It'd been such a long walk, i'm tired, i'm hungry, i'm coughing like a fiend. I decide to grab a bite and a drink. My ulterior, yet just as important motive is to use someones a/c. I'm quite sure i reek to high heaven, and my shirt is spotty with sweat. It'll probably stand by itself once it's dried and i take it off. I'm in a decent part of town, Lamar street, lots of restaurants to choose from. The real kicker though, is my cash flow. I check all my pockets, even ones i know do not have money in them. I have all of six dollars, and change. I'll need the change to take the bus home. Looks like Long John Silvers for me. At least they have free refills on coke.

The blast of cool air is almost a shock. I hate changes in temperature. But, at this point, i'm hating just about everything. I'll get used to the cool though. God, i need a coke. The lady behind the counter looks at me like i've interrupted her soap operas. The dull look in her eyes is no doubt due to all that fried food. Hook me up! I grin and order pleasantly. I make sure she has both thumbs. You know how that inbreeding can fuck you up. The bitch even listens when i tell her i don't want any ice in my coke. At least she kept a couple brain cells. All praises are due to Coca-Cola. My food is hot. Yes, i'm amazed. There's nothing worse than cold hushpuppies. Well, there are, but that's neither here nor there. My appetite is pretty much gone. I gots to eat though. Gots to eat. The weight has been slipping too much lately. I scrape down most of the fish. Ketchup makes anything edible. To hell with the fries. Nobody makes fries like the Mac. It'd been nice if there was a McDonalds around here. Those nuggets are all good.

I get my obligatory refill. Dr.Pepper this time. I sit back down, and watch as this dude walks in. Yeah, yeah, lots of people walk in while i'm there. But this guy is just plain wierd. I mean, i look scruffy, i'll admit that. I'm sure after all my walking around, i have a bit of a glazed look in my eye. This guy though, he sets me off. I'm sitting in front of the window, so he walks past me, to order his food. The guy never even sees me. I decide to brush it off. The traffic is getting pretty thick out there. Great, rush hour. And i still got to catch the bus. Well, after i finish my coke.

I almost jump when i hear this yell from the counter. Everyone in the LJS is looking over there now. The freaky dude is having a hissy fit. Great, again. Maybe it's time to go catch that bus. He's yelling about how he gave the lady a twenty, and she gave him change for a ten. Please, you have got to be kidding me. That's the oldest trick in the book. I decide enough is enough, and grab my tray to leave. As i dump the refuse into the trash, i give one last look to Mr. FreakyDude. My blood stops cold. The guy is looking straight at me. He's looking into me. I can't help it, my vision starts to refocus, i scope his charge. If my blood weren't already chilled, it would be now. This guy has an aura that is like an eclipse. I snap out of it, the vision of this halo around his face, dancing in my head. I almost feel faint. He gives me half a smile, and turns to face the lady at the counter again, who is now backed up by the manager and another worker. All of them are just a hushpuppy short of livid.

I take a step toward the door, never taking my eyes off of... that person. He backs up from the register, and lets out this nasty howl. By this time, others have seen the wisdom in leaving as well, and there is a general migration towards all available exits. When he pulls back and pops the manager right in the kisser, the migration becomes a rush. I stand dumbfounded, as an old couple treads past me, muttering about drag-worms and drugs. I mean, this guy just busted the lip of the manager of LJS. You can normally only see this on Pay Per View. This rocks, in a twisted sort of way. My amazement is short lived. The fry guys are pouring out of the kitchen, and everyone without a busted lip is screaming. The manager, with a busted lip, is babbling. It's this cute little sort of baby babble, along with slobber, bloody frothing slobber. This huge, cut chef, with no neck, comes around the counter, with violence on his mind. The freak looks at him, and jumps the divider, into the dining area, landing on a table. He laugh/spits as he jumps to the ground. He and i meet gaze one more and final time. He grins broadly, and without loosing a stride, picks up a chair by the back. I take my cue, and decide it's time to catch a bus.

I'm rushing down Lamar, towards the intersection with 38th. I don't even look back as i hear the window crash, and a loud thump, which i assume is a chair hitting the asphalt. I give the cop car a slight glance as it zooms past me, sirens blaring. They're gonna have a time of it. He didn't seem like the type to go quietly. This has just been an all around fucked up day. First the pharmacy doesn't have my shit. Then i have dinner with Long John Psycho. I really wish i had someone to back this up. It's almost unbelievable. Kind of reminds me of the time i saw a dude in speedos yak his lunch while pumping gas at a 7-eleven. You really need someone else with you so you know you're not dreaming.

The bus is air conditioned. I thank various dieties, especially those concerning vacuum hoses and freon. I sit back, ignoring the unwashed masses, and think about that guy. He was just plain wierd. Raven knew it, and i knew it. I've never seen a guy with a charge like that. His aura was absolutely... brilliant. It reminded me of nothing more than the corona of an eclipse. And he knew, that i knew. That fucked me up more than anything.

Alright, i'll admit, this came to me on a whim. I'd always joked about wanting the jawbone of a hapless sucker who died prematurely, usually as payment for some favor or another involving someones death. For instance, a certain friend, in jest, asked me to "take care" of a rival for a girls affections, the price being a bag of marshmallows and a 2 liter bottle of Cherry Coke. Naturally, i agreed, with the proviso that i'd keep his jawbone as a keepsake. He seemed unphased as we proceeded to drown our respective sorrows in homemade amaretto. Such is life, but the seeds were sown.

I'd read a couple books where there were references to various necromantic rituals, one of them involving a jawbone. If i recall, one may have been a Stephen King novel i read many many years ago. Anyway. Various RPGs have spells and rotes invoving the bones of the dead used for contact with the spirits in the beyond. Necromancer vampires inbred so much that they don't have thumbs anymore, and ancient egyptian horrors that lurk in long forgotten tombs wreaking vengeance on those who defile their long sleep, these were some of my inspirations over the years. Especially the egyptians, but that's another story.

Anyway, on to the subject at hand, jawbones. I decided on a warm summer night, under a clouded sky. There was a mist in the air, a taste of death. It was a good night, so i went for a walk. The park near my apartment, while officially off limits after ten, was ideal. It was relatively secluded, with some thick woods that i could be alone in. I really didn't make it too far when i just sat down on a log. I'd come far enough. My skin slick, my hair starting to dampen, i breathed in deeply. My mind cleared, i felt Raven flow. He was big tonight. No need to "assume the position" this night. I felt him flow into me, and through me. He became me, he was me.

The air around me had this strange bitter taste, a flavor i could see rather than detect with my tongue or nose. Almost like static when the cable goes out on your t.v. As the mist moved around me, variations emerged in the sparkling flavor of the air. Truly magical, something i wish i could carry with me to the everyday. Trees around me began to shimmer, to almost breathe in the aura, as though through their bark. I was not near the Old Man of the park, he was close to some Section 8 housing, not a good place to be after dark. Even if i was not within sight of the Old Man, i could feel his presence. It was like i was in his court tonight. Raven respected him greatly, even if he was just a tree. I really don't know why. Raven seems to have pre-existing relationships with many spirits that i have run into. I've been unpleasently surprised on several occasions. Life with Raven is never boring, i'll give it that. Go with the flow.

Every time i do this, it's never quite the same. Not that i do this often mind you. I have enough trouble reconciling *and* rationalizing this in my own head. That, combined with the stress it puts my body under, and the fact that sometimes it's just plain not a good time to do it, means i may let Raven get big once every few months. He gets stronger with each go, that if anything is a constant. I'm surprised i can keep him under control as well as i do. It's never easy being a passenger in your own body, looking out from the inside, not having any say in what goes on. It's always strange when he gets big and noone else is around. He likes a crowd, being an unrepentant prima dona. If there are none around to speak with, then he does not waste the breath. I'm not really sure if the idea was his, or mine. The line can be so hard to determine. In his own words, were he to speak, the idea was "ours".

At the time, i lost track of just how long i sat there. It felt like maybe half an hour, tops. Finally Raven decided to take off and get small. I assume he got bored with all the sparkly lights in the nights aura, or maybe the trees had no more secrets to tell him. I swear i was actually asleep in the back of my head, when suddenly i pop back to the front. I was seated the whole time, so my joints were not screaming. Even so, i just sat there for a few minutes to collect myself. Raven holds onto my very being with grappling hooks, so when he leaves, i pay the price with sore joints and muscle cramps. My shirt was soaked through with sweat. I'd definatly need a shower. I started back to my apartment, eyes on fire. That shower would have to wait, sleep beckoned. I ran off with a few choice curses when i walked in and saw the clock. I'd been gone for just over 2 hours.

I still don't even really remember the actual idea . He never came out and said it one way or another. I say it came to me during that night, because afterward, the idea was like a brand in my skull. For a long time, i put it aside. I thought to myself, "What the hell would i do that for?" Only an idiot would pull a stunt like that. Besides, HOW would i be able to pull it off? I'm just a simple man, with no resources. My health is poor, my stamina all but lost. My excuses flowed like honey, sweet as the morning. When i failed to come up with a new reason to avoid this thing, then i'd sit for a time, simply to ponder some more. I'd had many years experience coming up with excuses. I was the kind of denial, the pharaoh of procrastination. But, as with all things, i eventually came around.

Raven is a patient bird, even if i am not. Soon, all i dreamed about were his feelings, his emotions, his ideas. I'd wake up and not bother to write in my dream journal, because it was the same as the night before. Fields of skulls, all waiting for my perusal, or visions of Raven perched on a branch overlooking a hanged man filled my journal. During the day, i'd be reading a book, and come to minutes later from a daydream involving raven and spirits and long forgotten secrets. As i lay down to sleep at night, i'd roll around half dreaming about getting small, Raven dealing with ghosts i'd summoned. The visions, dreams and streams of consciousness, while all unique ramblings of a overactive imagination, had one common thread; there was some secret, some bit of knowledge that i had to find, that i had to know. One day, like a veil lifting from my eyes, i knew what i had to do. Now to figure out a means.

I had to get me a skull.

Admission was the easy part. Execution would be the hard part. How does someone like me get a hold of a human skull? I'm no murderer. No matter how obsessed i may get about using a jawbone to do God knows what, i'm not gonna acquire it through violence. I am a thief. Well, i was a thief. While burglary is a crime, it's definatly not on the scale of murder. How do i steal a skull, or a jaw? Where do i find a skull waiting for me to snatch? I really didn't want to go bust sod and dig up a grave. I'm a delicate bird, and not prone to fits of exercize. Gravedigging is dangerous work, and i mean, really, me?... go out alone into some graveyard and dig up a corpse and make off with the head all in one night. Yeah, right. And monkeys might fly out of my butt too. A mausoleum might work better. Crowbarring open a crypt might be easier, then again, maybe not. The ideal situation would be a hospital. The morgue is full of dead bodies with "Steal me" written all over choice parts. The problem is hospital security. There was once a time when i might have actually been able to pull off a stunt like that, but not anymore.

For a long time i mulled over how on earth i was going to find a skeleton willing to part with it's head. I was at a loss. I did not want to involve someone else in this endeavor. I figured it was best to keep this as secret as humanly possible. I did not know anyone at the local hospital who could help me out. I did not want to risk breaking into a mausoleum or funeral home. The only real avenue i could see was going into some dark and dangerous graveyard with a shovel, an absolutely lovely proposition. There had to be another way.

The newspaper was my key. I don't normally read the paper, so i knew this was one of those cases of synchronicity. It was another trip on the lovely Capital Metro that put me in contact with the obit section. Someone had left a paper strewn over various benches in the bus, and it was at least a 30 minute ride to the Mall, so i availed myself of some reading material to pass the time. Who would i see listed in the obituaries? Why, it was the very same guy who freaked out at the Long John Silvers a few weeks ago. I just sat there, dumbfounded, as i saw his picture staring back at me, the same intensity in his black and white eyes. I read about him, the favored son of some wealthy lawyer, and about his apparent death while in custody in the county lockup. The death, of course, was an accident. I stopped reading. There was no more need for words. The look in his now dead eyes, staring at me from a cheesy glamour shot photo, spoke to me more than anything else could. He was the one.

Great. Rain. Tis the season i guess. The only thing worse than a hot and sweaty me, is a wet and cold me. Well, if i catch a cold, so be it. This is classic weather for a funeral though. Nothing like a mist to give it a gothic depressed feel and put everyone into the mood.

I guess the man and woman seated are mommy and daddy. This guy, or at least his parents must have been popular. There's at least 100 people here. Not easy for me to blend in, but not too hard either. Lots of flowers, pity about the rain. They'll be piles of goo in the morning. How picturesque, his grave beneath a tall Live Oak, it's branchs offering shade on sunny days, it's acorns tapping on his gravestone at all hours, keeping him awake.

I really should have brought an umbrella. How was i to know there'd be a rainstorm this afternoon? It was nice and sunny when i left the apartment. Bah. It figures that everyone else has an umbrella. They're all black though, i guess the funeral home is prepared for such eventualities. Man, i don't even have a jacket. This really bites.

I never knew how interesting a cemetary could be. The stones are actually kind of cool, in a morbid sort of way. I'll have to come back sometime, when i'm not so distracted. I figure i'm not bothering anyone as i wander around. No one is pointing at me, or telling me to buzz off. I guess i look like someone searching for a relatives gravesite. Keep your distance, and seem aloof. Heh.

What is with this weather? First rain, now wind? You'd think this was march or april instead of october. I know i'm going to catch something. I can already feel it. My lungs catch fire and i'm immediately hacking out of control. I spit out some phlem and watch it wash down the face of a gravemarker. I wipe my nose off, and look around to see if i've attracted any attention with that scene. I do notice a few on the outer edge of the funeral party watching me curiosly, but their attention soon returns to the fine sermon the preacher is giving. I'm sure they want to get out of here as fast as i do.

The bus stop, yes i took the bus... again, is on the opposite side of the funeral party. I start the long walk around the rim of the funeral, keeping some distance between me and them. I've had enough of this. I know where his grave is now, i can take care of business later. As i step under a Willow, the rain suddenly increases to a downpour. My facility for vulgarity gets the best of me, and i stop for a moment near the trunk of the tree. The procession is also quite distressed. They'd just started to lower the casket into the hole as the sky opened up. Heh, much more of this and the casket may float out of here and onto the freeway.

My hair started to stand up, and i figured it was a chill. How wrong i was. I looked over to the procession and felt this rumble and then a loud CRACK. I dropped to the ground. No thought was involved, pure instinct. Raven is a coward and he knew to get the hell out of Dodge. My eyes were closed, but i saw the flash anyway through my lids. I opened my eyes, thinking the world had stopped. My ears heard only a ringing. My skin was crawling. Had i been struck, or maybe the tree i stood under? I rolled over and sat up. I was absolutely drenched, and slowly my hearing was coming back. I could see fine through the film of water covering my glasses. Someone needs to invent lense wipers for specs. So, i guess i was not the object of the strike. The rain was still pouring like someone had pulled the drain out of the bathtub of the sky. The friends and family were scattering back to their cars like roaches when the lights turn on. I don't blame them. In a few moments everyone had left. What the hell? Are they just going to leave the casket lying there? I get up, brush the excess flooding off my face and look around. There is not a single person in sight. This is too rich. I take a quick walk over to the grave site. About 10 feet from the grave i slow to a saunter and look around again. Still, no one anywhere. Looking for a moment at the headstone, i make sure i'm about to violate the correct corpse. Andrew Sevrin, Beloved Son. Heh. I peer into the hole. Yet another chill gripped me.

The tarp tent that covered the grave had been hit by the bolt of lightening. I guess those aluminum poles make good conductors or something. The machine they used to lower the casket into the hole stopped about 6 inches below the grass level. Man, you can still feel the static electricity. This is just too freaky. I look around again, and still, no sign of life, just more and more rain and thunder. A pit opens in my stomach. I feel sick. Well, if i yak, the rain will wash it away. Humor doesnt help. Laughing only makes it worse. I kneel down. My hands shake like leaves. My fingers brush the surface of the casket, it's wood grain slick from the beads of rain pouring off it. I look straight up to the tattered blue remains of the tent, flapping in the wind. My gaze still averted, my hands slide down the side to the edge of the lid. They find a latch, and seemingly of their own volition, release it.

I jump back, but remain in a crouch, my senses suddenly on overdrive. I look around for the snap i swear i just heard. This is almost too much. My nerves are going to kill me, if the caretakers don't first. I'm too delicate for prison. This it taking too long, i need to either do this thing or get the hell out of here. I creep back to the unlocked but closed casket. Slowly i pry up the lid. The once hermetically dry corpse starts to dampen, quickly turning into soaked. His face was so serene, a stark opposite to the madman i saw only weeks previously. In a small moment of levity, i giggle as the caked on makeup starts to run down his pale dead face. Quickly i got control of myself and paused, unsure what to do now. Ok genius, you have the head of a psycho good to go, what do you do with it? I really didnt expect to have to make off with a head so soon. Where do i put it, in my pocket? How do i remove it, with my butterfly knife? Fuck. This is ridiculous. I look out over the expanse of the cemetary yet again, waiting for someone to come running. One hand still holding up the lid, the other slides into my back pocket and pulls out the old stainless steel butterfly knife. With practiced precision i reveal the blade and take a deep breath.

My first cut instead of being on the neck, is at the corner of the mouth. After all, a jawbone started this all, and well, beggers can't be choosers. I cut surely but slowly back to the molars and work the blade to separate the jaw from the skull. My already tender stomach decides this is the final straw. The pops of breaking tendons and ripping muscles do the trick. I loose what little lunch i'd managed to eat earlier. After a few seconds of torturous dry heaves i gasp and turn back to my work. My knife is covered with semi-congealed slime, which i assume is a nice coctail of embalming fluid, fatty tissue and rainwater. I choke back again and start to cut the tongue out of the jaw. My hands are absolutely covered in grease. After an eternity, with a surgeons grace (hah!), the jaw is freed from it's prior mooring. All that remains is a tongue, hanging loosely from the throat, of the once strong jaw of a madman. Slowly i wipe the blade of the knive on his lapel, close up the blade and replace it in my pack pocket. One hand holding my prize, the other closes the lid of the casket and relocks the lid. For a moment i worry about physical evidence, but all i'd leave behind is fingerprints i figure, and the rain should take care of that.

In near panic, i rush off as fast as possible through the rain. I stop at a large Live Oak and crouch down, casting about for signs of the caretakers, cops or funeral attendees returning to the scene of my theft. The coast is relatively clear, so my attention draws back to my prize. It drops from my hands, suddenly numb. I stare at them, dumbfounded. What on earth have i done? Am i insane?! I wipe my hands on freshly cut but soaked grass, removing the layer of grime as best i can. I do the same for the jaw, the skin and tissues picking up as from the ground as they leave behind. I hold the moderately filthy thing close to my face. Only moments ago, it was to be buried for eternity, ashes to ashes, dust to dust. Now it was mine. My eyes glance from side to side again, the pit in my stomach growing deep yet again.

Slowly i rose, and made my way to the nearest fence surrounding the cemetary. On the way, i quickly tucked in my soaked t-shirt. I dropped the jaw down into it through the collar and held it over my belly. The black color or the shirt should help disguise it. This rod-iron fence proves too easy to scale, even in the rain. Once over, i half ran the long block to the bus stop. Luckily, no traffic splashed me on the way, so i was only drenched, and not muddy as i reached the stop. Of course, no cover over the bench as i wait. Naturally, what seemed like probably no more than 10 minutes, felt like an eternity. I lept onto the bus, paid my fare and walked back, leaving a trail of water streaming off of me. I caught far too many stares for my liking, but i knew the reason, and it was not the treasure i held. A sly chuckle filled my throat. My eyes darted from person to person. Soon the stares ended, replaced by silence as the bus pulled off. I'm sure i appeared as a madman, my hair slick, my eyes darting around, my prize guarded against all comers. But i don't care. They have no idea, fools all.

I crept out of my bedroom even though my roommate was at work. It was close to noon, as usual, and several days since i'd secreted away the lower jaw i'd pried loose from it's previous owner in a small baggie in the freezer. I chuckle as i make sure my roommate is not home. Quickly i throw the dead-bolt and close the blinds. I step into the kitchen and stand in front of the frig. Slowly i open the door to the freezer. My hand caresses the edge of the ziploc baggy buried beneath a frozen roast. A numbness starts to creep into my fingertips, followed by a biting pain. With a sharp intake of breath, i pull out the baggy. Frozen meats which once covered the buried treasure fall into it's place. Without thought i turn away, closing the freezer, i place the solid block onto the counter. Who would know what lies within, being covered in aluminum foil, and a nice layer of frost?

The metallic covering peels away in pieces, but eventually the majority of it is removed. A quick washing melts enough ice to remove the rest. In a large pot, filled with water already starting to boil, i place the jaw, whose flesh steams almost in protest as it's internal ice begins to vaporize. The water settles for just a moment, then resumes it's boil. As i place the lid on, it's glass steams and obscures my vision. My curiosity will have to wait. How long a wait? I'm not sure at the moment. For seashells, an hour or so is enough to boil out the once living snail, but the flesh from it's bone?

Well, a watched pot never boils, or something. I walk back to my bathroom and wash my face. My eyes rise up and meet their counterpart in the mirror over the sink. I struggle to remember my dreams from last night. Nothing. I've slept scant hours each night, four tops at any one stretch, and my red eyes show it. I've not caught a cold yet, so i'm in the clear. I check the inside of my lids and they're even redder than my eyes. Quickly i run a brush my hair and retie it into a ponytail. Taking a step back, my eyes find their opposites again and stare beyond them, beyond the mirror, past my nemesis looking back, who looks beyond me. A fire burns, and it's only cure is to blink, but to blink is to loose the image. Past my own face i dig, i journey, within my image and reflection i seek my true self. Soon, there is no burning, no pain. A fire now forms over my image, a soft white burning that ripples and sparks, following my contours, giving light as the background, the mirror, the wall it mounts on, everything begins to fade away. I take a quick blink, at this point it matters not, and marvel as the sharp aura fidgets as if annoyed at my moment of distraction. Seeking my pupils, their twins lock on and gaze into the darkness. The glow spreads from it's outline beginnings and covers my bust in a soft light, accentuating the folds and peaks of my face, ebbing and flowing with each breath. Now my own features begin to fade, becoming loose, allowing themselves to reform, to take on a fluid nature. I become so entranced i have to make sure i'm still breathing. That momentary lapse again is enough, my attention drawn to the face that stares back at me. A face not my own.

The Old Man is there, his wrinkles speaking of great wisdom, his eyes showing great sorrow. A huge nose replaces my mediocre one, his dark eyes instead of my green, his hair white instead of my dark brown. I'd not seen the Old Man in so long, having grown used to the Woman, or no face at all. So often i cannot even find the will to make it this far these days. His countenace is so grim today. His/my lips move, trying to speak, but no words come out. A burning grows again in my eyes, and i close them shut, rubbing frantically. One hand reaches down and turns on the faucet, scooping up water to splash on my lids. I look back to the mirror and see myself, with a worried look.

Every time i try to rationalize my actions, i have to stop myself. It's a downward spiral. But i have to ask, over and over, "What have i done?" Again, i ask this of the person in the mirror. Maybe somehow he can tell me, help me. The legalities of it all are irrelevant. If my roommate finds out, well, i'll get a new roommate, probably. Ramifications in this world worry me not, it's the consequences within my own mind, and within my own spirit that keep me up nights.

Again, i catch myself before i get too deep in this spiral. Frowning, i leave and return to the living room. The sound of boiling water and the smell of... well, the smell, fill the small apartment. I have about 4 hours until i have to face other humans. More than enough time to clean and deodorize. Even though it means risking detection, i step outside, onto the walkway outside my front door. The apartments all face inward, to a common courtyard, and being on the second floor, i have a good perch from which to observe the comings and goings. It's a nice overcast day. Not too hot, not too chilly. No rain in the forecast, thankfully. It's rained off and on now for 4 days, and was getting kind of tiresome. I'm tired, close to exhausted, but i look at the grass, the trees, the clouds in the sky, and while i don't try to scope their auras, i just try to feel them, make myself part of the unity, part of the flow of it all. I must be too tired. I feel like a whole lot of nothing right now.

It's been a while. Might as well check the stew. I pull the pot off the electric fire and let the water settle down to a simmer. Well used bamboo tongs poke through the loose film on the surface. Nasty stuff, not something i'd use for gravy that's for sure. My lips pull into the first grin i've had in days at the thought of face-skin soup... "Needs more salt!" I needed that little chuckle more than i had realized. But, back to the business at hand. Trying to grip the slick jaw with the tongs, i draw it out only to watch each arm snap back and shoot the bone back into the pot, splashing hot frothy water all over the stovetop and onto the floor. I reach back and find a spatula and fish out the miscreant and lay it down on my cutting board. The semicircle of bone and enamel is nowhere near bleached, as in some corner of my mind, i thought it might be. No, more work would be necessary to make this a tool suitable for Raven. Scraps of flesh still clung, as well as a dirty film of scum, to the surface.

Quickly i go back to my bathroom and retrieve a used toothbrush. A perfect tool to clean the gums, right down to the bone, literally. It takes a while to get everything, but the skin and muscles and the ... other stuff, is pretty easy to remove. I set down my now filthy toothbrush and hold up the relatively clean jawbone for inspection. This guy had good teeth. Not a single filling or crown. I'm impressed. Hmm, to bleach or not to bleach? On the one hand, bleaching would probably preserve it better than not doing it. On the other hand, bleaching may tweak the mojo. Not a good thing, to be sure. Bleaching may also reduce the funky odor, in fact, i know it'll reduce the funk. This thing reeks. We go with the bleach.

With only 2 hours to go before i have to deal with a roommate, the jaw goes into a bucket with the remains of a bottle of clorox. It only covers the jaw half way, so that means i'll have to turn the turkey partways through. Two hours should be enough for a pearly white non stinky jawbone. Finally, with an end in sight, my mood is lightening. I was really kind of worried.

I swear by Potpourrie Garden Fresh bathroom spray. Wonderful stuff, truly. With some liberal spraying of that, some incense, and some blueberry scented candles, all windows wide open and fans running full black, it almost smells like an apartment instead of a taxidermy shop in here. I stand in the middle of the living room, overlooking my domain, and verily, it is good. With my jawbone safely tucked away in my bedroom, the kitchen all cleaned, and the air fresh and sweet, i can relax. My roommate should be home in roughly 15 minutes. With a smile i collapse into my chair and click on the television, loosing myself in music videos and cartoons.

Another morning comes blazing into my bedroom. I try to go back to sleep, but cannot. Eventually my eyes snap open and simply won't let themselves be shut. I sit up and rub my face, trying to put some feeling into it, as well as assure myself i'm alive, that i'm still me. As i organize some rational though into my brain, dreams come flooding back into my head. Details as usual elude me, but the fact that i can remember even remnants of dreams is something to remark on. I remember a redness that tinted everything. I remember my own teeth falling out of my mouth, replaced with the teeth of the dead man whose body i'd descecrated. I remember a voice not my own, speaking terrible things to those i love. I remember looking down, and watching the ground slip away from me, my body gliding through the clouds. My body begins to burn, and falls, and my breath leaves me in a hot fire. I ponder writing down the dream in my notebook, but decide against it. I don't have nightmares, but this comes close. The feeling of absolute power and then terror are best forgotten.

It's not hot in my room, strange enough, but i'm sweating badly. No wonder that, the dream has me very upset. I'm usually much more centered, i don't care for this. A shower is in order, a good chance to clean the body physically, and ease the mind with some hot steam. Yesterday was far too odd, odd and stressful. For the first time, i admit to myself that i've actually desecrated a corpse, a once living man. With the dream last night, i need a break from Raven. I can afford it, the jawbone hidden safely away, i'm not worried about discovery. I just need a break, that's all.

A nice day, not too hot, the sky blue with no hint of clouds. The breeze is a bit cool, but stay out of the shadows and the sun does enough to keep the body and the spirit warm. My face turns into the wind as i wait at the intersection, the best way i know to keep my hair out of my face. I really should have tied it back. However, freshly washed hair needs to be free, so i wear it down today. The signal changes, and with a quick step i cross to the other side of the access road and make my way under the freeway overpass. How convenient that my bus lets off right across the street from the supermarket pharmacy. How convenient that i so rarely have to make a "pick-up" these days. Little perks of being persistant with insurance aproviders, they're so eager to cut costs. So convenient to only have to pay out once every 6 months instead of every month. I hate bureacracy and red tape.

A grim smile lights my face as i trudge through the parking lot to the entrance of the market. I feel almost good today, no fire in my chest, no spasms or wheezing to slow my pace. I watch the employess and customers as i walk back to the pharmacy. So happy with their little lives. Here and there i notice a sparkle of awareness, a touch of realization. The irony of it all makes me chuckles. I stop for a moment to check the onions. Three for a dollar? I think not.

With an unconcerned look, i wait for the little old lady to finish wasting my time. They move so slow. I'm almost glad i won't ever go through that. One of the assistants, Mike i think is his name, notices me around the chief pharmacist as he banters with little blue haired bitch.

"Hey there James! Do we have something for you today?", he asks.

My face brightens, "You should. A big order, more or less, for Theophylline. I called it in last Thursday."

He's a nice one. They're all nice here. We have a good rapport. Not the same at all at the other pharmacy, Mao's. Heh. Mao's. Bunch of pinko commie bastards is right. The names have stuck, Mao's Pharmacy and NaziBank both. I'm glad i'll be working with this one from now on. To hell with everyone else.

Mike comes up with a small paper bag and staples a receipt to the rim. He hands me a clipboard and pen. Without speaking, i sign my name on the next line. I know the routine well. He hands me the bag.

"Not too big an order, in terms of size. At least this time you don't need a shopping cart to carry it all.", he chuckles.

I smile back, "True. Well, thanks. See you around."

Enough with the pleasantries. With a quick step i whirl around and start back for the exit. I decide against buying any food. I hate carrying things, I was meant to walk unburdened. The hum of a coke machine stops me cold. Well, not completely unburdened. After relieving myself of some loose pocket change, and sipping the wonderful caffeinated liquid, i make for the bus stop. This route runs only every 30 minutes, so i'd best get there ASAP. There's probably nothing worse than seeing the bus you need to catch roll off just before you show up.

Almost no business this time of day at the bingo parlor, so i dont have to cut in and around cars as i walk across their parking lot. The bus stop is covered, but i elect to stand. Traffic is light on the freeway, but it's still noisy. Checking the bus time schedule in detail only takes up a few minutes. My eyes cast around for something interesting. They fix on a light post about 100 yards away. I'd swear that on top of it, perched, is a crow. Damn my vision. No, it's not a grackle, the tail is too small, but the body too large for how big it is in relation to the pole. If it's a grackle, it's on steroids.

My coke finished, i turn around and throw it into the trash barrel i'm leaning on. Turning back, with a free hand i brush my hair out my face. The crow is now perched on the signpost for Taco Cabana. My eyebrows arch, i look to the lightpole, no crow, and back to the signpost. The crow seems to as if on cue, feel my intrigue, and lets off with a series of caws. Another grin starts across my face, when i hear an echo of the caw, coming from behind me. I turn quickly, and see a crow flying towards his brother. The newcomer divebombs the other, swoops up, then lands next to him. They both start a loud ruckus. This is too rich, i mean, what a riot! I laugh.

Almost as quickly as it began, they shut up. Both take off at once, and fly right at me, well, over me. I turn around, my head never losing sight of them. One of them does a quick roll in mid-flight, then cuts hard left and flies over the freeway, out of my sight, his brother following behind. I almost don't notice, but something floats down, carried by the wind, over the access road, and lands about 25 feet from me, in the right hand lane. I walk up casually, and see what it is. Straightening out, i look around, noone. I look back down. A crows feather. I step out into the street and pick it up, then back up onto the curb. Holding the feather up, i twirl it around in my fingers, then brush it against my face. I close my eyes, and smell it, rub it against my lips.

My eyes shoot open as i hear a squeel. The bus. How does a bus sneak up on you? Quickly i walk over and get on board. Taking a seat, i supress a chuckle. My prize this time is no secret. I hold the feather like a weapon. It is a sword to cut my way through reality, to the other side, whatever that may be. No, that's not quite right. It's a feather, and the feather itself does not grant flight.

My period of waiting has ended. The feather is a sign. It's time to proceed, to do what is necessary. Just as a feather does not grant flight, so too a jaw alone does not confer speech. They are tools, and as such, must be prepared. Soon the jaw would speak, and the feather would fly, through me.

Stacks of books surround me. Low music sooths the air. The smell of inks and paints assails my weak nose. The engraving tool in my hand waits for some conscious decision of where to start. Again, i put it down and take up the bleached white jawbone, covered in dozens of penciled inscriptions. For the umpteenth time i reread the scripts.

"Thou art pure, thy ka is pure, thy soul is pure, thy sekhem is pure."

Of course, i can't really *read* the script, i'm translating. In a line running the rim of the jaw, under the gumline, is a row of heiroglyphs traced in pencil. I searched for a long time, many hours, and poured through many books before deciding on that phrasing. Hell, before even deciding on Egyptian, for that matter. My well used copy of the Book of the Dead lies open to a spell on keeping the soul safe as it travels in the underworld. The blood of Isis to keep you safe. Hah. I'm not dead yet. That and it'd take me forever to carve that entire spell onto a little jaw. I opted for something a bit simpler. The word is the deed, lets keep it tight.

"Let not be shut in my soul, let not be fettered my shadow, let be opened the way for my soul and my shadow, may it see the great god."

Another good script, but not quite what i was looking for. I'm trying to use the spirit of the jaw, not set it free. I'll use that one when i finally put down the jaw, permanently. Smiling at the jaw, my lips draw back to mimic the toothy fixed grin. I'll only keep you for a while, i promise.

Picking up my engraver again, i start to cut some guide lines. I'm commited now. With a sigh my hand gains confidence. Just like scrimshaw on cowhorn. Not a problem. Bone cuts different from horn, but i expected that. The texture is a little harder, but i can handle that. Still, i can get some solid cuts. This'll take ink quite well.

I look up, the VCR clock slowly coming into focus. My pile of books stands untouched now for an hour. My god, an hour. By some whim i notice my legs have no feeling. Setting down the jaw and engraver, i lean back, lying down and roll over, taking the pressure off my butt and hips. Pins and needles jab at my thighs and calves. The progression as blood flow resumes is really kinda cool. The ceiling fan is fascinating from this angle, directly underneath. But, enough of that. I sit, rubbing my legs, feeling the occasional stab of hate from starved muscles. Break time, yes. A glass of water for the artiste. An hour. How time flies when you're having fun. I didn't even notice the cd had stopped playing. Gliding back into the living room, i retake my seat amidst my pile of ... stuff, on the floor.

Hands with calloused fingertips retake their charges, steel meets bone with renewed energy. Slowly, ever slowly, shapes appear. Lines are drawn. Grooves are furrowed. Dust accumulates. Fingers grow numb. But i press on. Mistakes are made, but experience has taught ways of getting around petty setbacks. Curses are thrown as i stab flesh instead of bone. Glyph after glyph wrap their way around, a ribbon of cuts below the gumline, barely visible in the low light.

I look out the window. It's almost dark. Shit! I loose time in this just way too easily. If i didn't know what i was doing, i'd joke that i'd been abducted. Hold the anal probe, please. Holding the jaw up in the fading light of evening, i smile. For all the pain, all the wear on my fingers, a whole day gone in a blink, i'm done. Just under thirty hieroglyphs.

Prying myself off the floor, i again have to wait for my legs to come to terms with the little miracle of circulation. Light i necessary, unfortunatly, so movement must be fostered. In the harsh light, the carvings are less inspiring. Lots of little mistakes and trips. Well, that'll be taken care of. Nothing like a little ink to draw the eye where you need it to go. Broad strokes initially, but only over the grooves. If it gets under the gums, it'll look like he has gingivitis or something. A little sanding afterward and wha-la. Well, not quite that easy. It's never quite that easy. It actually takes about two coats of india ink, and some re-scribing over about the whole length of it. But, nothing as involved as the original scrimshanding. A beautiful row of black hieroglyphs stares back from below a row of perfect teeth, on a lovely bleached white jaw. This kicks ass.

I'm disappointed. I almost expected some kind of mystical experience. Nothing. Nada. I've gone through all this, and nothing. No. This is ok, i won't get mad. Raven does not punch a time clock. He works on his own schedule. The jaw is made. Whatever will happen, will do so in it's own time. A flash of inspiration leads me running into my bedroom. The return is almost as fast, but i am burdened with a black tattered feather and a length of deerskin thread. Quickly i wrap the quill of the feather in the thong, tying a good knot, so it won't slip out. I take the other end, and appraise the jawbone. Behind the left rear molar looks good. Another knot ensures their long partnership. Hmm, looks kind of silly, just hanging there. I loop the loose thread around the jaw, so the feather is lying against the jaw, instead of hanging down. Much better.

Not much better. Still, nothing. Damnit. No, it's ok. What did i expect, a flash of lighting leading to enlightenment upon completion? Please. Well, maybe a little. Well, it's almost dinner time. I clean up, replace all my tools, and grab up all my books into a semi-neat pile. The jaw goes into a black silk scarf. Carefully it is returned to it's new home, next to my bed, under another pile of stuff. I chuckles at my camoflage techniques. Damn i'm good.

Returning to the living room, i look at the time again. A whole day, down the tubes. What do i have to show for it? Well, i have my precious. I'm not sure what i expected. I'm trying really hard not to be disappointed. How... anti-climactic.