saved me from Jessica's knife. He DID save me! And now He has sent Miss Cordelia to save me again. She told me...I still don't know if I believe it though it is far from me to doubt her, but it is so strange to think. She told me that I am a crafter. That it was given to me because I have "potential".

I am just a stupid useless kid. I am sure she will be disappointed if she thinks that I have any kind of power. But I don't want to disappoint her. She has been so kind, so very very kind, I wish that I could repay everything she's done for me.

But all she wants from me is to come with her so that she can keep giving. Protecting me, feeding me, giving me a bed to sleep in with a roof over my head. Teaching me about things I supposedly can do. It seems almost too good to be true.

Salvation like this doesn't just happen to me. Things never just work out. People as wonderful as Miss Cordelia don't bother with pathetic messes like me. But I can't help believing in it. I might as well enjoy it before it is inevitable ripped away from me like everything else.

I almost feel hopeful. Maybe goodness does exist in this world.

So even though I am leaving my home state of Maine for the first time ever for a city in a desert, I truly feel like I am going home. Maybe to a family.

I'll see you on the other side.

Gray