1.78 deaths a second. Here it is, straight from the lips of the serpent. .: Maria :.
Heyloo m'lovelies! So after my brief spurt of productivity, I went silent again. In fact, if you go to my author profile, you'll see that I've totally cleaned out my archive of work here. Why? I've been writing Twilight fanfiction for over a year now, and I feel that as a writer I've grown, and that I really don't want the older pieces up anymore. If you -really- want to read them again, they're on my fanfiction.net page (link on profile).
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I don't live here anymore.
This world of false innocence and flimsy morality is not mine.
I am the lies you tell your children when they want to know whether monsters are real.
I don't live in the world of safe and "it's all right, they don't exist."
I live in a world where every breath is lived at the expense of a thousand other souls.
It begins now. The race for life, the race towards death. It begins from the moment you are born until the day you draw in your last gasping breaths - so similar to the struggled respiration of your first moments.
Did you know that every 1.78 seconds someone dies? 107 deaths per minute, 6,390 deaths per hour, 153,000 per day, 56.0 million deaths per year.
I'm living death again and again, with every life I end and every perfunctory breath I inhale.
I am the shadow you instinctively fear when you walk through a city alone - though a crowd of people surrounds you.
Well the crowd isn't all people if you want to get technical.
Do you want to know why I still believe in a soul? It's because that's the only explanation for how insane we are. It is because we have a soul that we can do what we do.
Our reason flees before the great task of assigning blame, at intellectualizing every act of violence so that it is okay.
It's kind of funny when I sit down and read a novel, those stories of pain and redemption. The authors are only playing with fire, because they know nothing of true perdition.
I don't believe in a specific place of eternal torment, but I do believe I'm in hell.
I made it through choices small and large, ending in a night of too much alcohol and not enough mortality.
Perhaps it's cruel and selfish, but I find myself with a need to watch others go through this same torture as I did.
Watching the first kill is a special pleasure of mine, because there's this expression of bewildered heartbreak that is oh-so-familar to the muscles of my face.
Unbalanced, yes. Sadistic, no.
Through constant exposure to more and more brutality, I numb the pain of my children. As each act of desecration and savagery drives reason further and further away, the less they have to think about choices and consequences.
I don't have a God-complex, I swear.
No, really ... it's purely selfish when I watch the world burn. It's not the act of total and utter dominion, it's the fact that everyone is experiencing the same pain that I did.
So there you have it, straight from the lips of the serpent.
Speaking of snakes, it's rather ironic that it is my tempting voice and faked innocence which lures so many men away from the garden.
What is the garden, you may well ask.
The freedom to choose. The ability to die, to live, to be something other.
When I smiled sweetly and ask you to come with me for a spell, little did you know that my teeth were sharper than my tongue and my silk was iron in disguise.
It's always the quiet ones ...