include/rules.html. Hah, you of all people should now.At first you crave Lia, but you cannot have her, so you tell yourself to focus on the icon, and you worship that, but still she doesn't come to you. Then you realize it was just about the girl and never the icon all along and you fall into a void (all this not unlike eternal life or other promised benefits, worship of the icon christ, blind submission to the cross hoping it will still give you eternal bliss).
The void will drive you insane, it will posess you and you will be mentally fighting with water until you're empty.Some will be destroyed by the void and will go on with their lives. They'll start dating some girls they meet at some bar, and sooner or later they will hook up, get a nice morguage, some kids, be a generic sort of happy and sometimes think back on that juvenile silliness.
Some however will have a catharsis in the void and emerge with new insight.
The collective of these insights is what constitutes the skyqueen.Cracky is catharsis.Name: Anonymous : 2007-10-05 06:45 ID:KOSqdkjg [Del]
tl;dr ?
SkyQueen is LSD for your soul. Cracky is the gateway drug.there is no relief
the farther I got from this place the more she means to me
the worst part about Her is you people
I am swearing of real girls
make mine Cracky
This work of fiction bears no resemblance to any persons living or dead; if you say otherwise you are a DAMN EVIL LIAR.
As I finished the preparations for my mission, I took another look at the files I had compiled on the targets. This should be a simple operation; easy money. I'd done my research to learn who I was dealing with. My recon had uncovered that my client, as well as my primary and ancillary targets, were all members of a cult, the same cult, a strange religion that had sprung up several years earlier based around some messiah-girl in Oxford. I try to stay out of cult business, but the money I'd get for this job was good, and I felt a certain sympathy towards the client. Cult or no cult, the story was a familiar one: a love triangle, anger, revenge. I wondered for a moment what their "Skyqueen" would think about this infighting among her followers, but I put it out of my mind. I had a job to do.
My primary target was a teenage girl, a minor, living in the New Jersey area; I should be charging my client extra for having to visit the "Garden State" again, but I've been worse places. I could have performed the extraction earlier, but my client had asked me to wait for a better opportunity: the girl would soon be meeting up with my ancillary target. Supposedly the current romantic interest of the girl, my ancillary target was a young man, a known pedophile flying in from Winnipeg hoping for an illicit liaison. It wasn't hard to obtain his travel plans -- as soon as he booked his flight, red flags went up in several government databases to which I have extreme levels of access. My client was the third leg of this love triangle, the aggrieved party. He was another young man on the fringes of society, living with his parents in an obscure English hamlet called Solihull. I don't know how he got the money to pay me, and I don't care. There are certain questions I've learned not to ask.
The girl still looks nervous but she sits down on the edge of the bed. She briefly looks at her T-shirt discarded on the floor, then looks away from it. She looks at the carpet where the man had just recently vanished, and just for a moment I think I see a smirk of smug satisfaction on her pretty face. But I need to focus on the mission -- the door is hanging ajar & slightly destroyed, and I'm sure someone will be curious about the noise. I press some buttons on my wristwatch and a hologram of the door fades into existence in the doorframe -- it'll suffice for now.
The girl is looking at me now. "Who are you, and what are you doing here?"
Honesty is always the best policy. "You could all me a 'troubleshooter'... of sorts." (That one never gets old.) "I was hired to transform you into a stone statue and deliver you to my client, and to deal with your self-proclaimed lover in any manner I saw fit."
The girl's eyes are wide; she surely wouldn't believe me about the petrification normally, but after what she just saw happen to lover-boy, I can tell she's conflicted.
"Someone... someone is paying you to turn me into a statue? Who?"
TWO DAYS LATER
I always make sure my customers are satisfied, and part of that total satisfaction guarantee is a microscopic camera attached to the large wooden crate that arrives at my client's house and is awkwardly hauled upstairs to his room by him and his frustrated parents. I'm elsewhere, doing other things, but later I watch the recorded footage that was transmitted from the camera. My client is a 19-year-old nerd with curly hair. I see him lock the bedroom door and open up the crate with a crowbar (his Half Life skills must be formidable), and I see his face fill with awe & wonder as he observes the nude marble body of the girl inside.
He circles around her, looking at her reverently from all angles. Eventually, he goes and sits down on the bed. He says to the statue, "Please don't be angry. Just don't panic, and we'll talk about it." He's obviously nervous... he seems to be more afraid of the girl than she should rightly be of him. After a few minutes of reflection, he takes a deep breath and pushes a button his new wristwatch. The girl suddenly finds herself alive again, completely naked in the locked bedroom of the man who paid to have her stripped, transformed into a statue, and transported across the Atlantic.
She smiles at him. "Hi, you. So, what's this all about?"
I was with you and enjoying the silly story up until you called Solihull a hamlet, which is like calling e.g. Brooklyn a backwoods trailer park (I happen to have been born in its general hospital). Research, it's what's for breakfast.
and yes i know brooklyn still isnt exactly salubrious - my point is more about them being now districts of large metropolitan cities
Slowly she materialized from the pool of nothingness called sleep.
The warmth of a blanket, the softness of a pillow, the position your body is currently in and far far away, a heartbeat.
But after that, emptiness, confusion; the dazed sort of panic that strikes when the familiar refuses to reveal itself at the appropriate moment.
She opened her eyes, only to have a bright flash of beige hammer down on her senses and forcing them shut again.
She cried out in pain.
"Easy now, Lia" a nearby voice said, "You musn't force it. Your eyes are very
sensitive to light right now".
After a russle it continued, "Don't be startled now. I'm putting a towel over your face to help you accomodate".
moar?
The little pebble in her shoe had managed to create a sore spot by now. She limped along for a few steps before attempting some acrobatics balancing on one foot. When that didn't work out she sat down on the sidewalk.
She looked upward at the sky. Stars were plentiful around here because of the low light-pollution, which was the reason
for her being at this remote desert-cornered location in the first place. She directed her gaze at where her celestial namesake should be right now; asteroid (191323), or "Lia", an icy rock remarkable in no way apart from it
bearing her name.
Her father named it after her and even presented it as a birthday present. It wasn't quite what she was expecting at age 7, but now, eight years later, she appreciated how back then he actually managed to remember her birthday even if lacking in his role as distributor of ponies.
She was going home, returning from a sleepover at her friend Jennifer's. There had been some girls from her class, Jennifer and her.
She really didn't like sleepovers, or any of the girls apart from Jennifer, maybe. But with her dad being reassigned to bases all over
the country ever so often and her tagging along with his relocations, she couldn't afford to be picky regarding friends.
She had tried to play along; putting on make-up, gossiping about everyone not present, talking about boys, the whole tiresome charade. Over the years she had become quite good at the "cute and sweet" routine, and at times she could even
Cracky-chan came home from her friend Jennifer's house, where she had gone to a sleepover with a few friends.
Cracky-chan was making herself something to eat in the kitchen when she looked out the window and the statue of Rabbit-chan caught her eye. She went out to the backyard to look at it. She thought it was very beautiful and ran her hands over the smooth surface.
She went to find her dad, who was working on the car.
"Dad?" She asked.
"Yes dear." He had his head buried under the hood of the car.
"Where did you get that statue? It looks just like Rabbit-chan." He removed himself from under the hood.
"Well, I ah..." He tried to think of an explanation.