What does it feel like to die?
What does it feel like to live?
And when some people live and feel like dying then why live at all?
Why endure the pain, the agony, the hollowness?
I wish I never have to lose my mate. I wish I will never meet him.
How can those that have lost act so strong when they are so weak? When their purpose and direction has been stripped away from them. The feeling of actually being whole disintegrating with no more than silent tears at night. They say that they are bad actors but if they can mask those emotions so well…are they really? Or are they just too modest to tell the truth …or is acting just what it is – merely acting? No good, no bad. Just the pretence. Just the mask. Just the façade.
My name is Alita (not a battle angel) Kalishnakov. Through human decisive methods, I’m not 17, that ripe perfect age to find a mate and not even 22, the age of almost giving up to impatience and eagerness to find one’s true soulmate. Nah I’m far gone. Way past that shit. Wayyy past that hope. I’m 26 and a half years old. Fine 26 and 5 months for those accurate minds judging me out there. To the underworld, the realms above and the legends that bare my name…I’m centuries old. I’ve lived through war…seen life, experienced death. But each new life I’m bestowed with leaves me ridden with excruciating and sweaty nightmares and when I wake up, I’m 26 and human. I know my purpose yet I’m not sure if I can fulfil it.
Standing at a mere 5’10’’. Super model worthy…maybe. I have ample curves, albeit not all in the right places and eyes the colour of…
I can’t see all the time. So I’ll never know. Staring at the mirror is just staring for me.
Partial tunnel vision does that shit to you. 25% of the time I’m a blind bat and 75% of the time I’m like a kid in a candy store, obsessed with the burst of colour in my world of plain.
But it’s not like I care. It’s practically the least of the tenacious things worrying the worthless, pea-sized nut I call a brain.
Okay Ally, breathe.
Pain. Irrevocable and undeniable hurt. Why does it have to exit? Why???
It grinds you in a meat grinder, chews you up and spits you out and then chews you up again and spits you out because you taste and smell bad but then your drained bits are scattered all over the floor and then…wait, what? Did I just say that out LOUD?!
Great. Just perfect. Another tale to tell in this little town of the wee West. Hiding in a pit for 8 months never felt more tempting.
Cordava, the head(hypothetically) of Orca Inlet in Prince William Sound, and I know what you’re thinking, Prince William never visited this place so NO they did not name it after him. Come to think of it, I don’t think he existed at that time. Huh? Real foreboding. Who needs Aztecs when we have Alaskans?
60,5424°N and 145,7525°W (and nooooo I did not use google for this). I’ve been living in this solitude for so long that it’s geolocation is practically etched in my memory. And yeah Sherlock, I used my trusty GPS sensor for that (virtual eye roll).
This secluded town is surrounded by glacier carved mountains, dense lush green forests, ample wetlands and when I say ample, I mean ample – like tons and tons. Draughts are just a lucid dream. Yep, if I was a competitive extreme sports athlete, this would be paradise – skiing, hiking, fishing and birding. But no, I’m a trans-fat junkie (size 2 without trying. Lucky me, I can eat till my face swells!) who’ll only ever run, and let’s face it, if something is chasing me.
Cordavs (yes, I nickname everything) is the least populated area in Alaska which means: 1. Vast stretches of wilderness with not enough fauna and 2. Not enough people to keep you remotely sane but enough that you’re almost psycho. Oh, speaking of fauna, we do have enough bears to keep Marvin Gaye away so he can’t get anything on. Oh, I don’t mean polar bears, I mean literal bears. Like Grizzly. Like Brother Bear. See? I knew my cartoon obsession would come in handy one day!
Right, moving along. I’m going to be as honest as Saint Theresa (God bless that beautiful soul in heaven) when I say I WAS LEFT AT THE POLICE STATION. THE POLICE STATION!!! I mean intentions obvious much?! It’s like they were saying undeniably, “Hey you! Yes you! The guy with the Glock 19 and safety vest, officer…I’m abandoning this little crying creep. Arrest me, or better yet…take her!” Like seriously? I might as well have been found in a smelly old dumpster because either which way the outcome would have been exactly the same. Social services, orphanage, adoptive parents and hiding my true identity from me. I was just a little infant, so I didn’t feel any real effects of the system like the heartache, loneliness and disappointment or even the rebellious nature. I had it easy, I guess. A somewhat happy ending. But sometimes I wish I didn’t. My past lives were better lived. Less predictable. I felt like a dominant. More control and more power. But not in this life, I’m dominant, yes, but I have no control of the lives around me. For all they care, I’m just a gullible astrophysicist who seems like an easy lay. No. I hate that fucking perception of me. I hate it.
I mean my parents in this life were blonds. BLONDS?! Literally. Like both of them. And my siblings. And surprisingly my Labrador too. But me? Nope. I was a plain Jane with the brunette bombshell hair and the dark dorky brown eyes. Or so people tell me. Yep. You can say it. It was glaring at me my whole life, but I couldn’t see it. I mean it took me over 18 goddamn years to realize that they weren’t biologically mine but legally mine. Well, except for Balto my lab, he was always mine. Blood or not.
Rightio. Back to my place. Cordavs is soo isolated and deserted that even “if” I had the cure for cancer I:
1.wouldn’t give it. Because let’s be honest, money makes the world go around. If there’s a cure, no oncologists needed, no expensive chemo or radiotherapy needed. And with that BOOM!!!!!!
Down goes jobs, down goes economy.
2.How would I tell people I have the cure? Over radar???
Because I haven’t seen people use those things after WW2.
3.And most importantly, who would believe me? And yeah, it’s true I am a wiseass who can act like a dumbass 0.99% of the time. But who am I kidding? Even if Michael Jordan himself told me I wouldn’t believe him.
Now let’s talk about past wedding bells…Agh! Never mind let’s not go there…the last I was actually someone’s type, I was donating my B+ blood. But… if I had to rewind a wee back…Mmmm. Let’s see. 9th grade, David Kodi Banks, 1st kiss. Sophomore year, Michael Van Styn, lineback, great kisser but wayyy too arrogant if you ask me. Yep. You guessed it. Our classic twist to our almost perfect relationship was a strong conscious prickling bloody punch to the jaw. And heavens no! It was not mine! It was delivered by yours truly. Oooh and freshman year in college I upgraded on the football ladder to a quarterback. Yep my social status and Instagram never looked better. Until well…I punched him too. In the nuts this time. No wait, that’s not right, “crown jewels” as his ego dripping mouth once said. Glad I didn’t let him tap this. He was a walking STD. Gag, can’t believe I dated that but yeah, you get the pattern and picture. Piss me off even a little incy wincy bit and I will punch you and kick your sorry ass to the curb. Literally. Without even an inkling of guilt. Yeah, who runs the world? GIRLS!!!!
Well at least I believed we did. I’ve learnt the truth. The brutal, harsh truth and it’s far from it. We’re all just pawns in this game. A game dominated by those beyond our physical reach. With stamina that takes every ounce of passion and confidence out of us the moment we hear their voices. No, they’re not God. Far from it. But they deserve to be or worked a hellava lot to obtain power with obsidian. Direct descendants from the Moon Goddess herself. Warriors and protectors that held the ability to eliminate without guilt. (I wish I had that. My guilt didn’t consume me but rather wrapped me in a multi-layered blanket that heated me like a furnace and burnt my organs until I could feel the sizzle effect from within) Beings that possess all supernatural forms and condescending powers of all para norms that walked, flew, swam, ran and floated on Earth.
The warriors first form, Lycanthropes. Man and wolf. Aggression and the need to protect what’s theirs and their pack rife in their veins. To defend till the end. An end that I will take without empathy.
Second, their Vampire form. Humanoid counterparts that have long fled the life of the living and embraced the underworld where incarcinineration will never dent their undead state. I would know, I’ve tried for years on end. The masters of exsanguination and allurement to the dark side.
Mermaidia (Fine- mermaids). Their third form. Owners and wanderers of the depths of the sea…wait. Before you jump to conclusions, if you think I’m going to tell you that Atlantis existed, well…then you guessed right. And if you still don’t believe me or Captain Nemo, Indian voyager of the sea, then that’s not my concern. The only concern I have is that, if this place didn’t exist, then why is it that everyone has heard of it? It’s because of them. And the reason no one believes it? That’s because of me.
Their fourth form, a bit unruly for my liking, is the infamous demon. The seven devils of Hell bestowed them with the thirst for death. Belials’ pyromaniac tendencies fuelled their ways. To set alight a burning inferno, to ashen and to bring despair. A form that can never bring me to my knees without ‘trying’ to cause me third degree burns. If only it was that easy. But this is a whole new level of the game and 2 beasts can’t win.
Wings that can slash air molecules with perfect precision. Night owls and early risers with speed and agility that not even the mighty eagle can possess. Angels. Their fifth form. Celestial and graceful. Good right?
No. Not even a miniscule bit. They’re illusions that mask their true reality. One of the warrior’s strongest forms.
Fifth form. The form I dread to battle the most. Wicca is its speciality. I can never call a witch a man or woman. They can be both. Spells, chants and mantras can do anything with the right amount of witch blood flowing through you. Moon warriors have enough. Enough to make me rest in my grave. If only that didn’t happen before.
And lastly, fairy. The state that makes angelic comparisons an utmost insult. Their dust alone can bring back the dead and transform the hopeless into people worth admiring. A sweet mushy form with a hard ass core.
I’ve been in this game. Playing and playing, but the result is always the same. GAME OVER. I’ve been battered and bruised purple. I’ve crawled and asked for forgiveness. I’ve cried for days till sticky hot blood flowed down my cheeks. I’ve stared bountiful times at the pewter that secluded me. Bars that made me feel like a caged beast. A beast not worth life. A beast not worth living. A burden to the lives that I’ve touched. A curse to all humanity.
You know when every story has a protagonist? Well I’m the antagonist. I wish I was just a barer of bad news but no, I’m the enforcer. The merciless tyrant of unexplained nightmares. The soul absorber of fears that make you feel like death is the best outcome, the only hopeful reliever.
But I will never grant it easily. Never. People deserve to suffer. They deserve the pain. They’ve been killing each other since caveman days. This fate that I inflict won’t make much of a difference. Karma is a bitch and fortunately that’s me. I wish I could change who I am. I honestly do. But they drove me to this. They’ve made my bed and now I have to lay on it.
Please don’t hate me Mate. Wherever you are….