[B][FONT="Book Antiqua"][COLOR="DarkRed"][JUSTIFY] He left the city behind by way of Atkins Drive, a wide street that gradually turned to packed earth, and small, stiff weeds started dotting the landscape. The weeds were quickly joined by bristly grass, tall and untended, and trees, their branches slightly bare, harshly jutting up to the sky. Some contained heavy flowers, their petals dark blue and purple, dripping a sappy crimson liquid. The leaves appeared burnt in their green tone, hard to bend and heavy, like the flowers. But in the slight breeze that started to pick up as Vincent left the city for the River of the Dead, the leaves brushed against one another, producing a dry noise like the rustling feathers of a giant bird.

The wind churned the clouds that crowded the sky above. Vincent stepped over a fallen tree, its flowers withered. The sound of slowly-flowing water met his ears, along with the smell of something rotting mixed with an oddly-inviting scent of peace and quiet. The feelings it invoked were made to lure the unsuspecting living toward its dark black waters. The river was wide, massively so, to the point where Vincent could only just see the other shore. Swirling atop the steady water was an oily substance, something no one alive could identify. Its immediate smell was that of rot.

Bending down, Vincent looked into the water. It was too murky to see more than several inches beyond the surface. Most city-dwellers avoided the place as though it carried a deadly and contagious illness, but all it really carried was the boat that shepherded the dead to their final resting place. If they didn’t go to Hell instead. Running one’s hand through the water was usually a very bad idea, but Vincent was one of those who could. With a demon’s blood in his veins, Vincent could easily touch the water and whatever else floated in it without many negative affects. When he did, though, his entire body became cold. The water’s properties were strange, ethereal, and left a sticky black film on Vincent’s fingers when he drew back, something like tar.

He sat back, on the hard-packed ground, watching the river move. On his way to his destination, he had been wondering why he even came. When the first few bubbles floated to the surface, the answer was a clear one. Wiping the tarry, oily substance from his hand, Vincent stood and backed away from the shoreline until he hit the fallen tree. The water was gurgling, bubbles popping, creating a grayish foam that was washed away by the sluggish rush. As though in response to the disturbance Vincent created in the river’s flow, something was moving below the surface.

A hand was the first to appear, groping for solid land, pale, mottled-green skin appearing to move without help from the hand. It grasped a protruding tree root that had wormed its way into the river, pulling itself up and out of the water. With a pained, hopeless moan, the figure fought, and fell onto the pathway. A man, stout in body, shivered and looked up to Vincent.

His eyes were very sunken, white, and the skin of his face seemed to be sagging. His clothes were nothing but rags, a black shirt and pants, but with no shoes. His hair was saturated with the same tar-like substance that covered his clothes and some of his skin. When he stood, he came to be almost a foot taller than Vincent, who had pushed away from the tree to join the man who had dragged himself from the depths of the River of the Dead.[/JUSTIFY][/COLOR][/FONT][/B]

[B][FONT="Book Antiqua"][COLOR="DarkRed"][JUSTIFY] He dragged the now-motionless body of the larger man into the center of the room, splaying him on his back, his hands crossed on his stomach, and did the same with the smaller one, lying him beside his companion. Vincent’s hands had gone numb as he had been gripping the window frame. He watched with still-open mouth as Carter knelt before them, at their heads, and bowed his head. Vincent could not make out what he was muttering, but it lasted for only a moment before he raised his gaze and drew his hair back, pulling it into a pony tail. Pulling his sleeves up, he turned his focus to the smaller of the two.

Hovering his right hand over the open mouth of the man, he murmured with half-closed eyes and fingers dancing only slightly, as though coaxing something into existence. Carter’s hands were graceful, and as he moved them over the open mouth of the dead man, some strange aura filled the room, something pure and cold, something Vincent had never felt before. It hurt him, to breathe in the aura, to even be around it, and it seemed to surround him like a thick blanket, heavy and suffocating, but he remained, gritting his teeth, holding his breath. Something was floating out of the man’s mouth as though obeying Carter’s words, something black and misty that slightly resembled a soul.

Finally, Vincent’s lungs could not cope, and he gasped, falling off the crate and stumbling into the wall opposite the café. The sensation coming from the room, the aura, was too benevolent, too pure. It was like holy light, or blessed water to a demon, slightly blinding and unnerving and crushing. Carter was certainly something Vincent had never seen before.

[CENTER]***[/CENTER]

Sitting on a bench outside Roy Brown’s bookshop, Vincent had still not stopped shaking. Roy was beside him, quiet, but observant. His friend had said nothing since returning, throwing the file detailing Carter Hall into the fireplace, and walking back outside. He waited patiently, hands folded under his chin, ready to listen to Vincent. Until then, he watched people walk by, heard vendors and gamblers call to one another or to passersby.

“I’ll never get near him.” Vincent said at last, his voice hoarse and strained. “He isn’t human. He’s… something else. It’s like the direct opposite of a demon. An angel, of sorts. That must be why he looks so different.”

“I don’t think Carter is an angel.” Roy said. “Perhaps he has a holy aura.”

“No, Roy. He isn’t human. I could feel it when we first met, something off about him, but not in a bad way. And now, he killed two men, snapped their knife without gaining so much as a scratch, and… I don’t know what after that.”

“Probably purifying the souls.”

“Pardon?”

“Purifying the souls. I’ve only read about it, but some people can kill someone in self defense or to save someone else, and with a whispered prayer and concentration of all goodness inside them, can manually extract the soul of the deceased and purge the evil and corruption from it. It’s not a human ability, certainly, but I doubt it’s an angelic ability.”

“Well, it’s the only conclusion I can come to. I’ve never felt an energy so powerfully good, so clean.” Vincent put his head in his hands. “I can’t get that soul.”

Roy laughed out loud, making Vincent look up and glare at him. “Yes, you can.” Roy said. “You’ve never said that before, so I won’t believe it. Vincent, you have yet to even try!”

“I can’t get near him.”

“Yes you can.” Roy turned to look directly at him. “This power of his is too strong. Every time he uses it, the energy takes a bit of his life.”

“It’s killing him?”

“Certainly. He isn’t like you, Vincent. Your power is derived from death itself, and every time you use it, you extend your life a bit. Darkness is death, while light is life. Powers derived from light, or life-power, runs off the bearer’s pure life energy, and taxes the body so much it knocks off a day or hour or sometimes a year of their life.”

“I never knew that.”

“Of course not, Vincent. You don’t read as much as I do.”

“But does Carter know?”

“I’m not sure. If he does, he’s really taking chances. I mean, some with this power, I read, never use it, and hide away. They’re afraid of death, of the boat ride down the river.”

“But if Carter dies, he won’t get a chance to come back.”

“Why do you say that?”

“The boat man. He always looks into your eyes before you board the boat for the ride to the land of the dead. I hear the eyes are the windows to the soul, and if it’s true, he studies your soul before setting off. Carter’s is rare, a soul completely pure, unstained. If the boat man is looking for a soul like that, he won’t let Carter go no matter what.”

“Probably. Or he’s searching for a soul so black it’s got no way of being saved from Hell.” Roy looked at Vincent. “Then again, I doubt it. He would have kept you if that were the case.”

Vincent growled, and stood. “I’m going to the river.”

“Be careful.”

Vincent nodded and started off, moving left. He got back onto Moloch street and retraced the direction that led him right to Carter Hall the first time. The location was empty of any yellow hair or an icy gaze, and Vincent managed to settle enough to stop shivering. The remnants of the holy aura was still lingering in his mind, enough to unnerve him but not enough to take his gaze from the road and dive into an alley to clear his head. He had never been so compromised, and it bothered him to be off his guard. Anyone could be following him, waiting for an opening, waiting to strike. And he had left many openings.[/JUSTIFY][/COLOR][/FONT][/B]

[B][FONT="Book Antiqua"][COLOR="DarkRed"][JUSTIFY] The smaller of the two in black moved slowly, giving Carter a wide breadth but not as though he were wary. In fact, Vincent saw a strange smile on his face as he ran his hand over his dark brown hair. The larger one moved in front of Carter, raising his hand and winding his fingers in the nest of pale gold hair. He said something, a glare on his face, as though his anger had showed itself. He jerked Carter’s head back, revealing a knife from his pocket. Carter’s face was placid, blank, even when the gleaming blade was passed across his exposed throat light enough not to cut, but hard enough to leave a thin track. Vincent didn’t see anything; it was too dark to make out any details.

The smaller one drew forward, taking Carter by the front of his off-white shirt and throwing him into the door, pinning him there with one hand. Carter shook his hair out of his eyes and focused on the man, raising his hands but not in a threatening manner. He spoke, but it only seemed to enrage them even more. The smaller one pinning him down yanked him forward and threw him to the side, revealing a knife of his own and pointing it at Carter. Vincent had to raise himself up a bit, but could not see Carter’s face as it was turned to the men. He raised his hands and his voice, and for the first time Vincent could hear what words were exchanged:

“… didn’t come here for violence. And I don’t know what your big friend wants of me, but I’m not going to simply roll over and submit.”

“Human.” The smaller one’s voice was loud, but controlled. “You came here for a reason and still are not afraid. Only fools have no fear!”

From the distance, the slight breeze blowing in front of him, Vincent had not noticed that the two men were demons. Their scents would have tipped him off, but they were too far away from each other. They probably wanted Carter’s soul, or something more. Carter didn’t appear to want to give anything up without a fight.

“I have fear.” He said. “I simply won’t show it.”

The small one was pushed forward by the larger one. “If you have fear, you’ll do as told then.” He said.

“No. I’m not a dog.” Carter stepped toward the door. “I just want to leave without confrontation; I knew this was a bad idea…”

The small one leapt forward, barring the only exit. “No! You’ll stay, and you’ll listen to us! We only want one thing. It doesn’t have to be more trouble than it is.”

“These tactics may have worked before,” Carter growled, “but not now. Not with me.”

The large one spoke, but his words were very low. Carter had turned his gaze to him, leaving the smaller one open for an attack, a chance he took. Using the door for leverage, he pushed off with his knife in front of him, but Carter turned and moved aside just in time. He backed away, but drew no weapon of his own, and when the smaller one regained his footing, Carter moved forward and grabbed his wrist. The man struggled, grabbing Carter’s loose hair and pulling it forward, forcing him to look down, but the hand with the knife was still restrained, even as it tried to move. Carter ran him into the wall below where Vincent watched with a slightly-open mouth, nearly unable to believe what was happening.

The larger man moved forward, grabbing Carter around the waist and lifting him away from his companion, throwing him to the floor. Carter rolled, getting onto his knees when the larger of the two bared down on him with his own knife above his head, swiping in vicious patterns that Carter stopped with a swift grab. His thin hand closed around the blade, but no blood was drawn. He bent the blade upward, snapping it off, spinning it in his hand and thrusting forward, burying its tip deep inside the man’s chest to where it was hardly visible in the darkness. He fell forward, spilling blood from the wound and his mouth, and Carter threw him to the side.

Before he could get up, however, the smaller man dragged him backward by the hair, and Carter let out a gasp of surprise. With his hands at his head, stopping the assailant from ripping his hair out, he levered his feet underneath him and spun around, bringing his knee up and connecting with the stranger’s stomach and lower chest. Vincent grimaced, imagining the ribs cracking at the speed and force of the strike, but the man didn’t seem to give any notice to what damage he surely sustained. He repositioned the knife in his hand and pushed Carter back, over one of the only pieces of furniture in the room, and in a moment was on top of him, pinning him with his legs and the weight of his body, stabbing at Carter’s face.

The man was strong, it appeared to Vincent, but Carter had the upper hand; with both arms he blocked the strikes, making his attacker angrier every moment. When he raised his arms over his head, letting out a howl of rage, Carter struck with the swiftness of a serpent, grasping his arms and bringing them down on the seat cushions beside him with such force a snap broke the silence, and the man’s arm. He released the knife with another scream, this time of pain, and Carter scooped it up, winding his arms around the one on top of him and bringing the blade down, digging it into his spine and deeper, twisting it. The smaller man’s body shuddered, his eyes wide, and he fell to the side. Carter dug the knife out of him, tossing it to the floor, and did the same with the blade still jammed into the larger man’s chest.[/JUSTIFY][/COLOR][/FONT][/B]

[B][FONT="Book Antiqua"][COLOR="DarkRed"][JUSTIFY]As the group dispersed, obviously lifted by the roadside sermon, Vincent was left to his thoughts. It was only when he felt someone staring at him did he look around. Carter Hall had gotten down from his perch, and was standing in front of him. The man’s eyes, a color Vincent had never seen before, that odd pale blue, prickling, observing, watchful, met Vincent’s gaze.

“I’ve not seen you around for my talks before.” Carter said. “A new face is always welcome.” He offered a hand and a friendly smile.

“And you know the people who listen to you?” Vincent shook the man’s hand, returning the smile, though not as warmly.

“I recognize faces very easily.” Carter said. “Even if I only see them once, it’s easy to recall.”

“I see. Memory like that is a gift.” Vincent looked around. “How long have you been here in the city?”

“Just about four days now. I must say, the people here are very attentive.”

“Yes indeed. They do love a break from the mundane every now and then. Although I have to assume they take an especial liking to you because you are so different in both disposition as well as appearance.”

Carter watched some of the passersby, a placid look on his face. “Yes, I do seem to be the odd one out. But one cannot choose their general appearance, no?” He smiled again. “Still, it’s easier to attract listeners when you look different.”

“I would have to agree.” Vincent nodded. He battled with himself silently. He could simply draw Carter into an alley and ambush him there, extract his soul and get it over with, but Carter’s gaze was intense, as though he were watching Vincent and his mannerisms, observing him. “People do love a new sight in a city of the same.”

“Very apparent. I’m Carter Hall, by the way. Usually I introduce myself at the start of my speeches, but I noticed you arrived a little late.”

“I’m Vincent.”

“Just Vincent?”

“It’s how everyone knows me.” He looked back at Carter. “Where do you come from? I do know you are a traveler.”

“I am indeed. I go from place to place, trying to spread good will and trust, love for mankind.”

“A noble life.”

“I prefer modest. I ask for nothing in return, except that people take what I say to heart and try to live the best they can.”

“Do you really think people will change their lives, or see anything differently, because you gave a few speeches?”

“It’s worth a try.” Carter nodded. “Just because no one else does it hardly means it’s a lost cause.”

Vincent was silent for a moment. He stared at Carter as though he was an alien thing, something he had never seen before. “You hold no ill will toward people?”

“None whatsoever.”

“What if they intentionally harm you or the people you love?”

“People themselves are corrupted, whether in miniscule ways or in very noticeable ways. I will feel sorrow for the ones I lost, but even if the person holds no apology for what they do, I cannot blame them. Their soul is stained, not their hands.”

“You’re very forgiving.”

“I’m only human.”

“Even humans feel hate. Vengeance, desire, a wish to do harm to those who harm them.”

Carter thought about it. He closed his eyes half way, turning his gaze to the ground. “I suppose.” He looked back up. “I suppose I’m not human, then.”

“Then what are you?”

Carter smiled, then laughed, quietly. “That, Vincent, is for both of us to find out.”

Without another word, he turned and was swept away in the river of people moving along the street. Vincent stood still, watching his pale yellow hair vanish in the mist and people. What Louis had said rang in his head, combined with Carter’s voice. The man was certainly not human, and certainly not a soulless. Soulless humans felt nothing that related to emotion, nothing at all. Some drew into themselves, using their skin as a shell, becoming dead-eyed and muttering husks of their former selves. Others simply used their lack of a soul to their advantage. But Carter felt, while other soulless didn’t. He felt for humans and nonhumans alike, and used his vast understanding of life itself to lead them into the light, into a life lead well and happily. He knew the concept of happiness, Carter did. He knew pain, by the look in his eye, he knew sadness, and he knew how to somehow overcome it to be a better person.

Vincent shook his head, starting down the road to shadow Carter Hall’s path. He would not be retiring to the bookshop or his lodgings so soon, after finding Carter so easily. The man did, in fact, look weak, as Louis had said, but Vincent felt he would not be as strong as the old man had said. Perhaps Louis had a hard time fighting the young man, and perhaps he had made up the rest of the story to unnerve Vincent. The demon couldn’t see Carter as a fighter, especially with what he spoke of and how he behaved. He was awkward, if only a bit, and didn’t seem the kind to take to violence so quickly. Not as quickly as Vincent, anyway. If he ambushed the man from the shadows, he could get the upper hand and extract his soul. Whether it would be the pure white it should be was none of Vincent’s concern.

He caught sight of Carter just as he turned right, that odd hair whipping out of sight as Vincent picked up his pace. That small road would lead back to the square, and indeed Carter was moving swiftly into the step of others, avoiding hansoms and horses with what seemed like serpent-like ability. More than once, he slipped out of sight, and Vincent threw caution to the wind as he ran through the square, catching up but keeping a safe distance back. Carter, though odd in appearance, odd in behavior, was like a ghost. He moved toward the clock tower, the street to its right, and among the dark hair and dreary clothes, he moved as though he belonged, as though he had lived in the city all his life.

Carter walked past a clothing store, a library, and paused outside a café. Vincent shielded his eyes, squinting to be sure Carter was opening the door, glancing behind him quickly, slipping inside. Cautious, Vincent walked with the flow, passed by the people in a hurry, cursed at for being so slow. He moved to the dusty window and pressed his nose against the glass. Carter passed the various tables, nodding at some and smiling to others, and got the attention of a young woman. With a quick word, she nodded, her face brightening as though reuniting with a long-lost friend. Quietly, she referred to the closed door near the back, between a wall and counter, and Carter nodded. In a moment, he was there, and through the door.

Vincent backed away from the door, spinning into the alley and running halfway down. A small, rectangular window stood a couple feet over his head. Its glass had been busted out, and he could hear someone speaking inside. A crate, much like the one Carter had used as his stage earlier, was underneath it, and carefully, Vincent used the slightly-sagging wood to gain height. He leaned against the wall to keep balance, and looked into the window. It was dark enough outside to veil the fact that someone was watching the goings-on in the room.

Carter was leaning against the door, illuminated by the fireplace across from Vincent. He was smiling, in an odd way, looking at the figures across from him. A big man, beside a smaller one, both in black. Vincent watched Carter intently, how calm he appeared even in the presence of two much larger than him, and obviously thinking about harming him. But he stepped forward, into the center of the room, crossing his arms loosely, speaking. Vincent couldn’t hear anything above a dull mutter of garbled language. The larger man stepped forward in turn, moving to Carter’s right, circling him slowly. Raising one heavy hand, he set it on Carter’s shoulder, whether in an accepting or reassuring way Vincent couldn’t be sure, but it seemed put-on. Carter himself didn’t react as Vincent would have.[/JUSTIFY][/COLOR][/FONT][/B]

In my enlgish class we are reading Beowulf which is what I suppose sparked this blog entry. In Beowulf they are fighting monsters. Before we began reading Beowulf my teacher wa talking to us about our inner monsters. And how we all have inner monsters.

I was thinking about it and it is true. We all have our inner monsters. But the question is can we face them alone? I believe yes. But at the same time I believe no. Because there are some monsters that are greater then others. I feel I need to face all of my demons alone. No one should have to share my pain or fear. If I can't and I lose it then so be it. While on the other hand I want my friends to let me assist them with their inner monsters. I suppose I am a hypocrite. But then again I suppose... Maybe I am insane. Who know.