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𝚂𝚞𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚛𝚞𝚜, 𝚂𝚕𝚒𝚙𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚍, 𝙸𝚖𝚙𝚊𝚕𝚋𝚊𝚕𝚎.

"I lost you, my friend. Everything from the summertime lush grass to the wintertime snowfall, to the wind. You are no longer with me."

"Fore' you never had me. Though I existed, it was just for a moment. A delicate, unpleasant one, which you were not interested in."

"But I, I do, want you now."

"Now?" Brows wrinkle, as if a satanic rustling were emanating from the dwindling soul. "You want me now? Since you no longer have any of me, it is impossible for you to crave more of me now."

"I am wiser now, my friend."

"And now, my friend, I'm gone. No longer will you ever see me."

We can't possibly know who we are going to become if we cling to our ideals of what we ought to be. Our eyes are not only looking for external sights, but also for internal ones. A sensation is present in every part of the body, just as there are eyes and a mouth in the soul and the heart. In our view, there are essentially two components to each of us: our minds and our hearts. There are so many different components—neurons, atoms, nerves, blood plates, hairs, fractions of hairs—how can we narrow it down to just two? Aren't we worth more? Is it not true that we are loved more than we know? Is it possible to develop de-self-worth in order to develop an internal sense of self-worth? Could our beating hearts decide anything? Do we no longer exist? Have we lost all of our humanity, our callings, our brilliance, and our faith? Before we ask for what's next, we lose what's not nourished, and we miss what never was.

𝘕𝘰𝘯𝘱𝘭𝘶𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘥~

Our home galaxy is very alluring. The universe's planetary bodies, stellar systems, and Milky Way would be too much for one's hands to handle. Maybe it's designed for us to be naive, distant, and perplexing. But here we are, back at the taboo subject of "what makes us?" How much do we rely on the ropes that life provides? Is it possible to run away from the unknown, or does it just define us? Think of it as the domain of our knowledge, the freedom we yearn for, and the hostility that develops—in the absence of it. Are we being followed by the cosmic space in our thoughts? Say we reach out and touch the stars. Were we trying to hit them, or did they come running after us? I don't understand how our lives fade into the annals of time but the stars stay eternally. For all time, the sky will be all we can see. Even with all the nebulous uncertainty, humans continue to seek ways to marvel about the cosmos. In a childish sense, it's almost absurd to constantly inquire. However, we just presume without examination. If we really believe that our galaxy is far larger than humanity, only then will the actual third eye be able to initiate such cosmic explosions. To remain nonplussed is to remain optimistic, bewildered, unknown, and wanting.

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.

And that's the beauty of living.

Bernhard Schlink, The Reader

𝐒𝐨𝐥𝐨 𝐈𝐈: 𝐀𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐨-𝐌𝐮𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬. (P.1.)

(Viewers discretion is heavily advised. This is all fiction, darlings.)

Life would be considered dull if it were devoid of flamboyant displays. However, life is really lived to the fullest when random, serendipitous occurrences arise. A road trip with four friends is, of course, a tired old cliché. With the sole purpose of enjoying the open road, they have packed just the essentials and are stashed in a rather decent camper. To genuinely begin on life, that is what it means.

Each time they stop at a gas station, the assigned drivers will trade off. Whether it's because the beef jerky is too "jerky" or because someone forgot to get batteries, someone is always griping. Jesse sat behind the wheel in front of the vehicle, his hands firmly gripping the wheel while he sometimes used his slender fingers to tap on the screen of the radio, presumably in search of a station devoid of annoying advertisements. With a gentle brake, he moved into the right lane just as the light ahead turned red.

"How many times are we gonna hear, about Mitsubishi cars? Change the station man." Kourtney whined, as she stretched her legs out onto the dashboard.

Behind her, Von snickered lowly as he swallowed the rest of his beef jerky. He let out a dry cough, mumbling under his breath that pepper jerky, wasn't the best road tripping snack.

"It's public radio, I have no control over it."

"He said, as he simply switches between the only two, radio station he knows." Megan playfully narrated, with a snipe; but giggled at the end.

Jesse retorted in giving her the finger in the rearview mirror. It was true though, Jesse only liked two radio stations. One being pure classic 60's rock n' roll and smooth R&B; there was never anything else in between.

As soon as the traffic began to move again, Jesse stepped on the pedal and proceeded to make another right turn. The only sound throughout the car's journey was the music that everyone was listening to, but no one was talking. Perhaps everyone was either too exhausted or too enthusiastic to care about the destination of their road journey. Aside from not looking for landmarks, none of the friends had reserved any accommodations. All they had to do was pull onto the campsite that Von had reserved earlier that week. The freedom to roam the broad road without restrictions was thrilling.

In the rear, behind Jesse, was Megan. She let her gaze wander to the world beyond the window, her leg resting comfortably on Von’s lap. Observing the world go by was something she liked. As they continued their journey, they saw that fewer street lighting were visible, and it seemed as if the darkness was engulfing them. It seemed like only their camper was on the road ahead, and Megan could see that Jesse had managed to escape the thick, backed-up traffic. Since there was no traffic, they were free to disregard traffic laws.

Thirty minutes into the drive, and everyone was becoming antsy. Kourtney sat upright and huffed, looking at the GPS on her phone. "Jes, you're going the wrong way."

He arched an eyebrow, leaving his left hand on the steering wheel, craning to look at her phone. "It says to keep straight."

"We've been going straight for like an hour." Megan spoke, a yawn filtered into every sentence.

Jesse took the GPS from off the holder, stopped the camper and put it in park. The friends in the camper were engulfed by shadows and what seemed like a pitch-black road. Von yawned and ran his hands over his hair in the backseat. He noted that for the last five miles, they had not seen a single road sign. With a cautious thumb, Jesse continued to scroll and scan the GPS for any obvious indications of their destination, while he silenced everyone else. Because Kourtney hadn't charged her phone, it was almost dead, so it didn't help.

Mountaining tension began. "You need to seriously charge your phone, Kourt." Jesse griped. Kourtney, rolled her eyes and turned to look out her own window. "We're not even on an actual road anymore."

"So where are we?" Both Megan and Von asked.

Jesse whipped himself around to stare at his two friends. His blue eyes were darker now, and he held a confused and frustrated expression. "If we knew where we were, wouldn't I keep driving?"

"You were doing that five minutes ago." Von shot back, laughing slightly.

Ignoring him. Jesse turned back in his seat. Foot on the clutch, taking the camper out of park and started driving again. All three friends, shared the exact same thought: Where was he going? Where were they going?

-----------

"Try it now!"

Crank... nothing.

With a huff, he wiped the beads of sweat from his forehead. "Again!" He yelled, as he dove his head back under the hood of the camper.

"Still nothing man," Said Von flatly. "We gotta get to a gas station or something."

"Something," Kourtney piped in as she leaned against the camper. Her already scuffed boots crunched on the dirt road.

Grease and oil caked his fingertips, causing Jesse to grimace as he continued to work under the camper's hood. At the previous petrol station, he had filled up the tank to the brim, in his mind. It appeared his prediction was incorrect, however, given the car's bluddering and wheezing, as if it were on its final legs. He also leaned against the camper as he slammed the hood down, his voice rising to an angry screech. This trip was failing miserably. Imagine a world without petrol, road signs, or smartphone GPS. Could this be another one of those "punked" instances starring Ashton Kutcher? Were their phones actually dead?

He sighed and fiddled with his blonde hair as he searched his pocket for a pack of smokes. Lighting one, Jesse turned to Kourtney who had this goofy expression on her face. "S' funny?"

"Huh?"

"I said, what's so funny? You've been looking at me with such a dumb look."

Kourtney gritted her teeth, "Be like the camper and shut up."

Both Von and Megan bursted into fits of laughter as they exited the camper.

There was an obvious buildup of tension between them all. It had all the hallmarks of a terrible horror movie: the camper was out of gas, and it seemed like none of their phones were working. As he steamed his eyes over Kourtney, Jesse let out a puff of nicotine. It seems like he was in no mood for verbal sparring. True enough, the four pals were worried about how, if at all, they could get the camper operating again.

Megan drew her pink windbreaker jacket over her arms and cocked her head to gaze upwards. Complete blackness; not a single star visible. Returning to the camper, locating a charging plug, and patiently waiting could allow them to summon assistance.

Von, huffed an impatient sigh before speaking up, "Let's just get inside the camper and..." His voice trailed as shuffled over to Jesse, and plucked the cigarette from his fingers to, take a drag.

Megan agreed. "Yeah, at least we have somewhere to sleep."

"Sleep? In the middle of nowhere?" Kourtney, whined in that nasal voice of hers.

That made Jesse chuckle. "You could always sleep outside."

"We're in the middle of nowhere."

"We have to charge our phones, Kourt." Megan cooed, as she saddled up to her friend, and rested a hand on her shoulder. "So, let's just get back in the camper and stop all the bickering."

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Whispers of bone-chilling screams and a deafening shriek followed. A specific tapping sound, like corroded nails on a worn-out blackboard. Unsettling sounds of crunching leaves and muck, as if the walker's shoes were caked in mud, evoked a sense of foreboding. After laying down on his side, Von buried his face more into the camper's pullout mattress cushion and scrunched his nose. But even as he twisted around, the scraping, pounding of feet outside the camper remained audible. He pivoted again, emitted an irritated grunt, and sat up, careening his head into the camper's little shelf. "Goddammit." He cursed, rubbing the ache on his forehead.

He reached a hand out and shook Megan tenderly, who was cuddled up underneath the blanket. After a few more shakes she stirred awake. "W-what?"

"Do you hear that?" Von asked.

Megan quietly yawned, sat up slightly, and crossed her legs to her chest in response to his question. Did she hear anything? Kourtney was sound asleep on the mattress next to Megan, and all Megan could hear were the faint grumbles of snores. She cocked her head in Von's direction, scowled, and pouted; he had ruined her sleep for nothing? "Go back to sleep." Megan lazily yawned, lying back down. Before closing her eyes, she softly spoke. "Check your phone, to see if it's charged."

Von clenched his jaw at his pretty friend. How could she go back to sleep when all that noise was clanking, banging, and creating a creepy and ruined experience outside the camper? He rested back and tried to close his eyes—but he could hear the screeching. What the hell was that?

Once more, he palmed Megan's shoulder and roughly shook her; not caring if she were to be cranky. "Cookie, wake up. Don't you hear that?"

Megan, sleepy, and quite agitated now was awake. And, despite being annoyed by Von; she knew it was serious when he called her "Cookie." Rubbing her eyes, she yawned. "Hear what? I don—" Stopping, Megan then felt air get clogged in her throat.

It was only now that she heard it. A shriek that sounded like it resounded from coast to coast accompanied the bloodcurdling groans. What on earth was that? Plus, who was the source of those horrible noises? She jolted Kourtney awake in the same way that Von had done to her. Kourtney sat up, her eyes wide as she hummed a weary sigh, a little shocked.

"What's going on? What's that noise?" Kourt groaned.

"I don't know," Von retorted as he got off the mattress and within the small space searched for his phone. As he did, he noticed, that he didn't hear any of the loud snores coming from Jesse.

Craning a look over his shoulder at the girls, he chewed his lip biting a question. "Where's Jess?"

Megan furrowed her thick eyebrows, "He's not in here?"

Kourtney yawned again and stretched before getting off the little cramped mattress as well. "Jesse? You up front?" Calling out and receiving no answer.

No answer. But... Additional snarling, wailing, and what sounded like a throaty gasp echoed through the three companions' ears. As they exchanged worried looks, they hoped that maybe they were all experiencing hallucinations. Perhaps from when they had eaten the mushrooms that Jesse had brought on the trip. However, that treat occurred some hours ago. However, Jesse remained unresponsive despite their repeated calls for him. Screams that sounded like sharp nails scraping on the camper's metal and a low gurgle of groans, as if someone was in despair, resounded again close to the sliding door of the camper.

"Alright Jess, enough! Stop dicking around man." Von called out, as he moved closer to the front of the camper; determined to put his and the girls fears to rest.

As Von made his way up to the front of the camper, he noticed the keys were in the ignition; the radio was on; and turned down low.

A claustrophobic mattress occupied the area between the camper's front and rear seats. But Von scowled and furrowed his brows. Jesse, where in earth was he? Did he go pee somewhere? Since they were all in remote areas, did he try to locate the closest gas station, if there was even one. Von could make out some smudges on the rolled-down driver's window in the dark, even though the window was fully open. It was something.

"What the—" Something grabbed Von's head as he was going to place his thumb on the strange smear on the camper. Clamping down on the sides of his temples, it not only gripped his head but also felt like simple suction. Nails were sticking out of whatever it was, slowly probing his body and even his skull. As his lifeless form slithered out the window, Von screamed for help; he had been snatched.

TBC...

𝑫𝒊𝒂𝒑𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒐𝒖𝒔—𝑮𝒐𝒔𝒔𝒂𝒎𝒆𝒓; 𝑰𝒏𝒗𝒆𝒊𝒈𝒍𝒆.

It is said that the path one takes in life is very hazy. The vast majority of all hearts are alive. The clock is ticking until one's deepest, darkest secrets come to light. That there is no place for light except in the shadows. Ethics and morality are patterned by philosophical thought. That we do not even consider becoming something, much alone becoming anything. Experiencing illumination. Charming with radiant eyes, broken hearts, and spirits longing for something. when is the silver lining in a world when life is short and death is gloomy? How do you know when you've entered a hopeless, desolate wasteland of desire? How can we transform our lives from something we dread to something we look forward to? Pulling us in with its bare fangs. Holding us captive is the dread that tomorrow will not come. Today is the last day. The time is now. Until then, we will gaze upon the light. The complex shadows are twirling about us for the time being. We gently touch it with our extended hands and draw life in with our stripped mouths for the time being.