that sediment that could taste like shit if you're having a tea.... if you're having one of those lemon and honey hot drinks it can actually be pretty good.. so i guess it could taste like shit, as well as it could be the best thing of the drink... Somehow it makes me think of those yogurts that have the fruit at the bottom. There was nothing that infuriated me more than having it mixed. So what's the deal... the whole problem of distribution could be solved if you just stir the damn thing up!!! but then it spoils the fun. somehow it still makes more sense when it's together.. but seperate...

-s

Following are benedictions for the Dregs.

The bleak bubblegum numbness. They call this stage depersonalization. I love the way it feels. I am no longer me but I am watching my movie. I’m sitting in my chair smoking my cigarette and my eyes and the camera pan back and forth across the lawn. I see dog’s chasing kids and kids chasing balls and balls chasing cars and cars chasing dreams and dreams chasing reality. It’s always that complicated with me. So I speak in tongues, now that I am removed. The inner-dialogue has been replaced by a hum. It’s high in my mind, yet constant and incessant. It’s like listening to an egg fry. Here I am. Sitting and waiting for anything to happen. Getting fatter. This is who I am now. A huge hole in my life, I let the smoke burn my lungs and slow expel it from my mouth, the smoke curling upwards in spiraling question marks that seem to mock my state of mind. What? What are you doing? I can’t even concentrate enough to speak, when I do the words are convoluted. I love it and want to do it some more. I tear out the tobacco of a cigarette, stuff the sticky green goodness into the paper, twist off the end and light it. I’m smoking it and it stinks, like it’s supposed too. I feel the smoke, velvety and heavy as it rolls down my throat into my lungs and back out again, escaping quickly from my lips. I press my lips tight and the smoke fans out, filling the air with grey mist. My eyes are burning, but I’m buzzed. I’m not thinking at all, I’m rubbing my eye and watching tv. I sit there. I’m waiting for the sun to set. It sets and now it’s dark. I’m ready for my regularly scheduled program. I’m not me anymore. I want to be so high I can’t see, but this weed is shitty and it doesn’t take me very far. Beep Beep, Beep Beep. I’ve seen this commercial a thousand times, who could this be? A message for me? “I’m going to sleep,” I’m disappointed to see, my girl, she’s ditched me. Poor, pitiful me, I used to get out and drive, look at the sky at night, but now that I’ve died and lost the will to try, all I want to do is get high.
So I’m back again, way to soon. I need more smoke, I need to feel nothing like what I feel like. I should feel bad, she left me, I’m alone, my friends are all gone, I’ve got to grow up, I’m going to throw up. Wait, the cigarettes lit and it’s burning my sky, I take a long hard drag and as it burns into my body I snort, smoke exits my nose promptly and my eyes water. I need real air and suck in a bit too hard. I suck in the cigarette, it sears the back of my throat. I can feel it in there, stuck, still burning, smoking is coming out of my mouth and I can taste burned flesh and blood. I freeze but it hurts so bad that I swallow and it burns. I start coughing blood, it’s practically flowing out of my mouth. I fall on the floor, I cough up the joint and it’s still lit somehow. I’m coughing blood and I don’t care, I’m so high. I lay on the floor, blood still oozing, I decide to take another hit. I pick up the roach, wipe it off, put it to my bloody lips and with my bloody hands I shakily light the tip. I suck in, swallowing spit and blood and sweet smoke. Marijuana. THC. I medicated myself straight to death. But it didn’t matter, because I was high, I was happy.

Oh, you think I should call her. I thought I should blink. I’d rather sit here and wonder whether or not she loves me. All I can smell is shit. Shit from our dog. OUR dog, he is ours. I couldn’t care for you. I try to see us, where it is eventually heading, in the other direction. We bought a dog. I’m so scared. I can’t raise it without you. When you leave I go to shit. I am in shit now. So I try and create reality without her, I want to be without her, in a way. Only because I don’t realize what I have, doesn’t this sound familiar. I kiss her and then leave. I think about the kiss all the way there, how stupid and unfamiliar it was, which means nothing to me. I don’t know. He is finally awake. I don’t think I can tame him. She wants what I can’t give her. It feels so good and so wrong. I tried hard to be everything she wanted, but it’s definitely never enough. She wants to take everything, she wants to be me, so let her get over it. Ultimately meaningless, because I am ultimate nothing and she sees that in me and goes on with her life. If any of this makes sense, then you should probably shoot yourself in the face, sir.
It’s too dangerous though, these unexplained actions.
So I take her to the place where we kissed first. Everything happens before I even say it. We fall in love (I’m asleep) and then we’re married. We have kids, we live our lives, our children (now grown) respect us, yet they want to move on with their lives, which is understandable, so we are stuck with this IDEA of what we are and the actuality of what we are (which is completely different.)
So I forget, philanthropically, I end the affair and she says good night.
“What affair?” I ask casually.
Bryan shot me.
Bryan shot me.
Say it or I will die.
Cue the dramatic music.
End and cut scene.
“So here I am, supposedly stunned at what I just saw.
It was I who shot him?
I have a warrant?
Yes the lawyer says, quietly.
“ I ask him why it matters?”
She answers for me, “the world is full of convenience, and those things always work out.”
So I’m going to kill him and his thugs.
So I’m dead now, been accused of rape and don’t understand why the world works this way. Shoot shoot, I think I might be gay. I’ve never taken it in the butt, but hey, it might be ok.
In the end all I know is that life is so, life is so.”
And cut. Turn off that stupid music.
I’m back to my really real life now, except this, the life, isn’t really really real. It’s just the reality that everybody else created for me, because I obviously take no responsibility for my actions.
The next day, here at work.
Bryan shot me.
Bryan shot me.
Say it or I will die.
I’m shivering. I’m so cold. Sitting in the chair, supposedly the last thing I see is his face standing over me, gun pointed at my face, me looking up at it, seeing inside the barrel of the gun, the cold black metal burning a hole in my head.
It’s supposed to be dramatic and I’m supposed to die. I’m the lead actor so I’m supposed to look like I care. I can’t believe I have so much power. In my arms, the audience is putty. With my hands and I can create them. In my eyes I can monitor their evolution, in my grasp I can destroy them.
My public, they all love me. The poor saps, not like poor poor, just poor in that they just don’t have enough money as the rest of us.
So money doesn’t matter. I’m a washed up accountant, looking for a break. The guy with all the money comes in and I honestly don’t think whether or not this guy is going to hurt me if I can’t pay him. I’m supposed to be scared, I’m supposed to know what’s going on.
And action!
I’m looking around at the room. The first thing I notice in this empty old garage is a table. There are a couple of shiny things, innocent looking. But then I see what’s really in store for me. I see a pair of scissors, some metal wire and a bal tine hammer. Funny thing is that I’m worried more about the metal wire than the scissors. (Apparently some of my friends have met the same fate in the last two films.)
But there I am, bound to the chair, gagged. I choke on the dirty socks in my mouth.
“Yeh, sorry about that. This fat lazy bitch forgot to get you some new socks so we made him use the ones he was wearing. He’s probably been wearing them for awhile.” He points to a fat bastard holding a baseball, looking like a wolf ready to pounce. Or rather, a wolf in sheep’s clothing. (I’m supposed to think that, don’t worry about what it means.)
So the guy whose doing all the talking, the guy that I owe money too, he picks up the wire and looks at it. “What the fuck is this Tommy?”
The fat guy answers, “That’s the rope, didn’t you ask for it?”
“I told your stupid fucking fat ass to get the .032 diameter wire, not this weak shit, how the fuck am I supposed to cut through this fuck’s bones and meat with this flimsy piece of shit?” The guy answers, obviously upset.
I look at him; supposedly I’m supposed to be scared. Scared is the hardest. You have to look like you about to run away yet pretending not to be intensely intrigued with what you’re seeing.
“Sorry Terr, didn’t read the box I guess. “ Fat boy answers.
“Didn’t read the fucking box,” Terry said, shaking his head.
“Maybe if you didn’t spend all day on your stupid fat ass watching those stupid fucking Cop shows and eating all day long you wouldn’t be so fucking fat and useless you fucking slob.” He said, knowing that Tommy wasn’t really fat, he just liked making fun of him because he is bulimic and cant help how fucked up he looks. Plus, Terry said, only bitches get eating disorders.
“Hey Terr, come on man, you know I’ve got a problem.” Tommy said, looking wounded.
“Yah your fucking problem is that the fat from your ass has moved into the back of your brain and fucked up your vision so much that you cant tell a fuckin 2 from a 3, you stupid mother fucker.” Terry added.
“Well, at least I’m not an asshole,” Tommy said, walking towards me.
He, supposedly hits me with the bat, I cry out in pain, spewing blood all over the concrete floor. Cut
What the hell was that? Was I even trying anymore? Ok. One, two, three, I’ve got to get this next one, perfect.
So we are already two hours into it, I’ve taking a fucking beating. So far, they’ve removed all but two of my fingernails and three of my toenails. I’m bleeding from those wounds about as much as I’m bleeding from the 2 or 3 hundred small cuts I have all over my body. Both my eyes are swelled shut and my front two teeth are missing. There is blood everywhere. But I still manage to smile.
“Hey JT, I saw that bitch you were with last night at Brickey’s.” I said, laughing my ass off because I knew that the girl he was with was a guy and what I really saw was TJ jerking off the director in the bathroom, both of them doing lines of coke off of each other, taking turns cumming on each other’s face, probably realizing that they were both kids at one time, wondering how they went from playing with Legos to cumming on guy’s faces at Brickey’s.
All right, action! The director yells. I can’t help put snicker at the comment and several others laugh, the ones I’ve told anyways. I see some sound guy off the set pushing his tongue against his cheek mimicking the way a dick looks pressed against a cheek, obviously making fun of JT. Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything. Bad karma I guess.
So, back to faking it.
“I’ve been battered, I’m bruised from head to toe. Somehow I have covered myself, and the room, with over 24 pints of blood and yet I’m still alive. I try and open my swelled little left eye, all you can see is the black dot that is my eye now. I see JT there, he looks pissed, little did I know that was because I gave the ‘loids some pictures of JT actually in the act of getting his part at Brickey’s. Ha. I’m a bastard, but I’ve got balls. I see JT standing in front of me. He’s got that black gun leveled with my chest. This is the moment I’ve been waiting for, my big finale. I’m nervous; I suck in a deep breath and get ready to die. JT spits on me, he leans over, really close to my ear and whispers, “this is payback asshole.” I don’t remember that being in the script, but I figure he’s just really into it. I act like I’m crying and he says, “shut the fuck up you silly bitch.” Then he fires and it hits me hard. I didn’t know blank guns hurt that bad. Everything is quite and everyone is staring at me. I figure that’s because I’m reeling in pain and not dropping my head to the side like I was supposed too.
Cut! The director yells.
“God damnitt, you stupid fucking actors, why the hell cant you do what you’re told,” he bellowed, spittle issuing forth from his mouth.
“Uhh, captain I think there is something wrong,” some bitch boy says.
“What the fuck is you talking about?” The director asks, looking around for who said that.
Ha-ha, obviously there was something fucking wrong. I’m lying on the floor with blood pouring from my wound and nobody seems to notice that it’s real blood. I don’t move because I got shot in the fucking gut, by some asshole that I took a picture of giving a blowjob. Shit, things never live up to my expectations. Good thing I don’t have to worry about that anymore.

It seems like everything I have created is exactly what the world is, it seems strange, relating the world to nylon. But I can. I see the chain, the physical, chemical reaction that creates it. All it needs is water, coal, and air. Lovers cannot have what I have made. Think of the applications a toothbrush and stockings, the way to your heart. It wraps you up and steals you. I’ve saved lives with parachutes, ropes, etc. I’ve created something that will live on, forever. My invention, my child, my eternity. Repetition, that’s how I found it. The repetitive bonds of polypeptide have held my heart together; I was completely lost without it.
Although, I think I may have lost something in the process. I was a good man, I lead the life I thought in which I thought I would prosper. Harry, the photographer at our wedding, he showed me eternity. It was with him that I would understand how images, the mundane details of life could be captured in an instant and then recreated as many times as I wished. How amazing. Life is such, just a repetition, religion. Everything. We all are living and live through these repetitive processes. Some would say I know nothing; others say I am a genius. I guess it’s up to my legacy. How will I be remembered? As a saint, as a sinner, a blow to the head could make the difference.
I relinquish my crown as anyone else would. I see death, destruction all around me, but in the midst, I realize, that life is worth living. Although I see the disgust, the dying, I feel death encompassing every ounce of my soul. But the rope, my polymer, my lifeline, my nylon, it holds me together. I slap him once to the cheek. He’s shot and I see the blood from his shirt. Did my invention create this monstrosity, or did I? The rats and cockroaches will be the only ones left to tell my story.

Here I sat, the dog chewing on my backpack. I felt a slight tug, then sharp teeth, straight into my foot. It echoed through my body with a strange sound, “it laid it in the ground.”
The dog growls, tugs and tugs, shaking its wiggly tail, pulling off my leg. My whole body had that feeling like a limb that fell asleep and is now waking up, it all felt tingly. All the sounds came from the same place and no place at all. Where was I being lead? Suddenly, the dog lets go and starts chewing on the carpet. I lay there, not knowing whether to move, shaking at every feeling I felt. It hurt so much. But it was so laughingly hilarious.
Well, I was starving and decided to bring forth an emotionless speech, an auto press. The taste in my mouth was generally copperish. I need some feeling, some hope of no death, so I heard the laughter on TV and felt the love surround me. Little puppy stopped biting and now I am to go to heaven.
My body moved slowly, into the night. I fell asleep, realizing I barely missed hell.
So far the sun had shone, a prediction, I’ve just been given some second chance. Explaining myself into a violent distance, I heard the dog snarl and come back for more, he chomped on, like he never had before and I knew I was there to stay.
Back to realization, I understood this song, I have come back to life, and the pain it’s here to stay.

It’s me. Again.
I’m standing here above this woman. Another mother of three, another woman who deserved to be set free. I look right into her eyes. She looks so scared. I lean into her, whispering into her ears, “Its ok, you’re going to be free soon.” She cries and cries, telling me about her husband, poor little thing doesn’t even know that she’s going to be perfect, in about a minute. I raise the knife above her. I stab into her chest. I take out the knife and she screams in pain. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” I say. It helps I think. I see the look on her face, she does look peaceful, and I wish I were her. She’s going to love me for this. I remove the knife, the blood leaks. I pull up a chair to watch. I let her lay there, bleeding. Should I help her? No. This is my second murder. I can’t believe what I am seeing. I can’t believe what I smell. I can actually smell the metallic smell of her blood. I sit and watch. She looks beautiful. I’m lost in her eyes, watching the life fade from her. It’s disgusting, yet it’s so beautiful. I breathe out. There’s nothing left in her. She’s in heaven. I start pulling trash bags from the box, the lawn sized kind. I pick up the saw, cut her into little, throw-away-able pieces. I put each little piece into the bag, pulling the yellow cords shut and then tying them twice. I have blood all over me. I’m glad.
I hear sirens, from a distance. It must have been her screaming. I see red and blue lights, shining in from the garage windows. The garage door open and there stands the man’s husband. He sees me, standing there, holding her head; I guess I can understand why he was upset. I bet it’s an image he will never forget. I’m upset that he saw this, but I’m lighthearted, because I k now I am sending him to a better place. I pick up my gun, put a bullet in him. Three actually. Pretty upset, but he coughs and then he’s with his wife. I wish I could get the kids, but the police are there and now I have to send them away. I came prepared. I pick up the shotgun. I aim towards the first officer, who fires towards me. I let loose two shells; one strikes him in the face. I see it burn off him. I smile. The next officer shoots me right in the stomach. I fall down, because it hurts, but I keep smiling because I know I’ve saved so many. God is going to be glad I sent so many back to him. I say this, my dying words, out loud or to myself, I’m really not sure. “I love you God, I sacrificed myself to you, I hope you appreciate everything I have done, I’m so glad I won’t get to join you.” With that, the officer shot me once again in the head and I became lost in hell.

I saw the odometer speed to fifty-six then I turned into the left lane. I saw the car coming and I rammed it. The crash was crazy. I felt the whole weight of the car on my body. The seat belt cut into my chest. At first, I thought of smells. I smelt gasoline. I smelt the air freshener connected to the air conditioning vent. It reminded me of high school. It smelt like coconuts. All right, so it sucks. I sent a bunch of emails out to everyone. I just said how crappy my life was, how boring it was. I did not do much. I drank a lot, smoked too much. I had a girlfriend and everything. It was not too bad, but I got bored. I guess I really didn’t have it too bad. But honestly, things just suck sometimes and you’ve got to make choices. My choice was this. This short amount of pain, it was over way too soon. I didn’t die. Oh my fucking God. What do I do now? Should I go check on the other driver? I try and restart the car. It’s dead. I wish I were dead. What do I do, what do I do? I sit there for a while, scared. I get out of the car to check on the other driver.
“Oh God, are you ok?”
The woman doesn’t say anything. I’m so fucking scared. I look at her again. Her engine bursts into flames. I don’t know what to do. I wish that were I in her car. I try and pry open her door. She doesn’t move. I’m scared. I finally get her door open and ask myself out loud if I should pull her out or not. I decide, since the engine is burning, to pull her out. I try to do it gently, but she weighs a lot so it’s sort of strange. She tumbles out on top of me. What did I do? She doesn’t say a word and I think the worst. She’s definitely dead. I push her off of me onto the street. She lays there, face down. I stand up and stare at her. I’m so fucking scared. She’s dead, I’m not, and I’m going to jail. I roll her over. I wish I had taken a CPR class. I wish I hadn’t hit her. What the fuck was I thinking? All of a sudden, reality hits me and I have to sit. I want to cry, it’s been so long. I can’t I just sit and stare, the car engulfed in flames. I feel the heat, it’s burning my face and I don’t care. I drag her body away from the flames and fall down with her head in my lap. I stroke her hair. I wish she would move. I hear sirens approaching. Men run up and check the woman’s pulse. I look at her hands, there’s a cell phone. They ask me, they scream at me, “What happened?” I stare blankly ahead of me. Afraid. Not knowing what to do. I vomit. I’m not sure why. The smoke is choking my lungs and the paramedics give me oxygen. Everyone is going to know why I did this. Everyone is going to hate me. I killed someone. I am a murderer. I’ll never sleep; I’ll never eat again, because I ruined so many lives.
The woman was a mother of three. The tragedy seems like a movie. I can’t believe it. Everyone stares at me like I really am bad. All I wanted was a way out. All I wanted was death. I can’t believe I gave it to so many people.
Now I am in my room, wishing that I were somewhere else. The room is funny. Like a box. I feel like a present. I’m living a big lie. I’m dead inside; I’ve ruined so many little lives. The world wont be the same because of me. I hated the fact that I killed this woman so much, that now I am comforted. I set her free. I gave up my life so that she could experience eternal happiness. She has perfection and me; I’m in hell, so I guess that makes me a martyr. I don’t think this guarantees me a spot in heaven. But I bet if I kill more, if I become a murderer, a real one, I can be saved. I am now part of God’s army, bringing his followers back home. He told me he missed them, he told me he wants them back.

There were two men in a square room. They were both sitting in chairs that were placed around a circular table in the middle of the room. There were two windows to the right of the men, which let two rectangles of light into the room. On the table there was one black gun. One of the men picked up the gun and held it to his temple. He then pulled the trigger, the gun clicked but nothing was fired. He passed the gun to the second man who put the gun to his temple and also pulled the trigger, this time the gun fired one bullet straight through the man’s head. The man fell to the floor and a pool of blood formed where his head rested on the floor. The other man went to the body and picked up the gun. He opened the chamber then pulled 6 bullets from his pocket. He then clicked the chamber into the gun then aimed it at his foot. He fired one shot, which penetrated the top of his left foot. He aimed at his other foot, and then pulled the trigger, shooting himself again in the foot, except this was his right. After this he fell to the ground in pain. As he was lying on the ground, he put the gun against his stomach, and then fired twice. Blood gushed forth from the wound and on to his clothes and the tile floor. Then the man took the gun in his right hand and pressed the hot barrel against the palm of his left hand. His whole body was shaking and it took him some time but he squeezed the trigger, sending the bullet completely through his hand and into the wall across from his hand. The man was moving in and out of consciousness, barely able to move. He looked at his hand and saw veins and bones sticking out from the wound. Then he putted the gun into his mouth with his right hand and again pulled the trigger. The back half of his head was blown off, creating a deep cavern where his head used to be. He then fell against the hard floor and blood oozed out of the wounds he had previously given himself.

A very intelligent woman in her late thirties came into the house wearing a black dress, which suited her well. She looked at her husband who gazed longingly out the window.
“Honey, do you remember that time when I was sick and you stayed at home with me three days, without every leaving me by myself?” the man asked.
“Yes, that was two years ago. Why?” his wife said.
“I just wanted to thank you for that. I want to thank you for everything you have ever done for me because it made me realize how truly lucky I am for marrying you.” her husband said. “You are the most beautiful and amazing person I have ever met, and I just wanted you to know that.” He said.
“Your welcome honey.” The woman said, walking over to her husband, putting her arms over his shoulders. “You know I did all that stuff because I love you and I honestly believed in the marriage vows that we took, I will take care of you in sickness and in health, till death do us part.” She said, tears beginning to run down her cheek.
Her husband then turned around, looking into his wife’s eyes and smiled. His eyes were red from crying and seeing him like that made the woman feel sad. She pulled his face towards hers and kissed his lips, slowly, with caring and support. They both knew what was happening, and they both accepted it, knowing that until that point, their lives had been perfect.

“I’m sorry Daniel, we can’t do this anymore,” the young girl said, pushing the boy away from her body.
“Why not? What’s wrong?” he asked.
“Nothing, nothing, I just don’t feel comfortable.” she said.
“What did I do?” the boy asked, feeling dejected.
“You didn’t do anything,” she said reassuringly. “I just feel like it is wrong, I’m only 15, I don’t want anything to happen that might hurt me or you somehow. You don’t even have a condom.” She added.
“Nothing’s going to happen, come here.” The boy said, pulling the girl towards him strongly, not letting her move.
“Stop it…please stop…I said no, I can’t,” she pleaded.
“But it’s so easy; you don’t have to do anything but lay there.” Daniel said.
“No, I can’t.” She said.
Then, Daniel threw himself on top of Tesani.
“Be quite, it will only take a second,” he said.
Tesani started to scream and kick, but Daniel put his hand over her mouth, then her voice came out as muffled words that no one would ever understand. Tesani began to cry and stopped struggling. Tesani closed her eyes tightly.

All at once, Daniel started to rise up into the air. When Tesani realized that Daniel was gone she opened her eyes, and to her surprise Daniel was floating straight up into the air, he was screaming but Tesani could hear nothing. Daniel started going faster into the sky until he was no longer visible. Then a bright light appeared from the spot where Tesani had last seen him. The light seemed to expand and then disappeared. Tesani sighed, and then closed her eyes again, hoping the pain would stop.

As Leona was walking down the streets of the city composed of huge sky-reaching buildings, a man dressed in rags fell down in front of her.

“The time has come, prepare for the Day of Judgment, God will find you and take you…don’t worry you will live eventually and eternally with Him,” the old man said.

Then as Leona watched him he died. She didn’t know how he had died, but he was definitely dead. To confirm her suspicions she leaned over the body of the man and put her hands upon his cold neck, searching for a sign of flowing blood. She felt nothing but death and motionless fluids. At that same moment, three men dressed completely in white came running down the sidewalk towards her. They pushed through the crowd of people, as if they were running to catch something. When they reached the dead man they scooped him up, while they continued running. One man grabbed the ragged man’s head, the other two grabbing his legs. Before Leona could ask any questions the men were gone, running quickly down the street. Leona stood there awhile, wondering what had just happened, not fully grasping what did happen.

His fists clenched into balls of fury. The scars on his face were bleeding. His eyes were almost swelled shut. His body was covered in blood. The blood was everywhere, its salty taste invading his mouth. He could hardly breathe without tasting the blood. His arms ached, his whole body felt as if he should be dead. He did not know how his arms and legs moved. They did though, and when he saw his attacker through the small slits of his eyes he swung with all his might. His knuckles made a crunching sound as it connected with the other man’s face. His opponent’s head tilted in the direction of the blow, and he made a sickening grunt as he fell to the ground. With what energy he had left, Vaterio kicked and punched at the fallen man with as much force as possible. Eventually he fell down to the ground, not moving. He felt like he was falling. Darkness began to suffocate him as he fell, his body becoming numb, falling faster until he was nothing but a streak of color, not able to breathe, and not feeling anything. Vaterio saw a light of him, moving closer and closer. When he reached the point where the light started he saw himself being swallowed and incinerated by the light. His body turned into a billion different pieces of tint. He was nothing but ashes now, floating downward infinitely.

Her hair rested on her shoulders, thrown on her like reddish-black ribbons, her perfect little shoulders and her perfect body forced against his. He couldn't see anything but her perfect oval eyes. He grabbed at her waist and pushed it against his own. He was lost in her smell. It smelt like fruit. It smelt like life. He felt dizzy and reminded himself he was in an airport. They drank coffee there. He looked around at the huge terminal. He was surrounded by blue and gray. She was wearing pink shirts. Hot pink. They were tight. They were in love. He couldn't believe his eyes. She couldn't believe how astounding he was. All you need to know about him was that he was happy. She couldn't believe what she held in her arms. So she said. He was a complete statue of a man that bore no resemblance to Michelangelo, her Thinker, kissing her, loving her, melting her. Broken English never sounded so beautiful.

They stopped. They looked at each other. He picked up his bag. They walked to the carousel. She helped him carry his load out to the street. From there they hailed a taxi. They took it downtown, towards the Museums, towards people. They got to the hotel. They both knew it was wrong. The cab let them out. They walked up to the counter, made the reservations. Stayed in room 3-02. Bonjour, her first words echoed in the back of his mind. They climbed the stairs, for there was no elevator. It was a shitty hotel in a nice part of town. They didn't care about the dust. They didn’t even notice the smell. They were together, alone. All they did was lie on the bed. The shadows danced all around them and all they did was lie there. The window on the one side of the room let in some moonlight. They were happy, so much happier than either of them had ever been before. If they had ever wished, ever hoped, for something, this was it. They were together. They could've died in their sleep. They would have lived through the memory. She fell asleep that way, resting against the pillow. Her eyes were shut. He looked at her. Slowly he raised a hand to her face. Gently, he brushed the hair from her head, pushing it to the side. She breathed slightly. He moved. Looking up at the ceiling, wishing he could see the French sky, realizing it was nothing different from the sky he had at home. He turned and held her, he held her so tight he thought she might wake up. She didn't. She lay there, so tired from the day before. Alluding her boyfriend. Making sure he didn't find out where she would be that night, making sure he would be alone, telling him in French she was with a friend. Not at some dusty hotel room in Paris, waiting for her lover, waiting to be saved from a life she didn't want. He showed up, announced and invited, loved until the very last breath.

They woke up. The sun burned them as they lay in bed. The blankets were tossed to the side as their naked bodies ascended from the bed. They stood by the sink. He stood in front, looking at the mirror, wondering. How had he arrived? What had he done to get here? It was no easy task. How many lives had he ruined in the balance? How many things did he do wrong? She hugged him around the waist, his thoughts dissipated. He didn't care because he was with her. So he stood there. Looking in the mirror, caressing her body with his hands, feeling the perfection, wishing she spoke no English, never knowing that what he wanted was unattainable.
They walked out, the sunlight greeting them unpleasantly.

They both winced at the sight. They were at some perfect little corner bakery. She did the ordering. Somehow, he was turned on because she was ordering for him. He didn't speak French. He couldn’t tell an egg from a salad. He probably would have eaten anything. They sat outside at the cafe, drinking coffee, staring. Not knowing what to say, neither one wanting to speak. He paid in American dollars, she laughed. The laugh. It was beautiful. Like listening to a symphony of a million instruments. Beautiful. They got up from the table. Across the street was the University where she had been for a year, studying English. He wanted to visit, see what it was like because he thought he might live there.

Did she want him? She said she did. As they crossed the street, clouds passed overhead and there was no sun. She shivered in the shadows and he glanced skyward. They were walking and that wonderful sky was the last thing they would ever see. They saw nothing else, there was no flashback, no review on what they had lived. She shivered and the world froze. She knew, at that moment, that she must look strange. He looked upward, he saw the clouds pass over the sun, saw the bleak nature of what he had done, realized in a sickening instant on what he had left behind, half-way wishing he had stayed. Then the car hit. It was a black car, a large car large enough to throw them over the top of it. Then they landed, a few feet behind it. The screeching of the black car's brakes was the last thing they heard. They landed on top of each other. They lay there, lazily. They both loved it. So they held hands, blood issuing forth from both their lips.

Lying, they told each other it would be ok. People rushed around them, in a circle. They loved them. They looked down, amazed. They moved closer, their bones all broken. They looked at each other, the blood burning their eyes. They moved their lips together, the blood dripping and dripping, the pain crippling them, killing them. They knew they would die, they knew they were gone. They loved it and they loved it.

I shall explain a brief overview of the past of a few of our most prominent current Dregs. These are the ones we've saved so far. This should provide a somewhat colorful insight into how diverse a population the Dregs have become. Since you (the reader) will become immersed in our culture, we want to provide you with the best possible base-knowledge from the minds of some of the world's greatest Dreggos.

This is the story of the Death of the Dregs. There is no time. Keep in mind that everything that has happened, has happened and everything that will happen, will happen. Neither of us can change this. The death, the life, the present, the past, this is where the Dregs reside. They are you and us. One of you has been chosen. If you proceed, you have the chance to become one of very few human beings who can actually become a Dreg, the next logical step in your personal evolutionary quest.
Remember all, do not take your responsibilities lightly, or else you shall be destroyed.

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