Wicca’s Originals @ Kinky // November 28th – December 23rd
Beneath the Skin
The subway train sways roughly, but everyone took it in stride. The car was full, every seat occupied. No one made eye contact, but she felt the disapproving and judgmental stares, just the same.
Sharira wrapped her arm around a metal pole to balance against the jerks and lurches as the train sped along the tracks. She was used to people looking down their noses at her. All her life Sharira was seen as … different. You never really get used to it, but just learn to live with it. She gave up caring what people thought about her a long, long time ago.
So what if her hair was dyed pitch black and she wore heavy black eyeliner and black lipstick. Her wardrobe consisted of black, black and, well, black. Yes, she had tattoos; each and every one represented a deep and profound meaning in her life. And the piercings, mostly on her head, but also a few discreetly hidden that would never see the light of day outside the privacy of her tiny efficiency apartment.
She ran the tip of her finger over the newest addition; a spiked ear cuff with a pierced ring and barbell, both connected with fine, delicate chains. The guy was an artist and worked out of the hole-in-the-wall tattoo shop where she got all her ink.
Slowing as it approached the next station; the train came to a shuddering stop. Passengers surged to the exit and Sharira rode the wave like an experienced surfer rode a ten foot curl. Sometimes you just have to go with the flow.
In a spaghetti string tank top, denim skirt and heavy combat boots (all black, of course), summer in the city is oppressive. The ten block hike to work from the station doesn’t help, but Sharira always arrives at work an hour early. Today is no exception as she bounds up the concrete steps and pulls open the heavy door.
It’s early, but there are a few people milling around the common area. They call her name and wave as if they haven’t seen her in years, even though she just left them yesterday evening. She stows her purse away in a locker and grabs her coat before she pays her first visit
She quietly pushes the door open to peek inside and finds Mrs. Gerhardt awake, staring out the window; her eyes shiny with unshed tears. Sharira tiptoes quietly inside and places a small wooden box on the small table that hovers over the elderly woman’s hospital bed. A gentle lift of the delicate lid and the soft melody of Edelweiss pings from the small music box.
The old woman’s tears flow freely now, but a soft smile graces her wrinkled face as sweet memories temporarily wash away the constant pain. No words are needed between them as Sharira holds a frail hand and strokes the woman’s hair in a slow, comforting motion.
It won’t be long now. The patients that come to this hospice don’t have long – days, maybe a week or two, but never more. Treatments are over. Medication exists only to ease the pain. The only thing left is comfort and compassion. Mrs. Gerhardt’s eyes drift closed as she falls into a light sleep, the soft smile still on her face.
Just as quietly as she came, Sharira slipped from the room to let the woman rest. She already planned to stay the night at the hospice. Mrs. Gerhardt would not see another sunrise and Sharira didn’t want her to be alone at the end.
In the hallway, Sharira slipped into her white coat as she walks purposely toward the center station. The nurses on duty have all the charts and updates ready, along with Sharira’s morning dose of caffeine. They know her so well. The people here, staff and patients, look past her outward appearance and see only the person beneath.
After a healthy sip of the strong brew, Dr. Sharira Merlin is ready to start rounds
Wicca’s Originals @ The Warehouse Sale // November 23rd – December 18th
Reality bites!
I remember the Zombie apocalypse movies and televisions shows from Before. Those were nothing compared to life After. But I always knew Hollywood was full of shit.
Some might call me psycho survivalist or a fanatic, but in the end I am alive and they are all dead. Ten years in the army, in the worst conditions possible, prepared me for this. The After has been a long time coming and I made damn sure I was ready for it.
The only thing I failed at was protecting my family. Lost Mom during my second tour in Afghanistan, but Pop was still going strong raising my kid sister and brother in Brooklyn. During one of my leaves, I built a damn good bomb shelter in the basement of the family home. Before I shipped out again I made sure it was well stocked with provisions.
The night the world went to Hell, I was video chatting with Pop and the twins, who had just graduated from high school. They were all so damn happy. All I needed was a few more weeks and the bunker would have been ready for all of us. Instead, the last I saw of them was their smiling faces huddled in front of Pop’s computer before the flash that knocked out everything.
Took me months to get back to the city. I carried the hope that Pop managed to get them down to the basement and into the bunker before the worst happened. That hope turned to ash, much like my childhood home when I finally arrived. I dug through the remains until I found the door to the bunker and opened it with a combination. No one made it inside.
So I packed up all the supplies I had stocked there and started back to my remote bunker, just me and Whiskey; the mongrel mutt I rescued from an animal shelter when he was a puppy. Half canine, half bear, but one hell of a guard dog. Quiet as hell, too, for a dog the size of a small pony.
It will be sunrise soon and it’s suicide to travel during the day; too easy to be seen. My boat is filled with the supplies from the family house and I don’t dare risk being seen during the day. I know a place in the city I can hide the boat and wait out the daylight. Whiskey will alert me to anyone approaching.
The old warehouse had completely collapsed, but otherwise looked sturdy. Over time the debris had settled and left pockets where a body or even a dog could squeeze in and find shelter. But as we approached, Whiskey’s ears perked and he stopped and stared at a tiny dark spot. I moved in cautiously and found a small form hiding in the recesses.
Her thin, burned face and bloody hands did not compare to the fear in her eyes. Before I could offer any assurance of safety, Whiskey jumped ahead of me and stood protectively over her small frame. Hackles raised and teeth bared, Whiskey alerted me to the imminent danger. With a hand gesture order to stay and guard, I quietly covered the small cubby hole with debris and moved to high ground where I could see what or who was coming.
Soon, two men came into view dragging a body between them. They striped the body clean of every piece of clothing then shoved it off the end of the dock. Then they began to fight amongst themselves for what they had just scavenged. One man grabbed a loose board and began to beat his companion. The other, disoriented between blows, still managed to pull out a makeshift weapon and jammed it into his companion’s stomach. Both men fell to the ground and after an eerie silence, neither man moved.
They were both dead. I had seen enough of it in Afghanistan to know what it looks, smells and sounds like. Quietly, I left my vantage point to return to women’s hiding spot and slipped inside my hastily built shelter. She sat huddled close to Whiskey with fists full of his fur and her face buried into the dog’s massive chest.
Since the men were only a few yards away, she had to have heard and seen everything. I slipped inside the shelter, but stayed as far away from the terrified woman as I could. I rummaged through my knapsack and pulled out a couple bottles of water I retrieved from Pop’s house and a few protein bars. Carefully, so not to startle her, I slid a bottle and bar toward her with my foot.
On a metal plate, I broke apart a second bar and held it out for Whiskey. The food was gone in seconds. I emptied half my water bottle onto the plate for my dog while the girl remained frozen by the canine’s side. Once Whiskey was taken care of, I made short order of my own meager breakfast, careful not to look at the woman directly.
I did see her slowly reach for the food and water and clutch them to her chest. She drew up into a tighter ball, keeping Whiskey between her and me. That was fine. I could not blame her. But when she whimpered in pain trying to open the bottle of water, that nearly broke me. Her hands were so torn up she could not manage the simple act.
I held out my hand and waited. Whiskey took that moment to stretch out and bump my hand with his head. With a smile, I obliged my faithful friend with a scratch behind the ears. This is one smart dog, because by showing me his trust, he showed the woman she could trust me as well.
Cautiously, a trembling hand passed over the water bottle. I took the bottle and unscrewed the cap enough so she could manage the rest herself. She snatched it back and took what looked like a couple painful swallows. How long had it been since she had water?
She tore at the bar with her teeth and managed to tear it open enough to get at the food inside. Damn, I thought Whiskey ate fast. Between bites and gulps she stared at me warily, expecting me to attack at any second. Can’t blame her for that either.
Using my knapsack as a pillow, I rested as best I could, but always conscious of my environment. Whiskey laid his head over his massive paws and went to sleep. The woman struggled to stay awake, but finally exhaustion won out and she fell into a deep slumber against the dog’s back.
By the time she woke up I had torn my tee shirt into bandages and cleaned and dressed her hands. Ointment from my kit was carefully applied to the burns on her face. This is all I dared to do for now. I couldn’t risk her waking and running. When darkness fell, I left her with Whiskey on guard and another bottle of water while I scouted the area.
When I returned, she was staring at her hands in disbelief as her body shook and jerked in an odd way. It took me a moment to realize she was crying. No tears fell, clearly too dehydrated to expend the dampness from her eyes.
I gathered my things and silently signaled fo Whiskey to follow. The dog nudged the women’s arm with his nose before he rose and followed me from the shelter. I waited outside until I saw her inch forward the opening to peer out at me. An outstretched hand was my silent offer, for I dare not risk even a word of comfort with danger still around us.
Wide and fearful eyes stared at my hand for a long time before her eyes shifted to my bare chest. The night was still hot, so I was not uncomfortable without my shirt. I had my durable pants and boots that never let me down. Her oversized shirt was torn and dirty, but it was long enough to protect her.
I was patient. The decision was hers to remain or come with me. We were both alone in this new world. I am not going to lie. I wanted human companionship. Female companionship. But I wasn’t going to take anything that was not offered.
I looked out at the once great city and knew it was the last time I would ever see it. Life Before is just a memory. I looked down when I felt her hand slip into mine. She slowly stood and stared up at me. The fear was still there, but not directed at me, but for the future before us.
This was a new and strange world for both of us. I offered her a reassuring smile as I led her to the awaiting boat.
One step at a time.
– The End –
Sizes: Maitreya, Legacy[F], Legacy[M], Gianni, Jake
(one full version and one coat-cut included – matches the Scavenger Coat)
HUD: 10 Colors & Metals
Event Location: The Warehouse Sale // November 2021
Wicca’s Originals @ Salvage Station // November 20th – December 20th
The world has ended. There was once a Before. Now it is just After.
At least, the world we knew. When food was a matter of walking into a store or pulling up to a drive through window. When water and power was piped into your homes and the Internet was a source of communication and entertainment. It’s all gone now.
The radiation left the ground barren and broken. Food now comes from the only other survivors of the apocalypse – the cockroaches. Clean water doesn’t exist – water barely exists. I am lucky to find water at all.
Supplies of any kind are long gone. The looters saw to that. What little I have I stole from the dead, including the shirt off a corpse’s back. My sneakers barely have any rubber sole left and my toes are already poking through ever growing holes. I am no better than a vulture picking bones clean. I am a scavenger…
Back in the time Before, I was beautiful. My skin had a peaches-and-cream glow and was soft as silk. Once long, golden blond hair crowned my head. I was carefree and happy. My parents had money and I lived a charmed and privileged life.
Now After, my face is scarred by radiation burns and my skin is so badly cracked that it’s bleeding. Only chopped and uneven brittle strands of hair peek out beneath a filthy cap. A plastic bag holds my few precious possessions.
Everyone i knew is dead. My parents and grandparents were all at some gala/fund raiser/charity event -whatever the cause of the month was, while I was in the underground parking garage where we lived. One minute I was getting out of my Mercedes and the next the building seemed to collapse around me. How I survived, I will never understand.
There is nowhere safe. It is too hot to move around by day, so I have to find a small hole or tiny space in a collapsed building to hide and sleep. I know what will happen if I am caught by one of the gangs. I know what they do to women. I know all too well.
Soon I will be ready to leave the city. It’s taken weeks to gather what I need and make my way to the docks. Better to take my chances in the wilderness than here among the other survivors who kill for no other reason than they can. I learned to sail when I was young and can handle a sail boat on my own. If I can make it out of the city, I will head for the ocean and …
What was that noise? I clutch my meager belongs to my chest and draw up into a tight ball. If I stay small and quiet, maybe they won’t find me. Just maybe i can survive another day. Just maybe … <gasp>
Hunger. Hunger is my passion. Hunger is my existence. Now, hunger is my curse. Hunger is my punishment. Eternal hunger. Once, food was plentiful. I would gorge myself on the sweet, succulent meat. Their fear made the flavor all that more tantalizing. I did not eat out of need or survival. I ate because I could, because it was there. My gluttony drove my hunger and hunger drove my gluttony. I was insatiable. My hunger was uncontrollable. I devoured them all. Large and small. Young and old. So delectable, I could not stop. They bred so often and so quickly, I never considered the tasty morsels would be no more. Millions upon millions upon millions. So much food. There is nothing left now. Gone. All gone. The seemingly endless supply of food – gone. The bones are picked clean and left as a taunting reminder of what once was and will never be again. Bones scattered everywhere I look. Snap and crack as I walk over them. Dry. Brittle. Tasteless. No more food. There will be no more. I ate it all. Hunger is my punishment. Hunger is my curse.
“A Thousand Words” is a collaborative Second Life photography project dedicated to expression through creative imagery. For our inaugural exhibition, Second Life residents created photographs inspired by renowned poet Pablo Neruda’s “Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair.”
Today I have something very special… I recently was invited to be part of an amazing exhibition. Trouble approached me, asking me if I would kike to be part of his newest vision. He told me about Pablo Neruda and his new project “A Thousand Words”and sent me a link to Pablo Neruda’s”20 Love Poems and a Song of Despair” – I had to choose one. It took me a few hours to decide which one would be “mine” as they are all amazing and so I really had to think which one would be the most inspiring for myself.
You can watch all the amazing artwork HERE but the exhibition inworld is so much more impressive as it is held in a perfect designed place where you even can hear the poems read to you
Visit the exhibition from November 1st until November 21st this year – You really should not miss it!
In 2 days we will have a new event on the grid run by Second Life Syndicate called “Salvage Station”! It is right down my alley as it os a post apocalyptic themed event with all kind of genres in it! Even if it takes 2 more days for the event to open, I have the greet pleasure to show you some of the goodies, that you will be able to get there.
Lets start with that amazing top from AsteroidBox. The “Survivor Shirt” fits Maitreya Lara, Maitreya Flat, Belleza Freya, Legacy Female, Belleza Jake, Legacy Male bodies. Just be aware, that the chest slides on the female options have been disable for the effect of rigid armor. Other than that, there are 8 color options available with each purchase including 8 options for the armor vest, 6 options for the shoulder and other straps, 5 metal options, 5 options for the metal arm plate and bloody and clean options for the bandage. The fatpack includes all color / pattern options for the sweater. The bandage can be worn as a separate accessory too.
When I saw the vendor picture of the cool “Torn Leg Trousers” from Hotdog, I really had a huge smile in my face, when I realized, that the leg prosthetic he is wearing is the “Alyx Leg”, the collaboration we did with DRD. I loved the concept about the “one leg ripped off” style a lot and so I had to wear them for my first picture for that event – not to mention they worked so well with one of the newest releases from L’Emporio&PL, the “Zohar” boots. You will find them at the actual round of Man Cave. They are rigged for all the popular bodies (male and female).
The cool and lightly messy/loosely looking hair (I love messy looking hair) was made by no.match and you can find it in many different colors at the actual round of Tres Chic.
I have a feeling that this event will be an amazing experience as they have planned so much more than just a sales event. They have the “Wastelands” as special guess for the vent and I heard about amazing activities and even interactive fun which will happen on the event sim. You should NOT miss that amazing event 😉
Drown every truth in an ocean of lies Label me bitch because I dare to draw my own line Burn every bridge and build a wall in my way But I will use my voice
Whether you like it or not, you’re gonna take what I got If we can’t talk about it, we’ll just keep drowning in it Give me credit or not I give a lot, give a lot But don’t you speak for me No, don’t you speak for me
“WICCA!” I slam the door behind me as I walk into Wicca and Red’s studio. Sometimes I don’t know whether to laugh or cry at their antics.
“Wicca, you naughty girl,” I scold as I take the sharp instruments out of her hands. “Look at the mess you made. Blood all over your brand new boots.”
“How many times have I told you not to play with knives,” I huff as I drop the soiled tools into the sink.
“Just look at what you did to Red,” I sigh as I gather up his limbs, scattered all across the room. “Now I have to clean this place up, again and stitch Red back together, again! What am I going to do with you, young lady.”
“All out of surgical thread,” I mutter to myself as I search the dwindling medical supplies. “What will I use to put Red back together again?”
That is when I spot stapler on the desk. “Staples will work in a pinch.”
“Don’t worry, Red. This won’t hurt,” I say with an evil smile on my face, ” … much.”
