: -. (P.2.)

𝐒𝐨𝐥𝐨 𝐈𝐈: 𝐀𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐨-𝐌𝐮𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬. (P.2.)

"You can't be that afraid, you played Jennifer Check, in Jennifer's Body." Kourtney said, as she and Megan ventured out of the camper.

Before he was either abducted or—like himself—played a very sinister prank on them, the two ladies could heard Von struggling for air. No matter what it was, neither Megan nor Kourtney thought it was humorous. Megan started to bite the inside of her cheek as she wondered where they were as they walked hand in hand along the lonely, dark gravel road. Just where were Jesse and Von? Furthermore, she couldn't see why her friend thought a "horror" picture would be realistic in any way.

Megan glanced across at Kourtney and gestured to her jacket pocket, her expression betraying her irritation. "Is your phone charged now?"

"Yeah,"

With a small beat of silence, coupled with irritation Megan spoke again. "Flashlight! Turn on the fucking flashlight!"

Mumbling her own curse words under her breath, Kourtney obeyed and turned her flashlight on, her phone. They continued down the dark road, every so often checking behind them to make sure their camper was still there. Megan ran a hand through her messy, brunette hair and grumbled. "Jesse! Von! This isn't funny, c'mon!"

In return, all she heard was her own echo of her voice. Beside her, Kourtney called for the guys too; and received the same callback—just an echo of their mixed voices.

This was starting to become more than just a game; it was becoming a major source of anxiety for ladies. Perhaps they should have thought twice before agreeing to Von's irrational idea to rent a camper and go somewhere they couldn't possibly predict, especially since they didn't have all of the details. Over the course of the mile or so that they had traveled, Megan saw that neither Jesse nor Von were around. It also appeared like the shrieking, screaming, and scraping noises that they had heard before had subsided.

Kourtney tried to make the dirt road more apparent by shining her phone ahead, but she veered her teeth in frustration when she discovered it was useless. "Lets just... go back to the camper. I'm sure dumbass one and dumbass two will come back."

Megan frowned, folding her arms across her chest. "No, something is wrong. They're in trouble or could be hurt."

"Meg, it's Von and Jesse. How hurt could they be?" Kourtney tried to laugh, though her voice was laced with pure anxiety; that Megan could be right. "For all we know, Von set this whole thing up. When Jesse gets around him, they share one single brain cell."

That part was true. Megan had to admit. Jesse and Von did often joke around too much; but her gut feeling was saying something different. Something was very wrong...

()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()

Wet. Muddy, wet earth was almost like a plaster on his face. In excruciating agony, Jesse sat up, as if struck in the head by Sammy Sousa's bat. He was engulfed in darkness and had the unsettling sensation of being seated in a dark grotto or pit. He drew back in pain as he extended his arms forward, a sensation that had previously been absent. What the fuck happened? Before everything went dark, his final memory was of sitting at the front of the camper, attempting to get a signal on his phone. Had he passed out after taking too many mushrooms? He has a strong aversion to that kind of hallucinogenic substance, therefore it can't be. He moaned beneath his breath as he ran his hands through his matted hair and felt the dampness on his palm. Was that blood? Jesse was certain that he would appear pitiful if he could see his reflection in a mirror.

His legs gave out from beneath him as he attempted to rise. Redirecting him to his sitting posture, he moaned even louder as a searing agony surged through his spine. With clenched jaw and a mix of anger, terror, and determination, he let out a hiss. He had to escape from this place, or wherever he was. He prayed that his friends were unharmed as well and had to find them.

()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()

"Hello!"

"Hello! Can anybody hear me!"

"Hel—fuck!" Screamed Von as he slid right back onto the muddy ground.

For however long it seemed, he had been trying to claw his way out the darkened pit he was in; literally. Von had no idea who or what had taken him from the camper, but he had no intention of waiting around to find out if they returned. He didn't want to be featured on the six o'clock news as a criminal tale. He clenched his jaw and pounded the muddy wall with his hand, attempting to get a firm grip so he could climb up. He had spent five minutes trying to balance himself by sinking his booted feet into the ground, hoping to use it as leverage to climb out. However, he always went back down since the soil was more damp. Still, he would persist; in fact, he felt compelled to. All Von wanted to do was get out of this black hole and find out what happened to Jesse, Megan, and Kourtney.

()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()

Kourtney clutched onto Megan's arm, now feeling more frightened than ever. They had been walking for what seemed like an hour and still they found no sight, of their friends. Megan trembled as she too, held onto Kourtney.

"They're dead." Kourtney mumbled tearily.

Megan pouted out her bottom lip. "Don't say that."

"They are, they're dead. We haven't been able to find them." Breaking away from Megan's warm body, Kourtney took more strides, into the middle of the dark road. Her voice raised in pitch with heightened fear. "They're dead! And we'll be dead too, if we stay around and keep walking the road to nowh—"

Smack.

Just like that, it appeared out of nowhere! It was a truck—not a car—possibly a bus? Kourtney was knocked off the gravel road and her body was smashed by whatever it was. As the damp slap of Kourtney's blood splashed her cheeks, Megan stood there, shocked. Neither did she open her eyes; in fact, she remained still throughout. Refraining from moving would save her the burden of acknowledging and accepting what had just transpired. “That didn't just happen,” Megan mentally echoed to herself.

Megan felt the cold blood on her cheek as she peeked open one eye and reached out to touch the drops. It really happened. She had seen it all, and now she was crying out in pain at the sight of her friends' blood on her cheeks. Tears welled up in Megan's eyes like a dam about to burst. She bolted, sprinting. Where to go? Whatever it was, she was determined to flee from this nightmare as fast as she could. Because that's all it was, right? A nightmare of the worst kind. —

Megan...

Megan...!

"Megan!" Von shook her rapidly and roughly as he loomed over her in the backseat of the camper. His facial expression twisted in pure, concern.

"Ah! G-get off me! Stop shaking me!" Megan roared, shoving Von off her.

Pissed, Von sneered at her and slammed his back against the seat. "What's your problem? You were screaming and crying in her sleep. I was just trying to wake you up from your nightmare."

"Nightmare?" Came her soft pliant voice. "It was just... a..." Craning her neck up, peering heavily and maneuvering her body to peak into the front seat she saw Jesse and Kourtney.

Jesse flashed her a curious look, as his hand rested on the steering wheel. "You okay, babe?" He asked as then focused his eyes back on the road.

Kourtney snickered and turned a bit, facing Megan. "Yeah, you were screaming in your sleep. Having night terrors again?"

"More like annoyances." Von mumbled, as he palmed his face. "And she kicked me in the process. At the next stop, we're all switching and I'm sitting up front. Someone else can get kicked by her."

With her beautiful face contorted into the most perplexed look, Megan remained silent. It seemed like everything was happening in real time; surely it was! Surely Megan had seen Kourtney being run over; she had also heard the scything and screams; and Jesse and Von had vanished. Seriously, however, wasn't that all real? As she sank back into her seat and rested her hands on her head, she could feel the tears welling up in her eyes. Just what was going on? Was a manic episode about to strike her? Megan didn't believe in things like Final Destination and premonition. The "nightmare" had been so lifelike—she could smell, see, and hear everything.

Von extended his arm beside her and started to rub her shoulder carefully. As he went in closer to kiss her on the temple, she could make out the worried sighs from his lips. "You gonna be alright?"

As Jesse pulled into the next truck stop, he turned so he was facing both Von and Megan. His attention though, with narrowed eyes heavily on Von. "You are no longer allowed to bring the "scooby snack" man."

Looking up from the comfort he was giving Megan, Von's dark features slithered into a smirk. Megan's own blue eyes darkened, as she squinted heavily. That's what this was? A shroom trip? All that chaos, collided terror... was a hallucination in a dream?

Kourtney had startled the man in the truck beside them, as her high pitched laughter echoed out of the car. Megan, began to wail on Von; smacking him, in his chest as she rambled on about how much her trip had fucked her up. Pretty soon, all of them hurled in breathy laughter; vowing that they would lay off the "snack" until they reached their destination.

(It was all fiction, but a little scare never hurt anybody darlings. Xoxo.)

Venom Fame—Solo.

In the mirror of her dressing room, Megan peered at her reflection. She was carefully examining her bare face, which will likely be covered with foundation shortly. Megan would insist that every makeup artist hide her freckles when she was first starting out in "Hollywood" doing what her mom referred to as "the starter pack" of modeling. Now that she was older and had survived the emotionally draining stardom period, she couldn't care less about hiding her freckles. Her freckles were her bruises, and she was proud of them, much like the narrator in Fight Club. Why shouldn't she take pride in her imperfections, her freckles? Along with everything else that distinguishes her from the "typical" Hollywood beauty optimal.

Upon contacting her for an interview, VOGUE placed a strong focus on having a photoshoot. At the time of the conversation, Megan could only convey her indecision; she didn't agree until yesterday. Even she was anticipating the interview questions with a trite mind, knowing that sarcasm never looks well on paper. She thought she had run out of things to say after talking on the phone with her brother James this morning on the way to the set. Besides Megan's three pals, James was likely the only one with whom she had meaningful conversations.

Even the prospect of being on VOGUE's cover, much alone being interviewed, was something Megan really disliked. In any case, why did they insist that she do it? Megan was stereotyped as a shallow, self-centered "Dark like Witch woman" by the public and media throughout the world. How far from the truth could they get? Many in Hollywood were irritated by Megan since she had strong opinions. Nobody liked it, and when they understood she wasn't only a "pretty face" or a "sex symbol," they were shocked.

With her tongue gliding across her teeth, she continued to examine herself in the mirror. After almost two months of complete isolation in Palm Springs, her jet-black hair was beginning to show signs of fading from the excessive sun exposure. Whoever was doing Megan's hair and cosmetics today could just apply a little temporary hairspray to darken her locks again, she reasoned. There was a time crunch, and she wanted to get dolled up as soon as possible so she could undress and return to her isolation.

Within fifteen minutes Megan was sitting in the chair, having small talk with the makeup artist. She nodded lightly, not wanting to disrupt the craft, that was happening.

"You haven't really done an interview in like two years." Her artist pointed out, as he outlined her eyes with blue eyeliner.

Megan smirked, and what a good two years it had been. "Massive seclusion is something I really enjoy. This..." Trailing off, Megan crossed her left leg over her right one and sighed, giving a shrug as to finish off the rest of her thought.

Her artist nodded shortly, reaching behind him to grab the soft palet brush. Dipping it, in a honey like gloss; he delicately swept it across her bottom lip. "Everyone goes through a period of hating stardom."

"I don't hate what I do, I don't hate films; I enjoy acting." Pausing, Megan tried to find the correct words to convey her thoughts. "I just dislike the media hysteria of hive minds. I make dark jokes, I hate tattoos, and all of sudden I'm possibly crazy? Yes, I may be crazy but that doesn't stop me from having worthwhile opinions."

Megan saw it as a sign that her makeup artist was either uncomfortable with her or was just accustomed to dealing with egotistical celebrities who revel in gushing about the wonderful implications of fame and notoriety since he remained silent. As the glamor continued, Megan maintained her composure. In case things went south during the interview, she was already planning an aggressive strategy.

It was easy for Megan to see herself wearing her first set of clothes on a daily basis. In a profound way, it paid tribute to the traditional Dolce & Gabbana. An ebony gown adorned with dazzling gemstones. It clung to her figure, drawing attention to her bust, and enhancing her figure in a lovely manner. Megan and the stylist had a little argument during the fitting because Megan did not want to hide her tattoos. Just what was its purpose? Neither the need nor the desire compelled her to do so.

Surprisingly, the photoshoot turned out well. Each clothing that was picked out for Megan was just fantastic, and she couldn't believe it. She donned a plethora of gowns, some of which were stunning tributes to classic Hollywood styles, and embellished pantsuits. All the way down to the shoes' heels, which Megan was relieved to be able to retain for herself. After the session, Megan removed her makeup and changed into her own stylish clothing.

Her shoes, black pants, and a Motley Crew tee. Before heading outside and settling upon the crimson sofa, she brushed some gloss over her pouty lips and tousled her hair. Hoping that this time during her interview with VOGUE, her remarks would be accurately reported and not misquoted, she raised her head forward to take in the illumination. It was an unrealistic expectation; Megan was well-versed in the machinations of Hollywood.

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"You spoke about the position of women in Hollywood, is that something you think people don't like to hear?"

"I do. Many people want women to be offended or pushed into a place of complimence with their sexual allure." She paused, musing a hand through her hair and continued. "It's not something I'm ashamed of and no other woman should be for that matter."

The next couple of questions were light hearted and a few about when's the next time Megan would be seen on the big screen. Grinning a bit, the cute actress tugged at her left ear and shrugged.

"That's all subjective right now, I mean I want to be casted in something that really shakes me. I want to work with people whom get along and everyone has fun."

"Do you often dislike some of your co-stars?"

Tricky question. Megan sat forward, resting her elbows on her knees. "Who hasn't disliked a few people they've worked with. And, I'm sure I've pissed off a lot of people whom I've worked with too. But, I'm older now, changing so that's all that matters."

As the interview was wrapping towards the end, Megan and the interviewer became wrapped in a conversation of various topics. The ambiance of the interview was light; which surprised the brunette.

"You said that you wished you could shave your head, move out of the country and just be with three lovers? Somewhere, indulging in psychedelics and not returning to Hollywood, is that true?"

Megan, now drew her left leg up to her chest and chuckled at her own words. She couldn't help but wonder who the interviewer had contacted for the comment, let alone why it seemed to be so polarizing. "Yeah, I did say that."

"Is that still something you want?"

Megan began explaining, using her hands for added animation and emphasis. "...I love what I do, and I haven't gone completely insane yet as you can see. I still have my hair, not bald. But who knows." Giggling lowly, she pressed on. "The scrutiny of who I am, the tattoos I have, the people I date or don't date are always the speculated topic. And, I just don't enjoy that type of attention. So yeah, I wanna shave my head. I get hot when I'm trying to do my hair all the time; I'm like a pain in the ass when it comes to getting ready. Having three lovers is just me wanting to free, and slightly unserious. I don't know, I love, the idea of true love. And the whole never returning to Hollywood... I'm still here aren't I? Not officially sane, but still here."

The interview ended well. Megan shared her thoughts and offered proof on how certain psychodelics might heighten consciousness. In general, Megan felt somewhat better about her VOGUE interview this time around. Doubtful that she would conduct a slew of interviews and hit the press circuit. However, Megan was certain that this one would deter her for a while. That is, until she decided to audition for a film part, which would require her to do repeated sit-down interviews in which she would have to defend herself against criticism of her statements.

It was that venom of Hollywood that kept Megan here. That controlled and uncontrolled chaos, which Megan hated and loved all at the same time.

Beleaguer & Beshrew

I can feel it. There are those subtle fears. Embracing me, with the fervor of scornful gazes. Awful babbling in contorted discourse.

There is sound. Its inner workings are audible. To my internal beliefs, it was like a frigid winter slap. I am emotionally dragged down by the loud whimpering undertones.

I don't know what else to do. Embrace uncertainty or create my own path to confidence? The Clash's "Should I stay or should I go?" describes how I feel. Having no desire for anything other than self-satisfaction. But nonetheless, full and engulfed by... something.

I sense it. I perceive it. I don't like it. I can...

—Indulgent.

I: A captivating technique that achieves no progress at all. That maybe the evildoer in our world should be nothing less than...everything. Disappearing and rediscovering the pleasure in life would be an incredible experience.

II: Everyone aspires to be the most outstanding, but it's not necessary. Dirty, condescending, and unmotivated wants. Treating oneself to nothing while expecting it to be something. Could this be an unresolved issue? Maybe it's the core of what's always been within all along?

III: There is meaning in decaying flowers; they convey the past. On the other hand, what if the actuality of things wasn't what they ought to have been? Unwanted assumptions about things that aren't there are caused by lengthy explanations.

IV: Caught between the forbidding existence. Entangled, as if a book had an old rose in it. Commonplace, unwritten musings that impede thought. It would be lovely to be able to start again every once in a while. To have a spiritual rebirth and to put one's service beyond any consideration for the outside world.

V:When life is thrust upon us, there are no rules. Here we are, living in the shadow cast by the precarious specter of mortality. Knowing that this is all a mirage should bring true peace to our hearts. To wallow in self-pity and shut off all signs of life while one sits and mopes. Perhaps we try that? To what end does it aspire? Caught up in the trap of excessive perfection. Everything that makes up this enormous hub of life—tears, wounds, scars, and pounding hearts—is interconnected. To be captivated, inspired—but by everything in life.

Amort, Amorphous—Aphonic

She embodies allure. Beginning from the very tips of her fingers and ending at the very end of her heels. The savage surges of existence, together with the sweet nothings and coupled somethings, formed it. The internal battering of her psyche washes over her, leaving only the luring cries.

Despite her obscurity, she is well aware of her potential. And who is she, exactly? She no longer had the fractured gems that she had previously claimed. She opened her lips and spoke gentle sounds of delight, blinking away tears of grief.

With its entwined claws, life swoops into her and the world around her. With a scream and a kick, she plummeted to the bottom of the vast sea. She broke her silence, reclaiming her spirit. Gone, snatched, stripped of all masks that before engulfed her.

Her actions now endanger humanity. In essence, esoteric to everyone. To be beautiful, she must have hidden qualities that have not yet been revealed.