nweismuller's Journal

An incomplete fragment of writing.
*The seraph shifts, her wings of steel and brass rustling, her black suit crisp and precise and her sunglasses blocking a view of her eyes. When she is certain she has the attention of her audience, she speaks, her voice clear and crisp.*

I still remember my mortality- even my original life. In that, I suppose I am fortunate- I have the perspective to understand that which I have become. Here, in this Nexus, madness, delusion, or even simple forgetfulness are common enough that a whole mind in itself is a blessing, or perhaps a sign of some strength.

I was an accountant, living in the United States, the state of Connecticut, the city of New Haven. I did work to help prepare taxes for people, ordinary people- like me. A simple enough life, and one which was enough for me, until... I don't remember the details clearly, simply that it was a road at night, and I saw another vehicle veer. I suppose the driver must have been drunk. This was my first lesson in the pain of death, although not my last.

I cannot say for how long I slept, and dreamed, dreaming the memory-dreams of the dead, only that I eventually awakened, in what I thought, at the time, was my world, if not the place I had lived. I wandered for a time, seeing the confusion and the devastation. I gathered books to read and to study- anything to occupy my mind and keep my sanity. I saw angels, and demons, and men of great and terrible aspect, and I was killed, killed by rending claws, by poisons coursing through my veins, by the teeth of burning hounds, and by being gutted by a cutlass wielded by a human warrior in a library. That death I remember better than most. It was a confusing time for me, and although I saw that death was not the end, still I hungered to *survive*, even in this strange and terrible place.

I admit it was not all unpleasant- hiding together in an office building downtown, I made a friend. Anisha. She helped give me hope when things seemed most hopeless to me, and with her I started to gather the will to do something about my helplessness. You all know her- she helps guide us even today. There was the time working in Clifton General Hospital, where walking wounded had gathered, doing what I could there to find purpose, even if it was simply to help make others more comfortable, until the demon came- one of the footsoldiers of Stygia, all hatred and claws and its own misery. I know now that they are sometimes called the Pariahs, the Outcast, and they warrant my pity, my contempt, and my hatred, all.

I managed to barter for a rifle with another mortal in a fortress in the slums of Saint Germaine, which I restored with all the knowledge and skill I could gather from my study until it was beautiful- there were some false starts, but I always had a knack for learning, and I had managed to find books on the subject. The metal and the wood gleamed then... and, in fact, I still keep it, although it has been greatly modified since then. It was quite some time, but I eventually named it Reason- something of a joke. A tool to apply against those impervious to reason and amicable understandings.

Current Mood: sleepy

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