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 Posted: Fri Aug 12, 2011 7:22 pm
She knows that what she does is stupid. Sometimes. And she knows that maybe if she stopped thinking so much, she might be able to sleep better at night. But thoughts overwhelm knowledge and soon she's scrambling against doors, tripping over nothing, and hiding in the bright corners of her room, waiting.
For what?
At the same time, he feels that he has drawn the wrong person. He feels that this crazed half-mad woman (or is she entirely mad, sometimes he cannot tell) truly was nothing more than a crazy, half-mad woman from the get go. There was nothing deeper to her, no interest. This fear was simply a delusion of hers and nothing more. These were his feelings. And with each passing day, it seemed that the woman was simply going crazier and crazier. He could feel it.
A crazed madness, overwhelming paranoia. What was that? What? Did you say something? No, I didn't. But I'm sure I heard something. Who was it? Was it you? No. Not you? No. Not me? No. Who was it?
t h e m
She feels it in her head, constantly whispering. the one who died was you, the one who killed was you, you are the culprit, you are the victim, basille filimer . . .
She had thought that maybe the demon could help her. She had sunk to the depths of delusion and paranoia, where no angels cold touch, where the only light she could see was the darkness of a devil. A mad hope, another delusion brought on by summer's heat.
She surely was not fit to raise a demon. Basille Filimer did not have the qualifications to support even her own life, let alone another's. Clueless, hopeless, meaningless.
She had started receiving phone calls a few weeks prior. Azazel had overheard some of them, in that semi-sentient manner. Strings of words together, holding some yet-unknown meaning. But he could make conjectures. Particularly ones based off of the expressions on the woman's face as she spoke into the telephone which seemed too old for the times. Too old-fashioned, everything about this woman's dwelling was old-fashioned. It was as if she was too afraid to change. Too afraid to do anything different.
Why? Even though the demon had no full understanding of Basille Filimer's past, he could still figure it out. "Them."
Perhaps that was what scared her the most.
He seemed to know. He seemed to understand who she spoke to during those calls. The demon she had named Azazel was slowly eating into the past she had kept hidden away in darkness for so many years.
She shouldn't have found it a strange or horrifying thing. But she had long given up on forgiveness or confessions, on priests in their dark or light robes muttering meaningless hymns, on the idea of someone understanding her. She had stopped dreaming a long time ago.
At least, that was what she told herself. That was what she wanted to believe, and so that was what she had believed from that day forward. There wouldn't be any forgiveness in this world for Basille Filimer. So why had she signed a deal with a demon?
Maybe she hadn't signed a deal. Maybe that was just another one of her hopeful delusions, finding a savior in the form of a shade-turned-imp demon, who would track down and remove 'them,' thereby allowing her life to return to normal. Yes, she had imagined it all.
That was what she told herself. That was what she believed, those were the lies she spun to protect her image of sanity. It was the same as painting over a cracked wall. The crack would remain in the wall, even if it was simply a less displeasing color. And so the nightmares would stay, but in a slightly more reassuring manner. She would not be saved.
There was no demon in the first place.
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Posted: Fri Aug 12, 2011 7:23 pm
She's been dreaming strange dreams lately. And by strange, she didn't mean 'frightening' or anything -- no, she had been dreaming those kind of strange dreams for the past ten years or so. Her dreams were still frightening, but there was a strange element to them. They had almost always, before now, been recurring and constant; it was as if she was thrown onto a roulette of sleep and tossed into a pre-selected, pre-formatted dream. Always the same dream.
But lately, the dreams have been changing a bit. There's a strange form there, someone she thinks she knows. She thinks maybe it's a 'he,' or maybe an 'it.' He (or it?) is probably not a person. Maybe it (or he) is a demon. She feels like she should know his (its?) name. She thinks that maybe she was the one who gave it his name. But then she wakes up before she can go any further, or her dreams return to the nightmare roulette of pre-determined horrors.
When she wakes up, she feels like she is missing something. But what could she be missing when she has not gained anything?
Ever.
By this point, the demon known as Azazel is quite convinced that the lady has gone off her rocker. Entirely. It's as if she can't see demons anymore, or maybe she's too distracted by her other delusions to notice one more. He doesn't really care to know which, although he doesn't think he appreciates her preoccupation with her other delusions....
Only he wasn't a delusion. If he was a delusion, he'd probably know. He probably would have realized by now. He hadn't, so he was real. So why was Basille Filimer so preoccupied with the ones who didn't exist? Where were her eyes directed so that she couldn't see the ones who 'did exist?'
He was so very hungry. Thinking like this is too much.
This farce continues for more time than he would care to admit. On several occasions, he considers leaving this delusional human to her nightmares and horrors, but that nagging feeling in his mind is keeping him from leaving.
She truly was crazy. How could one hope for any shred of sanity in Miss Filimer's mind? Had there even been any in the first place? The first place. Surely, there had been. The lady had taken to gibbering nonsensically, never leaving her house and simply chattering away to thin air. It was a disturbing sight. Sometimes she would suddenly stop talking, turn towards a different empty pocket of air, and a mortified expression would appear on her face. And then she would hide. What was she hiding from?
The demon didn't think he'd care to know.
At some point, her dreams had returned to the disturbing monotony they had once held. At first, she had thought nothing of it beyond relief that the strange dreams were gone. But then, she started to wonder why they had come in the first place. As time passed, however, she had forgotten the nature of these dreams and even that empty feeling in her head was shrugged off as the empty feeling that had been present for her entire life.
Nothing had changed. Nothing would ever change. This would be Basille Filimer's life until the day she backed herself into a corner and died, mind overtaken with paranoia.
record 1.
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Posted: Fri Aug 12, 2011 7:26 pm
It is raining today, a cold and dark rain that blots out the sky. But to her, the sky has always been dark. The sky has always been black. There is no color in the sky, even when it is sunny and birds sing.
Do birds even sing in the delusions of Basille Filimer? She is not sure.
Azazel had been confused long enough. He was still bound by the terms of the contract, and so could not go far from the delusional woman no matter how much he wanted to. But the delusional woman had already been ignoring him for so long. The nagging sense of fear at his mind was simply an annoyance now, added to the hunger he felt.
It was, to put it in blunt terms, depressing.
Perhaps it was that depressing feeling that wormed its way into Basille Filimer's dreams once more. Perhaps it was the strength of Azazel's exhaustion that snuck into the nightly delusions that haunted the brunette's mind. Or perhaps it was the last light of common sense that still lingered in Basille Filimer's head, reaching out to the poor, neglected demon.
That night, she did not dream a nightmare. She was not left to the devices of the horrifying nightmare roulette. She did not even dream the 'strange' dreams she had forgotten about.
She did not dream at all. Emptiness. The emptiness that dominated both her mind and Azazel's mind intruded into Basille Filimer's dream, blocking out all other senses.
When she woke up, she felt the terror nonetheless. But her blue eyes seemed slightly less clouded with delusion and slightly more alert with sanity. Perhaps that dream was what Basille Filimer needed to pull herself back towards reality. Perhaps she did want to return, perhaps she did want to change for the better?
Perhaps she had noticed the demon she had contracted with once more. But to Basille Filimer, she could not know the passage of time within her delusions. Days were seconds, months, minutes. There was no coherent ratio, no conversion rate that she could relate to and make sense of how long she had spent in the dark. This was apparently a regular occurrence for her, to lose countless units of time in the depths of a delusional abyss. This had always set her apart from people, for the time she spent in her own brain's asylum passed instantly for her, regardless of how long others had spent observing her pathetic state of delusion. Was this the nature of Basille Filimer's fear? The sucking abyss that kept no regard for memories nor time?
Probably not.
The slightly-less-but-still-more-than-what-was-considered-socially-acceptable crazy woman turned towards Azazel and smiled weakly. It was a hard to read smile, both apologetic and proud, yet neither at the same time. It did not make sense, and it looked rather unnatural on Basille's face. Perhaps with this weak and awkward motion, Basille Filimer could begin to regain her lost life and time again. She reached out a slightly-less-shaky-than-usual hand towards Azazel, as if her subconscious wanted to make amends. Either that, or she wanted him to help her erase the stains of delusion from her mind. ....Or possibly she was just going to feed him.
"I haven't fed you since yesterday, have I?"
Well then. Perhaps he could play along for a little while longer.
record 2.
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