tramping through mission control i'm looking for a book. now this is akin to looking for a needle in a haystack, because mission control is stacked full of volumes, here there and everywhere. so i'm negotiating the stacks that form a maze, attempting to start in some logical point of order but abandoning myself to the randomness of it, i come across some stories i wrote, each one seemed to be about a particular woman i was involved with. each story has a different feel and i found myself travelling along my memories getting the kind of idea that perhaps it's possible to compile a book of short stories about ex girlfriends. maybe i will post some up here and see what happens.
another old manuscript i found was a first draft of a novel i wrote about 14 years ago, again a true story but a very dark one, a complex one to read and to write. but that's there, almost finished, it just needs an editor to tidy it up, some chopping around and reorganising, it's a film i tell you, a brilliant film in waiting.
anyways i never found the book i was looking for. it's upset me.
so at work i took the clients to 'vivid', a festival lou reed is curating in sydney and it's on the harbour, lots of nice lights, costumes, people wandering around with kids, music and the smells of cooking, the people all seem happy in their scarves and hats, lots of tourists and colour. but it dosn't really do much for me, i'm a grumpy disillusioned old man. i look at the fire dancers and secretly wish they would ignite, i look at the woman dancing in a black suit with light bulbs and hope she gets electrocuted, the juggler, mmm let's see, maybe he will fall backwards into the water or one of those stick things will fall onto his head and knock him out, those clowns on stilts should topple over and squash some pensioners out for the night, maybe the light shows projected on the buildings will malfunction and melt all the buildings like some weird simpsons cartoon, maybe baby.
i want to go home and sleep for a thousand years.

when i stumbled across agenda 21, i knuckled down to research, i mean you can't take on any half baked conspiracy theory just because it has some internet exposure, you have to check your facts and do your research, so check it out, have a look, see why i rant and rave about the socialist agenda, see why i spend hours pondering the dumbing down and indoctrination of the population, see why i loathe the united nations who are akin to the nazi party as far as freedom goes, and see why i remain committed to individuality and libertarianism over any other bullshit ideal or ideology.
are you a free spirit or a fucking brainwashed zombie?
i've decided that no longer will i tolerate the zombie classes, no longer will i ignore or suffer the fools, nope from now on i will load up my double barrel shot gun and shoot them in the heads.

at $50000 a week it was an expensive proposition but when your fucked up on narcotics and haven't slept in weeks, your eye's hanging from their own sockets bloodshot and lifeless because your living like a vampire and dying like a modern tragedy in cheap hotels every morning chances are desperation will push you towards desperate propositions. i can't remember checking in, it may or may not have been voluntary but i recall waking up in an unfamiliar room, someone standing over me talking about group work, breakfast and some kind of appointment with the social worker.
i dragged myself, more dead than alive through the motions.
anyways breakfast was some fruit i couldn't eat, not my normal cigarettes, coffee and a couple of lines, no this reeked of nutrition and my guts didn't like it. i must have eaten a quarter of a banana and taken a sip of some awful bright drink that must have been fresh orange juice when i looked around and noticed about six or seven others at the table, all equally dishevelled and unhealthy, all looking somewhat like they had better places to be.
some one mumbled something and i mumbled back, it was a strange language half recognisable.
i scanned the room to see who would be carrying but this place was run by professionals. my eye's met a another set of eye's and for a moment we read one another, yeah two bad seeds looking for a quick fix.desperation meets desperation, a glimmer of hope met with the probability of failure cancelling each other out and somehow there is an strange attraction, an silent equilibrium.
we had about 30 mins before the group session so i made a mental calculation, weighed up the options on an invisible internal scale of justice, where i was the defence, prosecutor and magistrate, sneaked out the door past the nurse and crept along a corridor past a poster advertising condoms, past a plush expensive desk and good looking blonde receptionist with soft make up who was on the phone talking about her two timing boyfriend. 'i'd never two time you baby,' i thought or maybe whispered.
my hands were shaking, i had the jones bad. i needed a cigarette if i were to attend group therapy i'd need a fucking strong coffee and a smoke, anything, whatever you have, just to feel something instead of this numbness, this fucking horrific pain that crept along my life like an evil shadow waiting for me to slip away.
i was almost near the exit when they came along, two staff members talking about where they should have lunch, i dived into the nearest open door and waited, they moved out through the double doors marked exit and as i peered out catching a glimpse of myself in a mirror, looking like a train wreck, half my face covered in a big purple bruise and my front tooth missing, i had bad skin, bad hair and a bad feeling in my guts, i could see the doors swing open and get ready to swing back. i jumped out as they disappeared and quickly followed them, waiting a few seconds until the coast was clear, then moved through and found myself outside being blinded by the sun.
it was crippling, photons had disabled me as i staggered forwards with my hands covering my face, jesus fucking christ i screamed, and this time i did scream.
some one grabbed my head and slipped some glasses on. 'try these,' a feminine voice said.
instant calm, the panic over i gazed at her, she was smoking a marlborough and drinking what looked to be a whiskey, she was wearing a cowboy hat and looking like a cross between marilynn monroe in the misfits and an evil angel, sitting back on her chair she tossed me a pack of smokes and a bottle of pills, 'take the edge off,' she sucked down some smoke and blew a few smoke rings.
lighting up, i unscrewed the bottle and swallowed a handful of the pills, 'thanks.' i threw them back, she caught them and slipped them into her handbag.
'your new huh?'
'yeah i just woke up here, can't remember anything, how i got here. they say i have to go to group therapy, what the fucks that mean?'
'it means you get to share your demons with your comrades.'
'oh shit.'
'yeah, better get used to it, every day twice a day you will be naked before seven or eight strangers who will be staring at your soul.'
'sounds fucking awful, i'm going to need something stronger than valium.'
she reached into her purse and pulled out a foil.
i leaned forwards to take it but she dropped it into her bag.
'maybe if you do good in group.'
'fuck it.' i move over to the balcony, past the steps leading down onto the street, ' where the fuck is this place?'
'la. it's on the map.'
'mmm, your a smart one huh?'
she looks at me and passes me her glass. it's whiskey, single malt, straight. 'cheers' i say and down it like a shot.
when i breath out i feel different, the edge smoothed over, 'yeah i'm ready for group. thank you...'
she smiles and we walk back together down the corridor, past the receptionist, past the dining room, into the therapy room, where my peers sit around in chairs in a circle, and the two vacant seats are filled.
thee's a moment of silence, the bad seeds look at one another, then my friend with the drugs and booze says, 'thank you for coming here, we should begin. i'm azr your social worker...'
my jaw would have dropped but it's got a permanent grin stretched across it.

days merge, the blend into the next in a sequence of fringe events, i can see the horizon, a mushroom cloud, it looks pretty spectacular as civilisation starts to implode on itself, i look to the stars, i look to the seas, i look to the heart and what do i see, blood on the streets in the town of (fill in yourself) and an angry crowd of people with hostile words and evil intent, i see a govt. failing, economy sliding, being sucked into the spiderweb domino effect of the globalised stupidity, i see the authority ponder population reduction, i see the human genome being owned by the multicorp pharmaceutical company, i see the oceans turn red, the pointless media shuffle, the rhetoric of ideologies, i see your money being worthless and your gold a gleaming rock of mineral, i see your home sinking into the dust burnt down by savages with matches and some twisted sense of justice, i see the strange aircraft delivering smart bombs, the high streets of your city are combat zones, the heavey atrillery is a chardonay socialist stuffing his face with a free range chicken and imported belgium chocolates, as he lectures on the evils of capitalism, he drives his bmw straight into his hypocrisy, where his wife who hates him opens her legs for him but closes her eyes, this is the future hate triumphs over reason, evolution inverts itself, survival of the dumbest, the strongest are clubbed to death, the smartest delegitimised as public opinion swerves into a cul de sac at a 1000 miles an hour with a jackknifed articulated truck up ahead, the brainwashed hordes of zombies and newspaper fed androids all bleating the same bleat, all seeing the same thing, like some globalised thought process they want blood as long as it's from the successful, enterprising, the strong, the smart, the independent, the free. there are those tat follow fashion, those that create it, those that care and those that don't and then there are those that know it's a fucking control mechanism, but mostly people follow the fashion, the zeitgeist, the trends, the polls, their operating instructions, their programming, twisting the past, history repeats, propaganda wears many coats, a chameleon in wolfs clothing, the destruction of a civilisation for the sake of some primal impulse, some weird jealous notion, maybe some envy or maybe just an irrational fear and loathing that goes back thousands of years, maybe i see you in the crowd, maybe its true evil is when good people do nothing, maybe that includes thinking critically and getting the evidence, maybe it's just the way the cards fall, your on one fence me on another, your a believer but i see a deceiver, your a peace maker but i see a warmonger, your a peoples person but i see seething mass of rage and un-fulfilment, you're a progressive but i see a primitive and i see through the slick slimy campaign trail of distortion and lies the evidence is there for any open minded individual but it takes a great man to stand up and admit he's mistaken, i see the dead fish eye glaze of irrational fury, i see the open wound of your crash test dummy heartbeat, i see the sound over your noise, i see the picture over your static, i know my own self where as you fear yours and the result is the white flags of the innocents being laughed at by the idiots with ideas that belong in the stone age.
oh! that's where we are now.
yugoslavia 1941 history repeats itself because of stupid people.
civilisation rip

The ideological Leftist is always an egotist. The self-esteem resulting from perceiving oneself as pure, good and right is the very air they breathe. Leftists have an absolute imperative to think the very best of themselves. This means that any negative impulse from below the threshold of consciousness must be repressed and denied access to conscious awareness, lest it disturbs the image of purity so strongly valued by the ego-self.

One of the unconscious methods by which the mind deals with such repression is called projection, whereby the disturbing “evil” impulse or feeling is accepted into awareness only on the condition that it is projected (like a film onto a screen) onto some external source. The object upon which the negative feelings are projected is then denounced as the true source of evil, which keeps the ego self-image pure and untainted.

The best objects for such projections are those closest to, but not identical with, the self – in the Leftists’ case one’s own culture becomes the best screen for projections. Thus we have the Western Leftist program for the destructive “critique” of their own history and philosophy.

So in the universities we see curricula based on denunciations of our evil past, such as charges of genocide in the colonies, and the amplification of “evidence” for destructive racism and sexism. The Leftist’s culture now conveniently takes all the blame and their ego (below which the denied troubling impulses still murmur) is protected, immune from all taint.

The Leftist is developmentally stunted, fixated in a psychology of defensive projection for the sake of self-esteem. Only a growth in consciousness can change this situation. The ego, however, resists this growth at every turn. But perhaps a painful encounter with reality might effect this necessary growth.

is there a limit to caring, love and compassion. i think i reached mine, i'm getting very non compassionate to the idiots i encounter, in the press, media, on the streets, in fact i feel like shaking them and then punching them on the nose and saying, 'wake up you fucking zombie.'
that's the problem, there are so many zombies out there. they have no brains of their own and they want to eat mine.
socialists and fascists are the worst kind of zombies in my opinion. then come sports people.

go to visit my friend who is in manly east wing a psychiatric unit, where she has been sectioned.
she doesn't belong there really, she's going through a process known as emergence and just lost her way. i was the last person to see her lucid and i attempted to give her some structure to navigate her way through. but about 9 hours later she was lost and the result is she was taken into hospital.
when i saw her she was very lucid and although had been given some tranquillisers knew exactly what she was going through and why she was there. she seemed fine although at one point she said 'i was the most powerful person she knew and that i was brilliant.'
i was somewhat taken aback, people in mental hospitals saying these kind of things would take any one aback, but i know what she means in the context of my own reality. however i am not creating hers. she seems to think i have secret insight into the universe which i do, but it's my own and pertains to me and me alone. i stressed to the lady in question, do not attach significance to anything anymore, as she was descending into mania and schizophrenia, getting messages from randomness. this is the realm of madness, i warned. not knowing when to stop.
obviously she didn't and it took her to where she is.
strange but true.
windows of universal intelligence are just that, windows and doors, they open but they also close and if one is not intuitively in synch with them when they close one can get locked out. this takes a lot of discipline and work, intuition is a highly sensitive instrument that can easily be led astray. institutions are filled with people who are locked out or in from the consensus reality, the one in which all spiritual truth is tested.
'chop that wood, carry that water.'
enlightenment, what is it good for?

creeping malaise, underlying depression, complex thoughts, everything squeezed through the eye of a needle, entry to heaven is open for the rich and thin but not the poor and fat, messages coming in from angelic realms, complications of the soul, the spirit needs revival. post trip blues, ha not really just a need to get stuck into something profound and stimulating, and i'm getting an urge to write a book, the book, it's the last one any one expects, it's the story every one is waiting for, it's emerging, after i think of the greatest opening lines...

for the writer of a novel the opening line requires the most consideration. two of my fave books have my fave opening lines, is this coincidence? i don't really believe in chance, i think that it makes perfect sense that the opening line will effect the rest of the story, as the first imprint if written with gravity will impress upon the reader for the rest of the novel.
when i was 14 i read the three books that would influence me the most, two paperbacks that to this day made the biggest impression and influenced me in both style and content. they have the best opening lines ever written and i defy anyone to come up with something equally as good or as powerful.
nineteen eighty four by george orwell starts with the surreal and brilliant line, "It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen."
what does that imply, that he sets the scene for a novel in an environment that is not quite the one we are familiar with, with a seasonal atmosphere invoking brisk english springs and then suddenly everything is out of whack, but it's not so sudden is it, it is for us as we just read the words but if we inhabit them it's starts with the first of 12 chimes, and then that extra one, the 13th that sends everything spiralling into the awful future.
the other great opening is hunter s thompsons', "we were somewhere around barstow on the edge of the desert when the drugs began to take hold.'
it's a brilliant line, powerful and strong, the spirit of adventure and the landscape of america, and all you want to know are what drugs?
the last book from that period i recall is kafkas metamorphosis which begins, '"as gregor samsa awoke one morning from uneasy dreams he found himself transformed in his bed into a gigantic insect."
all i could think was imagine that, waking up and finding yourself an insect. what a strange start to a story, shocking, slightly frightening and somewhat disturbing.
yes the opening words to a novel should representative of the novel itself, it should have the totality of the whole book within it, like the seed.

heading over to amalia, i feel i should be bearing a gift, i'm to wasted to organise anything, i'd like to come by smoke a joint and sleep with you but i'm just a mess at the moment, travelling on auto pilot, on the slipstream of a big trip and a new reality.
i can't get my brain out of gear and i can't seem to jump start, although a little bit of sun has made a big bit of difference.
we look at photo's her adventures, a holiday, a trip, strange shots of trans america, out of focus, blurred neon, drinks, i see her trail, lost clothes, wrecked marriages, crocodiles and alligators, passerby's, lonely guys with hangovers, music festivals, smiling faces, happy people, strange hollywood highs and lows, fun while it lasts, till the teardrop falls. it did look like a lot of fun but we are both older now, it takes it's toll, there is always a price. it's good being with her, at the moment she's about as real as it gets for me. everything else is out of reach as it barely even seems to based in material existence. we talk about our mothers, both very complex and difficult, amalia is taking hers on the journey to heal themselves, i can't, it's the fork in the road for me, i'm letting go of that and travelling away.
i miss jake, he's at the back of my mind, always.
i have nothing much to give anyone anymore, i feel empty, i want to close my eyes and sleep deeply and meet you in a dream.

in torrential rain i am driving in the pod heading to a suburb to buy some supplies, the small village where amalia lives is submerged and a lone figure stands in the middle of the road attempting to cross, she is drenched by cars passing and the rain.
the world outside is waterlogged and reflects my moods. my friends are in rehab or in psych wards, my inspiration is low, my energy is low, my motivation is low. the horizon is blurred and distorted, there must be a way out.
i have dinner with evan and leanne, god i love both of you, what friends, absolutely brilliant, i feel so in debt to your generosity and hospitality, wow, you guys are brilliant and one day i hope i will be able to do something for you.
we watch the movie moon, directed by david bowies son, it's very good. i feel a bit like i'm on the moon, a watery one, everything submerged and desolate. my dreams are strange and elemental, there's a sadness within them, a loss.
the day is slow, it drags but it holds the promise of something as sun breaks through and blue skies pierce the darkness.
blue skies, baby's got blue skies.

disproportinality is the big crime israel is always accused off, yet when hamas demand several hundred pisonrs for one israeli solder, this is never mentioned as disproportionate by anyone. this continuous unchallenged claim that Israeli must always act ‘proportionally’ is shouted out by evereyone. but what this means always goes unsaid. For example, when terrorists were randomly raining missiles down on Israel should Israel merely have taken an equivalent amount of ordnance and rained it randomly on gaza? In this recent case should Israel have simply sent hordes of IDF to the ship until they outnumbered the terrorists 10 to one and proceed to bludgeon them with metal polls and chains?
it's difficult for average citizens outside israel to understand the intricacies of the situation and what it means for the people who live in israel as the media is so one sided to the point of propaganda. the security of a nation must be insured, it's a fundamental human right. the last ship israel boarded contained a massive shipment of weapons from iran, no one seemed to worried about that.
it's very obvious that intentions of these peace protesters was to create an international situation where israel could once again be delegitimised by the rest of the islam appeasing world, the facts are thrown out the window with logic and reason. as for paul mcgeough from the smh i'm sure his palestinian girlfriend would be pleased to have him home home. the smh don't tell you about that do they?

a few days ago i had coffee with a friend, the high priestess who i have not seen for a few months. we met in a strange coffee shop where i would normally never go, it was great seeing her and suddenly in the middle of our chat i noticed a woman opposite me, middle aged, quite average, alone drinking a coffee. on her foot was a black mark, that as i looked formed hebrew letters, three letters in large black print. it was quite strange and i felt compelled to ask this stranger what her tattoo meant.
unconditional love she said. she said she had no knowledge of the language but she liked the shape, she didn't even know it was hebrew.
interesting,

israel. i guess i should say something about the current situation. but what can i say. a boat load of peace activists who are also turkish terrorists identified by denmark carrying weapons and chanting 'kill the jews' refuse attempts to deliver the goods after inspection, refuse attempts to stop them entering a blockade that exists for a very good reason then attacks soldiers who board it. one solider is thrown from the ship, others attacked with knives and clubs. in the skirmish some of these peace activists were killed, the world cries out at israel.
it's the same old story over and over, after 60 years israel still has to justify it's own existence and it's right to defend it's citizens.
the idiots and hypocrites in the left wing, the islamo-fascists and their appeasers all out there marching and rioting, all writing endless amounts of drivel, rewriting a history, tweaking the facts, distorting the truth, this always happens when israel is involved. it's a sick sad joke that has lasted to long. when will governments of the world let israel defend itself, when will they protect israel from attacks from gaza as they do these twisted hate crazed zombies, they won't. why?
because the fading economies of europe bailed out by saudi money needs to hate as it always has, the islamic population that have infected every facet now control foreign policy linked with it's nazi history, have a large agenda which could be conceived as an interest rate and the terrible truth is dawning on those brave enough to see through the smog of this forever war.

christopher hitchens
melanie phillips
greg shehan
daniel pipes
robin shepard

some of the more balanced perceptions on the story.

information, he who controls the information controls the world so they say. this is the truth, we know that the world is run by multi nationals, a collection of energy, pharmaceuticals, banking and various arms dealers and of course the media barons. each section supports the other, much like the members of a pedophile ring. we have seen this over and over, the status quo, be it left or right remains the same, we know that the massive public consumption of internet and media has no limits, people are plugged into these things like a heroin addict plugs in to high grade smack. the masses of dumbed down media craving brains are subtly manipulated into fear by a very strategic process mapped out in the greatest novel ever, 1984.
the powers all share one unifying directive, to keep you in fear. thus all information is manipulated towards this directive as this is what keeps the media making a profit, fear and as a by product there's anxiety and anxiety brings profit for the drug companies, conflict sells papers and ammunition and arms, people spend money or save plugging into the banking models.
truth is thrown out the window, rational objectivity is replaced by emotive reactionary subjectivity and there goes the truth.
examples of this are the irrational misrepresentation of the state of israel, flu virus, the economic collapse and bailout, the propping up of the most corrupt bureaucracy ever, the un and the massive push towards the left wing ideologies by right wing idealists. there is no longer a difference between them.
the population mass is to stupid to question anything, the average journalist has no idea how to interrogate truth in an interview because they have been dumbed down to an android state that shoves political correctness and cultural relativism down peoples throats.
yeah the human population thrives on this mis information, it sucks it up into it's hate-filled hearts and fear runs rampant, hysterical accusations are made and the enemy is always the same.
be independent, research, find your own truth, read the other side or don't, it don't really matter at the end of the day as we are all heading for the iceberg in the same leaky boat.

some times i'd like to do a course in something but i am uncertain what to chose, something esoteric or humanities based, however all that reading about political structures and fucking ancient civilisations would drive me nuts, same with the mind, the mind is just a great big trapezoid with holes that drip treacle. there's no point in trying to understand it as the mind is what you use to define it options are limited. i guess that's why i like social work, no fucking around, just go in and sort the situation out, fix the problem and leave them to deal with the rest. no point fixing a leaky ship with another leaky ship, you just have to say, 'your ship's leaking, fucking fix it or drown.'
maybe i should do a course in something abstract like cooking or flower arrangements. ultimately i think i'm just drawn to ethogens and if there was a course in psychonauts i'd be doing it, or running it.
it's funny but i miss my friend the professor who always had something amazing to say, he's in tokyo doing extreme things.

i have seen the future and it's bleak, i saw it on tv in the form of a commercial for a product that is as demonic as any christian archetype of evil. the product is
glen 20
a spray designed to kill all germs that infest the family home.
is this where we are at, frightened of germs our kids bring home from skool, do we really have to live like this?
i hate this idea that we should be spraying the house with all this crap so as to stop germs, you can't fucking stop germs, what you can do is acknowledge germs exist and for the most part our immune systems are a good defence mechanism for the ones that harm us, but mostly germs assist the immune system get stronger and if we start making our homes germ free for our kids then how are they going to have strong immune systems.
another extortion racket brought to you from a drug company.

first day back at work, i'm awake to early thanks to my jet lagged lag at 4am, although at 4am with no electric lights i am limited by what i can do, so i fold clothes and take pansy for a walk, by 7 i am at work. it's strange as i feel so detached from everything, even as the clients all greet me i'm somewhere else, my body goes through the motions but my spirit is mia.
what does it mean, i don't know, i get through the day and head home for seclusion. right now that's what i want, just to be left alone to deal with the bullshit i have to face, money is a curse for me, it eludes me, i don't understand how people can keep hold off it, why does it seem like only me who is prone to these disasters that stop me saving anything. i guess it could be worse, once i pay of my several thousand dollars debt i will hopefully move ahead to something better and worthwhile, for the moment i have to limit myself to staying in, reading and folding my clothes.

more rain fall, each night passes like a steam train through a twisting tunnel, destination tomorrow, the dog and i passengers to oblivion, we have no plan, no map, no stars to guide us, no words of advice, our instruments have burnt out, the books are gibberish.
the unborn souls watch our journey, they pray for our safe return, they gaze with watery stares and their emotions bring days and nights of endless rain.
the twisted wrecks, the dark shadow cities, the savage car shells, the stink of burning flesh, the scavenger hordes, the brutal communities of feral renegades, the strange community of violence, hate and revenge, every one carries weapons, and in that final moment when they take your life they wear the idiot grin of the savage.
we shuns along, we sway from side to side, the gentle motion sends us into the twilight, dream worlds emerge, soft out of focus symbols almost half form but dissipate with the intermittent lightning strike that makes you wake in fright, fear and horror.
the journey continues, you take a deep breath, the dog looks at you with those old knowing eyes, you smile, your hand reaches out and strokes his chin, knowing you have no weapon, you have no fear, your resources are invisible and lay within, deep down. they have never failed you, they have navigated you through all things, they have brought you to the heart of darkness and will carry you into the light.

after the post human apocalypse we beamed down to what remained of the city, the piles of slag and craters, the dust and dirt, the ground up bones and the ghosts.
eve walked into the empty heart of the city filming as she went, i decided to wander around the old zoo, there wasn't much to see, a couple of fried elephants and a carcass of a dolphin with a permanent grin. no signs of life, just signs of death. i didn't bother filming, just recorded my bleak thoughts.
my suit registered the radiation levels were still lethal, we calculated it would remain that way for the next 400 years, certainly in the blast radius but the whole planet was inhabitable due to fall out and the radiation pockets that seemed to scatter the landscape. the only living things were the wraiths, but they were not really living. i mean not by normal scientific standards of what constitutes life, we called them ghosts.
i wandered up the hill towards eve, she was sifting through some hard drives she found, all melted and beyond repair, i could see her crouching over a pile of twisted metal and what looked like the shell of a large mainframe, cage to an ancient technology. she turned her head, stood tall and waved at me, i could see her smiling through her helmet screen, for a moment she looked quite serene, the red skies above her head, the black landscape behind. i was about to wave back when suddenly she was swallowed by a large black cloud that wrapped her from behind and she was gone.
as i ran i pulled out my gun, a silver smart weapon that looked like a long dark wand.
it scanned the area ahead and asked if i wanted to terminate the ghost or trap it?'
'i don't care, just get eve back.'
the gun sent a wave of energy ahead and i saw a ripple strike a large shape , green hollow eyes flared and it fell back, releasing eve who seemed to fall forwards from out of the shadows, she seemed unhurt. the ghost moved fast, it hovered above eve like an inky cloud, my gun sent another blast towards it and this time the ghost howled and retreated.
i grabbed eves arm, pulling her towards me, 'you okay.'
'yes, a little shocked but i'm okay.'
i scanned the perimeter for more ghosts, nothing registered.
'it's hard to believe these things were once human,'
'yeah but they have no humanity now.'
'what does that make them?'
'the enemy,' i said.