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"So what's it like?" Chuchu asked, attempting to climb a toadstool so that she could at least see the hookah smoking smurfette. "Imagine yourself slowly falling, almost drifting through a black void and you are surrounded by these thin, tiny threads and each of these threads just split and weave into others, like a spider's web, interlocking but can easily be changed, but with each change, creates a new possibility.  When you hit one thread, you can feel everything and nothing all in one.  Now imagine touching all those threads at once and feeling that rush of emotions, lives, and faces," The green clad smurfette answered, eyes closed and bl

He had been aimlessly wandering around the Jackal Graveyard for the last couple of hours and found he was having a hard time suppressing his boredom.  He was a creature who had dedicated his whole life to delivering sheer entertainment for a captivated audience, but here in this dismal place, he would never be able to find that audience.  This was a place for mourners, for grievers, those wanting a place of silent peace.  This was not a place for him.    He needed noise, something to keep him busy, because if he didn't do that, then certain thoughts would come crashing in.  Thoughts he didn't want to plague him anymore than they already did.

It was the middle of the night when there was a loud knocking sound at the home of Bones Jenkins.  Usually the knocking would be ignored, but the stranger at their door was a persistent one.  They knew it wasn’t James Jackal returning, because he would have ripped the door off its hinges by now, and they knew if one of them didn’t answer it, the young master’s daughter would wake and end up doing it herself. Constantine forced himself out of bed, gesturing for his lover to remain in bed.  Whoever this was had the patience of a saint to remain at the door for some long, yet their impatience could be told by the volume of whi