Rough Draft: “My Ugly yet Beautiful Life”

Prologue: My Ugly yet Beautiful Life

On Monday, I spotted you, walking in the park near the frozen, chilly river, your handsome face. Your great coat and fur hat made me want to never let you go. Some days bring love, some days bring glory, and however, some days are a completely different story. Sometimes, you find that special someone in the least likely place, and then you see their face and drown in their bliss. On Tuesday I saw you again in the park, I wondered to myself, is this some kind of fairy tale? I couldn’t determine if I was dreaming or not, I hoped I didn’t wake up if it was. I pinched myself on the arm to make sure, but then you walked away. I sat on a rock in the snow as the orange sun set, watching you vanish like a plane in the sunset, with nowhere to land. Some days bring love, some days bring glory, and however, some days are a completely different story. Sometimes, you find that special someone in the least likely place, and then you see their face and drown in their bliss. On Wednesday, I walked up to you in the great morning light, as the birds started to sing, but as I attempted to say hello, you got up and left, but told me just three words. “I HATE YOU!” That was it for me. I couldn’t understand why he’d hate me if he never even bothered to speak to me. Even after all these years, he still hadn’t forgiven me, for my actions when we were younger. It was irrelevant to me, I just wanted to apologize, but it’s just too late, some things just don’t change. Some days bring love, some days bring glory, and however, some days are a completely different story. Sometimes, you find that special someone in the least likely place, and then you see their face and drown in their bliss. On Thursday I saw you ice fishing, but I knew better than to go near you. I thought you changed, but apparently I was wrong. As I watch you sit with that other girl on the ice. What you did is awful, mean and simply horrible. You’ll probably be spending Christmas with her, kissing her under the tree, not me, but I have a remedy for that. Some days bring love, some days bring glory, and however, some days are a completely different story. Sometimes, you find that special someone in the least likely place, and then you see their face and drown in their bliss. On Friday, I had my plan; I would wait until the snow stopped falling. I snuck through her yard, past her car and into the enormous house. I leapt up the stairs and into her room, and wearing my most beautiful dress, my long brown hair in a bun, but I carried a .30 cal. shotgun. I grabbed the shotgun and killed her, right there. I don’t fear the police, because I’ve had my revenge, and my ex-lover will get his due for breaking my heart. On Saturday, I felt fine, no regrets, no qualms, and on Sunday, I was satisfied by his grief. Some days bring love, some days bring glory, but some days are a completely different story. When you’re hurt, there’s nothing you won’t do to strike back. I support that, as a fact. Now, as he returns to the war with his own demons, I hope he dies for his lies and anger. Sometimes, you just have to discard a person like a broken coat hanger. Now as I become an Angel of Death, I see that all who break hearts and cheat must die. With the weapons I have, and the influence I command, I will soon have my revenge…Some days bring love, some days bring glory, and however some days are a completely different story. Sometimes, you find that special someone in the least likely place, and then you see their face and drown in their bliss. As school days returned, I returned to the University, where everyone who looked at me was immediately infatuated with my looks, however, they loved me for my looks, not my intelligence, as such; they would become victims of my belligerence and wrath. I was voted the unofficial University Homecoming Queen 2 years in a row by most of the College of William and Mary’s students, but I’m not just your average sweetheart from Virginia. The powers I learned allow me to perform many feats that most consider to be unnatural. One unfaithful man dies by gunshot, he called his girlfriend a whore, a racist by dagger in the back; that idiot decided to invent a very insulting sales pitch, as his name, Jim White, caused him to say “You’ll never be robbed by a White guy.” I even torture one on the rack. I crush his knees, rip out his tongue, it is all so much fun. Some days bring love, some days bring glory, and however, some days are a completely different story. Sometimes, you find that special someone in the least likely place, and then you see their face and drown in their bliss. As my powers grew, I was absorbed by the mysterious Order of the Crown and Dagger on campus, which was, in fact, a training ring for the legendary Orden der Tempelritter, a secret society of wizards that carry on the traditions of the Templar Knights through extremely powerful magic. Vicious white supremacists, they required new members to prove their loyalty to their race. I had no black friends, and only one Jewish friend, but he was quickly dealt with. Once I took the initiation rite, drinking a vial of sheep’s blood, I began practicing the ancient scrolls, all chanted in Latin, and practiced magic spells, which I performed better than any of my other classmates. Eventually, I was accepted into the Tempelritters; I took the moniker “Blood Orchid,” donned a sinister mask and outfit, and began my campaign of rage upon this world. Some days bring love, some days bring glory, and however, some days are a completely different story. The blood of the vulgar, the brains of the weak, the innards of the licentious, and the eyes of the sinners stain my daggers and guns, and so it is that the powers that be pay for their arrogance. Sometimes, you find that special someone in the least likely place, and then you drown in their bliss…for all who stand before me, know this: I am forever watching you, and you must hail to Athena, the guardian of wisdom, hail to Apollo, the cleanser of sins, hail to the Tempelritters, my sacred kin, hail to the Ritual, it always wins! My attacks will never miss…we are invincible, but there is one that could stop us…in the ancient scrolls foretell the rise of a sorcerer, more powerful than any other in history, who ascends and casts down the dark arts forever, but we know better. This sorcerer could also be converted to the dark arts themselves, and in that case, we would be unstoppable…the world would live in a new kingdom of darkness…

I still search for that one special kiss.

Love Me to Death.

  1. Angel of Death-Tempelritters

“To the woman known as “Blood Orchid,” please, stop this spree. We don’t condone infidelity or dishonesty, but murder is murder!” The police were horrified by reports of brutal murders all over the country, against men who had committed infidelity or had been unfaithful to their women, all reported to have been committed by a mysterious woman known only as “The Blood Orchid.” These murders were not simple gunshots. This killer made sure that her victims suffered excruciating pain before they died. She was using medieval torture tactics, such as the “head crusher,” the “tongue tearer,” “the rack,” the “Chair of Torture,” the “spiked wheel” and the hideous “Iron Maiden,” in a brutal manner unseen before in U.S. history. She was also a true enigma. These killings had been occurring for more than 5 months, and the police, FBI and even the Department of Homeland Security had failed to locate any trace of her, just her victims, bloodied and tortured, in different places, such as garbage dumps and shallow, haphazardly-dug graves. This killer had already taken the lives of 57 men, and as long as she was on the lam, more would continue to die. “If anyone, anyone at all, has any information regarding this case, please inform your local police station.” It was the same old song and dance. The FBI had been issuing these bulletins left and right, and still, no one had any real information. Just then, however, the camera screens flickered and shorted out. “Get those backup generators online and…!” FBI Chief Investigator for the Blood Orchid case Justin Maxwell turned around and stood face-to-face with a frightening figure, one wearing a black robe, a burgundy cape, a white Kabuki mask with red eye-slits and a huge, wide-brimmed hat. It was holding two daggers in its hands, as well, had spikes on the tips of its boots and blade gauntlets. “Well, well, well, what do we have here? Justin Maxwell, of the FBI? I must admit, your efforts to find me are amusing to say the least, and if you think you’re going to pull a rabbit out of your hat and solve this instantly, then you are sorely mistaken.” “Really then? Then why did you essentially just turn yourself in? Arrest this clown and take her to jail!” Having none of it, the masked marauder jumped and started running on the walls, so fast that the FBI couldn’t hit her while shooting. She landed directly behind Maxwell and cleanly slit his throat, and even before the FBI could raise their guns to fire, she leapt into the air again, came down in the crowd of FBI agents and released a huge burst of flames from her hands, incinerating the agents and horrifying the scattering bystanders. As reinforcements arrived, the Blood Orchid vanished in a cloud of haze, leaving nothing but death and bloodshed in her wake…and more than 15 million people were watching, including the President of the United States. He, as well as everyone else knew that this was more than just a simple whodunit now. The U.S. was dealing with a murderer with some kind of supernatural powers, like a witch. That would explain the wide rash of killings and the hideousness of the deaths themselves. If she could appear anywhere and everywhere she wanted at any time, the U.S. was in mortal danger. This was just one witch…little did they know what was to come.

“I’ve arrived, My Lord.” “Rise, Blood Orchid…” the menacing voice hissed. Blood Orchid stood before a 7-foot giant of a man, wearing a uniform reminiscent of a Pharaoh’s crossed with King Louis XIV’s regalia, surrounded by eerie, faceless robed figures. His shining red eyes burned through his enemies’ souls, only they were visible through his crown. “Did you acquire it?” “I had to kill more than 50 men, but I’ve got it, Lord Jean-Bart Colbert.” Blood Orchid handed Colbert a small gem, his spindly hands grasping it tightly. “One down, 5 to go…” Colbert grumbled in his deep French accent. Blood Orchid was standing before one of the Grand High Wizards of the Orden der Tempelritter, and he was one of the most powerful of the 7 Grand High Councilors. He was more than 500 years old, taking a potion that extended his life indefinitely. Colbert was present at many critical moments in European history, from the Great Sleigh Drive of 1678, the French Revolution and WWI and WWII. He was very politically aware, and a ferocious European patriot, despising the European Union and dreamed of a “Europa Rex,” ruled by the Tempelritters, as well as the United States, as a massive “Western Imperium,” which would consist of Europe, Anglo-America, Russia, Argentina, New Zealand and Australia, South Africa, southern South America, the bastions of the White Race. This Imperium would initiate a Second Holocaust against the Jews, blacks, Muslims, homosexuals, Christians, cripples, and mentally challenged individuals, psychologically unsound people and any non-white people. The glory days of the West and the White Race of Men would return, and expand to borders never seen before. “Hail Apollo, the Cleanser of Sins, hail to Imperium, she always wins…” Jean-Bart Colbert had promised Blood Orchid, whose real name was Samantha Holoh, the position of Governor of Anglo-America, once the Western Imperium was established. She would have her one special kiss, even if she had to burn down all of Manhattan. “Hail, Hail Imperia Regina.” “This Icon is the first step in creating the Western Imperium, and you are commended for your efforts. Soon, the unsuspecting world will feel the wrath of the Tempelritters. Once more, the Supreme Race will rule the planet…and we shall have peace. In case you were wondering, one of my other top accolades, Edward Guggenberger, is preparing to strike in Boston, Massachusetts, at a very important event.” “Good. Bostonians are nothing but a bunch of insular, loudmouthed degenerates, hell-bent on hating everyone who’s not from Boston, especially by those psychotic Red Sox fans. They treat their team as if it’s a religion, and in that case, this belief system must be destroyed, like every other faith. Edward will certainly teach them a lesson. I have a feeling that it’s going to scare them straight as an arrow…”

“Now, presenting, your defending World Series Champions, the Boston Red Sox!” The entire crowd in Fenway Park roared as the team ran onto the field, in the shadow of the Green Monster. The mood in Fenway Park was truly jubilant, as the Red Sox had just won their first championship in 86 years the previous year, and now they were considered the best team in baseball. Waiting inside the Monster itself, however, was Edward Guggenberger, a young wizard with a terrible, swift, steel sword, a red and black uniform and cape, shoulder epaulets and a handsome but diabolical face. He had a rough life growing up; now 22 years old, he had been labeled as the “biggest creep anyone had ever met,” especially by one black guy, a fat and meat-headed jock white guy and two dopey white girls. He went over and talked to the girls, and, thinking that Edward was flirting with them, the black guy got really mad, but, instead of simply walking away, Edward just kept escalating the issue, until the black guy exploded, throwing a vicious punch directly at Edward’s head. Edward countered by dodging, and then letting loose a colossal, searing hot plasma beam from his hands, reducing the black guy to a smoldering, meaty corpse. “NIGGER!!” Edward yelled. “WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU JUST DO TO HIM?!!!?” the white, meat-headed jock roared, his eyes practically bugging out of his head. He picked up a whole table in the University cafeteria, which was now full of screaming, panicking students and threw it at Edward; he caught it with a telekinetic blast, and yelled “Mirror Wave!!” as he sent the table flying back at the dumb meat-head, crushing him against the wall, instantly killed. The two girls were screaming in terror. “SOMEONE CALL AN AMBULANCE!! POLICE!! HELP!!!” they sobbed. Edward wasn’t finished yet, he then drew his sword and killed them both with one mighty swing, as well as the police officers; before vanishing into a cloud of haze, Edward yelled “And I shall smite the wicked and plunge them into the fiery pit!!!” leaving a terrified cafeteria and 7 corpses behind…and Edward was about to do the same thing to Boston’s team. As the Red Sox took the field for the home opener, Edward ran out onto the field, sword drawn. Stunned, the Red Sox security guards immediately went to apprehend Edward, but just then, Edward transformed into an enormous phoenix, with a 60-foot wingspan, stood 15 feet tall and weighed in at 500 lbs.! The players, crowd and everyone in Fenway Park looked on in horror as the huge bird-like creature flew high into the air over Boston, and let out a mighty scream to the Sun and called down a huge firestorm upon the terrified Boston fans. Edward’s Phoenix Form could change the colors of its feathers, and as the fire rained down from the sky, the feathers changed briefly to Yankees pinstripes, as a final insult. The attack continued until the Park was ablaze. The phoenix swooped around, and began a final, blazing attack run on Theo Epstein’s private box seat; the phoenix swooped up just before crashing into the box seat, but set the entire building on fire. In the chaos, the Boston Fire Department rushed into Fenway; this was the biggest attack on America since 9-11-01. Fans, some of them screaming with their clothes on fire, came charging out of the gates, begging for help. Fire trucks from as far away as Lowell were rolling into Boston, as the BFD stormed into the Park; then, they saw the cause of the blaze. Standing in the center of the field, on the pitcher’s mound, was Edward, back in his human form, completely unaffected by the fire. His eyes shone an eerie yellow color; sword drawn, he uttered three words: “We Believe: Soxtober.” Edward transformed into the phoenix again and flew away into the night sky in Boston, leaving the firefighters to pick through the charred bodies of the dead and extinguish the fire that destroyed the old Fenway Park. April 19, 2005: the day that the truth about sorcery dawned…and it dawned in FIRE.

In a small town in California called Lone Pine Peak, another attack was about to take place, though this one was far more sinister. A Tempelritter known only as “Hierophant,” who looked like a faceless, robed figure with a hideous, ghostly, smiling mask was on the warpath; he was neither alive nor dead, he was a “wound” in the universal energy continuum; feeding off life, just hearing his voice, spoken in an echoing, ancient, evil tongue, would cause horrible pain, vomiting, bleeding and torment. He was, in a way, the embodiment of all evil. Slowly striding towards a gathering of young people at a large colonial-style home that night, just as the 5 young women who were hosting the party were going inside from the pool area, but this was no barrier to Hierophant, he just waited outside the sliding glass door, waiting for one of the girls to make a mistake. There were 5 of them, all of them snooty, condescending elitists who valued their appearance over everything else…a perfect group of targets. Hierophant knew his targets’ bios, two of them were official UCLA cheerleaders, one was an extremely rich Jewish girl, and the other two were ace students, one studied neuropharmacology and the other neuroscience, and very pretty to boot, and thought of themselves as superior to all other people…perfect target practice for Hierophant. Waiting in the shadows, Hierophant stood, peering invisibly into the window, his malicious mask hidden by the eaves of the house, with the crickets chirping, the katydids calling and the sounds of summer filling the night air…perfectly concealing Hierophant. This was a nightmare come true, a silent killer, undetectable, invisible, immortal and lethal, slipping into your house, your bed, your sleep and even your dreams. Hierophant wasn’t even a ghost; he was a wound in the universe, moving from dimension to dimension and feeding off of any life he could find, to hear his voice was to die agonizingly. As the girls walked away from the door, Hierophant slipped into the house through a crack in the glass pane, broken by a baseball a few hours ago when a drunken “home-run derby” resulted in a ground ball into the glass; the Hierophant was in the house. Hierophant

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