Kat
SWRP Writer
- Joined
- Oct 7, 2014
- Messages
- 47
- Reaction score
- 6
| Name: | Cazel | Species: | Human |
| Nickname(s): | Cazy | Homeworld: | Terminus |
| Faction: | Sith Order | Sex: | Female |
| Rank: | Acolyte | Age: | 22 |
| Class: | None | Height: | 5'5" |
| Force Sensitive: | Yes | Weight: | 118 lbs |
| You want to know more about me? Why? What do you get out of it? Don't give me that look. Everyone always wants something. That's a fact. The sooner you stop lying to yourself about it, the farther ahead you'll be. I learned that lesson the hard way. But who ever said life wasn't a spiteful bitch, right? Well, romanticists, I guess. But they've got their heads so far up their own asses they think their shit smells like roses. Anyway, I'm guessing you didn't come here to listen to some ill tempered rant from a strung out junkie. And before you ask, yes, I use. So what? Lots of people do. Can you blame them? Have you seen some of the shit that's been going on lately? Drugs are the only escape people have. Otherwise you just wind up a paranoid wreck drowning in a pit of your own piss and self loathing. And that's sure as hell no way to live. I can attest to that personally. Just ask me. Right, you did... Ugh... ****. (snort-cough) So, I guess you want to know the basics first, right? Who are my parents? Do I have a brother or sister? Any friends? Well, I can answer all of that real quick for you. Ready? Parent's are long gone. Dunno if they're dead or just gone, but I haven't seen 'em in years and I don't care. I don't have any siblings - thank god! And the only friends I have are my dealer and a few loose chicks that I play around with every so often. So, no, I guess I don't have friends. At least not in the way you'd think of friends. So how did I end up like this, you ask? Pssh... it was a bunch of shit that let to this. But I guess the biggest reason was a girl. Typical, right? It's always some girl that ****s things up. Except... she wasn't just "some girl" to me. She was the one who was supposed to make everything better for me. She was supposed to help me wen no one else would. We were supposed to do a lot of shit together. But... yeah. I'm guessing you can figure out how that worked out. But you know what? I'm going to tell you about her anyway because, honestly, she's the only good memory I've got left. It's kinda childish that I'd hang on to her for this long, but... wait. No. Shit. I don't need to justify myself to you. Just shut up and listen. (clears throat) So anyway, this mystery chick's name was - is, I guess if she's still alive, I hope like hell she is - Mila Fay. I wouldn't be surprised if you don't recognize the name. She was always kinda the silent wallflower type. We wound up meeting through a mutual friend, and we hit it off from there. Well, I did anyway. She was kinda distant, not really talkative and a bit of a loner. But that's sorta what drew me to her in the first place. Call it the air of mystery or whatever, all I know is she stirred feelings in me that I hadn't felt before. Shit suddenly didn't seem so horrible anymore, and I just felt like being with her would fix everything. Somehow... Too cliché? Well, piss off then. Who's story is this anyway? If you don't like it, leave. I'm sure as hell not going to stop you. But since you're still here, I'm going to assume you're either too stupid, too polite, or too entranced by sheer morbid curiosity to walk away now. ... So yeah, long story short, I fell in love with her. Well, as “in love” as one person can possibly be with someone who hardly seems to notice your real feelings for them. We were good friends, close even. But I think that's all I ever was to her. I always felt like there should have been something more though. Or maybe I just wanted there to be more because I was confused and afraid, and I envied her strength and desperately wanted that sort of confidence for myself. Hell, maybe I was just young, dumb and horny and the attraction really wasn't anything more than raw physical attraction. Or, shit... I don't know! Point is, Mila left before I got the chance to figure her out... to figure us out. If there ever was a chance for “us” in the first place. But I guess that's more my fault than hers. No matter how hard I tried to build up my courage, I was always painfully shy and awkward around her. Every time I wanted to say something, the words caught in the back of my throat like a wad of spit that I just choked back with a nervous laugh. Its funny you know - funny ironic, not funny “ha-ha” - when you think you have the rest of your life to say something to someone. And then one day you wake up and (snaps fingers) everything's changed. Just like that. The girl you pictured spending the rest of your life with is out the door without so much as a “thank you” or “goodbye”. I still can't figure out who I'm more pissed at for that one: me or her. Probably a little bit of both actually. Hard to say. Maybe I'm just trying to place blame because I was having a hard time letting go of a fantasy. ... Whatever, it's all bullshit in the end no matter how you look at it. Mila got a brand spankin' new life with the Jedi, and I got the shaft. Guess that's fate for ya though - conniving, deceitful little whore that she is. (sigh) So yeah, my life ran into a rut after that. Well, not so much a rut as it was a giant ****ing trench filled with broken glass, hypodermic needles, blood and tears. Nice image, huh? Try living it. I tried like hell to fill that gaping hole in my life with anything that fit - drugs and sex mostly - which got me nowhere but deeper in the pit. Each day got a little darker, a little more desperate, a little more sick and twisted. Of course, by the time I came to terms with what I was doing to myself, I was too gorked out of my mind to care. I had become a creature addicted to habit. And you know what? Some really ****ed up part of me liked it that way. Everything I did was just so I could find my next fix, or my next ****. And I never cared how or where I got it, or even who I was doing it with. Things just seemed easier like that. And in the end, all that mattered was I wasn't drowning in self pity or dwelling in the past on the future I never had. ... Wow, that almost sounded half way ****ing intelligent. Anyway... to hear myself talk about all this, I bet you probably think I've come to some great personal revelation and made a turn for the better, right? Like it all just “clicked” and I figured it out over night? Well, I haven't, so put that kumbaya bullshit out of your head. Truth is, I'm still just as messed up now as I was then. The only difference now is I'm adjusted. I still use on a pretty regular basis. Not like I used to, but who's counting anymore, right? I still crave sex like it's going out of style, and one partner is never enough. Actually, the dirtier it is, the more depraved and debased it gets, the better I feel. How's that for perspective? What? Hey, I just said I was “adjusted”. Never said I was “well adjusted”. But that's the warped mirror of perspective, isn't it? What works for one doesn't work for another. We're all unique in our own special ways like that... Or, you know, whatever. ... Look, I'm sure you've figured it out by now that I'm no genius. I have flaws, I admit that. Actually, I have a shit ton of flaws. But who doesn't, right? So sit there in silence and pass whatever judgment you like on me. I guarantee I won't lose any sleep over it. Speaking of which... I'm getting really bored sitting here digging up the past. It's late, and my head hurts, and I think I need another fix... or another go 'round with that Zeltron chick I met last week. Mmm... now that... THAT is a piece of ass worth dreaming about. Over and over... hmmm... and oooover again. Oh Yeah... ... Huh? What do you mean “what's the meaning” to my story? (shrug) **** if I know. You're the one who asked me, remember? You wanted to know more about me, and I gave you the most honest answer I could come up with. Guess that's between you and the facts if you want to try and sort something of value out of this scum pile I call a life. But I suppose if you insist on being spoon fed some kind of half-assed meaning to all this crazy shit, I guess the best - really the only - advice I'm qualified to give you is this: Live for today. No one promised tomorrow anyway. |
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