The glass breaks into crystallized pieces, dangerous and beautiful. If the sun hits them just right, they shimmer and cast rainbows on the surface of your eyes and you have to blink to keep the pinpoints of light from burning them. Touch it and it breaks through your skin, puncturing the pads of your fingertips. It draws blood and leaves your hands shredded and torn so you see the perfect network of muscle and bone beneath and marvel at being.


Plastic and sculpted to perfection, the mannequin stands, forever locked in that one position. Skin glossy and cold to the touch, they are stoic. It imitates a human, but falls short. The emotionless eyes and the feel of too much perfection destroy the guise of humanity. There is something so terribly wrong about them, no matter how much they try to imitate what they see in people. The emotion never comes through, the wisps of humanity lingering behind the plastic surface never burst forth. Why are they not human?


A perversion of every single thing you hold near and dear. Nature and evolution have no grasp on them and they deconstruct everything order says they should be. There is no reason to them, no pattern to their thoughts or emotions. The move, they think and they do and you could never predict who they will be at the end of the day. They flit about the crowd, masquerading under the guise of normality and the actions blossoming from their deviation spawns ripples. Hundreds upon thousands of tremors in the flatland that nature has created. The world moves in two-dimensions and the abomination moves in three. And if you look close enough and hold still, maybe one of those ripples will touch you


They stand strong and tower above you, and you can feel the devotion radiating from their skin. You feel a sense of safety here; standing so close their aura wraps around you and holds you there like a warm blanket. You are not allowed to leave. You are not allowed to die. They will keep any harm from befalling you; they will hold you and never let you go. They will give you everything you deserve. You are safe in my arms.


The plane zips past over head and it's seconds before the sounds follow. You can feel it rattling your skull; you can feel the waves of space that the machine displaced pounding against your skin, creating sound. You can't see the air spreading, but you can feel it and an image of the sky as a solid mass being pushed aside by the world forms in your mind. And the displacement of what was once sky causes waves, and ripples and movement that should not have happened. By existing you interrupt and create disorder.

I am the CHAOTIC.

Erratic and unpredictable, changing from moment to moment, undefined by definition. They reject the known and comfortable and break outside the plane you exist on; they break into the dead space that structured life can't know or comprehend. You take a piece of paper and try to plot this person; you try to find a pattern within the veil of chaos and you hope that it might reveal a person behind it, not just a whir of inconsistency. You take the axes and try to find the ex and why and you find nothing. This person before you consists only of inconsistence.

I am the MONSTER.

Emotions bottled inside erupt in a torrent of blind rage and actions become uncontrollable. They do not know what they are doing, but it is no less their fault than if they had carefully planned every touch and every scream. The bottled rage and suppressed energy flow through their veins, mixing with their blood and clouding their heart and mind. The clouds make them unaware and their only urge is to watch the world around them burn. They want to watch you burn and you are not safe. You are never safe.