Below are the 3 most recent journal entries recorded in louister_iii's LiveJournal:

Thursday, May 11th, 2006
6:09 pm	Running on empty Hey I had a dream a few days ago that I was a CSI in a case that had hit a dead end. I sort of elaborated on it and here it is. I wanted to do this because I really want to be a CSI, imagine being the chracter in this, how much it would be tormenting you...Anyway here it is. I sit in the evidence processing room, the quietest part in the lab, turning the knife over and over again; the blood from it's latest victim staining my latex gloves. It was impossible, I had reviewed the case time and time again so much I could recite the vic's details off by heart. But nothing. Nothing that could tell me who had the stones to do this. Nothing. I was slowly being lullabied with the gentle tick of the clock, the drone echoing in my mind. The clock laughed at my sleep deprived face, five hours into shift and I hit a dead end. As much as I loved being able to catch criminals who had the arrogance to think they could get away with it, I couldn't really handle it when I spend hours stewing in my own houghts about a case I couldn't solve; especially a serial killer. I had been staring at the knife for an hour now, it had been ripping my mind apart with its enigmatic qualities. I searched for my cup of coffee like a junkie looking for their next fix and took a sip of the lab standard generic liquid, it burnt down my throat. Ignoring the pain with a reluctant sigh, I came to the conclusion that nothing was going to be achieved here. I picked up the knife from the glass table, hearing the ear-splitting shriek of it's victim as its scraped against the table. I folded up the case file and trudged wearily down the corridor. I walked down the various computer rooms and DNA labs on the way to my office. Hodges from trace gave me a wave but I didn't have the energy to acknowledge his greeting. I get used to not eating, I value my body's ability to survive the stress of the day on a granola bar. Passing reception I see Warrick near audio/visual analysis, dissecting the various voice layers of a 911 call, completely immersed in his work. Good. Reaching my office through the labyrinthine passages of the lab was now routine, my shoes squeaked on the last piece stretch of lino before entering my office. It was a small room, crammed with stuff, test-tube racks, microscopes and a whole library on forensic science catalogued and coded. The centerpiece of my office was a complete set of Great White jaws leering at me from above, as if to say "He's smarter than you." I frowned angrily, throwing the case file on the desk with a sharp clatter as my biro fell on the floor. My eyes stung as I couldn't hold my emotions in anymore, the tears came, sobbing silently, I remembered what I had told the victim's mother. "Mrs Logan, I am so sorry for your loss, I promise you we will get him this time, we will." Her cries and sobs struck my soul so much, everyday I see people on the worst day of their lives. The only consolation to myself and their families, is that I can get them, I can give those people closure. Without that knowledge, I probably could not do this job at all. It made me feel pathetic inside that I couldn't catch the bastard that murdered four kids in cold blood. Being a CSI, I was their last hope. I wanted nothing more than to tell their parents I got them. The only time you will ever see them again is in an obituary. But I died inside knowing that I could never do that. I had failed. He got away... Current Mood: weird Current Music: Original Prankster - The offspring (1 Comment |Comment on this)
Sunday, May 7th, 2006
10:49 pm	Now I am free This is yet another monologue that is rather angsty but sadly based on my own experiences growing up. All of it is accurate up to the end. It has a very poignant ending. You had a heart as dark as the night, you were always out to get me. I was the reflection of the glint in your spiteful eye, the object of your deceptive smile when you saw me in the playground. I once tried to stop you; I bellowed as loud as I could for you to leave me alone. I wanted my shout to echo in your brain, to reverberate all around your mind so someone might hear me, might stop. But it came out as a desperate plea, a pathetic squeak like a bug makes before it gets squashed. I was your little pincushion, a voodoo doll that you used to spite the world. Every name you called me were big needles that cut into my heart and damaged my soul. On the playground I was your puppet that you manipulated and played with till you got bored. I used to pray everyday that you would show mercy and cut and the strings and set me free. Remember that spelling test with Mrs Stanley? I got full marks on that. I wanted to lose myself and swim in a pool of pride, but you left me to rot in the dungeon of your conscience, a barren, desolate and abandoned wasteland. I don’t even know why you singled me out. I probably was the best target, with the glasses and the thick books. I was never a person to you, I was just an “It”, just Louise. You needed a heart to be a person and you had wrenched that away from me from the first thing you ever said to me. I was something like a scab; I could be picked and flicked away. But you wanted me handy in case you got bored with stealing kid’s lunch money. I never fully understood most of the things you told me. Why should someone be bullied for getting good grades? I tried to be like your gang; I lost the glasses and un-did my plaits. But all you did was laugh icily. Your laugh was spine-chilling; it ripped and screamed at my soul like the wail from a banshee. I’ll never forget that laugh. It still echoes in my mind, plaguing my dreams. Mom always said the best defence was to ignore you and you’ll get bored. My ignorance just fuelled your drive, your resolve, your anger. You never left me alone; you and your gang followed me like a flock of harpies stalks their victim. My remaining shield was Dad. He was the only thing you were scared of. I can recall when he picked me up from school instead of Mom. You were all set, ready to launch your assault, and then you just shrank away. It was as if Dad was a massive torch and you lot were tiny insects scuttling away. Everyday was a war with me to escape the leash you had put me on. I just couldn’t. Our teachers were blind; they believed your lies and always sent you off with no fuss. They were supposed to protect me. It was only then I realised I had no-one, only my thoughts to degrade me further. My conscience laughed at me every time I cried, my thoughts fought wars in my mind. I was drowning in a sea of confusion. Still you never stopped. Never. I take one last breath and stare at the tablets in my hand. “You don’t have the bottle” You sneer in my head, but for once I ignore you. I swallow the keys out of your dungeon in one gulp. I feel myself flying, flying. Some unseen hand grasps mine and pulls me out of my sea of depression, out of your clawed clutches. Now I am in a place were you can’t touch me. My strings have been instantly cut and my leash is no longer there. I can finally feel at home, where I am tucked in to bed at night, where I can feel the warmth of my own smile, where in my reflection I see what I am and not what I want to be. My life was not a happy one; you did your best to eat away at everything I had worked towards. This was something I could do without being the reflection in your glassy eye; I can fly into my own world; I can soar and touch every cloud. I can be everything I wanted to be. I can shut my eyes and see myself smiling, smiling. Now I am free… For once in my life, for once, I feel alive. (Never let someone who is being bullied suffer in silence, if you do, what does that make you?) Current Mood: thoughtful Current Music: Glory Box - Portishead (1 Comment |Comment on this)
9:42 pm	Ghosts This is just a monologue that I made up on the spur of the moment. Enjoy! You were the mum that was never there. You never really knew me; you always looked right through me like a ghost. Whenever I got sad I used to reach out to you, to try and feel the warm security that I could just lose myself in, but I just clasped thin air. You never cared. So I found someone who did; Vanessa always made me feel like I was at home, somewhere I was a person and not the ghost that was never what you wanted. That’s why I was never there; it never was home to me. My friends were my family. You couldn’t bear that could you? So you lost yourself in jealousy and envy. You made me a ghost that would leave invisible footprints on your heart. You refused to let me touch your soul. My opinions and views were just strings of monotonous silk that you wove into a web of defiance and denial. Even when I was finally eighteen you never treated me like an adult. I was always a little girl that got in the way. I walked past the park on the way to work today. I stared mesmerised at the tiny little children playing and enjoying the presence of their families watching adoringly from the bench. They were blanketed by the safety of their parents. Shadowed by the unconditional love they knew they would receive now and forever. They knew whenever they got hurt or wanted to go home they could just run to their parents and be enveloped in the wholeness and pure care of their hearts, they would make it all better. Why didn’t you do that? When I got hurt and needed your help you ignored the streaming tears on my cheeks, you saw right through my weeping and dying soul and watched the ghost behind me. The girl you always wanted standing tall and proud and un-hurt. You gave me my independence. So don’t hate me for that. Every time you hurt me, you just toughened me up. When I slept over at Vanessa’s for the first time you wanted me to come running back to you. But I didn’t. I never needed all the stuff you gave me. My shoes that I got from dad were fine. I don’t know why you made a massive deal of buying me some more. You shoved every little tiny gift under my nose and told me to like it. You knew we needed the money for better things. I kept telling you that, but I was a ghost again, every thing I said didn’t matter. I didn’t want to be what you wanted me to be. You hated that. I was always your little exhibit that you could show off to your workmates. “Look what my little Jessica’s done!” I wanted to live my dreams. I wanted to show you that I wasn’t your dolly. I wanted to escape the metaphorical hell you put me in. It’s really nice in here. I managed to rent a flat with the money Grandma always gave me. (I saw your wince of envy when she passed me a tenner each week.) There are pictures of butterflies all around the walls. Remember when Dad took us to that Butterfly Park years ago? I kept trying to catch the rainbows of color in my hand, but they always flew away, just like you did. You had much important things to do, that’s what you always said. I was a ghost, your ghost-girl, never a human. My past was pot-holed with secrets. But you always had to bring them up. You always had to resurrect the skeletons in my closet to haunt my dreams instead of leaving them to rot. Dad loved his drink more than he loved us-you know that. Stop defending him. Just stop it. He meant every word he said to me and so did you. You were once a mother. But you let your jealousy consume you, I’m glad I break through the barrier you put me in. I have escaped a world I will never be in again, your conscience. Don’t you dare say you are worrying about me. You don’t care. You never did. You don’t know what it’s like to be lost, to be hurt, to be left out in the dark, to know no-one is around, to know no-one is there to save you. You don’t know what it's like. So stop pretending. You were the mom that was never there. You were the ghost. Not me. Current Mood: creative Current Music: Time is running out- Muse (1 Comment |Comment on this)