This is what I do in my spare time.



It is a self-insertion story done from Nigel's perspective.



Written over a month ago.

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That feeling of knowing what you've done, and how it can never be changed; of having done so much, yet so very little; of having come so far, only to have gotten nowhere, and accomplished nothing. A feeling that erases your sense of pride and replaces it with ridicule. That self-devaluing realization, telling you that you've made an utter fool of yourself. A feeling of knowing you're trying hard, and not trying right. The kind of feeling that makes you feel as though the thing you value so highly is both your best friend but your worst enemy all the same, driving you further away from what you believe to be "sanity," and into the darkness of misery. That's how I feel whenever I start to worry. It comes and goes, and leaves me helpless when it comes. It makes me feel as though all the world were a seperate existance from my own, laughing at what I call "security," mocking my every thought. It always seems to come to me in the dark of night, tearing away at my mind - my flesh, even - poisoning my body with some other kind of disease that I can only label under one just description:



Weakness.



I never take it into the right kind of consideration, regardless of the fact that I know it to be my adversary. But still, when its time arrives, it is like somebody came and told me that everything I ever held dear - and even every person I love - is a complete and utter fascade. It's so ridiculous that I almost find myself laughing at the thought. Here I am, simply enjoying what there is to be gratful for - and bless your strength for making it forever possible, mother... - and when I least expect it, it comes to me. I never simply give in to the feeling, no...that's what that devil wants us to do. But at the same time, I never quite feel I have mastered the quality of knowing how to deal with this spirit whenever it comes. Chanda never seems to be affected by it. Or perhaps, maybe she is just too strong to succumb to its influence? I wouldn't know. There are so many questions I want to ask her, many of which pertain to whomever that man is that she keeps talking to, but never lets me see. I always hear his voice when she talks to him. Or maybe that too is a fascade? She doesn't mention him to me. Whether we are sitting down to eat the flesh of our hunts, or out exploring the vastness of the plains, she never speaks of him. And I never ask her to.



I figure that whoever he is, he's probably just another one of the friendlier spirits that visits us during the church proceedings.



There's those ugly, malformed things that she and I hunt for, and then there are those weird things that emerge from out of the ground or walls during church. They're kinda scary too, what with all those lethal looking claws that some of them have. But they never seem to try and hurt anyone when they appear. It's kinda cute how they always seem to walk around the room sniffing their noses at everyone, or looking like they're trying to garner some form of attention. I always cowered away whenever I saw them come near where I was sitting, because I always sat in the second row from the front. I can't remember what the first one I ever saw looked like because I was too young. But sometimes, when I go to sleep, I can almost see it again, plodding towards me in that DIRECT way that it always did. The image is vague, yet the nature of the event is always clear to me. That's how it's been all these years - always the feeling, but never the sight. It's strange because back when I was a little younger, I remember how Mother always used to direct them towards me, like she was trying to play some kind of practical joke on me. Sometimes it made me angry, but at other times I would get scared.



Or maybe 'scared' isn't the right word. Maybe the right word is...horrified?



I try not to think about it. Actually, it's been like a RELIGION to try and forget it. But every time I remember what it was like; what I felt the very first time, I can't even move. It drives me crazy, because at first I was just sitting there and marveling at the sights like everyone else, pointing and pointing. Then one of those creatures would come my way and by the time I had turned around to meet it, it would be right in front of my face. It horrified me because I wasn't ready for what I saw...; what I KNOW I saw. It caused an uproar. Everyone was looking my way, standing up out of their seats, sounding like they had become really worried about me because I had fallen off the pew and onto the ground, frantically pressing my body away from the creature as much as I could even think to do.



For all I know, I had died from even looking at its face...



Couldn't anybody else see it? Now that I think of it, its weird because as crazy as it felt to even look at that thing, nobody else seemed to be scared at all. At least, that's what I believe. It backed me all the way into a corner near the back rows, and was staring at me in the most freaky of ways. Then it just...stopped. After following after me, it stopped at some point, and Mother walked over to where I was. But when she looked down at me, she did it with a smile. All the people were clumped together, looking at us like something had gone horribly wrong. But all Mother did was smile at me. And to add to the confusion she just stood there, gazing down at me and smiling. But soon, she started frowning. I wanted to ask her about what had just happened, but the words wouldn't come. For whatever reason, I started to cry. But she didn't move. She just stood there, blocking out the candle light and frowning at me like I had made her angry about something.



I'll never forget that day...



Ever since then, I've been having these odd dreams. Some of them were about Katherine, and those were the funny ones. I would see that creature coming to get me, and then she'd come from outta nowhere and beat it up. But I dunno why I would have dreams about her like that. We didn't know each other that well. I guess that those dreams were a part of why I always wanted to stick around her. I felt that her and Mother could defeat any monster that might come our way. But she didn't seem to want to be around me much. Alma was pretty nice though, but I never got to talk to her much. Or sometimes, she just didn't wanna talk.





[still to convey: Convey the nature of Nigel's trips to the tavern (which would tie into Chanda's story) and his indifference to the rest of society, concerning his general fear and reverence of his mother]

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