Monthly Archives: February 2015

Short n Sweet Review “The Imitation Game”

I had seen several of these types of films in the past, and a few had stood out from the pack. This was without a doubt one of those particular pieces for me. It of course focused in on the life and times of the late Alan Turing. Who had many titles to his name I might add, but in this review we will only focus in on what he is most known for. Which is being pretty much the first person to make strides in designing the technology, of what we call today “Computers”. I really loved this, I don’t think a person could have handled such a role better than Benedict Cumberbatch. He approached it with such reverence and grace, it seems almost as if he’s not playing a part. One of the main issue’s with the story I felt, was the fact that I felt it was a bit rushed. Mainly with the so called “Bullies” of the story, that gave him so many issues early in life. I didn’t feel as if at the time that was properly expounded upon, and we never got an understanding of why he was attached relentlessly. Despite some of the holes, which weren’t what you’d call gaping. I really did enjoy the relationships surrounding this film, none of them felt forced onto the audience. I’d recommend this to someone whom has an appreciation for period pieces. It of course isn’t lacking in the suspense category either.

Contributor- Chris Ballenger


That City Slicker They Call Earl by Kyle Gerst

Its 756 am alarm rings. every morning its the same routine for earl. Waking up to the screeching sound of a his custom- one of kind-dollar store alarm that makes the sound of a screeching rooster that reminds of the farm he grew up on as kid. And just like everyday that is the only memory of his childhood he will get. As he shuts off that loud obnoxious cheap rooster he loves, he puts on his blue fluffy slippers with that cursive e has he come to know and love. as he puts his slippers just as he does every morning and he smells the fresh aromas of fresh outside city garbage and loud mouth miss Gertrude arguing with her aging husband as he gets in there rustic Buick and drives off to the sweet sounds of notorious big’s juicy or whatever classic rap song he his playing that morning.
Earl never understands why miss Gertrude and her husband continue to have there lovers quarrels while the rest of the neighborhood is content with there folders cup of coffee. he thinks hell is that all you need. that what we were sold as kid. the best part of waking up is that fucking cheap ass cup of coffee complete with whatever ingredient the news says is going to kill us next. he thinks for hell all we know a simple cup coffee could be cause the next aids epidemic. they will call it folders transmitted diseases. maybe they will use that as a advertising slogan. your number one coffee for your next hospital trip. but fuck it right at least it will taste good. better then those bitch asses Gertrude and her old crusty husband rick.
He thinks i rather catch fucking aids or get me one of those diseases they talk about on the news. you know flesh eating bacteria. way rather have that then argue with my future ex wife about whose going to the grocery store, whose paying for the next bouquet of roses that are never coming in, or whose responsible for paying the rent. he thinks i mean cant those fuckers just have a peaceful morning for once. you think they could get there Budda on. or go listen to doctor oz. but no. they got to fuck up every single one of my mornings.
As Earl steps in the shower he tries just as he does every morning to shut there voices off by playing his Sony boombox his grandma gave him years ago. he plays his favorite Michael Jackson track which of course is beat it. but the voices of rick and Gertrude go where the sounds of mike jack will never be able to reach. earls head. inside its like a thought factory churning and burning, churning and burning. and what is the product they come with. well a big box of hi my name is bitchy nagging wife. i hate my fucking husband because he is never fucking me doesn’t appreciate my ramen noodles and microwave cooking skills and never buys me fucking flowers because he doesn’t have enough money to do so. you think working for animal control they could at least give him a raise so he can take me out to a nice 5 star restaurant. you know McDonald. but know i guess taking care of sick puppies and raising them back to health just isn’t good enough.
Earl would love to stop this dialogue in his head. he tries everything he can every morning. he turns the water up to scorching hot thinking it will burn his thoughts away. but this isn’t burning man. this isn’t his family farm in upstate triangle new york. this is the slums of Bronx. a place where he is never getting away

Top 5 Things You Do Not Say to Dragon Ball Z Fans

Contributor: Rick McGimpsey


1. Dragon Ball Evolution outdoes the anime and manga in every way.

2. Goku? Gohan? Krillin? These sound like Klingon names!

3. I think the name Vegeta is a subtle warning that people who watch this turn into mindless vegetables.

4. So does Piccolo have any brothers named Treble or Soprano?

5. If there is anything more idiotic than Dragon Ball Z it is its fans. Every idiot fanboy who watches this crap thinks Goku can defeat any character in any versus battle and can become the obnoxious, intolerable buttholes on internet forums and groups.

Next Sunday: Star Trek Month

Assassin’s Creed 3 Review (PS3, 360, PC)

Assassin’s Creed 3 Review (PS3, 360, PC)

There is exactly just one image that encapsulates the Assassin’s Creed fanchise, which is of a hooded figure balancing atop some kind of skyscraper parapet, looking down at the city below. It’s a snapshot that shows off a lot of what makes these games special which are their incredible attention to detail, breath-taking vertacality, amazing architecture and very unique historical settings. It also however represents the series limitations. These games are easy to admire, but you might often feel a bit distanced from them too, being held back from inhabiting these worlds as fully as you’d like to. We’ve always been on the outside looking in.

This isn’t so with Assassin’s Creed III which hauls the series across the ocean into a new setting that’s absolutely bursting at the seams with things to do. It turns a fascinating and quite often talked about section of history into a vast, open world, playground letting you conquer the rooftops, stalking the forests, and sail the seas of a revolutionary America and writing a main storyline that puts you right in the middle of the most important events of the Revolutionary War. It’s all about having the freedom of movement that the game provides you and immersing yourself in it’s world, along with setting up the set-piece assassinations that form the climax of each chapter.

With the storyline missions following the usual pattern of gathering information, stalking and eventually killing your target, (along with the odd and rather clunky naval mission which is thrown in for variety) out of this however you’re free to do whatever your heart desires. Hunt for trinkets, climb over the rooftops of New York to chase down almanac pages, or pick fights with with the British on behalf of the population.

There is a vast amount of content in this game from liberating Boston and New York, to building up a homestead on the frontier to sailing high seas, or just enjoying the outdoors and hunting the wildlife. It is because Assassin’s Creed III is so huge that it can be pretty inconsistent as it attempts to provide an astonishing amount to which it doesn’t always succeed.

Assassin’s Creed III follows the story of the hot-tempered Native American Assassin, Connor Kenway for most of his entire life. Starting a skillful tree climbing kid, to troubled young man, to vengeful adult. Not wanting to spoil anything however, he’s not the only character you will play as. Connor’s path intersects within key moments of the American Revolution. This path includes leading him to being part of the Battle at Bunker Hill. Connor finds himself fighting on the side of the patriots for most of the game. However since he has enemies on both sides of the conflict, his motivations for doing so has little to do with the fight for independence from the British Crown.

Connor also isn’t as straightforwardly charming as Ezio from Assassin’s Creed II, and even though the writing is excellent for the most part, you never quite warm up to Connor nor grow to resent the villains in quite the same way. It’s rather impossible to fully discuss as to why exactly this is without giving away some of the story’s plot. Which I will not do here as there are some really great moments in the game. A purely negative aspect of the plot however is that Connor feels more like an errand boy, then freedom fighter, within the missions Assassin’s Creed III can feel very scripted, fettering you with rigid objectives and punishing you harshly when you step outside the boundaries. Chase sequences here are particularly infuriating and frustrating on this front. Despite this, the game is often at its best outside of the story, when it leaves you to enjoy and inhabit its world.

Technologically speaking, Assassin’s Creed III is astounding. It has an excellent opening in a London opera house which is a great showcase for the new and improved animations, crowd physics and freedom of movement. However as soon as you hit the New World, it is all about the great outdoors. The story in Assassin’s Creed III spans decades and throughout that time, you get to see the beautiful forests and cities of Connor’s homeland covered in heavy snow, gleaming in the autumn morning light, and blooming in the summer. You can’t help but be in awe as you walk through the streets of a bustling Boston or New York, which are full of people, and activity.

Unfortunately however, Assassin’s Creed III falls victim to it’s own technological ambition. Texture pop-ins, frame-rate drops, and the occasional graphical glitches are also part of this experience. The loading times are also hefty. Although most of these problems have been fixed with a day one patch, it still feels petty to begrudge the game for these hiccups especially when Assassin’s Creed III is one of those games that pushes the boundaries of the 7th generation.

The basics of the franchise in terms of the free running and combat have been honed to near perfection. The free-running has been simplified and improved upon greatly. Scaling the rock faces and branches of the frontier is no more difficult then climbing the ornate architecture of Rome or Constantinople. The Animus interface is also more clear and less intrusive then before. Every element of the HUD is customizable letting you choose how much visual help that you actually want.

Combat on the other hand is still a fairly simplistic parry and counter system but it’s made much more exciting when it shows the excellent, yet gruesome kill animations. You also have a big selection of weapons to choose from. Although oddly in order to swap out your weapons, you will have to visit either the homestead mansion or a shop. Trying to remain hidden is can be much more satisfying then causing a giant brawl. Attempting to stay incognito during assassination missions is extremely challenging and mostly for the right reasons. Assassin’s Creed III is a much more combat focused game then any of the previous entries; there’s a lot less leaping around ruined buildings and much more stalking and killing man and beast alike.

Like before, multi-player is an unexpected pleasure, placing the finely honed running, and killing mechanics of the single player experience into an inventive and surprisingly new context. There is Wolf-Pack Mode which is a co-op score attack where you and your friends work together to kill the npc targets. It is insanely entertaining, yet at the same time it’s still the familiar Assassinate mode that holds the most appeal. By playing the multi-player you unlock an impressively built full formed branching story about the Animus and Abstergo that provides that extra motivation to keep playing.

The one thing that is really holding back Assassin’s Creed III is its pacing, as it can be very frustrating especially for the first third of the story. At the beginning of Connor’s story, it feels like you are kept on a very short leash, your actions and movements are dictated by the plot for a good threeish hours. This can be disappointing when you’ve had a taste of the epicness that is the open world. It is sure a low point that lasts too long, and the game only really recovers when it sets you free to explore at your own pace.

After that, the mini map opens up with enticing icons inviting you to join hunting clubs, explore with frontiersmen, recruit your own assassin underlings in New York and Boston by loosening the Templar’s grip on the cities, or take part in hours of optional naval missions that put you behind the wheel of your very own ship. How much you engage in all these optional stuff will depend on how much you like the game itself. If you just stick strictly to just the story based missions, you might find yourself growing frustrated and even bored with the frequent cut-scenes. However if you allow yourself an hour or two of exploration between them, the game’s rhythm gets to be much better. The naval missions in particular are a real highlight. They’re dramatic and the feeling of steering the ship against the ocean’s swell and battling through unfavorable winds is really convincing.

Even though Assassin’s Creed III’s variety and freedom is in many ways a saving grace, it is also problematic as well. There is a vast amount of things to do, but not 100 percent of it is integrated into the over arching story. While the optional things like the naval battles, fort assaults, and the Homestead missions are great, meanwhile other things feel unfinished, or tacked on just to add to the games overall length. These include the Boston and New York underground tunnels, trading and crafting, and training your Assassin recruits. These features are only half realized and overall feel like wasted ideas and opportunities. How much you enjoy the game will depend heavily on how much willing you are to figure out and engage with these optional activities on your own because the game doesn’t guide your hand towards them.

Despite it’s flaws, Assassin’s Creed III is still a very enjoyable overall yet the problems that exist hold the game down from achieving what it could be. Not everything about the game melds together convincingly and the missions unnecessary hand holding that sometimes undermine the sense of freedom that the rest of the game works so hard to create. However it achieves so much that you can’t help but respect it. No other open world game has given us a setting that is as impressive to observe as it is to play through.

Connor’s story has its flaws but it still tells a tale much larger and compelling than most other games can manage. Being set in a fascinating period of history, Assassin’s Creed III may not be a huge improvement over its predecessors, as many fans were hoping for but it’s still up there in terms for the best of what the series has achieved so far.

Final Rating: 8.7/10

Contributor:[Adam Buskirk]


By, Jason O. Logan
The naked bulb shined down on the table Trane sat at in the cramped storage shed in the backyard of his family’s ancestral home late on one of the cool Indian summer fall nights that are common in South Georgia during that time of year. There was an empty chair next to him with a vintage double-barrel shotgun leaning against it and two empty tumblers surrounding a fifth of Johnnie Walker Black on the table. Despite the tinge of the chill in the air, Trane sweated profusely while slumped back in his chair as he nervously tapped his foot in anticipation of what he and Grizz would have to face that night. Some of the sweat was caused by that anticipation but most of it was loss of blood from the wound in his side that came from trying to fight a well-armed demon on his own.

“Gaah…damn, Grizz, get yourself here, man, or I’m going to bleed out before we can settle this,” Trane thought as he poured a finger of the whiskey in one of the tumblers to settle his nerves while he waited for his cousin.

He was just about to take a sip of the liquid when he heard the heavy tread of Grizz outside the shed coming to the door. The two cousins, closer than brothers, stared at each other with rueful resignation because they knew the battle their great-grandfather had prepared them for from a young age was about to commence and one or both of them probably would not survive the carnage. They had no choice if they wanted to fight or not because the Old Man had trained only them, his two oldest great-grandsons, for what had to be done. It was down to them to handle this supernatural monkey business or the end of their family would be measured in less than a week.

There had been a slight resemblance between the two forty-something men when they were little boys being trained in mystical combat and knowledge by their great-grandfather, the Old Man, but that had faded with the years. Grizz looked like a skinny Rick Ross after his weight loss with a full, bushy beard topped off by a bald head while Trane looked like a stocky, clean shaven Rasta with dreadlocks grown over twenty years flowing down his back. Besides the same brown shade of skin, the two cousins also shared eyes the color of grey slate the same as their great-granddaddy and his brother before them.

The eye color along with the vintage shotgun, a few other magically charmed weapons, and a family curse was all part of the inheritance that came with having the Old Man’s blood running through their veins. He had told his two great-grandsons many times he had given up hope that two males descendants would be born in the right order with the right eyes to train before he died. Just like all things magical and legal, everything had to be exact to have a chance to end the curse of the family demon.

“Damn, man, what happened to you?” Grizz asked as he copped a seat in the empty chair.

“I ran up on Daemon and he shot me,” Trane croaked out.

“How’d you know it was him?”

“Well, I don’t think Blossom, GA is hiring motorcycle cops with broken necks and sickly green skin no matter how racist the city government says it isn’t anymore.”

“You know the Old Man told us not to fight that bastard by ourselves. The two oldest, grey-eyed males have to be together to destroy him.”

“That’s what he said but since this thing’s been dogging our family since the Old Man’s old man was a young man I thought maybe it was time to try something different.”

“Whatever, man. Let me look at this,” Grizz said as he gave a probing look at his impulsive cousin’s wound. “You’re lucky because it looks like the bullet went through your side and didn’t hit anything except some meat. You’re still going to need a doc to look at it but if you’re going to die tonight it won’t be from that alone.”

“Yeah, that’s good to know, ya mook. Did you bring the shells?”

“You know I did along with the Colts and the blade,” Cousin Grizz replied as he placed six homemade shotgun shells, iridescently silver in color on the table along with a blade so clean and sharp that It shimmered and two loaded antique Colt .45 six shooters with worn handles.

“Good, good, we need the firepower of the shells to give us an opening for a kill shot on the beast because everything else is just going to make him mad. Here, take a pull,” Trane said as he offered his cousin some of the J-Black.

“Man, you know I don’t truck with that,” Grizz said with a scrunched up frown on his face.

“Hellfire, boy, man up and drink some of this. We both need to be steady with what we got to do tonight.”

“Hehe…talkin’ like the Old Man, huh? Alright, gimme that damn bottle,” Grizz said as he poured just enough to cover the bottom of the unused tumbler while Trane loaded two of the six enchanted shells into the double-barrel.

“Whoa…man, this is why I don’t drink because this stuff reeks.”

“You just never developed a taste for it. Never will either because you got too much of a sweet tooth. Give you the sugar and you’re fine.”

“Yeah, that’s how the Old Man got me to come out to the woods with you and him to train by bribing me with candy bars and honey buns.”

“That’s how you became as big as a grizzly bear too but now I’m the one gaining the weight you lost.”

“True, but you won’t have to worry about your belly if we don’t handle this tonight.”

“No doubt. Funny thing is that I never really believed the Old Man when he talked all this mumbo jumbo mess even after he showed us the family book. I don’t think I really believed until tonight when that damned demon gatted me with his nine.”

“Oh, you never believed in me, hmmm?” said a voice crusty with age but still capable of whimsy. “The Old Man believed in me. He believed in me so much that I smothered him to death with a pillow in the hospital the night he had his stroke. His brother, Gaynor, believed in me right before I ripped his throat out and scattered his blood all over the cotton bulbs on the old family farm back in ‘38. His father, Henry, believed in me when I led the lynch party that roasted him and his brother, Zachary, over an open flame down in Florida at that turpentine camp. I’m very real and I’m coming to send you two to join your ancestors tonight.”

If Trane and Grizz could have they would have turned white when they heard the demon’s squawk outside of the shed’s door. They were transfixed as they listened to Daemon take spiteful joy in the pain he had caused their family through the generations. Its spell didn’t last long though as the Old Man’s conditioning kicked in and the two cousins moved almost unconsciously as they gathered their weapons of choice. The training the Old Man had drilled into them mercilessly for the last ten years of his life and ten of theirs from what seemed like before they could even say their names made them ready.

Trane tossed the four unloaded shotgun shells to Grizz who slipped them into the right front pocket of his jeans as he made sure the carbine that had belonged to the Old Man’s father was locked and loaded. Trane grabbed Uncle Zachary’s twin Colts and made sure they were both loaded with the silver because they were going to get more work tonight than they had when Uncle Zack rode the Texas plains with the Buffalo soldiers after the Civil War. Zack would have stayed out West if he didn’t have to come back to fight the family demon with his brother, their great-great-grandfather, Henry.

“You can’t stay in there forever, boys. Hiding out from me? For shame. The Old Man would be heartbroken to know he raised two chumps afraid of their own shadows. Come out, come out because that witching circle around this little house ain’t going to keep me out. Not for long anyway.”

“You sure you want us to come out, you gruesome sonofabitch? Somebody’s going to die tonight but it won’t be either one of us,” Trane called out with more bravado than he felt.

“That you, Trane? You knew I could have killed you out there on Newton Road tonight but I wanted to get both of you at once because I like the hunt.”

Trane mouthed WINDOW to Grizz who nodded his understanding as he clambered through the pane in the back of the shed but not before Trane pulled the knife out of the sheath clipped to his belt. Trane was the tactician of the two while Grizz was the fighter. The Old Man had trained both of them to defer to the other’s strengths so Grizz knew if Trane grabbed the knife that his cuz had a plan and he needed to be ready with the part he had to play.

“Yeah, it’s me. You got off a good shot at me. Did you mean to hit me here or did you miss before I backed my ride back into your miserable ass?”

“A little of both, Trane, a little of both but are you going to talk me back to Hell or are we going to do this?”

“Come on in, Daemon, or did you bring another lynch mob with you this time like you did with Grandpa Henry and Uncle Zack? You always come at us as one of the Bacon Boys and we know they don’t roll by themselves, demon possession or not. “

Grizz crawled along the side of the shed while Trane traded words with the demon because he’d figured out what his smart guy cousin was planning and he knew he had to be ready when the opening came.

“Screw it. I’ve cancelled the circle’s spell so walk on in here with your boys in blue or by yourself but word to our great-granddaddy, Jackson Stone, Sr., me and cuz are going to make sure you won’t walk out. You got too much of our family’s blood on your claws. It’s time to kill you,” Trane promised as he threw up a simple, left-handed spell to revoke the enchantment that kept the hellspawn at bay while he took a last swallow of the whisky on the table with his right.

Daemon, who actually was by himself, kicked open the shed’s door sending splintered parts of it flying through the cramped space. The beast stood in the doorway still wearing the flesh of the cop he had taken over after he had snapped his neck. The dead young police officer’s head swung on his twisted neck as bloody drool dripped from the side of his mouth. With one long step, he had a grip on Trane’s neck blowing graveyard foulness into his face. Trane had something on his breath too as he spit a stream of J-Black into the beast’s eye. That dirty trick loosened the fiend’s grip enough for Trane to pin the clammy, rotting claw to the table with the shimmering blade.

“Blast his ass, Grizz!” he yelled to his cousin standing in the shattered doorway with the vintage shotgun loaded with the enchanted shells. “Blast him!”

Grizz gave the demon both barrels. The bare light bulb swung around so much it left glowing purple afterimages on his retinas which didn’t help with the smoke from the shotgun blasts to see where he had hit the raggedy bastard. He knew he had hit him because he heard a strangled wail filled with anger and pain that he knew wasn’t Trane because he would have cursed him off if he had been hit.

Trane actually was hurt because some of the scatter from Grizz’s shells had hit him in his right shoulder, the same side as the bullet wound the demon had given him earlier that night. The smoking black goo that flew from the demon’s chest which Trane guessed was the creature’s lifeblood added to his pain when it gushed over his chest, burning his flesh, and the right hand he used to hold the knife pinned through the demon’s claw.

So much pain but the Old Man had taught both of them how to move past that. They had to see this through to its final end, Trane thought, as he pulled out one of Uncle Zack’s Colts and started firing into the abomination’s lolling, off center head.

He got off the six shots so fast he thought he was holding an automatic pistol while the demon beat on his head with its free fist. Grizz had loaded two more of the silvered shells and let the evil thing have it but by that time the bloodlust was on Grizz who flipped the barrels of the shotgun around to beat the thing with the handle.

Trane forgot or no longer cared about the other six-shooter as he pulled the knife out of the table and the demon’s claw and stabbed it deep into its chest to get any blood he could out of its shriveled, desiccated heart or whatever beat under its sternum. The same bloodlust had taken over him just as much as Grizz as he ignored the keening, scalding pain of his wounds from the nine and shotgun fire and Daemon’s fetid blood as it burned his forearms.
Grizz and Trane were cousins, not brothers, but in that shed under the swaying light they were of one mind as they savagely wrestled and beat down the demon that had tormented their family for so many years. Their tears and howls of angry sadness mingled with the death cries of the beast as they all rolled along the floor of tiny space.

“Move, Trane! Get off him!” Grizz screamed as he raised the stock of the shotgun over his head to slam it down for the deathblow.

The handle landed with a wet ka-chuk as it split the demon’s head in half. The demon’s life force broke and shook the earth as it left the haunted cop’s body and went screaming back to whatever level of Hell it had come from so many years ago when Henry and Zachary’s great-grandfather had conjured him up to help him and his out of bondage.

The silence left in the aftermath of Daemon’s passing was staggering, almost deafening after the roaring noise of their battle with Daemon. If It hadn’t been for the smoke coming from the dissolving corpse of Daemon’s host and the disarray left from the battle then it would have been just another late Saturday night before daybreak in late October in a southern small town. Even the lightbulb had stopped swaying to and fro as the light shown down on Grizz and Trane with his battered, broken body.

“Trane…Trane…come on, cuz. Get up, man,” Grizz pleaded with his prone cousin even though he knew the demon wouldn’t be the only one not walking out of that shed.

“Leave me alone, ya damn bum. I’m trying to rest,” Trane said in a weak whisper.

“It’s not time for you to rest, T. You can’t leave me and the family now. We won, man, we won.”

“I know but the Old Man always said…always said one or both of us might not make it out of this alive,” Trane said with much effort. “Is that bastard gone?”

“Yeah, that devil’s back in his hell but you can’t go with him,” Grizz said as a tear started running out of his eye.

“Whatever, man….whatever. We all gotta die. I can go knowing we saved our folks. It don’t matter about…,” said Trane as his body shuddered from his last breath.

“Trane…Trane…Trane,” Grizz repeated as the bright, blazing sun started to rise in the East to let him know a new day was dawning after too long a night. A nocturne that had claimed so much from his family including his cousin who had been much more than a brother to him.

The Old Man always told them the inheritance would be a heavy load that could break them just like it had broken so many in the clan before. Trane carried that weight though and left a new inheritance for Grizz and the family filled with dazzling possibility. That was the future, however, because in this present Grizz needed the remaining gloom to weep for his indomitable, unconquerable kinsman.

Damned to Do

I close my eyes and breathe, pretend it’s all a dream. The trials, the errs, falling flat on my face after giving my all. It’s the words I didn’t say, the actions I gave you that I never gave before. It’s knowing who I am and expecting more than I am. It’s rushing to conclusions that I was foolish to believe. It’s trusting a heart that no longer beats.

I’m a hopeless person, hoping one day I’ll be okay. Believe me when I say I’m happy for you, because I am. No matter how conflicted it makes me feel, your happiness and peace of mind mean more to me than I myself do.

It’s in my nature to be bitter and vindictive. My base instincts to make to make you feel as disgusting, ensnared, licentious, as you made me feel. To sin is to err and I’m the Queen of the Damned. It’s in my blood; envy, lust, wrath, greed. To want you to want me in the same way, but not all sinners are as damned to do as I am. It takes a special type of sinner to put themselves through Hell in the name of punishment for being what they cannot change. False virtue can never turn the damned into Saints.

I never pretended to be a virtuous soul. Virtue is for the save-able, something I could never be; will never be. I’ve never been one to delude myself into believing I was something more than expendable, more than a placeholder for the more desirable someone they really wanted. I was the twit who, for a moment, believed I was something more than temporary. Those who believe contrary forget, all life is temporary; some of us more so than others.

The truth is, a sinner is a sinner; damned to do, damned to want, damned to love. The pious sinners masquerading as Saints, fooling everyone, including themselves, into thinking they are more than they are. The sinners who damn themselves for wrongs they can never forgive themselves for. I’m the Queen of the Damned, stuck paying for sins I’ll never be able to repent, but never will I believe I deserve more than I am. The sinner of sinners; living blind, learning to love the sins in my blood.

Contributor ~ Amanda Zober