((This is a joint effort, of the Diary of Monty and Daria. ))

The two loud signals of distress blew into his ears. They were sealers of fate, destroyers of worlds. There was no time out, rewinding the story. He saw as first the woman, he barely remembered fell to the ground. The sheets covering part of her face. His own face close to the floor, the bed shielding him from view. He trembled with fear, his mother stared him dead in the face unblinking. The bullet holes were rubies on her chest, blood glowing on her ivory skin. She was so beautiful. The blood slowly creeped towards him, it flowed as if a river of memory was rushing to stay with him. He waited, for what seemed hours, preparing to leave his bunker of safety. His face smeared with blood now, that of his mother. He heard two more of those sounds of pity fly through the air like exclamation points to the end of a sentence, but this was the end of another life. His father lay dead but a room away. He knew the killer was smiling, he could see him, as he approached closer and closer. The flash and crack banging in his ears and eyes.

I awoke with a shudder, the loud crack of thunder rolling through my ears. My hand ran under the pillow removing the gun which had protected me more then once. I leveled it with the door, it was empty, nothing but the demons of the night lingered in that doorway. The dream still burnt into my mind, the man in my dream was dead. I had pulled the trigger on him already, but it was his ghost that worried me. I knew the appetites of ghosts intimately. They hungered for revenge. I felt my body relax some, as my eyes wondered towards the woman laying next to me. She fixed most of what haunted me, she made me forget. I couldn't help but allow my eyes to trail over her, advice mother had given me, was when you find her you will know. I knew. She is my addiction, my pure heroin. She reminded me of my mother.

I allowed my eyes to travel to the window as another flash of lightning reached its tender touch across the city. I pushed myself upwards, my gun still at my side where I perfered it most. I felt my bare feet land on the wooden floor, which creaked its moan of pain against my weight. Slowly, I made my way to the window. The rain seemed to patter against the glass, to wash away the blood of the wicked. It was colder than the devil's heart, raining pitchforks as if the heavens were ready to fall. I placed my head against the glass and looked out onto the street, it reminded me of home. Did I even have a home? These streets weren't my home. I couldn't help but let the thoughts flow through my mind, the events that led me here. My eyes closed and I allowed the thoughts to flow, there was no point in fighting them anymore.

His own bullets were an exclamation to the end of Marlowe's life. The smoking gun, held tightly in his hand. The man that had slain his parents was dead, laying there in a puddle of his own blood. No one was there to watch him die, he died alone. The killer was smiling. He lied to himself that it was over. He was still alive, his loved ones were still dead. It wasn't over. He remembered bits and pieces of life from then on, he'd held a girlfriend for some time, it wasnt anything special. His life was normal and plain. Then one day it all turned around. He recalled waking up, in the back of some van. He had a foot on his cheek, he knew this was it. He knew, his past caught up with him.

The roll of thunder brought me back, from the nightmare. I felt my stomach sink at the thought, of what happened that night. It was a night that I would never forget. It was the night, I was supposed to die. My stomach turned on me, becoming a weapon against me. I felt it heave and roll. My feet moved me quickly to the bathroom. I reached the toilet and released what was the thoughts of a supposed dead man. The thoughts weren't solid, nor were they colorful. They were nothing to be enjoyed. I felt my body sink down slowly, as the thoughts came rushing back again.