A Witch, A Slasher, And A New Beginning

While the destination of my diatribe is delightfully demonstrable, the debut is devilishly difficult to discern. I shall however, endeavor to begin, after all, if I do decide to begin elsewhere, I can kill everyone who read it out of order and start again, and no one will be none the wiser.This actually brings me to a decent starting point. You are Homo sapiens, man the wise, or human if you prefer. You will likely die of a car accident or heart disease; a car accident likely from your addiction to those damnable portable mobile telecommunication devices, and heart disease likely from one too many bacon cheeseburgers. Frankly, with what you eat, I am surprised your blood actually flows.I, on the other hand, am not human. I am Homo Interfectorem, man the killer, or if you prefer; Slasher.Side note: Slashers do eat, just significantly less than humans, and I am a vegan. Another reason for you to think me insufferable! *So to answer your initial question, yes I have killed people, yet startlingly few, at least for a Slasher. However, I am not a typical Slasher. This story will explain that, and it is an interesting story. When my story begins, I had not yet killed anyone, and would not for some time.To provide a bit of information about my kind, the Slashers, we have a rite of passage or adulthood, called the raison de fin, a play on the term raison d'être. During this, we decide all the little things about who we are as Slashers, our home turf, our preferred prey, our signature style, our look et cetera. However, in much the same way you humans might go on an alcohol binge or consume pornography before your legal age, many Slashers have figured this out well before the official raison de fin, but we are expected to do so, in the same way, you may purchase a pornographic magazine when you are of age.However, I am not like most Slashers.Aside from having not killed while seeking my raison de fin, I still went on the expedition and did all the things you are supposed to.In here one of my initial deviations from the traditional Slasher mentality emerged. I had no idea where, to begin with, any of this. Gentleman Jack (The Ripper, naturally), the most famous of the early Slashers knew Whitechapel and whores from well before the legendary Dear Boss missive.It is described as an unmistakable calling, a magnetic pull akin to the feeling of love at first sight, but the opposite, but I had never felt it. I spent quite a long time traversing the ?Lower 48? trying to feel that feeling, yet I felt nothing, ever. I felt the desire to kill numerous times during my journey. Yet I abstained, it was difficult at times, even when I found myself in scenarios where a human would kill, though Slashers find themselves in this position frequently. I shall not apologize for being who I am. After all, who is to say murder is any more or less ethical than homosexuality? They were both viewed as taboos at one time in some cultures, with the punishment for homosexuality being death in some places. To them, is homosexuality not worse than murder?I am getting off-topic. It happens, and will likely continue to happen, I apologize.I decided, more out of exasperation than a desire to attend the bacchanalian festival known as ?Spring Break? in the location called ?Florida.? I believed that ?Florida? would serve as a decent cross-sampling of people, and that I might feel something will the glut of people. Additionally, many Slashers have found that bacchanalian activities help set off their first feeling, which I should probably name, within the Slasher community, it is simply ?the feeling? but in attempting to explain this to humans, a more concrete name is required. I shall use the term blood lust, despite the fact that within the Slasher community, this is a very different term.I was in ?Florida?, something I was apprehensive about. I was not native to ?Florida?, or the ?Southeastern United States?. Were I to establish ?Florida? as my hunting grounds, I felt it would be dangerously close to becoming a Dracula, a term in the Slasher Community for someone who establishes a hunting ground, leaves it, and establishes a new one, doubly derided if the new hunting ground already has occupants. This was an unreasonable bursa escort feeling, as I had never established a hunting ground, but I felt I might be stepping on the hunting ground of someone else.Side note: A Slasher who never establishes a firm hunting ground, such as the notorious and legendary Taterman Jones (called such because his weapon of choice was potatoes) traveled all around the ?United States of America? plying his craft. He was not a Dracula as he never established concrete hunting grounds.Anyway, I was at the beachfront, not staying at a hotel because that is how they get you, relaxing in white khaki shorts, a ?Hawaiian? shirt, and sunglasses, hoping to remain inconspicuous. There were people drinking copious amounts of alcohol, and in various states of undress, some topless, some nearly nude. The scent of sea air was completely masked by the stench of alcohol, sex, marijuana, bile, and gasoline. It is not that I take inherent issue with any of the above, but I like the scent of sea air.I scoured the beach, hoping to feel that Blood Lust or anything really, yet again I felt nothing. All manner of humanity was before me, young and old, hedonistic and ascetic, introverted and extraverted, the sober and the drunkard, foreigners and local. Some I wanted to kill yes, but this was more because they were in my way or were speaking too loudly on the phone, or were looking at someone else funny. You know; completely normal reasons to want to kill someone.Then I saw her. She was in the distance at a hotel on a balcony. A human would not have seen her from where I was, but I am Slasher, and could. I did not know what I was feeling. She had pale skin and jet-black hair and was smoking mullein while burning sage. She was wearing a sage green bikini top and a beach sarong with a floral pattern. I had seen women more beautiful than her, but none that had enchanted me.I did not want to kill her. I did not know what I wanted to do. I felt like I needed to know more about her. I wondered what she smelled like; why she was in ?Florida? and things I did not know or could not and still cannot articulate.I had never heard anyone mention anything like this. I knew what blood lust was supposed to feel like, but this was not it. I did not know what it was.I needed help. I needed to understand what I was feeling. I knew another Slasher was in the region, as he enjoyed ?Spring Break? but he was not there to kill, rather he was on vacation. He probably killed while on ?Spring Break? though. I decided to seek him out, and his help.This Slasher was famous amongst the Slasher community. He is too good to be known by humans, but we knew him as Gahl. He had been around a very, very long time. No one was quite sure, and he gave conflicting reports as to his age, but we knew he was older than almost any in the ?United States.?You may be wondering why I keep using quotes around ?United States? ?Florida? or ?Spring Break.? It is fair. You see, these and many other are human constructs. Slashers do not recognize many of these. In many cases, (including my own) we struggle to understand the concepts. However, I concede that how we draw our lines for our hunting grounds is similarly a construct.I reached out to Gahl, though you will have to forgive me for not telling you how. If I were, you could find us, and that is untenable. We managed to get in contact within two hours of my trying to reach him. It was the same day I saw the woman.Gahl asked to meet me in the hotel that I saw the woman in, and I agreed.We met in the hotel restaurant; I had gotten there before him and was drinking a cup of green tea when he approached and sat down. He knew who I was by feeling alone; it is a gift we have, identifying one of our own.?Tell me what ails you, little lantern,? he asked in a growling, yet unmistakably caring voice.Side note: little lantern is a general term for a young Slasher. Do not ask me where it comes from. I do not know.?I came here to find the raison de fin, but when I saw the woman, I felt something I never felt before. I did not want to kill her, I wanted to know her, I felt, and feel even now almost an obsession. I am struggling to find the words for it. But when I try to bursa escort bayan think about killing her, I feel, almost disgusted. I feel-?Gahl cut me off, ?I know what you are referring to. I may be able to help. I do not know yet. We will need to see her room. It is good you reached out. If my suspicion is correct, you are a rare breed indeed. If my suspicion is wrong, we shall kill this woman together.?I retched at the thought of it.Gahl stood up and quickly pickpocketed maid staff for a master key. He also slipped her a hundred-dollar bill. Gahl makes it a point to always be polite to workers.He beckoned me over and we walked to an elevator in silence. I remembered what floor and what room she was in from when I had seen her on the balcony.Once we were outside her room, Gahl asked me what I smelled.?Sage, mullein, clove, human blood, high concentration alcohol,? I tuned my senses closer to her door, blocking out what was in other rooms, ?candle wax, several types of it, with different types of wicks, iron, there is a venom, it is fresh but I do not know what type of venom.?Gahl pursed his lips and nodded, ?You missed a few. The fresh venom is from a cottonmouth snake, but there is also platypus venom. There are also several variations of blood, some have high alcohol content, but that is separate from the other alcohol in the room. I believe they are from three different people, but there are several samples from each person. The candles are trickier. Some are actually mixed together from several types of wax, but I do not believe that matters as much as the blood. Shall we enter??I nodded, and Gahl produced the key he swiped and opened the door.If the scents had not been a dead giveaway, the pentagram with candles on the nexus points, electric cauldron, and countless other items revealed that the woman was a witch. A real witch, not Wiccan, not one new-age spiritual, she was a true honest-to-blood witch.We spent a long few minutes in the room, searching it for everything and anything, but taking care to disturb nothing. I?ll not go into what we found, for the sake of the witch?s privacy, but it was enough to be interesting to Gahl. We hurried out, making sure not to leave a trace, and returned to the hotel bar.*Gahl ordered a triple shot of rye whiskey and a beer. He dropped the triple shot in, mimicking a depth-charge style drink, and downed half of it in a single satisfied gulp, ?You, little lantern, are something very special indeed. Something I have not seen in a very long time. Something most of our kind beliefs is just a myth,? His eyes sparkled as he spoke, ?There is not even a common name for what you are, that is how rare it is.??If there is not a name, explain it to me,? I said flatly, I was becoming more than a little concerned.Gahl sighed and took another gulp of his drink, ?No one knows exactly how we came to exist. I believe that we are the Keres, the violent children of the night. This means that we are the siblings of Hecate, the witch, both children of Nyx. I believe that the Witch and the Slasher are linked, inexorably so.??What does this have to do with me?? I was getting annoyed.?Patience little lantern, I will get there, but do not rush me,? he took another gulp of his drink. ?Circe, the witch you are no doubt familiar with, is in some traditions believed to be the daughter of Hecate. Some myths then say that years later, Circe married the son of Odysseus, Telemachus,? he finished his drink and ordered another, ?I believe that you are Telemachus, and the witch Circe. I believe this also explains your lacking the raison de fin. The myth is not a perfect match, but I believe this is your status.??Telemachus was a descendent from Hermes if memory serves; he had nothing to do with Nyx. The Keres had no children.??The metaphor is flawed yes. However, I am merely trying to understand what defies understanding from my existing referential frame. I admit I am trying to map what I perceive you as to my existing beliefs about our origins.??So where does that leave me? Do I worship the witch? Do I become her servant? Mate with her??* Gahl?s speculation was giving me no real answers or guidance.He tipped the waitress when she brought him escort bursa his drink, took a gulp, and sighed, ?I wish I could give you those answers little lantern. As long as I have lived, I have not encountered the circumstances you give. I believe you should seek the witch out, and from there do what the blood tells you to. I hope you will keep me informed, as I believe you are destined for great things, and perhaps as you gain understanding, ones in the future will gain it as well.?Gahl and I parted ways, he told me that he was going to have to leave ?Florida? soon, as the blood was calling him, and he could not kill here. I am not entirely certain, but I do believe there is a Slasher who exclusively works during ?Spring Break,? however as mentioned above, Gahl would not go Dracula.I left the hotel, it was midafternoon by then, and I decided I would track the witch. I had her scent from the room, and there is a reason it is said that you can run but not hide. A sufficiently motivated Slasher with your scent can track you across continents and oceans. You could be scuba diving in the ruins of the Titanic, and we would still find you.This would be doubly easy for the witch, as aside from the standard odors you emit, she would reek of witchcraft. The only reason it took me more than a few hours to find her was the crowds of people and the distance. She had traveled via automobile and mingled at various locations while I was on foot and trying not to attract attention; because that is how they get you.I tracked her to a club where youths were engaging in all manner of hedonistic activities. There were too many to count, a sea of flesh and bodies, but I could still find the witch.Which led me to ask myself a very simple question: now what?The club was too loud for me to hear what was being said, and her body language screamed ?fuck off? when anyone approached to speak to her. She seemed to merely drink, stare daggers at various youths, and occasionally mumble. I tried reading her lips, but could not.I had tracked the witch but felt blocked. I could do anything now. To make matters worse, I was rapidly entering sensory overload.As I mentioned, a Slasher?s senses are more acute than a human?s and we are capable of fine-tuning them to focus on specific aspects. However, due to the sheer volume of stimuli, I could not do anything.The music was deafening and vibrating my bones.The lights flashing were blinding.The alcohol, sweat, and humanity in the air flooded my lungs making it difficult to breathe.The stagnant and humid air weighed heavy with humanity and clung to me like a cocoon.*I had to leave the club. I tried to wade through the sea of flesh to an exit but struggled, and I briefly considered killing everyone in the club so I could move unmolested.The witch noticed me as I tried to exit. I could feel her amber eyes boring a hole through my person, yet she made no move, no change in her behavior, or if she did it was subtle, as I needed to leave. It felt like it took hours to leave, but I managed.Once I was outside, I nearly collapsed, struggling to regain myself, but managed to at the very least turn a corner into an alleyway before leaning against the wall trying to stabilize myself. To center myself, I began some easy techniques; the kind a human might use during a panic attack; which I suppose was what I was having. I do not think I had ever had one before or since.I probably should have been paying better attention to my surroundings, as I did not hear the sound of footsteps approaching.?Why are you following me?? A voice called out from outside the alley, near the entrance to the club. It was the witch.?I do not know what you are talking about,? I said, hopefully convincingly, but I have never been a particularly good liar. Slashers do not lie to one another, as we can tell when one of us does, as such, lying is extremely uncommon among us.?Liar,? she said fiercely. ?You were in my room at the hotel and when you left you started following me. Why??I was still not quite back to being stable after my apparent panic attack and asked ?Perhaps we could continue this conversation somewhere more quiet? Not an alleyway outside a club???No. We?re talking here. Why are you following me?? There was absolutely no fear; no trepidation in her voice, and her heart rate was completely stable. She knew she was in control of the situation.I swallowed and tried to read her, but she was stone. ?I do not know.? I do not think that was a lie.