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 Posted: Sat Feb 24, 2007 9:00 pm
 Name of Nightmare: NyxFear: Parties Home: Operis NM's Personality: Not much is known yet... except that Nyx has a twisted, dark sense of humor and a very cynical, cold laugh... Name of Human: Moira Cruenta RutilusHuman's History: (Written by Moira, herself.) In my dreams, I see strange things... I see the deaths of countless people, over and over again. At night, the world is transformed from a harsh and cruel place, to one of infinite potential. Shadows seem to dance and the wind whispers sweet or cold words against the flesh. The moon radiates energy... And sometimes I forget myself. I forget who I am and I fall into Someone Else. There is Mors, who I sometimes think I really am... She's level-headed and quiet, like I am... but she's so practical, she almost seems cold. There is Maddy, who is so very happy-go-lucky, but also surprisingly cruel, like a child who cares only about herself. And there is Caedes, who speaks in riddles, whom I know little about... and Cruenta, who took her name from me and who is cold and cruel... a sadist. I am glad she rarely comes. Recently, aside from these beings who come over me, there has been the Voice. The first time I was aware of it, I was leaving the party... I was shaking and sobbing and afraid... they were all laughing... and then I heard It laugh, too... out of nowhere. Laughing. That's not what this is for, though... This is supposed to be an explanation of who and what I am. I'm a girl. I'm young. On the verge of adulthood. I stand five feet tall and I have shoulder-length blonde hair. It's pale and soft. My eyes are wide and blue-- like startbursts or ocean water, so I'm told. Though that's so romantic. I'm pale... I look almost like a porcelain doll. I don't wear make-up... unless one of the others has taken over. Some of them are quite vain... I grew up in a normal family... I write, I draw, I read, and I study. I am not exceptional. I just... am. So why am I plagued?
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Posted: Sat Feb 24, 2007 9:32 pm
More about Nyx and Moira to come... (Just in case I need it...)
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Posted: Sat Feb 24, 2007 9:37 pm
Notes: Because sometimes I need them, too!
Anyway sad 2/24/2007) I am going to write this in first person, as though it were an actual journal. If it gets weird at times, forgive me. I may be schizophrenic, and Moira may have Multiple Personality Disorder. We're thinking of seeing a psychologist...
(2/25/2007)Slowly revealing why Moira is afraid of parties... something happened at the last party she went to. See sixth post.
(3/26/2007)Moira speaks about her past and the "others". The post before has one of her alternate personalities interacting with Nyx.
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Posted: Sat Feb 24, 2007 9:51 pm
Sunday, February 25 of the year 2007. 12:40am (begin).
I was given a new journal today (passive tense: Duly noted). It's red and purple, the covers made of a strange satin-like material over the usual hard cover. There are beads of gold sewn in. It reminds me of those Arabian pillows that seem so exotic.
There is something about the purple... it seems to draw out that part of me which haunts me, the part I have recently taken to calling Nyx. For some reason, every time I see purple or hear news of a large gathering, that voice stirs in my head. It frightens me, this low voice. I can't even distinguish whether it's male or female, it's so low, but it scares me all the same. It's a shame, since I used to love that colour. (I know, I use the British form of some words and the American of others. I even go back and forth.)
Purple is Royal. Carthage. Dido. Tyr. Tyrian Purple. Pride. Rome. Gold...
The voice speaks. It seems to want to converse with me. It wants to write. Perhaps I should let it...
We gather with the setting sun, all of our eyes are on you. We laugh and joy and you do not know whether it's you we mock. So fear, little one, and I'll call to you nightly in your dreams. I'll see you when you cross the streets, and when you're in gatherings.
It seems to speak with the voice of more than one person. It scares me so... I let go of the pen, and it moved of its own accord while that voice ran through me, laughing all the while.
I'm taking pills tonight. Hopefully I'll have a dreamless sleep.
12:51 (end).
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Posted: Sat Feb 24, 2007 11:25 pm
Poem. 2:18 (begin).
Sleep evades me, thus I write as the voice torments me...
Engulfed in flames of emerald green
The shadow of laughter inside
People enjoying themselves as I watch
From the cold and wonder
If it's me they mock as I stare
Greedily into the warmth
Or is it cold cruelty?
I can only watch and wonder
Outside.
The party goes on and
People filter in and out
In and out
With nary a look asside.
I am the Invisible Girl again.
2:25 (end).
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Posted: Sun Feb 25, 2007 1:11 pm
Sunday. February 25 of the year 2007. 3:57pm (begin).
I saw a group of my old friends talking today. When they realized I was watching them, they threw me a dirty look and walked off. Things haven't been the same since the party... No one wants to talk to me, anymore. It's strange to think of how everything's changed. Just a few months ago, they all would have been laughing and walking with me, but not any more.
I think back to that night, when everyone was around... the last night I was accepted and the first I was thrown aside. Sometimes, I still can't grasp what happened. Maybe it's time to start remembering...
But every time I try, I hear that voice again.
I remember my heart jumping into my throat as I stood, panicking. I froze and they all just turned and laughed... and then I think I started screaming... and I couldn't stop. I started hitting them, kicking, pushing... and they were shocked by how violent I was... but I'm small... and two of them pushed me down... and I was kicking... Bloodied his nose... It went everywhere...
He was mad. They were laughing. I screamed and I ran and they were laughing.
The Voice is there again. Funny, it feels more green today. It wants to talk... Perhaps I should let it take over again... See what it has to say...
Small girl... scared girl... silly girl. You made a fool of yourself, didn't you? Don't think of it too much... just let my voice take over. Let it possess you. Let my laughter warm you in ways you never dreamt of. Imagine my eyes upon you... countless eyes... countless eyes...
It scares me... I'm going to stop writing, now... There are eyes everywhere.
4:11pm(end).
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Posted: Mon Feb 26, 2007 12:59 pm
Monday. February 26 of the year 2007. 3:46pm (begin).
School today. It was so loud there. I'm beginning to dislike noise... noise is laughter and music and people's eyes as they watch you and whisper behind cupped hands into eager ears, into cruel minds. I dislike school, because it seems that's all there is to it now, watching others talk about week-end parties and mutter about how they're glad I wasn't there to make a scene.
Poor, poor girl.(He/she/it/they is/are laughing, now... cackling coldly.)Poor, pretty little girl. Are you scared? Afraid of the beat of the music, the pulse of human bodies swaying to the rhythm and drum, afraid of drinks and messes and all they imply? Afraid of couples kissing in the corners?Afraid of being the one they all talk about? The one sitting along, aware of all those eyes on you, all those whispers about you? Knowing that they hate you, that they mock you...
No more.. please... no more. Why does that Voice haunt me even here, in my journal, my notebook, my sanctuary where I should be safest? Inside my head... I can't control what comes from my pen anymore. It writes of its own accord. I can't control it. Or can I? Is it me? Please, God, say it isn't me...
I don't know what's worse, for this to be real-- not imagined, but something that takes place! An actual voice that can move and affect-- or for me to be crazy, imagining it all. Perhaps the words aren't even here. Or perhaps I write them, myself.
Please, God, help me. I can't help myself.
3:59pm (end).
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Posted: Sun Mar 04, 2007 8:38 am
Sunday. March 4 of the year 2007. 11:20pm (begin).
I haven't written in a few days... I suppose I've been busy. Doing yard work, actually. My mother bought dozens of flowers the other day and insisted I help her plant the flowers-- bougainvalea and roses and desert roses (which don't look like roses at all). Needless to say, I have scratch marks from thorns all over myself. I like working with flowers, though. Plants are so much simpler than people. They don't whisper behind your back or throw extravagent parties just to show off. They just... are. I like the smell of clean dirt. It's so fresh and earhy and real. I dislike having said dirt under my nails, though.
Anyway... Thursday, something strange happened. I met two girls in the hallway between classes after I collided with one of them. They were friendly and talked with me for a few moments before we had to go to class. They were juniors and I don't know many of those... Luckily, actually. That means that they didn't know about me and how I'm considered a leper among my old friends.
Anyway...
The reason I haven't been writing isn't only that I was doing yard work. I've been too tired to pick up a pen. Despite how well things seem to be going, that voice still wants to make me miserable.
I don't care... I won't listen.
I refuse to listen.
I should write about something else.
My older brother is back in town. Jamison has been gone for ages, it seems. It's nice to have him back. Only he's joined with Mom in insisting I go to Prom. I dread going. I'm trying to convince them that I think it's stupid, but they seem to think that my reluctance has something to do with not having a date. They don't see the way my eyes widen and my face pales when they just mention the idea...
I think that's enough for now.
11:38pm (end).
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Posted: Sun Mar 11, 2007 9:51 am
This diary is boring... full of nothing but sobbing, sobbing, sobbing. Moira doesn't know how to have fun. If only she'd let me out more often, maybe I'd be able to help! But no, she'd rather go around moping. That's why she has no friends. That's why none of us have friends; because she's so boring.
What's this, now? A little girl. How interesting. The child is afraid of gatherings, yet has one inside of her own head.
Hello! The pen moved on it's own. So Moira wasn't just being silly. There's someone else there. Who are you, Pen Mover?
I am Nyx, Moira's fear. I am the Voice she speaks of.
I don't suppose you could make her have more fun? I'm Maddy, by the way. And all I want to do is play...
Oh, little Maddy, do be understanding. Moira is much fun if one knows how to torment her. The way she shakes when she meets others is very precious.
... Hmmm. But that's not good for me. That makes it harder for her to get around people I can play with! I don't think I like you.
You are a silly child. That is why.
How dare you call me that! Well, at least I'm more than just a Voice! I can take over her body! Ha!
Ow! That hurt. You're mean! I'm not letting go of this pen again! Hey! That's cheating!
I am using a different pen. How is that cheating? I merely... changed the rules.
Fine. Well, whatever. I'm going to stop writing now.
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Posted: Mon Mar 26, 2007 3:40 pm
Monday. March 26 of the year 2007. 6:20pm (begin).
I haven't been able to look at this journal lately. Ever since the night I opened it about to write and found her handwriting. Maddy's. Maddy talked with that Voice... I was so startled by it, I couldn't write. I haven't been aware of any of the others in... I don't know, years. Is she the only one still around, or are the others there, too?
They used to be my friends when I was little... Caedes would make me giggle and confuse me. She always seemed so smart, Cruenta was so stuck-up... and Maddy.. she was the best. She was the most fun. We would play games like tea-party, dress-up, and tag. She was very girly, always wanting our hair curled and our hands clean. Cruenta would rather climb trees (and threaten to push people out). And Mors... Mors usually just tried to keep everyone in-line. She'd tell me what Caedes meant and make Cruenta be nice and tell Maddy to stop whining.
They were my best friends until I was about six and started making friends in school. They stopped talking to me when I was maybe eight of nine, though now and then... now and then it sometimes seems like they are still there... watching. Waiting...
I can see why you stopped talking to them. That Maddy is disappointingly whiny and stubborn. You are much more amusing.
... Can't you just leave me alone? You make everything so difficult!
Why don't you write about that party your brother dragged you to the other day, Moira? I'm sure that would be amusing.
No! I'm... I'm going...
6:40pm (end).
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Posted: Sat Apr 21, 2007 12:00 pm
The girl sleeps soundly, unknowingly. I've gained power.
I've grown. Soon I'll be more than a mere Voice to taunt her. She won't know what hit her. If she thought I was frightening before, I'll have to teach her the truth of terror.
The girl sleeps so peacefully. So sweetly. It's almost a pity. I'd love to drag her through her dreams now, take to her a world she'd never dreamt of, one where all her horrors come true.
So sweetly... Ah, she tosses. Her tender brow furls. Is she dreaming of me?
Or perhaps of the retirement party she attended with her parents.
She did not like that, poor little thing. She didn't like how I taunted her while she was there, either. It was so wonderful, the way she shook and stammered, how clammy her hand was as old men and women shook it and exclaimed over how sweet of a girl she was. My poor little vessel. And then she saw a boy... from her school... whom she'd last seen at that party which started all of this. That was too much for my little darling. She fainted!
Isn't it delightful?
I think so...
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Posted: Sat Jun 16, 2007 7:45 pm
Saturday. June 16 of the year 2007. 10:26pm (begin).
I dream fitfully, afraid of this journal, afraid because of the power it proves this Voice-- a voice no longer-- has. Power to take me in my dreams. Dreams... I hate my dreams. I loathe them, for each night this lovely little creature comes.
"Hello, little Moira!" The girl is smaller than I, yet she calls me little. She is dressed for a birthday party, like one from when I was seven. My first birthday-party. She looks... sweet, with a painted white face and such blue eyes, a crown perched upon her violet hair. Purple and green, purple and green with touches of gold, an emerald cape... she's almost like a birthday clown meeting a hero in miniature. She should look sweet, but she doesn't. She's... frightening. Terribly so, with that maliciously, deceptively endearing smile curving lips painted white.
"Come! Take my hand!" That first time, I was foolish enough to do so, to take that delicate little hand in mine. Her voice was not the Voice. It was... delicate and rich and full of laughter like tinkling golden bells. "Come on! Hurry or we'll be late!"
I was foolish to follow, so very stupid! What did I think she meant that we would be late? With her dressed like that? And... when she looked up at me with those sweet blue eyes, surely bluer than my own... considering, tapping her lips thoughtfully. "You're not dressed right." Her voice was pouting. She frowned and suddenly I wasn't wearing my nightgown. I was all in green and purple also, which is strange since I prefer red, myself. A long black skirt worked with purple embroidery and green blouse so bright emerald it was nearly in Technicolor. "There! That's much better." We walked down a long hallway, me trying to get her to tell me what was going on, laughing as she giggled cutely and shook her head in mischievous fashion."Here we are!" We reached a door and she opened it wide. It was dark inside and she laughed. And the light came on...
Out they came.
"Surprise!"
And she was laughing. They all were. I couldn't breathe!
I was going to faint. I couldn't breathe. They were all around me, voices crushing me, the Voice laughing. All around me. I couldn't breathe. Crushing faces, happy faces, mocking faces.
And I woke...
I can't do this. I can't write any more...
10:46pm (end).
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