Post by Raven Hex on Feb 28, 2016 21:00:22 GMT -5
She saw herself kneeling among the fallen leaves, weeping uncontrollably. She could not look around at her surroundings, her eyes merely training downward, as if she had no control of her own actions. Perhaps she did not, because it was not as if she were gazing at her reflection in a mirror. The self that she gazed upon in her darkest moment was tiny in form, not yet a woman.
The young girl makes her feel uneasy, because for the first time in her life, she feels sorry for herself. Kneeling in the autumn scene is a girl only just beginning to experience the pain that would morph her into what she has now become. She can practically see the hands of chaos squeezing the infantile thing, pressing and squeezing, turning her into a twisted juxtaposition to God’s clay.
If her heart was capable, it would bleed for the poor thing.
The wind rustles her black hair, as dark as raven feathers, and she remembers this moment. The sun is setting over Boston, and it bathes the girl in a blood orange hue, her emerald green eyes shining as tears threaten to drown them. As if whatever bound her older self to that singular view, Raven is allowed to look past her younger counterpart, to the headstone that she kneels before.
The black granite edifice is engraved with her given last name, and every time the child looks upon “HECKMAN” her sobs grow louder. Raven feels something break inside her, something she thought she had discarded long ago, and it infuriates her.
Why does she care about this girl? She learned long ago with the help of her mentor turned tormentor, Raziel, that this part of her needed to be dead, yet there she was, gazing upon her parents’ burial as if for the very first time.
The little girl looked towards the darkening sky and screamed out in anguish and fury, and Raven realized she was screaming with her. Her become suddenly aware of her arms swinging downward…
The last rays of sunlight glinting off the blade of the shovel as it swooped down to end her pain right at its beginning…
Her eyes snapped open, and the tangibility of the physical realm returned to her in one fell swoop. She gasped for air, her throat feeling the residual effects of a blood curdling scream. She could practically hear the ghost of it reverberating off the walls of her open flat as she leaned herself back into her headboard. Her knees instinctively rose to her chest beneath the sheets and she rested her sweaty forehead in her shaking palms.
Focusing on regaining her breath, she inhaled deeply through her nose and held it while she let the sounds of the rain pattering off the floor to ceiling windows ground her back to reality. Resting her cheek in one hand, the other combed through her hair.
“What…” she murmured, breath becoming even harder to come by as she withdrew her hand and stared at in in the feint glow streaming through the gossamer curtains.
Her fingers were streaked with a dark substance, but she didn’t need the light to know exactly what it was. Instinctively, she launched herself out of bed, nearly tangling herself in her bedding and crashing to the floor if not for the bookshelf beside her bed offering her a place to reach out and grab. Blood smeared across the wooden edifice, but she was not overly concerned with the furniture as she blindly stumbled towards the bathroom.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” she gasped, feeling disoriented as thunder rolled across the city.
When she entered the bathroom, she flipped the switch with her clean hand and went straight to the sink, her eyes squinting as they adjusted to the bright lights. Her breathing caught in her chest and she slammed her palms down on the porcelain basin, trying to register any pain in her body that would be the source of her problems.
“Jesus, not again,” she said to no one but the ghosts within as her blurred vision focused on her reflection.
Only what she saw was not her reflection at all. It was a man on the other side of the mirror, his face streaming with blood, the gushing liquid running his colorful face paint, two long metal finger prosthetics plunged into his eye sockets. She fell back into the wall, horrified as the familiar man reached up with trembling hands to his face as if just realizing he no longer has eyes. When his fingers touch the metal talons, his face contorted and he screamed at her, but she could not hear him through the glass as it shatters outward..
Her arms covered her face instinctively, but after a moment of nothing happening, she peeked out from beneath them to see the mirror still intact, her own reflection where it should be. Blinking, she shuffled forward, one eyebrow arched as she studied her own visage, normal and unharmed, if not just a bit sleep deprived.
She scoffed, pulled her blonde and green hair behind her head and fastened it in a ponytail with the hair tie that she always kept around her wrist. A chuckle at her own fucked up mental state escaped her as she bent over and turned cold water on. A quick splash and a pat of a wash cloth later, she found herself walking back into the open floor plan of her apartment.
The window beckoned, and she heeded it’s call. Moving behind the curtain, she rested her forehead against the cold glass and watched the rain fall down upon Manhattan. Neon signs lit up the dark streets and beckoned everyone to buy into its shit. Tiny umbrella tops moved down on the wet pavement far below her and she couldn’t remember the last time she even owned one. Most people begged for a sunny day, Raven only wished to swim in torrential downpours.
She felt at home within them.
But tonight, she knew she would have to ignore the call of the storm. Once again, she found herself employed, and it had been quite a long time since she had followed any semblance of a normal work schedule. Her body, while always in shape, had grown accustom to little to no sleep and a pack of cigarettes every other day.
A sigh escaped her and she watched a young couple running in the rain, their hoods up, the male dragging the female behind him as they disappeared into the foliage of Central Park. She envied them, wanting nothing more than to throw on her hood and escape into the darkness.
She felt it creeping up her spine and knew that it wanted her to, but if she didn’t fight it, she would lose everything she had worked so hard to achieve in her time away from the rest of the world. She had learned to reign in the chaos and to stifle the sadistic demon within her own mind. She had removed every toxic personality in her life and had begun to build a life that could possibly be considered normal…
The only problem with living a normal life, was that you needed a job to maintain it. Her coffers had recently run dry, and when she had received a call from a former associate, she had to jump at the opportunity to get a steady flow of cash going her way.
But to do that, she had to adopt the persona she was known most for in that business. She had to find a way to be the crazy bitch that everyone knew and feared…and she had to do it without ACTUALLY becoming that monster once again.
The only problem was…the monster knew that it was going to be let out…
And as lightning flashed across the sky and she gazed up at it in a fog, she wasn’t sure if she was watching it tear apart the sky with her own eyes…or its…
The young girl makes her feel uneasy, because for the first time in her life, she feels sorry for herself. Kneeling in the autumn scene is a girl only just beginning to experience the pain that would morph her into what she has now become. She can practically see the hands of chaos squeezing the infantile thing, pressing and squeezing, turning her into a twisted juxtaposition to God’s clay.
If her heart was capable, it would bleed for the poor thing.
The wind rustles her black hair, as dark as raven feathers, and she remembers this moment. The sun is setting over Boston, and it bathes the girl in a blood orange hue, her emerald green eyes shining as tears threaten to drown them. As if whatever bound her older self to that singular view, Raven is allowed to look past her younger counterpart, to the headstone that she kneels before.
The black granite edifice is engraved with her given last name, and every time the child looks upon “HECKMAN” her sobs grow louder. Raven feels something break inside her, something she thought she had discarded long ago, and it infuriates her.
Why does she care about this girl? She learned long ago with the help of her mentor turned tormentor, Raziel, that this part of her needed to be dead, yet there she was, gazing upon her parents’ burial as if for the very first time.
The little girl looked towards the darkening sky and screamed out in anguish and fury, and Raven realized she was screaming with her. Her become suddenly aware of her arms swinging downward…
The last rays of sunlight glinting off the blade of the shovel as it swooped down to end her pain right at its beginning…
~ ~ ~
Her eyes snapped open, and the tangibility of the physical realm returned to her in one fell swoop. She gasped for air, her throat feeling the residual effects of a blood curdling scream. She could practically hear the ghost of it reverberating off the walls of her open flat as she leaned herself back into her headboard. Her knees instinctively rose to her chest beneath the sheets and she rested her sweaty forehead in her shaking palms.
Focusing on regaining her breath, she inhaled deeply through her nose and held it while she let the sounds of the rain pattering off the floor to ceiling windows ground her back to reality. Resting her cheek in one hand, the other combed through her hair.
“What…” she murmured, breath becoming even harder to come by as she withdrew her hand and stared at in in the feint glow streaming through the gossamer curtains.
Her fingers were streaked with a dark substance, but she didn’t need the light to know exactly what it was. Instinctively, she launched herself out of bed, nearly tangling herself in her bedding and crashing to the floor if not for the bookshelf beside her bed offering her a place to reach out and grab. Blood smeared across the wooden edifice, but she was not overly concerned with the furniture as she blindly stumbled towards the bathroom.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” she gasped, feeling disoriented as thunder rolled across the city.
When she entered the bathroom, she flipped the switch with her clean hand and went straight to the sink, her eyes squinting as they adjusted to the bright lights. Her breathing caught in her chest and she slammed her palms down on the porcelain basin, trying to register any pain in her body that would be the source of her problems.
“Jesus, not again,” she said to no one but the ghosts within as her blurred vision focused on her reflection.
Only what she saw was not her reflection at all. It was a man on the other side of the mirror, his face streaming with blood, the gushing liquid running his colorful face paint, two long metal finger prosthetics plunged into his eye sockets. She fell back into the wall, horrified as the familiar man reached up with trembling hands to his face as if just realizing he no longer has eyes. When his fingers touch the metal talons, his face contorted and he screamed at her, but she could not hear him through the glass as it shatters outward..
Her arms covered her face instinctively, but after a moment of nothing happening, she peeked out from beneath them to see the mirror still intact, her own reflection where it should be. Blinking, she shuffled forward, one eyebrow arched as she studied her own visage, normal and unharmed, if not just a bit sleep deprived.
She scoffed, pulled her blonde and green hair behind her head and fastened it in a ponytail with the hair tie that she always kept around her wrist. A chuckle at her own fucked up mental state escaped her as she bent over and turned cold water on. A quick splash and a pat of a wash cloth later, she found herself walking back into the open floor plan of her apartment.
The window beckoned, and she heeded it’s call. Moving behind the curtain, she rested her forehead against the cold glass and watched the rain fall down upon Manhattan. Neon signs lit up the dark streets and beckoned everyone to buy into its shit. Tiny umbrella tops moved down on the wet pavement far below her and she couldn’t remember the last time she even owned one. Most people begged for a sunny day, Raven only wished to swim in torrential downpours.
She felt at home within them.
But tonight, she knew she would have to ignore the call of the storm. Once again, she found herself employed, and it had been quite a long time since she had followed any semblance of a normal work schedule. Her body, while always in shape, had grown accustom to little to no sleep and a pack of cigarettes every other day.
A sigh escaped her and she watched a young couple running in the rain, their hoods up, the male dragging the female behind him as they disappeared into the foliage of Central Park. She envied them, wanting nothing more than to throw on her hood and escape into the darkness.
She felt it creeping up her spine and knew that it wanted her to, but if she didn’t fight it, she would lose everything she had worked so hard to achieve in her time away from the rest of the world. She had learned to reign in the chaos and to stifle the sadistic demon within her own mind. She had removed every toxic personality in her life and had begun to build a life that could possibly be considered normal…
The only problem with living a normal life, was that you needed a job to maintain it. Her coffers had recently run dry, and when she had received a call from a former associate, she had to jump at the opportunity to get a steady flow of cash going her way.
But to do that, she had to adopt the persona she was known most for in that business. She had to find a way to be the crazy bitch that everyone knew and feared…and she had to do it without ACTUALLY becoming that monster once again.
The only problem was…the monster knew that it was going to be let out…
And as lightning flashed across the sky and she gazed up at it in a fog, she wasn’t sure if she was watching it tear apart the sky with her own eyes…or its…
~ Raven’s Lament ~
Blood is a fascinating part of the human body, don’t you agree? It’s human fuel, the gas that powers us. And just like fuel lines, sometimes our bodies get a little nick and the blood begins to flow out. You have to patch it before shit really starts to hit the fan, but once you do, you begin to heal. The nick scabs and eventually disappears, and then you are as good as new.
Suffice it to say, I’m tired of the healing. I’m sick of the bandages, and the sutures, and all the first aid keeping me away from what I truly love. You see, your blood might fuel you, but it DRIVES me.
I know what you may be thinking.
Heh, this bitch thinks she is a vampire. LAME!
Listen here, children, go ahead. Laugh. Come at me with all you got. Label me as the dime a dozen psychotic chick, begging for attention with weird clothes and a pension for the dramatic. I know PCW has its fair share of the femme fatale, but believe me, kids, there is nothing like the original.
Do your research, I’m not the basic bitch in this business who will give you a history lesson just to make you believe I have what it takes to make it in this business. You don’t want to look me up, that’s your prerogative. That type of idiotic choice will make the blood that much easier to extract from you.
You see, when I walked into your building, I built my nest on my first step in the door. You may be listening to this right now and think you are safe, but if you are employed by PCW, you are on my list. I’m not here for titles, I’m not here for glory, I’m here for one thing…blood.
My sanguine addiction is unrivaled, and if I can’t get yours, I will force you to take mine. Consider my first match with Dan Fierce to be a PSA on just who the fuck Raven Hex really is.
I make the boogey man look like a fucking character from Monsters, Inc. You can hit me with your best shot and a moment later feel like you’re in an episode of the Walking Dead. Do I feel pain? Yeah, who the hell doesn’t? But unlike most of you, I welcome it.
Dan knows that, because he has seen me in action. Nathan brought me in because he knows all of this to be true and he probably hopes beyond all hope that him opening the door for me into this playground of chaos will keep him safe. Who knows, that may or may not be the case. But Dan got the first taste of what it will be like for everyone who comes across me.
There will be no “excuse me” as you go on your merry fucking way. There will only be you, and a ferocious monster, looking to tear your smug fucking face from your body.
Dan thinks he can take me out when he sees me coming. He thinks that unlike you all listening to me now, that having knowledge of me gives him power over me. I’m not some demon that knowing my name will give you the ability to cast me out…I’m much more than that.
Whether you are male, female, or confused, you just won’t be FIERCE enough to compete.
At Trauma, the bleeding begins with Danny Boy, and nothing is going to be able to staunch it from there.
