you just don't appreciate the MUSIC

[This entry is FORWARD-DATED to October 24th. She will reply to this entry for a while before going to seek out Fugue.]

9:32:33
9:32:56

that was when my brother stabbed me
that is when i will die

23 years, 23 seconds, does it make much of a difference in the end?

i am renee. some call me mother. some call me bacon, or christopher walken, or charles, or cheese, or kaleidoscope, or cancer?, or canon, or any other name.( To spare your f-lists, an OOC cut. )

( A plain-text translation of the above )

There's a sound of bed sheets rustling, a soft shift of fabric that has been washed to thinness. It's noisy here, the sound of footsteps walking, people talking, strange machines beeping and distant sneakers squeaking by.

Something shifts the bed sheets and the sound of a tiny baby whining in protest is heard over the radios. The bed creaks, the baby whines.

"You know what, Vic? He looks like a Denzel."

The voice is female; tired, young and distracted.

Footsteps approach and this time the voice is a young male.

"I thought we agreed on Brian?"

In the distance, someone begins to scream. The sound is drowned out by the woman.

"But he looks more like a Denzel. Besides, I like Denzel. Don't you like Denzel?"

"Yeah, yeah, do what you want."

"Heh heh! Denzel it is then! Hi, Denzel! I'm your mommy!"

The bed sheets shift, machines beep, a woman screams and shoes squeak on by.