Obscure

Or rather, ObsCure. Both are pretty relevant.


My boyfriend Steven and I have been playing ObsCure: The Aftermath recently. My first Aftermath experience was back when I was a Sophomore in high school. I knew that I'd be entertaining a friend of mine for the night and that was my way of saving my ass, you see. I was horribly awkward back in those days -- and, admittedly, still kind of am -- but with a game to play, we would at least have something to talk about if it sucked, know what I mean? No losing! It turned out to be a fantastic play-with-your-friends kind of game.
The writing is pretty terrible and the characters aren't anyone you'd regret not saving, but this game has a lot of good ideas. The graphics could probably be better, yet, it's still provocative enough to throw you for a loop or two. Or, in my case, right out of your boyfriend's lap. Some of the shots are downright brilliant. There's a part of the game where the character Jun has literally been knocked out of a fucking window down to the cellar. 
Up until this point, you've been playing as her twin sister and their friend, running on a time limit as her health bar ticks away at the top of the screen, trying to navigate college dorms with no direction whatsoever. Well, when you do find her, the window thing happens. You have to kill the creep that did it, then head down to the security desk. From there, Player Two (Steven) had to control the cameras and Player One (Me) had to play as Jun, trying to find her way out of a labyrinth of endless halls and hundreds of doors. 


None of the doors will open. 
You feel like you're running out of time. 
You can't access your inventory, so you have no health packs. 
You only have a baseball bat to fight with.
The cameras are at fixed angles, limiting your view.
That bloody music is kicking it into full throttle!
And speaking of the ambiance, you can hear. people. sobbing. 


You think you're finally making progress, then, at a juncture, you get cornered by the same type of mutant that tossed your ass down there in the first place -- who, by the way, is one of the hardest fuckers to kill in the game -- oh, and, look more doors! He beats you within inches of your life, just before your bat decides to be effective, then you have to limp the rest of the way out. Jun reaches her destination, but that's about all she does, while you're sitting there kissing the top of your controller, you're so tensed up.  


There was a lot of potential packed into that Playstation 2 disc, without a doubt. 


The music was undoubtedly the best part of this game. It would swell up, leaving your heart pounding, waiting for the next attack -- only to realize, "Oh. An empty room. Why did I get so freaked out!?" (Then, a split moment later, when you have that false sense of security? "Your ass is mine, PRETTY BOY!" says the mass of ornery mutilated flesh with working limbs. But, anyway.) The composer, Olivier Derviere, is fantastic. He did the music for both ObsCure's, some pirate game, and Alone in the Dark, which Steven argues is one of the worst games in creation. I've never played it but I'll take his word. 
It's really sad, because Olivier hasn't really gotten any work outside of those four games, to my knowledge, and he really is an incredibly talented individual. He uses soundfonts for everything but the creepy vocals, which are done by a french choir. There are layers upon layers, never an empty moment in his music -- unless he wants it to be. In which case, hold your piss, it becomes so empty that it's effectively eery.


You can download his work from this website: 

http://www.ameoprod.com/site/soundtrack

The ObsCure soundtracks are free, but you have to purchase the other two.

He also has a SoundCloud, if you're interested:

http://soundcloud.com/olivier-deriviere 

When I first purchased this game, I didn't realize that it was a sequel. Otherwise, I probably wouldn't have gotten it, to be honest. I'm usually pretty anal about things like that. "I have to play it in order!" You know. But! ObsCure, the first game, is incredibly hard to find. Whenever it is in stock at Gamestop, it's apparently around 20$ -- which slays me.


Are there any games, preferably for Playstation 2, that you would recommend we play? I love horror survival, just because that means we can tack up a blanket over the window if it's day time and creep each other out. Don't limit your responses to two-player games, either. We don't mind taking turns. One night, we must have spent hours trying to beat this online game. What was it called? Deflector! Crazy hard game, but super fun. We've been playing Lego Star Wars, too. Steven's a bit of a completionist, so we spend a good measure of our time collecting bolts, haha. (Not complaining, just teasing~.)


Welp. I hope you've enjoyed this excursion 

just beyond the grey, 

but I must be heading out. The real world needs me! 

Thank you again for reading. Please come check by another time! Blessed be.

Humbly, 

Shannon Grey

P.S. Ostara turned out great. And? A very talented artist from The Tattoo Company has contacted me to see when I'll be stopping by. At the beginning of the month, I introduced myself to him as a prospective apprentice and he really liked my work. I can't wait~! It's such an exciting idea. I hope it all works out in the end. Or, at the very least, I learn some useful tips of the trade! (:

Ostara

Ostara. 


This is the day out of the year that my sister and I, along with our friend Alex, celebrate the coming of Spring. It's a pagan/wiccan holiday and runs in correspondence with better-known Easter. My sister, Brittany, has made sure to include deviled eggs in our early-dinner-like celebratory meal. Eggs stand for fertility, birth, and growth -- all things that are iconic to this new season, no matter the religious belief. No one can deny that the animals are a little more lovey-dovey about this time, mm? But more than that, Ostara is the balance between the extremes of Summer and Winter; a time where the earth ceases its wobbling and begins anew. Everything is fresh, and green, and ready to be nurtured to its full potential.


Lately, I've been doing a bit of wobbling myself. 


I've just recently moved in with my boyfriend-of-6-months/close-friend-of-6-years due to the... all-consuming void that has become my wallet. I've been pushing it off. The offer was always there, but I just don't like the idea of being a freeloader, you know? I need to be able to at least take care of myself. And we've only been dating for this short amount of time, I would've hated for it to complicate the relationship... Well, when I successfully obtained a job, and other circumstances gave me little choice, it was decided for me. They -- we live with his parents and two siblings -- were moving anyway, so I was just a minuscule addition to the boxed bedlam. 
It's really nice. Not the house -- though the house is impressive -- but the family aspect of it all. A father, a mother. Three siblings. Then there's me, the youngest out of everyone. I feel like the runt of the litter! haha My family situation has always been a muddled mess and this is such a wonderful breathe of fresh air. I'm constantly asking if I can help, or if there's anything I might be doing wrong, or if there's anything I could improve on. The answer is always "No," or, affectionately, "Shut up, kid." Apparently I fit right in. It feels and seems like I do, anyway. No one has told me otherwise and haven't been inclined to think so either. 
Unfortunately, I've always been weak-bodied. I would wake up in the morning for school and spend an hour retching. I would get sick -- and really get sick. I would go outside and come back inside almost immediately, heaving, my back flat on the carpet. I would run up a short flight of stairs and hold my chest at the top, praying my heart would stop pounding and the black veil would disappear from in front of my eyes. It's always been these "little" things that no one can really pinpoint, aside from saying that I'm weak. 
It kills me. It always has. Especially when I would wake up, try to get ready for school, and end up missing my bus, then have to explain it to my uncle, who then would drive me to school. He never yelled at me, but I knew it frustrated him, having to do that. I don't blame him if he didn't believe me when I said I was sick. It was never obvious. I had no proof and whenever I did vomit up enough to show that I wasn't lying, I could still make it to the bus, I had no need to wake him. Besides, at that point, after 18 years of dealing with it all on my own, I'd stopped bothering with trying to prove my illness unless necessary, and instead of attempting to explain it to schoolmates, I would opt out of going places or participating in activities.
I've been called lazy a lot, thanks to these factors. It drives me nuts. My closest of friends have said it and broken my heart with each word, because I know, at least, that I'm not lazy. I try so hard to put every ounce of energy that I can into the work I do. Even when it starts to hit, I'll struggle through it until I can no longer do even that. And then there are those moments where everything seems hopeless, or less important on a grander scale, when I am a little "lazy." They only serve as fodder to the argument, piling up evidence against me in a battle that I have no will to win.
This is something that has affected everything I've ever done. You know, I loved playing baseball, running track, and doing gymnastics. All of those things inevitably dropped out of my life, never to be claimed again. But they were just sports, right? I could live without them. And I have. I still try to remain as physically fit as I can, but in no degree am I an athlete. That's okay. It really is. I never had a passion for that aspect of life as much as I do for writing. But now that I'm out in the "real world," I'm realizing that these illnesses -- my sheer weakness -- makes it impossible for me to blend in. 
The job that I obtained, a position at Old Navy, is too much. I help with shipments, I work the fitting rooms, and walk the floors. It's a lot of standing and constant back and forth but it's not like it's rigorous work. No, no. Yet, I find myself short of breath, hugging my legs to my chest in the bathroom, after two hours of work. This isn't even the busy season! What in the hell am I supposed to do come the holidays? I've had to go home early already, and call in once as well. My manager knows my situation and he's supposed to call me so we can figure out a way around my sickness, but my biggest worry is that we won't be able to.
If I lose this job, how am I going to start saving up for school? My boyfriend and his family would never make me pay for things while I was here, unless I offered, and they really, really needed the help, but I just... I don't want to be a freeloader and I hate not being able to do something when I say that I will. I said I could work the hours that they offered. I said that I could work hard and would work hard. I've been working hard every day that I go in, but then I feel like I'm going to die halfway through. It's so incredibly... hard. Hard to deal with, hard to live with, hard to accept. I want to be able to help the ones that I love and I'll never be able to do that at this rate. 
I don't want to have to call my uncle and tell him I can't even keep a job in retail. Retail, of all things. Folding clothing, for Christ sake. I mean, there's more to it than that, and I'm sure I'm being harder on myself than I should, but it's the freaking truth. How pathetic is it that I can't work for four hours every other day of the week!? 


I'm going to look for other work options, in the meantime. There has to be something out there that I can do.


I can't let my frustrations get the best of me. I'll be damned if I let my weakness get in my way either. I refuse to just coast through life, I refuse to be nothing when I have so many possibilities before me. I want to get back into school, I want to some day have a place of my own. I don't even have a driver's license. I'm just a tumor of existence, sucking off of people's kindness, draining them of their energy. I don't want that. I don't want to be a burden. 
I'm not lazy. I have a drive like no one would believe. I've dealt with things that few people ever have and made it out relatively unscathed. Most importantly of all, they're all things, people, instances, circumstances that are in my past. In no way will they be a hindrance, no matter their persistence. If anything, they'll be a lesson to me. The type of person I want to be, the mark I want to leave on the world, the things that I want to achieve... 


All of the black that has seeped into my memory will only push me further toward the light of each tomorrow.


So. Here's to Spring, to Ostara. I'm on the path to replenishing the good, to balancing and grounding my life, and slowly steeping the darkness out of it, one day at a time. I'm happy, so unbelievably happy, and I want to spread this happiness. Despite all of my frustrations, I know that there's no need to worry. Things will work out, things will always improve. I know things always get worse before they get better, but if you look at it all on a grander scheme, you can see that there's more good than bad. Every little flicker can outglow the shadows, even if only for a split second and that is what truly matters. Even when I think of the people who have hurt me, it's the memories of when we smiled that stick out the most.


I need to be easier on myself, more understanding. I'll make that a goal. To give myself the benefit of the doubt, that calm nod of appraisal when I do something well, and keep myself in check when something goes wrong so that I can learn from it, but not wallow in my mistake or negative surroundings. 
There once was a time when I placed no value in who I was or what I believed in. I was friends with everyone, but had no friends, and let myself be swept about like driftwood on the face of an angry tide, who dealt help and reassurance to each but my own weary heart. I sat with whoever beckoned and promised "forever" with a grim smile too easily. I wondered, every other day, how soon would I leave this earth, and how good it would feel when it was all over. I hurt others as much as I hurt myself in the process, even when I was trying to amend all of my wrong-doings and misleading promises. I don't regret everything that happened in those years, but I regret having caused even the smallest unhappiness, no matter the person, the relationship, or the situation. I could have easily lost all that is important to me now in that time, everything that I cherish today could have been washed away in a sheet of salt. 
I'd like to believe that I've gotten better. I know that I've gotten better. I can only go up from here. I can only smile. Accept that pain only lasts for so long. Live, breathe. Be thankful. Give good unto the earth and hope that someone sends it back around. Appreciate every little thing and expect nothing. 


Sigh. It feels so good to write again. Even if I've said these words -- ranted them out, cried them, thought them -- it just feels so much better to see them in front of me. These words are recorded in a place that they can't easily be removed. I can always remind myself of where I was and where I want to go. Where I need to be.
And that's why I've created a new blog, I think. Yeah. I won't delete my old one, but I will keep it separate from this to show that it was a different time, a different mindset. Between then and now, I've gone through a great transition, one that cannot be reversed or forgotten. I haven't written in that one in so long and feel no desire to do so, but I feel compelled to write in this one. 


I'm excited~.




I hope whoever decides to read this has enjoyed this glimpse 

just beyond the grey.

I don't know what I'll be writing about next, but hopefully it will appear as compelling, if not moreso, to you then. 


Blessed be.

Humbly, 

Shannon Grey