<![CDATA[Elicia Clegg - Books]]>Thu, 14 Dec 2017 09:06:34 -0800Weebly<![CDATA[Fool of Death]]>Thu, 12 Feb 2015 03:40:21 GMThttp://eliciaclegg.com/books/fool-of-deathPicture
E-book out Now: Click Here. 
would like to proudly introduce Fool of Death a modern day fable for this our darkest of hours.
Though this is only a story, a fairytale, a tableau of words and pictures, it is a way for Jesica and I to stand up to a world hell bent on silencing the freethinking mind.

Could you be fooled into creating your own death?
Inside the quiet hollow of the insane mind resides a
       glimpse, an understanding of the threadlike divide 
       separating that which is assumed to be real and that
       which is not.
With an air of coy secrecy, Fool of Death, seeks to answer:
      What distinguishes the doings of a madman and the
      purest of hearts?

Nathan’s fear smoothly transitioned to awe and wonder as he was swept up in the warm breeze and allowed the picturesque view to penetrate his normally stern face. Everything was somehow right.  The low sun shimmered in the backdrop of a silvery-white atmosphere, and was kissed with a warm, yellow-orange hue that saturated the upper edge of three-dimensional, dove-gray clouds and melted into the distant ominous haze.  A single tear glistened in his young eyes.  He was welcoming death with the same warmth and happiness he had whenever he was going home.  He shook his head, it was almost a shame.  So much beauty in the world and for what? 

For what?  Let us back up for a moment, what did I mean when I said, this our darkest hour.  I’ll answer with a question: Are we free to think, to form our own conclusions, or has the hive mentality usurped the last bastion of freedom: The mind.

The answer should be left up to you, and you alone, it should not be the decision of a handful of people pulling strings of the ignorant populist that will force you to conform. 

So today I invite you to join our journey of freedom of thought, of seeking hidden truths, of finding out what drives the madman by picking up a copy of Fool of Death.  We have combine three distinct yet powerful forms of art: Illustration, the picture that paints a thousand words. The story that allows you to vicariously live another life, and the poem that laments the failure of mankind.
<![CDATA[Stygian]]>Fri, 27 Sep 2013 20:07:54 GMThttp://eliciaclegg.com/books/stygian-coming-soonPicture
The darkness thunders down a vacant street whispering an ominous warning: the nothing is coming, time is up, it's the end.  The youth shake off their fears and steady their trembling hands.  Though the highway is long, persistent, and haunted by those who have lost the fight, they will make a stand, even if they must do it alone.

A strange, almost murky wind slapped against the window, causing the glass to wobble even though it was tightly shut.  George Chesterfield heard it whistling through a tiny crack and though it was loud, it seemed remote, as though it were merely an echo in his own mind.  The sound resonated continuously, annoyingly, but it was her unusual silence causing this strange sensation, not the wind.  Though he could only see the back of her head, he envisioned a smug gaze upon her face. Maybe she knew.                                
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All of his doubts caused George Chesterfield to fidget with his chest yet again.  He began scratching along the sides of the wire then pressed the camera against his sternum before lightly pulling at the camera taped to it.  The black plastic was warm and getting warmer.  His pink colored flesh began to turn red.   He scratched one last time thinking next time he would tape it to an undershirt.  He shook his head, he couldn’t stand a next time.  This was going to work, had to work.

George attempted to control his self-doubt by shifting his view, he glanced out the window.  The endless highway was vast and full of many commuters, the sight did nothing to suspend his apprehensions. He sighed, shrugged his shoulders, and turned back to gaze at his sleeping baby brother.  A quick look at him was all it took to reset and forget about the slow smoldering of his skin.

George's half-smile faded as all his energy refocused on Cyndi, his step-mother.  He now peered at the back of her head with such intensity he thought perhaps he could will her to speak, though he was only met with her mocking silence. His hand came to his face in a swiping motion.  As he always did, he began to press the palm of his hand painfully against his forehead then slowly pulled it down, ending the ritual by clenching his throat.   

He was certain Cyndi would be yelling at him by now.  He had done everything, without being conspicuous, to upset her.  Ten minutes had already ticked by.  He worried she knew, maybe his touching of the mini camera had been obvious.  Maybe she had seen, and maybe she knew he was filming her.

No, no, he thought, she couldn't possibly know the camera was there, or could she?

His temperature elevated, making his brow damp. The thought of her knowing loomed and slowly began to suffocate him.   His heart somehow synchronized with the ticking of the second-hand; three, four, five and still nothing.  Cars thundered by as their car pushed northward and drew near their exit. He exhaled deeply, supposing it didn't matter, she would crack soon enough. Besides, he could always wear the hidden camera, remembering of course, next time, to attach it to something other than his skin. 

He scratched his head and sank back into his seat, feeling heavy.  He closed his weary Irish eyes.  It was at this moment she snapped. George sneered like the Cheshire cat in Wonderland.  Cyndi had finally fallen back into her predictable ways. He almost laughed, and though he didn't like what she said, he was finally set at ease.  He would not have to go through this again.  He knew, at least he hoped, by filming her behavior for his father he would once and for all be able to prove she was not someone his father should adore. 

George lifted his shoulders and puffed out his chest pointing the camera to the back of her head, all the while thinking back to the many fights he had with his father as of late.  His dad didn't believe it was true, not his sweet, pretty, long-haired, long-legged, and young Cyndi, no, no, no.  Someone who looked like that could never be cruel.  She loved the boys as if they were her own.  Besides, his father had argued, no one could yell at a cute, innocent little baby.

"And," She said, stressing the "and" as a nerve in her forehead pulsated in a scary, yet comedic way.  "It's your turn to take care of your little shit of a brother tonight."

Bingo, he thought as his grin widened.  He couldn't have scripted her insults better.  Now his dad would have to believe him, would have to get rid of the twenty-two-year old Succubus.  George leaned forward being mindful to refrain from touching the camera.  His breath shallow, his body unmoved; he wanted his father to hear everything.  On and on she went, her voice as loud and as quick as the cars whizzing by.

Cyndi's yelling amplified to a near craze, out-of-control fever pitch.  This wasn't usual, the yelling yes, the volume no.  The number of veins protruding from her forehead increased as her skin turned from its normal pallor glow of soft white to that of a burning purplish red.  George, out of nowhere and for no real reason, flinched.   He shifted his gaze to the left and all attention he had given Cyndi was instantly taken away.

From the window he could see glints of sunlight reflecting off the remaining raindrops that had not been absorbed by the black asphalt. His eyes shifted even further to the left spotting a truck of unclear age and in a mediocre state.  The truck recklessly barreled across the three lanes separating it from their car.     A horn sounded. The diligent car behind them swerved, nearly losing control.  All while Cyndi remained oblivious to the danger racing toward her.  George was not so lucky.  His fingers nervously threaded through his fiery hair as he blinked, seeing it before it even happened.  The truck was going to hit them.

Time, being accurate and strange, stopped.  Another horn sounded making a monstrously ominous noise.  George's right arm flew up as though to protect his already protected brother.  The truck cut in front of Cyndi's car.  She reacted, but was not fast enough.  The left rear bumper of the truck slightly clipped the front left of her car.  The tap, which was hardly felt, was all it took to connect the wheels with the last of the remaining rainwater. 

The car spun out of control doing a full three-sixty.  George opened his mouth to scream, but couldn't.  A gurgle vibrated throughout his dry throat.  Acid, burning and churning in his stomach, ruptured and shot up stinging his esophagus and tongue. Not a single sound escaped, not even a soft murmur of fear.  The car completed the full circle.  Cyndi desperately pressed on the brakes; her hands tried to grip and control the steering wheel to no avail.  Cars swerved left and right, all trying to divert danger and prevent crashing themselves. 

Next, just as George brought his hand to grasp at his seatbelt, the car slid to the right where the edge of the road met the edge of a large retainer wall.   The front of the car dipped, hit the edge, and then took flight.  His mind went blank as the frontend of the vehicle soared forward, began to tilt down, and finally succumbed to the weight of the engine.  The car flipped, abruptly stopping as the backend smashed into the ice-cold ground, which was forty-feet from the top of exit ramp 252.  

The seatbelt slapped across George's torso and shoulder, taking away his breath and nearly crushing the camera. The gurgle finally escaped his lips as he attempted to recalibrate and regain his ability to inhale; and just like that, with a buzzing in his ears, and a snapping of something behind him, time resumed its normal course.  A high-pitched noise penetrated his ears and shook his mind.  He had to focus.  George struck his own face.  The sensation gave him the clarity to understand and grasp the high pitch was that of a crying baby, namely, his brother Harrison.

At first he remained in his dazed fog. It took all his mental power to comprehend that both he and his brother were safe, even though they dangled upside down. 

"It’s okay buddy.  It’s okay."  George said as he briefly touched his brother's hand.

He had to move quickly.  He placed one hand on the roof of the car while bracing his foot against the back of the front seat.  He inhaled deeply, nodded to himself in a reassuring, not so confident manner, and used his other hand to press on the seatbelt release button.  He should have thought it through better because just as his finger touched the tiny orange button, his head smashed into the roof. 

He gasped then coughed, a raging pain ran up and down his spine.  After rapidly reorienting his discombobulated mind, he kicked his feet over and sat up until he was at one with gravity.  He somewhat pressed his hand against his head.  Harrison's cries for help grew.

 George gulped in more air and slide across the roof to position himself in front of his brother.  Harrison didn't appear hurt; nonetheless George remained concerned because his brother was flush and wailed relentlessly. As his hand came up to release his brother from his prison, the 'what if's' surfaced, causing him to pause even before he moved.  What if by removing the little fellow he hurt him?  What if his back was broken, what if, what if?   In a petrified state of desperation, he turned to the only adult in the car, Cyndi. 

He painfully turned his head toward his step-mother, the cries from his brother steadily growing. George's throat was dry once more, the shooting pain in his back surged up and into his brain.  The front seat was empty, the front windshield shattered.  A look of utmost dismay befell him.  He was alone with his brother and heaven only knew if Cyndi was dead or alive.  He had to make the decision on his own.

"Just great."  He said silently, while looking up to the sky hoping for some heavenly intervention.  A side thought occurred to him, she must have flown out of the car.  He felt his heart thump then flip-flop, he wanted to get rid of her, but not this way. 

The ringing in his ears intensified from the strain of stress.  His brother continued to wail, his face now a deep burgundy.  George stopped delaying; his brother couldn't stay like that, regardless of the consequence he had to free him.   He shifted and blocked out the vague sound of people from above shouting down direction and questions.  He prepared himself for the worst while praying for the best.  

"It’s okay, it’s okay Harry.  I'll help you. It’s okay."  George said to the poor, frightened child.

George placed one hand firmly on his brother's chest, not wanting his brother to fall as he had, and carefully pressed the red button.  He held his chest while quickly, yet gingerly sliding off the shoulder restrains, finally pulling him free.  He flipped Harrison over and hugged his brother close to him.  The blood began to circulate, and soon enough his brother, grasping tightly to his chest, began to calm down.

"You okay buddy, you okay?"  George said breathlessly, a tear glistening in his eye.

Harrison stopped crying, slightly smiled as only babies can, and gave George the confidence to move forward.  He hugged Harrison even closer as he slid carefully through the shattered back window.  He stepped out and clear of the debris then scanned the area.  He needed to call for help; he needed to call his dad, needed to tell him about Cyndi, and needed to find out what happened to her.  

"There's a baby down there."  He heard a woman both shout and wildly scream as though it were her own child.

George fully grasped the danger he and his brother had escape while walking around in a tiny circle and surveying all the damage done to the crushed car. George didn't want to move around too much, but still he felt it his duty to find Cyndi, and so he began scanning the wreckage.  

His eyes scanned the full length of the empty field.   Cyndi was nowhere in sight.  He felt his skin crawl as a few men decided to jump the ten-foot drop.  They were coming and he was running out of time.  He had to see for himself, he had to see the wicked witch crushed by Dorothy's house.

He kept searching.  There were only so many places a body could go.  He exhaled, placed his arm firmly against his brother's back, and then tilted his body down in order to search the car for the final time.  His green eyes jutted open in disbelief.  The seatbelt remained tightly fasted, completely unmoved.  George felt paralyzed and exasperated, he was without any semblance of logical answers. 

How could the seatbelt be as it was?  He supposed it was only possible in two events.  One was simple enough; Cyndi unbuckled, and then buckled the belt before being ejected from the car.  Probable, but unlikely, leaving the impossible.  He shook his head.

George would not go down that route, he refused to.  He stood back up, breathed in.  He wanted to keep searching, but the others had arrived.  They were in a panic, they didn't care about the driver.  They only cared about the baby, just as George had.





Steam billowed and swirled around the top of Meena Cloud’s dark blue coffee mug.  She managed to pry her left eye open only to find Grumpy, with crossed arms and a scowl, glaring down her. 

What a welcome sight, Meena sarcastically thought.

She shut her eyes, wanting nothing more than to pull the warm blankets over her head in an attempt to block out the sunlight penetrating through her blackout curtains.  She wanted to remain in a slumbered state where she was happiest, but couldn’t. A prism of light washed over her face seeping through her translucent blankets, causing her to moan knowing going back to sleep would be impossible.  Someone had slightly opened the curtains. 

She knew who had done it and was thankful they had at least been kind enough to make coffee and place it close enough for her to smell it.  Something about the distinct aroma of coffee beans always did the trick, it made waking up more bearable. She groaned in an over-dramatic and exaggerated fashion as she pushed off the blankets while sitting up and taking a quick glance outside.  She shut her eyes and turned from the bright, burning light.  In response to the pain she mumbled a few chastising words while also making more false promises.  She was getting too old to stay up drinking all night, only to sleep the day away. 

After kicking the blankets off her feet, she sat erect and placed her hands on her hips, leaned back, and cracked her vertebra.  She felt terrible and vowed, yet again; this would be the last time she would allow herself to wake up feeling ill, her stomach simply could not take it anymore.  No more drinking, starting today.

Yes we always say starting today don’t we, her mind taunted. She simply shrugged it off, moved to the edge of the bed, and stood up. 

As she took her first step forward she grabbed her blue coffee mug and started her day. Meena, her feet bare, slid her overdue laundry out of her path and began to shuffle her feet down the cooler than usual hallway.  She stopped only briefly as she hit the digital button on the thermostat. Though it was April, the cold air lingered.  She shook off the thought and continued sipping on the warm liquid and made her way into the living room.  A smile crept onto her face when she heard the familiar sounds of the television.  She was always set at ease when they were around.

Meena cleared her throat, “Have you two been here long?”

“Grandpa yelled at Adri last night.  Like really yelled, screamed really, like a mad woman.  We came in around one this morning.  You were already asleep.  Hope you don’t mind, you left the back door unlocked again.” Sophia, her seventeen-year-old neighbor said as she stood up and walked into the kitchen to pour herself some more coffee.  She followed it up by dumping half a cup of sugar into it.  “You know you really shouldn’t do that, leave the door unlocked I mean.  A killer could come in and well,” Her tongue slightly fumbled on the words, “well you know, kill you.”

“You know I leave it unlocked for you.”  She said as scanned the room for Adrianna.  “Where is your sister?  Is she okay?”

“Where do you think?”  Sophia rolled her eyes; Adrianna was always in the same place when she came over. Why Meena asked every time, eluded her.

“Computer room?”  She asked with a grin.

“Yep,” Sophia said as she walked back into the kitchen and sat her coffee down.  Her stomach grumbled and felt sour; she had drunk way too much caffeine this morning.  “Adrianna is fine; she just gets so hurt by it, the yelling I mean.  You know her and her crocodile tears.  She just can’t take it when anyone raises their voice, let alone screams at her.  You would think grandpa would have stopped it by now, but no.”

“Sorry to hear that, what about you?  Did he upbraid you too?”  Meena crossed the room, opened the curtain, did a quick scan next door to make sure everything was as it always had been, then refocused her energy on the teenager.

“If you mean yell at, then nope, not this time.”  Sophia shrugged.  Normally, her grandfather’s rage focused on her and everything she did wrong.

Meena nodded sagely, there really wasn’t much she could say or even do about their grandfather.  She held Sophia’s gaze only for a moment before taking another sip of her coffee and turning around to step toward her office.  She silently opened the white door and stood in the frame watching Adrianna Sauterne.  Meena’s azure eyes sparkled as she watched the girl who intently plucked away at the computer, always in search of something to learn or something to do.

“How is my favorite eleven-year-old?”  Meena asked as stepped into the office and ruffled the young girl’s messy hair.

“I’m the only eleven-year-old you know.”  Adrianna said in her usual, logical way.

“Not true.”  Meena said, though knew differently.  If she wanted to be brutally honest with herself, she would admit they were practically the only two souls on earth she did know.

Adrianna turned around in the swivel chair to lock eyes with Meena.  She cocked her head to the right in a quizzical and concerned manner.  “When is the last time you left the house?”

“Now, now, you know that is a stinging subject with me.  I thought I made you promise last week to not bring it up anymore.”  Meena stood above Adrianna, wanting to tell her the truth, but always holding back. 

“Yeah, when is the last time you left the house?”  Sophia chimed in; she now held a glass of orange juice in her hand.

“I went to Maverick just yesterday.”  Meena answered with all sincerity.

“No I mean like got out of the house, to visit someone.  Do you even know someone?”  Adrianna’s cobalt colored eyes appeared darker today almost haunted.

Meena felt her mind shiver, her soul quake.  She slightly bit on her lower lip before answering.   “Oh you girls and your worrying, it’s silly, I am the adult, I will be fine.”  Meena said and then quickly deflected.  “Are you doing all right Adrianna?”

“Yes, but gramps yelled at me for nothing.” Sadness glinted in her face as the corners of her lips turned downward. 

“What happened?”  Meena took a gulp of the coffee then coughed as she nearly choked on the heated liquid.

“He is a drunk dick.  End of story.”  Sophia answered for her.  She plopped down to view what her younger sister was watching then turned back to question Meena. “How come you don’t become a mega bitch when you drink?”

“I am wallowing in self-pity, and I focus so hard on this self-pity that I don’t have any energy left to be a dick, otherwise I am sure I would be.”  She too sat down and gazed upon the tiny screen.

“I would love to be you.”  Sophia said as she took a piece of her coal colored hair and swirled it around and around as though she were daydreaming about her friends life.  “But not as old as you, you are too old.  I never want to be as old as you.”

“I’m not old.”  Meena said in an offended tone.  She turned to Adrianna, wanting some support.  “Come on, do you think I am old?”

She nodded her head.  “Twenty-five is way old, and you aren’t even married yet.  Have you even been on a date?  I only ask because I really haven’t seen you go on a date, or even leave the house for more than a year.”

“Well what do you know?  You are only a kid.  Besides twenty-five is only old in Utah; if I lived anywhere else I would be young; seriously young.”  Meena said, her voice full of jest.  She brushed her hand in the air, as though pushing away all thoughts and asked, “So what weird video are you watching on YouTube today?”

This made Adrianna perk up.   She wanted to ask them about the video for more than an hour.  The anticipation was starting to kill her, but she patiently waited for Meena to wake up first.  “I follow this kid named George.  Normally it is just stuff about the school, teachers, lunch, bullies; you know the typical boy trying to push awareness of the plight of teenagers.”

“Plight of teenagers?”  Meena asked hardly able to contain her laughter at the very idea of teenagers being so plighted there was some grand underground movement building to liberate them.

“Yes, plight of teenagers.  Like the fact of not-a-drop, you know a kid blows a .002 and they can get in real trouble in Utah.  Seriously .002 can happen after you rinse your mouth out with mouthwash, but here in Utah if a kid blows that number they can get real time.” 

“Okay Alex, get on with it,” Sophia mocked Adrianna, even though she too thought some of the laws in Utah were slated against teenagers.  She particularly hated the curfew law and often said: What gives the state the right to parent children? 

She brushed it off, for one could always find a way around such things.

“Anyway,” she continued, but not before she gave Sophia a dirty look, “He posted something strange.  Scary really, really scary and boy the trolls are having a field day with it, but he does have a lot of views, so I guess that is a good thing, maybe his important videos will finally get the notice they deserve.”  Adrianna paused then continued, “Most of them are saying that video is so fake and that he should be more original.”  Adrianna shook her head. “But I know it is real.”

“What is it?  Did he capture some space alien or is it a Squatch?  That’s what they say right?  A Squatch?”  Sophia mocked again.

Meena silently snickered until Adrianna gave that all too familiar, really, look.  Sophia pointed erroneously in the air, and just as Adrianna looked away she pressed enter.

“Hey,” Adrianna said but fell silent as they all watched the video George had made only a week ago.


The video played on the small laptop, causing Sophia and Meena to lean in with a morbid curiosity.  Their faces remained close, as though it may give them better insight on what they were looking for or at.  The camera focused solely on the back of a woman's head.  The woman appeared to be talking, but they could only know this by the strange movement of her head and hands, both bobbled back and forth.  The boy who had made the video had deleted the noise, which gave the small video a more surreal, almost eerie, malicious feeling.

They could make out some traffic, but mainly just the woman's head.  It wasn't until a sign was spotted did it click; she was driving down I-15 heading toward their exit.  This familiarity made watching the video more thrilling.  After the car passed the nearing exit sign, the frames suddenly slowed down.  Sophia smacked Meena on the shoulder and pointed to a truck that had just entered the vantage point of the camera.  From this angle it was clear the truck was heading straight toward the filmmaker.  Slowly, frame by frame, Meena, Sophia, and Adrianna watched the truck draw closer and closer to the car, already knowing the truck’s destiny. Clearly it would collide with the unsuspecting driver.  

"Oh," Meena gasped.

She couldn't describe why she gasped.  She knew it was coming, but still felt her body recoil when the car begin to spin.  She felt her stomach sink a bit, watching a car wreck first thing in the morning didn’t sit well with her fragile mind.  

"Wait.  Wait for it.  That's not it."  Adrianna said in anticipation, she didn't want Meena to look away.  She had to know what she thought.  "Now watch closely.  Keep your eye on the lady's head, it’s hard to do, but watch it carefully."

The car stopped spinning as it hit the edge of the off-ramp and launched into the air. The wind whistled in the background, though Meena knew it was a trick of her mind.  There was no noise, just a car slowly climbing in the air then falling.  When the car finally began its descent, they witnessed something they could not believe.  Was it a trick? It must be a trick.

The woman driving the car simply disappeared.  This could not be.  The laws of physics didn’t simply seize to exist.  Just as Meena went to press the pause button, the film paused itself, reversed, and replayed at an even slower pace.  The filmmaker obviously knew the person watching would question what they saw.  Again, the woman simply disappeared. 

Meena leaned back, sighing deeply as her hand came to her forehead.  She scratched it, then tapped her fingers, her mind confused. She didn't understand what it was she had just witnessed, surely it was fake. 

"That's not real."  Sophia concluded just as the video did.  She turned, spun Adrianna around, looked her in the eye and said, "So fake.  Seriously Adri? You are like a Wile E. Coyote, you're too clever to fall for this type of con.  He is just trying to get a lot of hits on YouTube, really, you should know better than that."

"No it's real."  Adrianna said in a hypnotic tone.  Fear encased her eyes.  Her mind had gone over it and over it again.  The ramification concerning its validity confused her.  Yet here it was, glaring evidence.  The unknown woman vanished.  She was gone, taken into a strange nothingness.

"It's not.  Serious Adri, you need to get a life.  Really? A lady simply disappearing? That is impossible.  The simplest answer is the correct one, and that answer is called photo editing." Sophia flung her arms into the air to show her exasperation. How could Adrianna believe something not true? People simply don't just disappear cloths and all.

"I have a life."  Adrianna folded her arms in defense as tears began to swell in her eyes.  She really needed her sister on her side, if just this once.

"Now ladies, ladies," Meena lightly touched Adrianna's arm.  The girl was so sensitive and she hated to see her cry.  Adrianna's ability to feel so much both frightened her and made her heart ache.  She wished she could feel like the child, maybe then she would find happiness. "Rewind it and let's watch again."

Adrianna hit the refresh button and they all watched it again, and then again; pausing it at the moment the woman disappeared, just before, and finally right after. They watched carefully, diligently, wanting to find to find a blip or at least a change in the back scenery.  However, they could find no visible sign of tampering, and yet the idea was so absurd, it couldn't be true.

"See."  Adrianna said with some sense of satisfaction.  "No static.  No delay.  No change.  They were in midair for freaks sake, the clouds match, the mountains match, even the bird in the sky matches.  How could he do that?  How?"

"So fake."  Sophia said as she got up and laughed.  "Didn't you see that eagle video, you know of the one where the eagle swoops down and picks up the baby only to drop it."

"Yeah," replied Adrianna in a temperamental way.

"Well that was fake and it looked pretty real to me."  Sophia said.

"You're telling me that George not only wrecked one car, but another, just so he could pretend his step-mother disappeared?  Because I looked it up, she really is missing you know."  Adrianna half-whined, half-yelled.

"Maybe he killed her and needs an alibi."  Sophia joked then ruffled her sister's hair in a deigning way.  "It’s called editing Adri, editing."

"George is not like that.  He wouldn't hurt anyone."  Adrianna crossed her arms in a huff.

"You don't even know this George."  Sophia said.

"But I do."

"What?  What do you mean you know him? How old is he?"  Sophia went from being a mean older sister to a concerned loving one within an instant.  She knew all about the pedo's lurking and skulking on the internet preying on vulnerable, and overly trusting young kids.  Kids like her overly naive, overly nice sister.

"Girls, girls, you know the rules." Meena said as she began rubbing her temples and wishing for more coffee.

"No fighting while you're in the house."  They both said in unison like school children reciting the alphabet back for the twentieth time.

"Yes, no fighting."  Meena rolled her eyes, stood up, and gently patted Adrianna on the shoulder in a reassuring manner and to help ease the blow of her not believing either.  "I would like to think it is real Adrianna, but people don't disappear in thin air.  Now don't get me wrong, I don't think this George fellow killed his mum or anything like that. I just think he is probably a bright kid like you, who cared deeply for this lady and he is just trying to rationalize why she left."

"Well, what about quantum leaping and quarks?  They constantly disappear and reappear, at least I think they do."  Adrianna was pleading with her big blue eyes.  "I mean I don't know much about all that but I have watched documentaries on it, and it is possible you know."

"You seriously, seriously need to get a life, what's next Loch Ness...Aliens?"  Sophia stood up, spun on her heel and walked out of the office and back into the living room.

"It's not a fake."  She practically shouted after her sister, but it was too late, Sophia would have no more of it.

Meena smiled, "Well I suppose you should look into that quantum thing you are talking about, that would help set your sister straight."

"What about you?  Do you really think it is fake? Because I know George, he was really scared.  I think something really did happen to that lady."

Meena stammered and stumbled on her words.  "I believe that you believe."  She bit her lower lip then attempted a smile.  

She hated letting the child down, and yet she had vowed never to lie to the girls, no matter what the cost.  A price she paid heavily for last year when she let it slip Santa Clause was not real.  Sophia didn't talk to her for more than a week because it was the one thing she had done right since her mom and dad died.  Even though her grandfather was a drunk, Sophia, knowing how much Adrianna loved Christmas and believed in the big old man, had forced him to go shopping and to hide presents until Christmas morning.  It was the only real magic Adrianna had left and Meena had taken it away from her, robbed her of some small miracle.

In this moment, as she stared down at Adrianna, she wondered if she was doing it again, robbing the young girl of something magical and more to life than this seemingly cruel world.

Adrianna wanted to say something, but it was no use.  They weren't going to believe and so she simply shrugged her shoulders and looked at Meena as though she felt sorry for her.  After a few silent moments Adrianna nodded her head and smiled back at Meena, letting her know, without words that it was okay for Meena to leave.  Meena winked at her, gently rubbed the back of her shoulder, and walked away.

After she was gone, Adrianna shook her head, swiveled the chair back around and watched the video one last time, pausing it at the very moment the lady disappeared.  She turned her head to the right, to make sure no one was watching her.  Finally after a long delay and biting down on her thumb nail, she posted a brief comment: I believe you George.

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<![CDATA[Soul Distortion]]>Fri, 05 Apr 2013 19:59:11 GMThttp://eliciaclegg.com/books/soul-distortionPicture
Forgiveness is sweet... but revenge is sweeter. Meet November and December Webb; seventeen-year old identical twins.  Each night, driven by the burden of penance, the Webb sisters search for the worst in mankind.  Night after night their secret has remained safe until a rash of murders threatens to expose everything.
Now, as the blood-lust accelerates and their resolve wanes, they become desperate.  They must find the killer who is always watching and always one step ahead.

"I found them," November Webb said loudly with a slight edge, and too much enthusiasm.
    She jerked her head to the left and with it went the car.  It swerved; she corrected, and pointed for her sister to look.  She felt her stiff shoulders slump in relief as she was now able to relax enough to stop fidgeting with her hair-clip, which itched and poked the back of her throbbing skull.  Both sister's simultaneously peered up at the moonlight, which shined brightly at this hour, reminding them they were quickly running out of time.
     November was able to refocus all of her contempt and resolve toward the burly man, their target of the evening.  He walked stiffly, his left leg hurt, and his neck pulsated.  His muscles were tweaked painfully as he hunched down in order to hold on to the small child's hand with an overly tight grip.  The single streetlamp hit the back of his incongruously disheveled cloths hanging from his body and added to his large size.  It made him appear more like a grotesque monster and less like a man.  This was fitting; November thought as she gazed upon him, he was the very definition of what a monster meant to her.

"It's about damn time.  It's already ten o'clock," her sister December said the moment November ardently announced it.  She stopped scrutinizing their shared notepad, smiled, and nodded in approval.  They had been circling the same ten blocks for nearly three hours now and both were concerned they had miscalculated and wouldn't find him or worse.

November, with a mad hatter's smile lingering on her face, tilted her head and swallowed back the many layers of prismatic hatred she was feeling toward Bill.  She shook her head swiftly as if to knock herself back into reality and turned toward her sister to ensure she was ready.  Her anger was abated for the moment. It hadn't faded, it was only caged.

"I guess it's time."  December continued as she took her cue and climbed over the passenger seat to the back section of the stolen car.  She brushed her fingers in-between the filthy seat covers, finding, and pulling at the looped knot, which would allow her access to the trunk.

A wave of cold air smacked against her face as she dislodged the semi-stuck cushion.  A slight shaft of synthetic light exposed an oddly clean trunk.  The breeze coming from the small compartment carried with it a strange odor, and for a moment December couldn't help but have second thoughts even though she knew she shouldn't.  They were the child's last and only hope.  He was a bad man that had to be stopped, more importantly they had to save the five-year-old child.  She didn't have even a second for trivial doubts or feelings of pity, an emotion she rarely, as of late, experienced.

"How long do you need?"  November asked.  Her left eye darted to the side of the street; she lightly tapped the brakes and did one last U-turn.  As she circled the street she kept a keen line of vision on the target while also maintaining contact with the rearview mirror and her sister.

"Fifteen minutes tops."  December replied with conviction as she glanced at her watch and inhaled deeply.  The odd odor of the trunk played along the edges of her nostrils making them twitch.  "Is that going to be too long?"

November grumbled slightly, this wasn't their usual suspect.  He was very strong, malicious, and though large, he was in adequate physical shape, but worst of all, he was insane to a degree even they had not encountered before.  Yet November wouldn't have her sister catch sight of her fear, and so she relented without saying a word about her inner concerns and reservations.  "I think I can handle that."

December not only knew, she felt her sister's anxiety and anger.  Her emotions always grew in the short moments before they gazed into the eyes' of a revoltingly obscene human.  December knew there was nothing she could do to calm her sister outside of getting it over with, much like pulling the bandage quickly; rather than slowly, from the healed wound.  She would move as fast as she could.

As she shifted her body through the small passage her fingers lightly touched the side panels of the vehicle.  She always touched the world around her to confirm she was tactile and not caught up in the shallow end of the physical realm, as dreams could so often be misinterpreted as being perceptible to the transfixed mind.  Her feet brushed by the threshold where she stopped abruptly then twisted her body back into the main cabin.  "I almost forgot."

November glanced at her sister who had now leaned through the passenger and drivers side seats.  Her hand grappled with the small black buttons until she found the correct menu and pressed down number 101 on her Zune.  A smile crept across her face as the haunting sounds of Jim Morrison's deep voice filled the car, soothing her inflamed nerves.

"Awake...shake dreams from your hair..."  She breathed in his ominous words and held her eyes shut for a few seconds.  She often felt there was a hidden message in his words, masked by the music just waiting to be found and freed.

"Must you sister?"  November sighed even though she too enjoyed the melody as well as the way the words reverberated throughout the car and her mind, both of which made her feel alive and in turn kept her anxiety in check.

"I must."  She smiled at her sister, kissing her cheek in a teasing manner, before moving seamlessly toward the trunk.

"Hey wait.  Where is the bug juice?"  November asked as she approached their destination once again, her hand searching frantically around the seat for the elusive bottle.

"Right there on the floorboard."  December pointed toward the juice she had placed on the passenger's side floor.  "It is the sweet kind so she won't taste the sedative."

"Are you sure?"  November asked as though she was stalling and in a way she was.

They knew he hitchhiked, but only in a span of very selective hours.  This is how he hunted his victims.  Right now qualified as being one of those selective hours, and yet he seemed to be standing in a trance, staring out into the nothingness without any intentions of leaving the cold ground he stood upon.  November grew marginally concerned.

"Yes I am sure, I tried it last night on myself."  December said in a matter-of-fact tone.

"Of course you did," November said in a disapproving, older sister way while rolling her eyes.  She couldn't understand some of her sister's behaviors and why they differed so greatly from hers.

December either didn't hear it, or didn't bother to listen and instead confirmed their plan as a means of moving forward.  The second hand of the clock was being vicious this evening, it was time to act and act now.  "Okay, fifteen minutes.  Five for the girl to fall asleep, five for me to establish our alibi, and another five for me to wake back up."

December was halfway through the seat, already feeling the cool air from the trunk when her sister spoke loudly enough for her to hear.  "What if he pulls the gun on me before you wake up?"

She didn't like this question, nor did November.  Chills raced down December's back as her mind was bombarded with visions of the man pulling a gun on November and then killing her before December had a chance to make it back.  She exhaled deeply as she paused then turned her head toward her sister.  "Should we not do it?"

"No, no we have to do it.  I'm sorry.  I am sure it will all be fine, it's always fine.  Now hurry.  I see some traffic coming up behind us.  I don't want to lose him."  November's voice was barely audible, and very shaky.

She popped her neck and swallowed in the synthetically warm air, while thinking it odd how her throat felt so raw, as though she had not drank anything for days and days.  She scratched at her hairline yet again.  Her nerves pushed a familiar sensation through out her entire body causing her hands to tremble slightly.

Bill was a mountain of a man and even though the twins were tall themselves, five-ten to be exact; he still had a ten-inch and a hundred-pound edge over them.  Though they felt diminutive compared to him, it was his past actions and depraved nature that sent a nervous fear through them, making the sisters second guess each and every movement they made.

Bill had the ability to be indifferent, mad, and able to see humans as things.  To him people were simple objects placed on this earth for his pleasure and his pleasure alone.  One wrong move, word, or even glance, and they knew they would be the next victims on his long murderous list.  They knew this and yet here they were, ready to swoop down and scoop him up like vultures pecking at their dead prey in midair.  The Webb sisters would not be deterred or beaten; even if they faced the Devil himself, and it was quit possible they were about to.

The car rolled down the silent street with the cumbersome sound of squealing belts and rusted out tire wells.  November's nerves remained inflamed.  She felt herself wanting to explode as the car drew nearer.  If he didn't put up his thumb then she would have to figure out another way to get the two of them off the street and into the stolen car.  Her composure was waning.

November drove slower; still nothing.  She drove even slower.  Her wrist flexed as her hand held tightly to the steering wheel.  Her knuckles grew white, as her tension seemed to settle into her fingers.  She bit down on her lip, and eased up on the accelerator even more.  His free hand remained in his pocket, his eyes steadfast on the nothingness before him.  The car drew so near, she suddenly felt flushed as her pent up anxiety burst through.  One hundred yards, nothing, fifty, nothing, thirty, twenty, and yet no thumb appeared.  It was as if he were content on standing motionless for the rest of eternity.  She couldn't go any slower without becoming conspicuous.  She shook her head, this wasn't going to work.  Ten, nine, and then, as though fate herself was finally on board with the idea of putting an end to his vicious reign, his thumb went up.  She exhaled a great and deep breath of relief.

November pulled the car to the side of the road and mustered up all her acting skills.  She was begging herself to remain calm by saying over and over again that it would be fine, it was always fine.  She hit the side button; the window sluggishly rolled itself down in a jerky, reluctant sort of way.  She leaned over as far as she could without taking her hand from the steering wheel and smiled in an attempt to mask her trepidation.  He was even bigger up-close, so much bigger.

Her blue eyes locked with his cold black holes.  Bill held tighter to the little girl's hand.  The tiny child winced.  November clearly heard it, felt it, but she didn't dare look at the child, she knew if she did she might start to cry.  Bill stepped from the curb leaning down, nearly having to squat in order to fully view the inside of the car.

"Where yawl' headin' off to?"  November asked.  Hearing her voice crack and drawl made her question why she talked as though she were from the Deep South whenever she was nervous.

Her hand unconsciously came up to fix her fake glasses she wore as a means of appearing older than her seventeen-year-old self.

"Me and my daughter need to get to the next town.  I'm afraid my car broke down awhile back and we are in need of some help.  This town doesn't seem to have a repair shop."  He said this in an overly friendly and down-witted way.  She knew it was all an act, yet she was impressed by how well he pulled it off.  He had truly mastered the art of lying.

"Well I'm heading north, so I can take you to the nearest station.  It's about twenty miles up the road."  She wanted to kick herself.  Again her voice cracked and conjured up a country bumpkin accent, which she knew she wouldn't be able to maintain.  Her minds eye witnessed this all starting to slip into disaster and her nerves caved and buckled.

"Great," He said as he opened the passenger door and allowed the tiny girl to get in while he jumped into the backseat.

November felt, for the first time after starting to breathe again, her hands going numb.  She had been gripping the wheel too tightly and knew her fingers had turned purple, regardless of the gloves she was wearing.  Her eyes twitched and she had to refrain from popping her neck instead wiggled her fingers to bring the blood flow back.  She leaned gingerly to the left and clicked the locks on the door.  She watched him settle back before turning to the little girl.

The count down had begun.

"Well honey, I bet you are thirsty after all the walking you and your daddy must have done.  Would you like some bug juice?"  November asked as she leaned down and grabbed the bottle while fastening the little girl's seatbelt.  She refrained from observing the young child, but even simply speaking to her made November's lips quiver.  She quickly bit down on her tongue to stifle the tears she knew would come.  She could taste the salty flavor of her blood and shuttered in disgust.

Bill leaned forward, his hand lightly brushed the back of November's seat.  The sensation sent a shock-wave of satanically hot fire to rise up from her belly.  "My daughter doesn't drink sugar drinks.  It will keep her up all night."

November screamed at herself to remain calm, she turned, locked eyes with the man, and spoke with utter confidence and ease.  "I couldn't agree more Sir.  Sugar is a very bad thing for children, well let's be honest, it's bad for us all.  Luckily this bug juice is all natural with no additives; just actual juice from fruit."

Bill glared at her for a frightfully long time.  For a split second she thought he wasn't going to allow her to have the juice.  She couldn't have that, and so, inch by painful inch, her hand moved toward the child, keeping the drink tightly clenched in her unbelievably steady hand.  Bill turned from her then nodded at the young girl who gratefully took the drink and gulped it down very fast. 

His body weight rocked the car as he settled into the seat.  This in turn allowed November to feel as though she was going to win and everything would be fine.  After all it was always fine, always.   November turned back around.  Though petrified, she had to shake off the remaining uncertainties and resume the plan. 

She pressed number 105; soon classical music filled the cab.  She put the car into gear and began to drive into the loneliness and starkness of the overly black night.  The moon seemed to have been consumed by the looming gray clouds which slowly filled the dark sky, stealing the moonlight.  The music was a means of aiding in December falling asleep and a way of counting off time.  Her and her sister had learned this particular lesson the hard way.  Looking at your watch, especially when dealing with already paranoid individuals, made the twins appear guilty and up to something, which they were, but the victim didn't need to be privy to that bit of information.  The music, even if they had to turn it down to a scarcely audible level, gave them the time structure needed to pull off each and every plan without the target being suspicious. 

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<![CDATA[Castigate My Sins]]>Fri, 05 Apr 2013 19:51:38 GMThttp://eliciaclegg.com/books/castigate-my-sinsPicture
It is said perception is reality, and yet, what if the reality in question was twisted and corrupted to a disheartening degree of depravity?  Would the corruption have the power to shift the human  consciousness and control the very nature of what is and is not? Five teenagers will have to answer that very question.  Their souls will be thrown into a pit of malevolent despair where they will come face to face with their archetypal selves.  Their characters will be tested, they will be deceived, given half-truths, and face punishment for crimes they did not commit.

"My phone’s going to die," were scarcely audible and the only clear words to come through Michael’s cellphone, even before he could utter a greeting.
     “Beth? Is that you?” Michael questioned as he leaned forward and pressed the volume button on Christopher’s car radio down in an attempt to hear what was being said.
     The amalgam of static, crackling, and dead air made it nearly impossible for him to hear anything. He shifted in his seat and placed one hand up to plug his right ear while the other crammed the phone tightly against his left.
      “I--crap--can you----at park----club.” Beth said just as the static overtook the remainder of the half-broken sentence.

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“Beth?  Beth, you’re breaking up.  Talk louder, I can’t hear you.”  Michael shouted into his cell, paused, and added, with half jest, half anger; “Your service sucks.”

“Gun--Need.” And with those final words the cellphone went dead.

“Hello, hello?  Beth?”  Michael said then shouted, “Shit.”

Michael pulled the cellphone from his ear and immediately pushed on Beth’s icon only to get the familiar straight to voicemail recording which signaled the battery must have been out of power.  He turned to Christopher, shook his head no, and said, “I think you better turn around.”

“What’s going on?”  Christopher questioned, though he pulled the car away from Michael’s block.

“I couldn’t tell, she said park, I think I made out the word club.”  Michael looked confusingly at his phone.

“Clubhouse?”  Christopher said as he turned up the volume slightly and took a left turn.  He was driving without knowing where it was Michael wanted him to go.

Michael’s face had an odd expression when he spoke and reflected back on the clearest word he heard. “She said gun.  Why would she use the word gun?”

“Maybe she didn’t say gun,” Christopher said as he shrugged and stared at the ostensibly bleak road ahead.

“No that was one of the few words I could make out.  I don’t know, maybe Leigh will know.”  His voice sounded muted and distant as worry overtook him.  His thoughts remained squeamish and slightly scared by her broken, timorous sounding voice.

“All right, I’ll swing by her house.”  Christopher said as he turned down Park Lane and flicked on his high-beams to help illuminate the poorly lit street.

“Should I just call her?”  Michael said and then spoke again as he noticed it was past two in the morning.  “No, I guess not.  She would just sleep through her ringtone at this hour.”

“Won’t she get in trouble if we show up in the middle of the night?”  Christopher adjusted his rear-view mirror nervously as he collected and suppressed his worries.

“Doubtful, her mom loves me, besides; I’ve shown up at worse hours.”  Michael leaned back in the seat as though he was relaxed, but truthfully his body felt stiff and on edge.

His eyes kept shifting back and forth from the small clock on the dashboard to the cellphone he held tightly in his hands.  Though Beth’s words had been hauntingly cryptic in nature, and vague with tale-tale signs of serious trouble, it was the time putting him into a state of apprehension.  He had to be home before his father was.  He shook his head at this.  There was no way he would be making it home if he kept going.  He contemplated the seriousness of her tone, thinking now he heard an inexpressible anguish in Beth’s voice.  His mind lolled, reflecting on his father’s nature, his cruelty, and the punishment which would be dealt out swiftly.  He moaned, and with a perfunctory sense of who he was and should be; he decided he would find his friend, even though there would be hell to pay for it.


Beth attempted to dial out again as a chill of deja-vu rose up from deep within.  The lights on her cellphone dimmed then switched off as she caught a slight glimpse of the empty battery icon.  She mumbled a few swear words and threw the phone to the ground which thumped twice, and then tumbled into the darkness.  Beth groaned at the ominous night which fate had delivered her to this evening.

She turned her head to the left, feeling only the wind as it picked up and stung her bare shoulders.  The crisp, crystal night distorted her perception as she suddenly felt odd.  Her toes went numb, her fingers red, while patches of purple began to blotch her face.  Her stomach began twisting in on itself, giving her the sensation of being locked in an ambiguous nightmare, one in which she felt she was slowly disappearing and somehow dissolving into the unflourishing folds of time.  She felt her brain attempt to recalibrate itself while her body slightly shifted her focus back to her gruesome reality.

The atmosphere was redolent of the metallic residue left from the gunfire.  Her nose twitched faintly as she contemplated over the situation.   Her attention drew back to the gun while she tried to rationalize how her hand could not feel its cold steel.  She watched, caught in a delusional state, as what appeared to be a soft, billowy white smoke, slowly separated and disbanded into the world around her; a world which had come to a crashing halt and had sent her mind into this unfamiliar state of madness and denial.  She didn’t feel like herself anymore.  Her heart was heavy and demote.  She knew the smoke wasn’t there, and yet it lingered in front of her as though it were now a part of the tactile environment.

Her left brow twitched as he again captured and held her somewhat servile attention.  His body now laid in a clump of half mud, half grass.  His head tilted to the left, his arms flailed out in an obscure position, while his stiff legs sank into the ground as though they had weights pressing upon them.  Her gaze remained on his face, now smeared with dirt, muck, and bits of green.  She sickly smiled.  He would be returning to the sand from which he had come, a most fitting end; at least she believed it to be so.  Her stomach grumbled and churned wanting to regurgitate the bile and acids which grew with each passing moment.  She continued to examine the scenery before her.  Her focus shifted, her stomach, for an instant, was set at ease.

With her eyes averted, she knelt down and went to check his pulse, though failed to do so as her body flinched and her hand snapped sharply back.  She gagged and then dry-heaved.  She had not touched his body, no; she had placed her hand into a pool of blood which had dripped down the side of his torso and onto the semi-wet grass.  She stood up quickly, her hand came up to eye-level, and though dark, she could see the copper color of his blood.  She winced and sought out a place to wipe it away.

She exhaled deeply and tried to get a grip on things.  She knew she could not stand here forever. The sun would come up soon and having a child find the body, which was very possible, as she was standing at the local park, was unacceptable.

All rationality and the ability to think clearly had left, but she knew that she had to get the body off the green area and needed, most urgently, to get rid of the blood on her hand.  She leaned down, quickly smearing the blood on his shirt.  Next she grabbed his arm and began to pull.  The fifteen year old girl groaned and strained, her arm yanked, her feet started to slip.  There was no way he was going to move, at least not by her alone.  Her five-foot-one frame, with hardly any weight to speak of, did not give her enough strength to move a six foot, very limp, body.

Beth’s shaking stopped as a new feeling entered.  Fear remained, but changed and collapsed in on itself.  The world and its crisscross nature of cause and effect seized her and developed into a sense of an organic reality with perceptible rules governing it.  She imagined herself standing before a judge, hearing a banging gavel, as a loud voice began to berate her for being such an evil, vile little girl.  She swallowed in; they often charged children in Utah as adults.  What would she do then?  Could she survive in jail?  Would she want to survive in jail?  Mists of water swelled, her sanity began to rupture, and she felt terribly alone, isolated by her own irrevocable actions.  The moonlight, though a sliver in the sky, was harsh and unyielding.  She blinked several times as a means of stopping the tears from falling.

She let go of her father’s arm as the rush of the wind picked up and blew her brown hair from her pale, hollowed out face.  She placed the backside of her hand against her eye and pressed down hard enough to send stars shooting from behind her closed eyelids.  She had to think, though no real thoughts seemed to enter, only cryptic, half messages of death, fire, and the gun.  Her hand fell limply to the side.  She blinked again as the isolation grew.  The wind, as if sensing her feelings, began to rush down the side of the mountains and swooped down like a hawk.  The sensation caused shivers to move down her spine. The trees began to whip and fight with each other, making rustling sounds resembling an army sneaking up on her; and yet her legs remained frozen to the ground as though she two had become a permanent fixture in the park.

Beth, without warning, allowed the madness to conquer her, and began to laugh, a wild, maniacal laugh.  Next the damn broke and tears dripped and streamed relentlessly down her face, smearing her mascara and leaving black lines to stain her colorless cheeks.  She had to act now, before someone acted for her.  She shifted, finally moving from her trance, and dashed off toward Suzy’s house.

The gun Beth had just used to shoot a hole through her father in the middle of the night, in the backdrop of a park, was Suzy’s gun, a gun which the police had been searching for.


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<![CDATA[Running With Chaos: ]]>Fri, 05 Apr 2013 19:41:45 GMThttp://eliciaclegg.com/books/running-with-chaosPicture
Chaos stood on the embankment, breathless in body and mind. Day after day, night after night, doomed time after doomed time, but he could not save eight-year old Raven Clayton. The anguish did not lessen, and now the sorrow was unbearable.  It morphed, grew, plaguing him and all those around him. Yet, here he stood, and here he would stay.  He made a promise a long time ago and though death is relentlessly stalking her with permission from a voracious force, Chaos will find a way around Raven's cruel fate and save her life.  
  Her daily headache rose up as she sat
enraptured in a newly formed, heartless mood. The atmosphere grew opaque as the supply of oxygen thinned.  She could hardly take in the air.  The light dimmed as she opened her eyes and rubbed her head. She was not going to allow her pain to drive her actions. She leaned over Chaos in order to grab the ibuprofen from the glove-box. She took two pills, swallowed them quickly and popped her neck.

     She thought she would be frightened, and yet not even a pitch of alarm entered her mind. She pondered what having no fear concluded about her.Did this make her evil? No, this was something more than a simple black and white textbook case; to kill is wrong, to let someone die is wrong, and now she was caught in the middle of these two wrongs, attempting to make a right. This was her daughter, her duty, and her love. She would not let her haunting thoughts of the fiery pits of hell stop her. She would save her child, even if doing so consisted of shedding innocent blood. She would end this game.
      “So,” Chaos said breaking the silence, then slapping his hand to his mouth, amazed she had been right. “Anyway, before we go on this killing rampage, I need to know something about you and I want you to be honest.”
      “What is it Chaos, what do you need to know?”
      She surveyed the entire area confirming she was in fact at the right location. She could feel her heart beating steadily. In a few short minutes her world would forever change.
      “How is it you have managed to be a fairly good person in light of the fact you lack a conscience and feel no guilt?” He asked with all sincerity. He had known few people who did not feel guilt, and all of them were very bad people, they had no conscience to keep them in check. He hoped her answer would ease his own guilty mind.
      The question caught her off-guard. “What? Just because I am about to do what I am about to do does not mean I lack a conscience. I am riddled with guilt. Do I need to remind you of my infidelity? Jesus Chaos, I have no idea what the hell you could mean.”
      “Notice how she always answers a question with a question.” Chaos said aloud.
      “I feel guilt.” She tried to defend herself.
      “No you feel sadness mixed with defeat, but you don’t feel guilt, again, how have you done it?”
      Erin had lost faith in mankind a long time ago; her childhood had been plagued with sadness and disillusions. She had grown up believing people, not children, were evil or if not evil then too feeble to stop the evilness; which to her was evil causing her mind to circle over and over again, leaving her with only one solution, all adults were evil. She had been isolated most of her life; not meeting her own mother until she was eighteen, by then no amount of love was going to change the simple fact, to her, all were evil or weak. She would justify all she did with this rational, evilness had to be stopped, if adults
were evil then there was nothing she could do to them which could be considered bad.
     Yet in the same breath and with a blessed reprieve of a good memory from her past, Erin’s theory of all mankind being plagued with devilish intent began to falter. Her excuses of feeling guilt, just not feeling anything for those around, crashed.
     Steve had been different, he, with patience and actions, had restored her faith in humankind. Steve, even thinking of his name made her eye’s turn red. Her mind felt a faint and distant vibration of desperate need to have him with her, he was the strong one. He would be able to do this without all the doubts entering her mind. He would
proceed with stealth, have no delay, and would fix all that had gone wrong in her life. She wished more than anything else she could go back and never go to the club with Sam and Chaos.
     She turned back to Chaos; still remaining a bit lost in her thoughts, and realized, all at once, he was stalling her. Why would he stall her? She didn’t need this right now. So she spoke from her heart, giving him the answer he wanted and not the true answer.
     I do feel guilt I just choose to ignore it.
<![CDATA[Vexation]]>Fri, 05 Apr 2013 19:08:05 GMThttp://eliciaclegg.com/books/vexation-page-85Picture
For him power and glory are not enough, immortality is the only possibility.  His vanity consumes him, forcing his actions to capture, control, and twist her reality.  He will make her like him, in this he will not yield.  Welcome to Devin Sinclair's world...where each move is watched, carefully controlled, and trusting your eyes can be a fatal mistake.  She is alone, terrified of even her own deteriorating mind.  She must find the truth which hides in a book that reveals what really happened the few months she was held captive and locked into his game.

Devin was certain she was in a jeep, at least she thought it was a jeep.  It was hard to tell from the vantage point of the floorboard in the backseat.  Yet she was wrong.  She was standing, naked, in front of her peers.  She wanted to scream, run, but did not.  She coughed, looked down again, her clothes had magically reappeared.  She turned to the left, the school principal nodded his head for her to continue reading.

“Humanities food, dark-red blood streaks down the windowpane.
It's continuously dripping down; surely I have gone insane.
Their begging I pity, yet my gun is tempting me to give in.
This feeling so curious, though my heart no longer wants this sin.
The red blood is staining. On my hands it looks brown.
I try to stop the fire, only to take another step down.
I'm feeling a great sensation, my body aches for more.
Heaven is losing its salvation, as I close its last door.
The Devil is laughing; he thinks he's won the game.
He has not realized that we are one and the same.
Would you laugh if I told you that I am ready to die?
I have killed so many, yet no more do I morn; neither do I cry.

 A bright flash blinded Devin for a moment, her stomach roiled in pain.  Nothing seemed real.  The audience erupted in thunderous applause.  Devin swallowed in again.  Were they all mad?  Had they, just as she, gone insane?