Stupor of stupors like counterparts of shadows vibrate malachite eyes under morgue cabinet eyelids. Taste of metal lingers in the vomit of a lava heartburn. Headache. Sore throat. Torn shred emotions like the disappointment of curl red craft paper valentine betrayal. Yet hope stitches through such tears and pulls such back together with snow white wool ribbon shears off of some kind of long forgotten extinction. Thoughts drag like weight upon the memories of such existence. Half bitten beaten beating hearts. Forest tangle flame throwers. Underwater Christ lot tombs. Claw hand protrusions from ceiling reflection caesuras. Holden street bare breast decapitations. Bare foot rabbit walking spaces. Drown mire bubbles. David. David. David. David.

Oh, Judith...Jane...

Senses gravitate awake. Sanitary chemical receptors. Reminiscence. Bare feet swell in the feel of combat boots. Like yesterday was today and today was so long ago and just that of an unshackling in the bitter prison of tomorrow. Such lead weights in the pockets of the many other sunken dead drown world words which remain beneath the bare foot flutter kick of someone who genuinely wanted to live. Wants to live. To exist. Whatever that word might mean.

Bubbles scream to the surface of reality like the deep breath scatter of fish flies. Doesn't know if her thoughts are her own or if she merely notices such. Never really knew. Maybe such mystery is alright. Let the horror of it all acclimate and subside. Who'd really want to know the broken clock rabbit burrow consequences anyway. Doesn't care about panopticons or Althusserean Ideological State Apparatuses. Will take Cioran's crisscross applesauce optimism, "It is not worth the bother of killing yourself, since you always kill yourself too late." Discards Foucault's reverse "The soul is the prison of the body." But not in a dichotomous intention. Both men bare flesh upon the other. Both wear the spirit of Nietzsche's moustache. But also divergent. Thinks of another some such such-ery. Imagines Kant and Cioran walk together but never together. Like a shadow casts a shadow. One always at the ticking same time and the other in the pangs of hallucinatory insomnia. But together not together. Romanian French German metonymy tell fictions under the words behind the meanings made of words. Nice day for a walk. Nice night to be awake. Yet, the centre between the two cannot hold. All things in themselves are legion. Such a centre bares nothing, like an allegory about a cave. The centre doesn't exist. Shadows are only shadows. Oh, Foucault. The question was never: Does God exist?

Lips twist in a breath. Exhales the only curiosity within.

"What am I?"

Everything previous feels like realities falling through a portal except spun out a backward inversion. Like many ghosts echo behind intuition. Behind interpretation. Behind the manifold. Behind Kant's God of the gap noumenal. And now? Where's now? A long since abandoned reality? Abandoned by horrible choices and horrible people? A similar place or the exact same place? The place where all the eyes went shut? The place of endings? The place she butchered all her friends. The place where her friends betrayal gave her reason to give up?

Witnesses the past in the present as if the past is unset. Vision blurs. Recognizes her hands. Partially. Palms. Blood colours in such lifelines. Blood under broken thumbnails. Pressure. Feels the old worn flannel lumberjack. Holes in her tank top where David stabbed her...shot her? Both? Both in different realities? Yes. Knows such to be. Tortured her. But recently and so long ago. But literally recent. And Jane? Her name is Jane. But her name is Terra. Terra Coal. Yet her name is Jane.

Anger manifests in such cold olden winter recollections.

A ghost within echoes, "Fuck you, David."

Watches the clocks in the gravity of another's eyes. Up close. Knows such eyes.

In the daylight at night. Piano riff synth. Poppy upbeat. Ominous growling low end rises behind the daylight at the night. Something tries to overpower what it's convinced is such hominem. Shadow of an old slow crackly record player voice. Laughs. Speaks within.

"This is mine. This place. I will...I was supposed to...why am I not...but...goddamn you bitch...my time..."

Senses inveterate failure. The revenant shadow senses the enervate ambivalence of Terra.

"David. Why have you forsaken me? David! She was mine! I'm supposed to control her now! This mind is mine...kill them, Terra! They betrayed you! Left you for dead! Kill them all!"

Record player speeds up. Normalizes. Creaks like a door opening to close. High pitches. Chipmunk finality.

"Kill them allnow! YoumustIhatethemIhateallyouDavidnonononononoooooooooooooooooooooo))))(((())))(((())))(((())))(((())))(((())))(((())))(((())))(((())))(((())))(((())))((((~*~*~*~||0||

Squeals silent. Somewhere a dog barks.

"Goodbye Muerte. David."

No such thing as certainty. Just a feeling of proclamation to register a bit of courage. Confidence. Beckons herself to believe Muerte's gone for good. Doesn't really know. Such is life.

Releases Paula's throat. Gravity lingers. Breathes like simulacra.

Touches her forehead. No indent. No third eye crater gunshot wound. Feels her thin shoulder blade. Three fresh wounds. Ancient gunshots. Hurts. Healing. Not so ancient. Recollects four carpenter nails with a dog collar hanging from one square head. Why four nails? Why a dog collar? Jane? It doesn't matter.

"Terra...you're alive."

Eyes focus on the room. Witnesses the beautiful face of Paula's stare. And behind such a face. Mark. Pete. Patricia. AlEngine. Jeff. Mr Candor. Saeed. Silvia. Gregor. Rhie. Malice. Reaper. Garret. Lord. Some with guns drawn. Point with unsteady hands.

Garret walks. Strides quickly. Motions all to lower weapons. Grabs Terra's arm. Collects her into a hug. Tries to kiss lips. She won't have such. Pushes him away. Tries again to make amends in his way. Punches him hard across the chin. Backs him up. Doesn't try again.

"No. You killed me. You all killed me. None of you listened to me. I was your Grand Ghost. This whole situation was because of your mutiny. And you left me to die. When I needed you most, you weren't there. But I stopped his plan anyway. Me. Alone. Without any of you. I sacrificed myself for all of you and for what's left of our world. And that motherfucker tortured me for it. His payback. David raped me. No idea how many times. Had his way. Filled me with Julia Bazookas. Tortured me until I was gone. Let the monster win. Turned me into Muerte. The bone saw man did it for him. Michael Leonard under the same horrific mental disfigurement I was subjected to. David killed me. And David sent me here to kill you all tonight. And I did. I did. Sometimes over and over trapped in a prison simulation. Trapped in a red dress with white polka dots. Other times, differently. You turned me into ashes and dumped my remains in the mire. In the stinking mire. And I'd resurrect and always fail. Until that one time I somehow found the love of my life. Not you, Garret. Not you. You left me to die. I can't forgive you for this. But Judith saved me. Jane saved me."

Patricia closes distance.

"I don't think we understand what you're really talking about. I think David messed you up. We can help you, Terra. We all made a huge mistake but we love you."

"No, you don't. You love Janice. Go be with her. Go be with her in that crater for the rest of your life. Make yourself happy for a change. Don't listen to your dad anymore. Life isn't a dead rabbit red in the white snow. Life is finding great healing love beneath the horror of the fascist war in your mind. Take such luck and wear it to bed as long as you can, old friend."

Patricia backs away. Confusion like epiphany.

Garret looks up from Terra's strike.

"I'm sorry, Terra. I'm sorry for what I said...what I did. What I didn't do."

"I know. But it's not enough for me now. I've been through too much to really go back. I know exactly who I am and I'm here for one person. One reason."

Garret shakes his head. Looks at his feet. Nods in the language of a lost love sulk.

"I'm leaving for good. I'm not coming back. Make whoever you motherfuckers want the next Grand Ghost. I don't care. And Lord?"

A tattooed Venus raises her face at the back of the room. Lips part. Expression of surprise but also a daydream nervous acknowledgment. Honey Badger slung around her back.

"I'd like to get the fuck out of here. Wanna come with me?"

Venus stands. Locks eyes. Doesn't look away. Nods. Clomps combat boots across the room. Terra takes her hand. Feels soft rugged palms. Likes such touch. Witnesses gravity. Smiles. Thinks about the part of her that wants to say the word "boo." Bites her lip. Decides on another word.

"Hi."

)end(