Saturday, October 1, 2011


I didn't really think I would be so fascinated with this show. I heard about it from--who else?--my dad, and ever since then, I'd been interested on it. So I managed to watch season 1 in two days with pesky school in between it all.

I went looking for the soundtrack right afterwards (something I started doing in my editing days. This is the track I'm listening to: Hidden). Really, I'm glad it's the one show I seem to like along with the general public. After Dollhouse, Firefly, and Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles got early canceling (poor Summer Glau), I'm glad this one's coming back for a sixth season. I just have some catching up to do.

Some new found inspiration has come crashing onto my head, it seems. I do wonder at times how the show managed to gain criticism. How my parents used to say it wasn't for me, because the morality is...all over the place. To watch a serial killer and cheer for him, wishing he wouldn't get caught, etc, etc. I've read about serial killers--both fictional and non-fictional. And I know no one in the world would ever be able to write a story from the point of view of a serial killer without blurring the line between fiction and reality*. It's not possible. They are not good people and never will be. They're not even interesting--maybe their actions and methods are, but them as people? I can't think of anyone that killed for any other reason aside from, "I wanted to do it." I might be wrong about this, but it's simply the feeling I get from it. Of course, the public doesn't think that. They assume them to be such complicated beings with thoughts unlike any other and near beautiful minds. No wonder men in line for the death sentence get calls from women telling them they love them and want to marry them (true story).

So obviously, when we write about them, they have to be fictionalized, one way or another. We can't write interesting stories about purely savage, horrible people, even though some try. No, we always give them an interesting persona. A reason for doing it, a deeper idea or thought. It keeps them from being real and from being the truly sick and twisted things that they're based off. So when I watched Dexter's story, I realized there was that one thing that heavily set him apart from an actual story of a serial killer. It's not just Harry's code. I doubt a person like him could ever exist, but the way the show is carried and how one can see through his eyes is almost flawless. And even though I know he could never be real, he's not just a serial killer. He's more human than anyone else on that show. He's alone, detached, and yet self-less to a certain extent. Killing is something he has to do, it's a need that drives him, but his self keeps him breaking the code taught by his father.

Anyways, I'm not good at reviews or anything (seeing as what I'm doing is openly gushing at the show--sorry, I just finished season 1 like five minutes ago o.o). Just wanted to openly fangirl at it xD. I expected it to be this. I don't know. If anyone watches the last episode of season one, you'll know why I keep jumping up and down at it. I almost cried too, something I can't ever seem to do at shows or movies or even books.

Speaking of serial killers, it seems throwing Whiskey on a Harry Potter RP might cause a bit of raised eyebrows. I mentioned the girl liked to kill animals and never tried anything bigger, even though she's wanted to (I swear, this was before Dexter; my obsession with serial killers goes a bit far back) then some weird morbid thoughts got introduced at some point, and this was people's reaction at the OOC threat:

Darth... What have you done to Whiskey?! I thought she was this small, innocent little girl! I'm not sure if I want Dory hanging around with someone so cruel now - although it does support Dory's theory that Whiskey's an evil leprechaun, killing adorable woodland creatures who conspire to take her gold...

^Yeah...Aweena's made a far more interesting character than I have xD. Dory's adorable but she's like 5'11 and hugeee.


Yea, I too was surprised by Whiskey. 

Although, loyal as always, Lyra came to my rescue ^^
Legion-insanely bipolar young adult with separate fighter personality
Archangel-emo boi
Rosegrave-serial killer
Whiskey-adorable depraved killer

Tis Darth, guys. Love her characters for their problems D<

So let's hope I get better, kay? For anyone curious, I'm posting what I wrote for Whiskey that got come people to blink a lot. For now, I have to run and get ready to buy some groceries. I'll probably write more after some much needed homework is done. Or watch more Dexter. Hmm...


*Note: I suppose to an extent Monster is the exception to that rule. Even so, Aileen, although arguably the most famous woman serial killer, doesn't fall into the complete norm. She meets the requirements having killed more than 3-5 people within periods of over 30 days, etc, but even then it was brought forth due to a growing paranoia, possible schizophrenia, and an overall harsh life (although this last bit is rather common with serial killers). It doesn't make her a good person, it doesn't excuse her actions. But when I mean serial killer, I mean in the more typical sense, the sociopathic kind which Dexter falls into like Ted Bundy, Pedro Alonso López, Andrei Chikatilo, John Wayne Gacy, etc.

P.S: Here it goes. Richard is Luc's character. It's not that good, but...I'll get better at some point.



The little seventh year had been laying on her bed for a while, hearing the talk of the girl's dormitory as she kicked her feet slightly underneath the covers. The redheaded girl was laying completely still, her breathing controlled but her eyes wide open, staring at nothing in particular. Then she heard them.

Soft timid sounds of purring, followed by light footsteps that barely seemed to ascend down upon the ground. She tilted her head only slightly just to watch a small gray kitty pause at the opening of the door, his bright green eyes staring back at Whiskey. She raised an eyebrow, keeping her breathing controlled, and simply waited. Why had he stopped?

Girls were crowding inside, walking past the small cat and speaking with giggled voices, out of breath and tired. They collapsed on their beds and stopped moving at some point, laying perfectly still. Whiskey shifted her weight completely, her eyes still locked on the harmless creature on the floor, and sat up. He tensed up, jerking his head up and staring vividly at her. The movement alone made her picture the creature's head thrown back, more than normal. Creek, creek, creek, and boom. Red oozing out from one thin line. So much hearbeats per seconds before that one moment alone when the coolest of waves washes over her body and she knows the creature in her arms is dead. Done. And it calms her. She floats back down to earth, little bits of blood raining down on her and she's done. Over. Nothing wrong.

Not tonight though. "I wouldn't do anything," Whiskey whispered to the kitty, gulping slightly as she slid one leg off the bed, "Not at this time."

And now, I'm talking to a cat.
It wasn't that bad, actually. Talking to a cat was better than twitching her hands towards something sharp. Or a rope. Some fire. Her lighter was by her beside. On the summer...just a bird really. It was already half dead by the time she found it, so she probably just sent it to heaven.

Whiskey sighed. Yeah. It didn't matter how she rationalized it or not. They were just animals. That was all. No soul so no sin. That's how her father had taught her at least.

She got up, and the second both her tiny feet touched the floor, the cat whirled around and leaped out the door. She raised a curious eyebrow but shrugged as she fished around for her pants, deciding to leave her shoes forgotten. No less than a minute later, Whiskey was walking around the girl's dormitory, wearing nightgown of a faded orange color as well as some jeans underneath. Everyone was asleep by then, and she could hear all the girls breathing, dreaming away. She was poking her fingers together and drifting her eyes around absentmindedly thinking of the last few weeks or so. Her body was itching then, a small tingle on the tip of her fingers that seemed to be growing. Like she needed to do something. Break something with the tiny digits and rearrange something with her mind half gone.

There were so many of her classmates that weren't moving. They barely looked asleep, and with one hand hanging out the bed, it was difficult not to imagine that the little rising and falling of their chests stopped. A few lips were parted as if a scream had escaped not so long ago. Like if its beginning had been as quick as its end, and the girls had been given no time to press their lips back together and save up air for another scream that would not come.


Whiskey sighed heavily, deciding that sleeping right now was not an option. She opened the door for the girl's dormitory fully before stepping out, her feet barely making any noise and hardly touching the cool ground as she made her way forward. It was curious, though, that in the dead silence, one more of the Ravenclaw students had been awake. He wasn't even in any nightwear, fully clothed, walking out the door. Had he been waiting for someone?

Isn't that Richard? Whiskey thought, frowning a little. He was a year below her, but a prefect. Where's he going this late at night?

Whatever the answer might have been, it seemed that all Whiskey could think about were simple questions that didn't need to be there in the first place; was he alone? Was he going somewhere secluded? Was there any reason anyone would find it odd if the boy didn't come back for a few days?

Before she could realize it, her feet were carrying her forward, and she was jogging after him. At first, she made no noise and simply tried to catch up to him. Maybe he would notice her. Maybe get her in trouble. She didn't know. Frankly, she didn't know why she did half the things she did

1 comment:

  1. Anonymous8:30 PM

    I see a ridiculous amount of fanfiction for this show. Maybe I should give it a whirl. When the promised day (of free time) arrives, that is.


"Science and science fiction have done a kind of dance over the last century... The scientists make a finding. It inspires science fiction writers to write about it, and a host of young people read the science fiction and are excited, and inspired to become scientists...which they do, which then feeds again into another generation of science fiction and science..."
- Carl Sagan, in his message to future explorers of Mars.