Torrentous Tearsby UmbraEquinaeChaptersObservations and ReflectionsPast KnownSalvation for HerSurgery from ThemObservations and Reflections"Realities," muttered Jeffrey Woods, kitchen knife brandishing in his clenched fist. Dressed in his signature white hooded sweatshirt and black jeans, the 20-year old man observed the carnage surrounding him. Crimson puddles painted the landscape; viscera lay about or dangled from hooks and strings. The scenes of death read stories of suffering and torment brought upon the victims by their perpetrators; all a reflection of Jeff’s own life in his past. Eyes darting throughout the separate settings around, Jeff hung his head in sorrow of the agony endured by so many innocent lives, “Simplicity of the complicated world: existence of sin." Contrary to the belief of those uneducated in the science of astronomy and physics, realities were a far simpler essence of existence, yet mere comprehension was beyond reach and something no group or individual could achieve without controversy and conflict. The complicated nature of life itself was something Jeff understood, as it only takes stepping back to see the simplicity from which complications all stem from: existence. The fundamentality of existence itself is something beyond all comprehension, but it is existence from which all other phenomenon can be traced to. As for realities, life is a nonlinear string of parallel realities made seemingly linear and consistent by an individual's consciousness. Their consciousness is a perception of occurrences, mere actions and events around them. As one is unable to see all life, thus the entirety of existence around them, they perceive their conscious perception as a linear reality. This, however, is the source of controversy: Existence is a composition of nonlinear parallel realities from which one perceives via their consciousness as their life. Alternate universes do not exist; rather, they are simply parallel realities of which one cannot comprehend. The unknown is such an abstraction, a noun of the indefinite definition; the lack of knowledge is an idea so shockingly comprehendible. What exactly is it, why does it exist? How could abstractions, mere ideas, have effects so drastic on a life, if not in entire community or society? A question so profound, though Jeff had eventually come to comprehend – or rather, accept – the answer to: the unknown is an aspect of life that brings paradoxes to those who try to delve into it for answers. Sometimes, attempting to know the unknown would bring excitement and joy, but other times, it would bring corruption and pain. Pains, both mental and physical, could infect a person, blinding them to things around them. Blindness to the comprehendible blurs their perception of reality until they are of narrow-minded sight. Jeffrey Woods knew this too well in his own experiences. "And my vision becomes blurry." (Madame Macabre's "Painted Smile") It was his own narrow-minded perception that led Jeffrey Woods to murder his parents, Matthew and Shelia Woods, that night in Mandeville, Louisiana. The relatable opposite could be said about psychiatrist Doctor Joseph Sawyer, whose curiosity and determination to understand the human psychiatry and sociology prompted his dismissal from Sam Houston University, Texas and moving to Mandeville. Sawyer's unethical experiment's on infants caused him to be dismissed from that university, but he was set on continuing his experiments on the residents of Mandeville itself. "Once Sawyer was dismissed from Sam Houston, he moved to Mandeville and decided to hatch yet another experiment, only this time the lab would be the town itself, and istead of 'white walls,' it would be social influence determining the paths of his subjects." (K. Banning Kellum's "Jeff the Killer: Shades of Madness") As he stood amongst the gruesome displays surrounding him, Jeff could grit his teeth in hatred and rage at what that sick psychiatrist did to Randy Hayden, the bully who proved to be the controlled variable in Joseph Sawyer's second social experiment. If not for Sawyer's influence on the Hayden family along with almost all the law enforcements of Mandeville, Randy would have been more aware of his actions as a bully, Jeff himself would not have become what he was and still aware of now: serial killer Jeff the Killer. His brother, Liu Woods, would not have to suffer what became his life after he was greeted with the sight of their slaughtered parents, who would not have died if Jeff had not snapped after the flare gun incident and the misguided overhearing in the hospital. But the past is the past, the present is a now to be dealt with. Though the past coincided with his future, Jeff promised himself to fix all the issues and mistakes of Mandeville only until after he was well trained in his goals. Jeffrey Woods stiffened, standing straight before turning to a display of less carnage than those around him. "I will return," Jeff murmured to himself, addressing Mandeville. "I will set things right, but ... I have a lot to learn." Memories of the past four years flashed through Jeff's mind: him disappearing into the woods after murdering his parents and saying farewell to his brother, his interview with Bennie Rosenberg, him disappearing once again into the booth after leaving Rosenberg dead in the fireworks booth, Dr. Sawyer... HITS. Jeff smiled at the memory of his encounter with the Harmonists in the Shadows, an organization striving towards the objective of restoring or spreading, and maintaining harmony and virtue to ensure a sense of unbiased unity in societies of many kinds and places. Jeff had met some of those tirelessly working to ensure the success of the organization’s mission: Ghostface – the titular costume given life and soul – and GLaDOS – the artificial intelligence unit who currently is still married to science, though to a lesser degree. Jeff relished memories of his – for lack of a better phrase – Reawakening, an occurrence of repentance and redemption brought to those once-normal, now-corrupted individuals who still had hope and who had a promising future in the organization's task. Jeff, along with Ghostface and GLaDOS, were some of the few deemed worthy of the Reawakening. With perception cleared and set on purging the world of the corruption that had birthed Jeff the Killer, Jeffrey Woods stepped through the plane of reality before him, his form disappearing from the vacant blackness from where he formerly stood in a blinding flash of rippling light, "Let the adventure begin." Author's Note In the knowledge of multiple remakes and spin-offs of the original story of Jeff the Killer, I did not see anything wrong with basing the main character, Jeffrey Woods, directly off of the Jeff the Killer incarnation from the still-developing series by K. Banning Kellum, whose established and currently published sestet – I am not quite sure of the terminology – can be found on Spinpasta Wiki. I am aware that my actions of creating an inspired incarnation directly based off of another's work may be considered as copyrighting and piracy. If this is so, then I sincerely apologize for it. Citations were made to various works, these such citations will continue to appear throughout this "My Little Jeffrey" series to credit those who I have found inspiration from. Past KnownBody. Mind. Soul. If one were to describe what became of Jeffrey Woods after he thoroughly drowned into that euphoric ichor, the 'syrup,' they would describe him as an empty shell now filled entirely with primal emotions. They would regard him as a lost soul; all that remained of the human boy was a disfigured body and a twisted mind, they might add. Though somewhat accurate, they could not have been further from the truth. Liu Woods, Jeff's younger brother, struck this realization: "On some days when Trace Dunkin or some other mean-spirited schoolmate chose to make Liu the target of their fun, he'd realize that Jeff was a catalyst, a one-of-a-kind event that could happen in almost any walk of life, but rarely does. Bullies, negligent adults, corrupt officials, ... they're everywhere. But very few of them ever see what their actions could really produce. Jeff though, he stood out from the typical victim of torment and abuse. Liu was convinced that no one believed that such rage could exist within a young man like Jeff, a child who'd been raised with good education and lots of outlets for his ever-growing connection to the world around him." (K. Banning Kellum's "Jeff the Killer: Liu") Liu, having lived his entire childhood and most of adolescence with Jeff, knew what Jeff's 'transformation' into an inhuman monster was like: "Liu theorized that perhaps what transformed Jeffrey Woods, brother, teacher, and friend, into the depraved ghoul known as Jeff the Killer was those little fail-safes, those little switches that kick on in peoples' minds, like the ones that told Liu not to instigate Trace. ... Well, in the case of Jeff, those fail-safes simply ... failed. Jeff had described his anger as a ‘syrup,’ a metaphor that made Liu cringe a bit but also hit home as accurate, if not perhaps a bit overused. It leak in, probably a little at a time over the years that Matt and Shelia ignored them. It got worse with the move to Mandeville though. Jeff didn't want to be there. Randy and his friends contributed a crack or two, and the outright cartoonish treachery of Officer Williamson added a few more. Their parents sending Liu away, not caring that Randy had started the whole fight, that perhaps allowed the cracks to spread enough to spider web into each other, turning several small, most likely harmless breaks in the wall into large, deeper, and far more alarming holes in the armor. The flare gun; Jeff's face; and the emotional devastation of having to hear the same parents that supported the criminally-negligent policing styles of Williamson – the same mother that forced her son to try to engage with the very kid who kicked off the damn problems – choose to believe said lying asshole kids even as he lay in the hospital... Well, that finally shattered the wall. The fail-safes were gone. Whatever was left of the old Jeff, the best friend and mentor, was now floating in the same raging sea of madness where the rage, the revenge, and that sweet syrup of sadistic bliss all met and became one." (K. Banning Kellum's "Jeff the Killer: Liu") Liu's analogy of Jeff's transformation to the metamorphosis of a caterpillar into a moth, well ... damn was that symbolic! The morphine drops of euphoric ichor had solidified around Jeffrey Woods like a cocoon, that encasing had simply been a shelter that hid the slow nurturing of insanity within the young man's mind. His body, especially his face – those burn scars spread across his cheeks and forehead, the blinded left eye – was the external display of a whole community's corruption and disease reflecting from the product of said corruption. The transformation from struggling adolescent to deranged serial killer was a process that completed the puzzle of the human psyche, revealing to the world what lurks behind the veil of 'normalcy:' the animal mind. Giving in to those primal urges are what made Jeffrey Woods, a brother and friend, a beast in the eyes of society's normal and an idol to the other beasts. The scum of Mandeville looked up to him, some even worshiping him; Jeff the Killer became an example. Disappearing into the woods after that night of the murder of his parents, he became ... a mere figment of the dark reality. He was the product of sin, had committed the ultimate sin, and eventually, became sin itself. Why did the embodiment of human malevolence not kill his own brother that night? Simple answer, which is: love. Contrary to what humans make of animals, especially those feral or wild, it is a fact that they are still organisms. Organisms are living, thus they too possess a consciousness. Though not as complex and developed as those of mankind, animals can still feel some emotions. It was the monster’s love for the innocent being keeping Jeffrey Woods from doing what he had done to his parents that tragic, horrific night to Liu Woods, his younger brother and best friend. The very beast that stabbed his own mother – as stated by police reports – seventy-six times and finished his father with four rapid thrusts of a knife into his midsection without any emotion or hesitation, ... that same being spared his brother with love in its heart. Long was gone Jeffrey Woods, Jeff the Killer was born a display of reversion into feral being for the world to see. Biologists, psychologists, scholars, and sociologists probably did not think it was possible to revert an organism in the evolutionary timeline – not without the utilization of genetic modification, that is. It was believed that an organism cannot be degraded by nature into becoming almost a primitive, savage ancestral creature. Those very scientists were right, somewhat. An organism of its species is of its own species. Comprehension of the unknown drives those educated groups or individuals to overlook such simple, common facts. The organism is what it is. As biology and sociology are studies on the environmental factors and their influence and interaction with an organism, it is safe to conclude that what happened that night in 2015 Mandeville was natural. Sure, it was intervention by Joseph Sawyer that started it all, but the products set naturally-occurring events into motion. Looking closely while simultaneously stepping back, it would be simple utilization of comprehension and unbiased logistics that shows a crucial revelation: That highly-influential social experiment was indeed an artificial factor contributing to the aftermath, but the community was still a natural environment influencing its residing organisms via interaction. What became a national sensation rooted from a series of heinous deeds by one individual, that was the fabric sown from complicated webs of string and yarn provided by an outside supplier. Jeffrey Woods – no, – Jeff the Killer ... was just the organism to prove all those scientists dead wrong. Author's Note Again, I would like to state my sincerest apologies to K. Banning Kellum, whose series on the titular character of Jeff the Killer directly inspired me to write this fanfiction story, if my actions are copyrighting and pirating your fabulous work. Though this chapter is not much – being more about my views of Jeffrey Woods' life based off of the inspirational series. I am a quite choppy writer when it comes to pure originality, so ... the next chapter or so will come out likewise in this disorganized state of too many unnecessary elaborations. My apologies, everyone and everypony! Salvation for HerFlakes fell as the bone-chilling gusts of wind tore across the streets of Hollow Shades. To the pale-coated Earth stallion with the unkempt mane of jet black coloration. To him, it seemed as if the windigos had returned, plaguing the small town. Bitter cold spawned from the bitter heart of hatred, indeed. Whether it truly was windigos, well, that was unlikely. As the stallion scanned the streets and alleys, he pondered the nature of suffering. Suffering, a potent abstraction spawned from the existence of sin. Suffering was painful, but one must suffer for their deeds. Suffering, and humility... Humility was a form of suffering. Humility was also acceptance and learning, essential to the maturing of an individual. Life was full of suffering, those emotional and physical pains. Suffering broke the spirit, but it also served as a medicine to cure aforementioned shattering. Anguish, despair, longing, and pain were examples of the torments brought forth by suffering; cries and wails voicing the torture of suffering. It was suffering that broke many, yet suffering was meant to strengthen them. Surgery, a process of alteration and change, was an example of the bearer of suffering as well as the tool to cleanse one after suffering. Surgery was what the world needed, and suffering followed in its wake. Sins made suffering a justifiable tool to reform the corrupt, and the choice of acceptance of said suffering was given. Their is no escape from suffering, there never is and never will be a way out of facing the Door of Truth. Compassion, however, is also given with the bringing of suffering. Compassion was the expression of caring and love towards all despite their crimes. Compassion for the corrupt, who choose to learn or resist the truth. Compassion is given because all the corrupt are loved, and suffering is a means to bring them to the Door of Truth for purification. The stallion stood, amber-brown eyes glistening in the torrent of snow, which – to him – was the coldest example of pure cleansing. Snow was frozen water, and water was a universal solvent. Water cleaned – purged – the disease that corrupted the world. As the stallion stood, waiting, he uttered his name into the winds, "Purgatio Torrent." As these words rang in his ears, he turned and began trotting towards the alleyways, where he knew she would lay in wait. A unicorn mare lay on the filth-strewn floor, a tattered cloak loosely draped over her brilliant azure coat. Her cloak, like her mane of pale cornflower blue with pale cerulean and coat, was drenched from her ceaseless, empty wanderings in the snow-coated lands. Such an article of clothing or dressing adornment, once fabulous and magnificent, now served as little warmth to protect the fading mare from the dreary environment she chose as her resting place. She hoped to die, to end her existence full of despair and longing. She was suffering, and now desired release. Purgatio knew of another fate for this mare – one of glee and happiness rather than torment in the fear of being shunned and despised by all ponykind. She would not be rejected, she would be loved as a friend... "Trixie Lulamoon," the stallion spoke, stepping towards the slumped mare. His tinted honey eyes met her glistening spheres of fading dark violet orbs. He crouched to the alleyway grounds, staring into her eyes with a sympathetic compassion and understanding, "Why do you lie here in the blistering cold?" "This is where my journey ends, I suppose. A worthy final resting place for the Great and Powerful Trixie." (pokeking95's "These Are the Last Words I'll Ever Speak) The shattered mare closed her eyes, tired of the life she was living and the world around her. The stallion lowered his head in sorrow at her words, "Is there truly no hope left?" Trixie Lulamoon, former showmare, lay her head against the alleyway wall, not looking at the stallion as she responded with a mournful whimper, "What hope is left for me?" The stallion shook his head, earnestly pleading for the dying star to reconsider, "There is hope, Miss Lulamoon! You still have a future ahead of you, one where you are happy–" "There is no happiness left for me," Trixie weakly protested, her closed eyes unable to hide the forming drops reflecting her sorrows as she reminisced her past, seeing all the fond and woeful memories flash before her, a chronological playback of the short life she would soon leave. "She saw her shattered dreams and ruined future. She saw fear and disgust and hate. She saw pain. She saw regret. She saw lonliness. And she saw..." (pokeking95's "These Are the Last Words I'll Ever Speak") The stallion slumped to the trash-strewn grounds of Trixie's resting spot, draping a hoof over hershaking shoulders as the tears began to flow. Trixie let out a shuttering gasp, opening her eyes both at the realization of herself beginning to cry as well as the stranger of a stallion now comforting her. There was a surprising warmth radiating from him, one which she could not help but to snuggle into. "I know life has been a twisted journey for you, Miss Lulamoon," the stallion again attempted to reason with the weeping tatters of a once proud illusionist, "but I know it does not have to end this way. There is a bright future awaiting you if you strive past the past; push for the future, and I am certain there will be joys to come. Please, ... do not give up just because of past deeds and others' jeering rejections." Trixie sobbed, the past and present colliding as one around her. A future... A life... Peace... "Help me..." started the unicorn mare before a bout of coughs wracked her feeble frame with waves of agony as she hacked and wheezed. Her heart throbbed with a stabbing pain coursing throughout her as she wretched in the pain. The stallion quickly rose, helping the broken body and fading soul atop his back and barrel, where she sank into with frightening ease and little strength to maintain herself. Crimson drops left her cracked lips, flecks of the life fluid dotting the floor and walls as a thin streak of the substance ran down her chin and across her cheeks. "Hush," the stallion cooed soothingly. "Peace shall come soon..." Author's Note Okay, I probably overstepped the boundaries with this story. This chapter is my alternate ending – or, more accurately, my intrusion – on the fanfiction written by pokeking95: "These Are the Last Words I'll Ever Speak." My apologies for this chapter's content being a direct take on your work. I do hope the citations at least give some credit, but does not justify the copied material. Surgery from ThemWarmth washed over the frail form of Trixie Lulamoon, a sensation she relished in comparison to the deathly chill of the winter outside. Where was she? Eyes slowly scanning the quiet interiors of the cozy setting, Trixie caught sight of the softly blazing fire glowing in the cement hearth. A tall polished wooden desk with metal cabinets stood at the back of the area she assumed was a bedroom or shifted and tidy living room. The scent of a dandelion soup wafted into the room, causing Trixie's mouth the slightly drool and her hollow stomach to rumble. Shifting to the edge of the bed, Trixie tentatively set a shaking hoof on the plush carpeted floor, shifting her weight uneasily onto her right forelegs before a shockwave of pain bolted up the weak appendage and into her core. Letting out a faint whimper, the cerulean showmare allowed her foreleg to simply dangle over the side of the bed. Hoofsteps' faint clpping were heard soon after resounding of the wide hallway as they briskly crossed from the stone floors of the kitchen into the living room. A tray was levitated from in front of the pale-coated stallion, a silvery aura shimmering around it, slowly lowered in elevation till it was level with Trixie's resting position. "Here, Miss Lulamoon. This should replenish you." Trixie's breathed in the savory scent of dandelion petals and shredded lettuce floating atop or drifting beneath the surfaced or the brewed water, the meal still sizzling and steaming. Staring up at the stallion, she smiled in gratitude before accepting the dish. Her horn glowed a faint, flickering aura surrounding the ceramic bowl of delectable vegetation and entrancing warmth. The dish was surrounded by an encasing of shimmering translucent silver as the stallion assisted her in bringing the meal to her parched lips. Slowly, the soup filled Trixie's famished body, the satisfaction of a meal being overdo nearly a week. Trixie slowly sank back into the now inclined backside of the bed, curiosity now abrew, "How ... did you find me?" The stallion cocked his head, "When one is bored, they tend to wander. It was by grace I found you, Mis–" Trixie shook her head, "Please, just 'Trixie' will do." The stallion nodded his head before continuing, "Yes, Trixie, it was grace from which led me to finding you. I couldn't let an innocent soul suffer like that." "Innocent," Trixie queried. "D-Do you even know me?" The stallion sat on his haunches beside the bed, his eyes meeting Trixie's as he waved a dismissive hoof, "I do know of your past, this since words flies far on the wind. No, ... you are still innocent, only corrupted by the blindness of jealousy and spiteful rage. We all make those mistakes in our lives, Trixie, and forgiveness is provided for those who repent. True, not all are willing to forgive and leave it in the past – not even the perpetrator themselves, – but it is crucial to learn from your errors and grow into maturity." Trixie pondered these words, her eyes drifting shut as she remembered a familiar lavendar unicorn staring back at her with both confusion and... The stallion nodded, somehow knowing the mare before him was recalling her last conversation with Twilight Sparkle, "Miss Sparkle was willing to forgive you when you confided in her, is that right?" Trixie somberly nodded, hearing her and Twilight's conversation play in her mind. Twilight had obliged to Trixie's plea for forgiveness. "As long as there is somepony willing to forgive you, the others do not matter. What truly matters in repentance, Trixie, to turn away from those prideful urges. Do you understand?" "But, ... she was the only one to forgive me. Everypony who heard of the incident ostracized me and shunned me out. I am here, in your home, recovering because of one of those incidents! How can you tell me there will be acceptance and a chance to move on?!" As Trixie lashed out in her despair, tears rolled down her cheeks. she slumped, head drooping as she mourned her predicament. The stallion placed a gentle hoof upon Trixie's trembling shoulder, rubbing it softly as she lamented, "Would you care to tell me of this ... situation?" Trixie sobbed, hiccuping ever so often and grimacing in pain as her fragile body responded to the vigorous tremors. Eventually, she mustered enough will to recount her experience at the Ol' Shamrock's Pub. As she spilled out the details of that day, the stallion stiffened, his jaw clenched. Trixie could have sworn he growled at one point behind grinding teeth. "I see..." the stallion finally respond, a grim frown stretched across his muzzle. "I am sorry for it happening..." "No, don't be. I ... deserved–" "No," the stallion firmly interjected, placing the tip of his hoof against her lips. "Though your deeds of old were corrupt and unjust, it does not – I repeat, NOT – give them the right to attack you and leave you to die. Understand this, Trixie: Never blame yourself for others' crimes against you, even if what you did was also of malice. Now, ... I implore you to consider what matters more to you: Forgiveness from one potential friend or the jeering insults and merciless, unrelenting hate others have towards you? What do you desire more: An accepting friend, ... or pathetic foes?" Friendship. Rejection. Two abstractions and existing phenomenon so influential upon one's life, having the ability to damage and isolate the individual or give them a sense of belonging and wholeness in their – the abstractions, that is – purest, truest states. "I desire acceptance and belonging," Trixie concluded, straightening in her enlightenment and newfound hope. Determination flooded through her as she recalled the delight she expressed after Twilight forgave her. "Then may Celestia bear witess, Trixie Lulamoon, as you grow great ... and powerful ... again in this aspiration," the stallion suggested, sincerity in his gentle tone. He rose and trotted out of the living room, galloping back with an elegantly-adorned box. Proudly presenting the item to Trixie, he gestured for her to not hesitate to open it. A familiar cloak and wide-brimmed hat lay folded inside. That night, Trixie slept peacefully, the new garments clutching lovingly in her hooves. A smile stretched across her muzzle as she dreamed of the wonders awaiting her when she recovered thanks to the stallion's assistance. The stallion – Purgatio Torrent – approached his desk, levitating a slip of parchment, which he briskly scrawled a poem, then tucking away in his mane before scrawling a quick note for Trixie when she woke the next morning. Silently creeping past the slumbering mare, he stepped into the night. Reaching to his forehead, Purgatio snapped his metallic, serrated – no, not tapered – horn at the base. A silve aura danced across the detatched horn's surface before glistening as a reflection of Luna's moon across its smooth, flat blade. "Tonight," Jeffrey Woods whispered into the frosty air of Hollow Shades, "a mare sleeps soundly." Turning to the north, he regarded a pub in the distance, "You, however, will be waking up for a ... nasty surprise."
Observations and Reflections"Realities," muttered Jeffrey Woods, kitchen knife brandishing in his clenched fist. Dressed in his signature white hooded sweatshirt and black jeans, the 20-year old man observed the carnage surrounding him. Crimson puddles painted the landscape; viscera lay about or dangled from hooks and strings. The scenes of death read stories of suffering and torment brought upon the victims by their perpetrators; all a reflection of Jeff’s own life in his past. Eyes darting throughout the separate settings around, Jeff hung his head in sorrow of the agony endured by so many innocent lives, “Simplicity of the complicated world: existence of sin." Contrary to the belief of those uneducated in the science of astronomy and physics, realities were a far simpler essence of existence, yet mere comprehension was beyond reach and something no group or individual could achieve without controversy and conflict. The complicated nature of life itself was something Jeff understood, as it only takes stepping back to see the simplicity from which complications all stem from: existence. The fundamentality of existence itself is something beyond all comprehension, but it is existence from which all other phenomenon can be traced to. As for realities, life is a nonlinear string of parallel realities made seemingly linear and consistent by an individual's consciousness. Their consciousness is a perception of occurrences, mere actions and events around them. As one is unable to see all life, thus the entirety of existence around them, they perceive their conscious perception as a linear reality. This, however, is the source of controversy: Existence is a composition of nonlinear parallel realities from which one perceives via their consciousness as their life. Alternate universes do not exist; rather, they are simply parallel realities of which one cannot comprehend. The unknown is such an abstraction, a noun of the indefinite definition; the lack of knowledge is an idea so shockingly comprehendible. What exactly is it, why does it exist? How could abstractions, mere ideas, have effects so drastic on a life, if not in entire community or society? A question so profound, though Jeff had eventually come to comprehend – or rather, accept – the answer to: the unknown is an aspect of life that brings paradoxes to those who try to delve into it for answers. Sometimes, attempting to know the unknown would bring excitement and joy, but other times, it would bring corruption and pain. Pains, both mental and physical, could infect a person, blinding them to things around them. Blindness to the comprehendible blurs their perception of reality until they are of narrow-minded sight. Jeffrey Woods knew this too well in his own experiences. "And my vision becomes blurry." (Madame Macabre's "Painted Smile") It was his own narrow-minded perception that led Jeffrey Woods to murder his parents, Matthew and Shelia Woods, that night in Mandeville, Louisiana. The relatable opposite could be said about psychiatrist Doctor Joseph Sawyer, whose curiosity and determination to understand the human psychiatry and sociology prompted his dismissal from Sam Houston University, Texas and moving to Mandeville. Sawyer's unethical experiment's on infants caused him to be dismissed from that university, but he was set on continuing his experiments on the residents of Mandeville itself. "Once Sawyer was dismissed from Sam Houston, he moved to Mandeville and decided to hatch yet another experiment, only this time the lab would be the town itself, and istead of 'white walls,' it would be social influence determining the paths of his subjects." (K. Banning Kellum's "Jeff the Killer: Shades of Madness") As he stood amongst the gruesome displays surrounding him, Jeff could grit his teeth in hatred and rage at what that sick psychiatrist did to Randy Hayden, the bully who proved to be the controlled variable in Joseph Sawyer's second social experiment. If not for Sawyer's influence on the Hayden family along with almost all the law enforcements of Mandeville, Randy would have been more aware of his actions as a bully, Jeff himself would not have become what he was and still aware of now: serial killer Jeff the Killer. His brother, Liu Woods, would not have to suffer what became his life after he was greeted with the sight of their slaughtered parents, who would not have died if Jeff had not snapped after the flare gun incident and the misguided overhearing in the hospital. But the past is the past, the present is a now to be dealt with. Though the past coincided with his future, Jeff promised himself to fix all the issues and mistakes of Mandeville only until after he was well trained in his goals. Jeffrey Woods stiffened, standing straight before turning to a display of less carnage than those around him. "I will return," Jeff murmured to himself, addressing Mandeville. "I will set things right, but ... I have a lot to learn." Memories of the past four years flashed through Jeff's mind: him disappearing into the woods after murdering his parents and saying farewell to his brother, his interview with Bennie Rosenberg, him disappearing once again into the booth after leaving Rosenberg dead in the fireworks booth, Dr. Sawyer... HITS. Jeff smiled at the memory of his encounter with the Harmonists in the Shadows, an organization striving towards the objective of restoring or spreading, and maintaining harmony and virtue to ensure a sense of unbiased unity in societies of many kinds and places. Jeff had met some of those tirelessly working to ensure the success of the organization’s mission: Ghostface – the titular costume given life and soul – and GLaDOS – the artificial intelligence unit who currently is still married to science, though to a lesser degree. Jeff relished memories of his – for lack of a better phrase – Reawakening, an occurrence of repentance and redemption brought to those once-normal, now-corrupted individuals who still had hope and who had a promising future in the organization's task. Jeff, along with Ghostface and GLaDOS, were some of the few deemed worthy of the Reawakening. With perception cleared and set on purging the world of the corruption that had birthed Jeff the Killer, Jeffrey Woods stepped through the plane of reality before him, his form disappearing from the vacant blackness from where he formerly stood in a blinding flash of rippling light, "Let the adventure begin." Author's Note In the knowledge of multiple remakes and spin-offs of the original story of Jeff the Killer, I did not see anything wrong with basing the main character, Jeffrey Woods, directly off of the Jeff the Killer incarnation from the still-developing series by K. Banning Kellum, whose established and currently published sestet – I am not quite sure of the terminology – can be found on Spinpasta Wiki. I am aware that my actions of creating an inspired incarnation directly based off of another's work may be considered as copyrighting and piracy. If this is so, then I sincerely apologize for it. Citations were made to various works, these such citations will continue to appear throughout this "My Little Jeffrey" series to credit those who I have found inspiration from.
Past KnownBody. Mind. Soul. If one were to describe what became of Jeffrey Woods after he thoroughly drowned into that euphoric ichor, the 'syrup,' they would describe him as an empty shell now filled entirely with primal emotions. They would regard him as a lost soul; all that remained of the human boy was a disfigured body and a twisted mind, they might add. Though somewhat accurate, they could not have been further from the truth. Liu Woods, Jeff's younger brother, struck this realization: "On some days when Trace Dunkin or some other mean-spirited schoolmate chose to make Liu the target of their fun, he'd realize that Jeff was a catalyst, a one-of-a-kind event that could happen in almost any walk of life, but rarely does. Bullies, negligent adults, corrupt officials, ... they're everywhere. But very few of them ever see what their actions could really produce. Jeff though, he stood out from the typical victim of torment and abuse. Liu was convinced that no one believed that such rage could exist within a young man like Jeff, a child who'd been raised with good education and lots of outlets for his ever-growing connection to the world around him." (K. Banning Kellum's "Jeff the Killer: Liu") Liu, having lived his entire childhood and most of adolescence with Jeff, knew what Jeff's 'transformation' into an inhuman monster was like: "Liu theorized that perhaps what transformed Jeffrey Woods, brother, teacher, and friend, into the depraved ghoul known as Jeff the Killer was those little fail-safes, those little switches that kick on in peoples' minds, like the ones that told Liu not to instigate Trace. ... Well, in the case of Jeff, those fail-safes simply ... failed. Jeff had described his anger as a ‘syrup,’ a metaphor that made Liu cringe a bit but also hit home as accurate, if not perhaps a bit overused. It leak in, probably a little at a time over the years that Matt and Shelia ignored them. It got worse with the move to Mandeville though. Jeff didn't want to be there. Randy and his friends contributed a crack or two, and the outright cartoonish treachery of Officer Williamson added a few more. Their parents sending Liu away, not caring that Randy had started the whole fight, that perhaps allowed the cracks to spread enough to spider web into each other, turning several small, most likely harmless breaks in the wall into large, deeper, and far more alarming holes in the armor. The flare gun; Jeff's face; and the emotional devastation of having to hear the same parents that supported the criminally-negligent policing styles of Williamson – the same mother that forced her son to try to engage with the very kid who kicked off the damn problems – choose to believe said lying asshole kids even as he lay in the hospital... Well, that finally shattered the wall. The fail-safes were gone. Whatever was left of the old Jeff, the best friend and mentor, was now floating in the same raging sea of madness where the rage, the revenge, and that sweet syrup of sadistic bliss all met and became one." (K. Banning Kellum's "Jeff the Killer: Liu") Liu's analogy of Jeff's transformation to the metamorphosis of a caterpillar into a moth, well ... damn was that symbolic! The morphine drops of euphoric ichor had solidified around Jeffrey Woods like a cocoon, that encasing had simply been a shelter that hid the slow nurturing of insanity within the young man's mind. His body, especially his face – those burn scars spread across his cheeks and forehead, the blinded left eye – was the external display of a whole community's corruption and disease reflecting from the product of said corruption. The transformation from struggling adolescent to deranged serial killer was a process that completed the puzzle of the human psyche, revealing to the world what lurks behind the veil of 'normalcy:' the animal mind. Giving in to those primal urges are what made Jeffrey Woods, a brother and friend, a beast in the eyes of society's normal and an idol to the other beasts. The scum of Mandeville looked up to him, some even worshiping him; Jeff the Killer became an example. Disappearing into the woods after that night of the murder of his parents, he became ... a mere figment of the dark reality. He was the product of sin, had committed the ultimate sin, and eventually, became sin itself. Why did the embodiment of human malevolence not kill his own brother that night? Simple answer, which is: love. Contrary to what humans make of animals, especially those feral or wild, it is a fact that they are still organisms. Organisms are living, thus they too possess a consciousness. Though not as complex and developed as those of mankind, animals can still feel some emotions. It was the monster’s love for the innocent being keeping Jeffrey Woods from doing what he had done to his parents that tragic, horrific night to Liu Woods, his younger brother and best friend. The very beast that stabbed his own mother – as stated by police reports – seventy-six times and finished his father with four rapid thrusts of a knife into his midsection without any emotion or hesitation, ... that same being spared his brother with love in its heart. Long was gone Jeffrey Woods, Jeff the Killer was born a display of reversion into feral being for the world to see. Biologists, psychologists, scholars, and sociologists probably did not think it was possible to revert an organism in the evolutionary timeline – not without the utilization of genetic modification, that is. It was believed that an organism cannot be degraded by nature into becoming almost a primitive, savage ancestral creature. Those very scientists were right, somewhat. An organism of its species is of its own species. Comprehension of the unknown drives those educated groups or individuals to overlook such simple, common facts. The organism is what it is. As biology and sociology are studies on the environmental factors and their influence and interaction with an organism, it is safe to conclude that what happened that night in 2015 Mandeville was natural. Sure, it was intervention by Joseph Sawyer that started it all, but the products set naturally-occurring events into motion. Looking closely while simultaneously stepping back, it would be simple utilization of comprehension and unbiased logistics that shows a crucial revelation: That highly-influential social experiment was indeed an artificial factor contributing to the aftermath, but the community was still a natural environment influencing its residing organisms via interaction. What became a national sensation rooted from a series of heinous deeds by one individual, that was the fabric sown from complicated webs of string and yarn provided by an outside supplier. Jeffrey Woods – no, – Jeff the Killer ... was just the organism to prove all those scientists dead wrong. Author's Note Again, I would like to state my sincerest apologies to K. Banning Kellum, whose series on the titular character of Jeff the Killer directly inspired me to write this fanfiction story, if my actions are copyrighting and pirating your fabulous work. Though this chapter is not much – being more about my views of Jeffrey Woods' life based off of the inspirational series. I am a quite choppy writer when it comes to pure originality, so ... the next chapter or so will come out likewise in this disorganized state of too many unnecessary elaborations. My apologies, everyone and everypony!
Salvation for HerFlakes fell as the bone-chilling gusts of wind tore across the streets of Hollow Shades. To the pale-coated Earth stallion with the unkempt mane of jet black coloration. To him, it seemed as if the windigos had returned, plaguing the small town. Bitter cold spawned from the bitter heart of hatred, indeed. Whether it truly was windigos, well, that was unlikely. As the stallion scanned the streets and alleys, he pondered the nature of suffering. Suffering, a potent abstraction spawned from the existence of sin. Suffering was painful, but one must suffer for their deeds. Suffering, and humility... Humility was a form of suffering. Humility was also acceptance and learning, essential to the maturing of an individual. Life was full of suffering, those emotional and physical pains. Suffering broke the spirit, but it also served as a medicine to cure aforementioned shattering. Anguish, despair, longing, and pain were examples of the torments brought forth by suffering; cries and wails voicing the torture of suffering. It was suffering that broke many, yet suffering was meant to strengthen them. Surgery, a process of alteration and change, was an example of the bearer of suffering as well as the tool to cleanse one after suffering. Surgery was what the world needed, and suffering followed in its wake. Sins made suffering a justifiable tool to reform the corrupt, and the choice of acceptance of said suffering was given. Their is no escape from suffering, there never is and never will be a way out of facing the Door of Truth. Compassion, however, is also given with the bringing of suffering. Compassion was the expression of caring and love towards all despite their crimes. Compassion for the corrupt, who choose to learn or resist the truth. Compassion is given because all the corrupt are loved, and suffering is a means to bring them to the Door of Truth for purification. The stallion stood, amber-brown eyes glistening in the torrent of snow, which – to him – was the coldest example of pure cleansing. Snow was frozen water, and water was a universal solvent. Water cleaned – purged – the disease that corrupted the world. As the stallion stood, waiting, he uttered his name into the winds, "Purgatio Torrent." As these words rang in his ears, he turned and began trotting towards the alleyways, where he knew she would lay in wait. A unicorn mare lay on the filth-strewn floor, a tattered cloak loosely draped over her brilliant azure coat. Her cloak, like her mane of pale cornflower blue with pale cerulean and coat, was drenched from her ceaseless, empty wanderings in the snow-coated lands. Such an article of clothing or dressing adornment, once fabulous and magnificent, now served as little warmth to protect the fading mare from the dreary environment she chose as her resting place. She hoped to die, to end her existence full of despair and longing. She was suffering, and now desired release. Purgatio knew of another fate for this mare – one of glee and happiness rather than torment in the fear of being shunned and despised by all ponykind. She would not be rejected, she would be loved as a friend... "Trixie Lulamoon," the stallion spoke, stepping towards the slumped mare. His tinted honey eyes met her glistening spheres of fading dark violet orbs. He crouched to the alleyway grounds, staring into her eyes with a sympathetic compassion and understanding, "Why do you lie here in the blistering cold?" "This is where my journey ends, I suppose. A worthy final resting place for the Great and Powerful Trixie." (pokeking95's "These Are the Last Words I'll Ever Speak) The shattered mare closed her eyes, tired of the life she was living and the world around her. The stallion lowered his head in sorrow at her words, "Is there truly no hope left?" Trixie Lulamoon, former showmare, lay her head against the alleyway wall, not looking at the stallion as she responded with a mournful whimper, "What hope is left for me?" The stallion shook his head, earnestly pleading for the dying star to reconsider, "There is hope, Miss Lulamoon! You still have a future ahead of you, one where you are happy–" "There is no happiness left for me," Trixie weakly protested, her closed eyes unable to hide the forming drops reflecting her sorrows as she reminisced her past, seeing all the fond and woeful memories flash before her, a chronological playback of the short life she would soon leave. "She saw her shattered dreams and ruined future. She saw fear and disgust and hate. She saw pain. She saw regret. She saw lonliness. And she saw..." (pokeking95's "These Are the Last Words I'll Ever Speak") The stallion slumped to the trash-strewn grounds of Trixie's resting spot, draping a hoof over hershaking shoulders as the tears began to flow. Trixie let out a shuttering gasp, opening her eyes both at the realization of herself beginning to cry as well as the stranger of a stallion now comforting her. There was a surprising warmth radiating from him, one which she could not help but to snuggle into. "I know life has been a twisted journey for you, Miss Lulamoon," the stallion again attempted to reason with the weeping tatters of a once proud illusionist, "but I know it does not have to end this way. There is a bright future awaiting you if you strive past the past; push for the future, and I am certain there will be joys to come. Please, ... do not give up just because of past deeds and others' jeering rejections." Trixie sobbed, the past and present colliding as one around her. A future... A life... Peace... "Help me..." started the unicorn mare before a bout of coughs wracked her feeble frame with waves of agony as she hacked and wheezed. Her heart throbbed with a stabbing pain coursing throughout her as she wretched in the pain. The stallion quickly rose, helping the broken body and fading soul atop his back and barrel, where she sank into with frightening ease and little strength to maintain herself. Crimson drops left her cracked lips, flecks of the life fluid dotting the floor and walls as a thin streak of the substance ran down her chin and across her cheeks. "Hush," the stallion cooed soothingly. "Peace shall come soon..." Author's Note Okay, I probably overstepped the boundaries with this story. This chapter is my alternate ending – or, more accurately, my intrusion – on the fanfiction written by pokeking95: "These Are the Last Words I'll Ever Speak." My apologies for this chapter's content being a direct take on your work. I do hope the citations at least give some credit, but does not justify the copied material.
Surgery from ThemWarmth washed over the frail form of Trixie Lulamoon, a sensation she relished in comparison to the deathly chill of the winter outside. Where was she? Eyes slowly scanning the quiet interiors of the cozy setting, Trixie caught sight of the softly blazing fire glowing in the cement hearth. A tall polished wooden desk with metal cabinets stood at the back of the area she assumed was a bedroom or shifted and tidy living room. The scent of a dandelion soup wafted into the room, causing Trixie's mouth the slightly drool and her hollow stomach to rumble. Shifting to the edge of the bed, Trixie tentatively set a shaking hoof on the plush carpeted floor, shifting her weight uneasily onto her right forelegs before a shockwave of pain bolted up the weak appendage and into her core. Letting out a faint whimper, the cerulean showmare allowed her foreleg to simply dangle over the side of the bed. Hoofsteps' faint clpping were heard soon after resounding of the wide hallway as they briskly crossed from the stone floors of the kitchen into the living room. A tray was levitated from in front of the pale-coated stallion, a silvery aura shimmering around it, slowly lowered in elevation till it was level with Trixie's resting position. "Here, Miss Lulamoon. This should replenish you." Trixie's breathed in the savory scent of dandelion petals and shredded lettuce floating atop or drifting beneath the surfaced or the brewed water, the meal still sizzling and steaming. Staring up at the stallion, she smiled in gratitude before accepting the dish. Her horn glowed a faint, flickering aura surrounding the ceramic bowl of delectable vegetation and entrancing warmth. The dish was surrounded by an encasing of shimmering translucent silver as the stallion assisted her in bringing the meal to her parched lips. Slowly, the soup filled Trixie's famished body, the satisfaction of a meal being overdo nearly a week. Trixie slowly sank back into the now inclined backside of the bed, curiosity now abrew, "How ... did you find me?" The stallion cocked his head, "When one is bored, they tend to wander. It was by grace I found you, Mis–" Trixie shook her head, "Please, just 'Trixie' will do." The stallion nodded his head before continuing, "Yes, Trixie, it was grace from which led me to finding you. I couldn't let an innocent soul suffer like that." "Innocent," Trixie queried. "D-Do you even know me?" The stallion sat on his haunches beside the bed, his eyes meeting Trixie's as he waved a dismissive hoof, "I do know of your past, this since words flies far on the wind. No, ... you are still innocent, only corrupted by the blindness of jealousy and spiteful rage. We all make those mistakes in our lives, Trixie, and forgiveness is provided for those who repent. True, not all are willing to forgive and leave it in the past – not even the perpetrator themselves, – but it is crucial to learn from your errors and grow into maturity." Trixie pondered these words, her eyes drifting shut as she remembered a familiar lavendar unicorn staring back at her with both confusion and... The stallion nodded, somehow knowing the mare before him was recalling her last conversation with Twilight Sparkle, "Miss Sparkle was willing to forgive you when you confided in her, is that right?" Trixie somberly nodded, hearing her and Twilight's conversation play in her mind. Twilight had obliged to Trixie's plea for forgiveness. "As long as there is somepony willing to forgive you, the others do not matter. What truly matters in repentance, Trixie, to turn away from those prideful urges. Do you understand?" "But, ... she was the only one to forgive me. Everypony who heard of the incident ostracized me and shunned me out. I am here, in your home, recovering because of one of those incidents! How can you tell me there will be acceptance and a chance to move on?!" As Trixie lashed out in her despair, tears rolled down her cheeks. she slumped, head drooping as she mourned her predicament. The stallion placed a gentle hoof upon Trixie's trembling shoulder, rubbing it softly as she lamented, "Would you care to tell me of this ... situation?" Trixie sobbed, hiccuping ever so often and grimacing in pain as her fragile body responded to the vigorous tremors. Eventually, she mustered enough will to recount her experience at the Ol' Shamrock's Pub. As she spilled out the details of that day, the stallion stiffened, his jaw clenched. Trixie could have sworn he growled at one point behind grinding teeth. "I see..." the stallion finally respond, a grim frown stretched across his muzzle. "I am sorry for it happening..." "No, don't be. I ... deserved–" "No," the stallion firmly interjected, placing the tip of his hoof against her lips. "Though your deeds of old were corrupt and unjust, it does not – I repeat, NOT – give them the right to attack you and leave you to die. Understand this, Trixie: Never blame yourself for others' crimes against you, even if what you did was also of malice. Now, ... I implore you to consider what matters more to you: Forgiveness from one potential friend or the jeering insults and merciless, unrelenting hate others have towards you? What do you desire more: An accepting friend, ... or pathetic foes?" Friendship. Rejection. Two abstractions and existing phenomenon so influential upon one's life, having the ability to damage and isolate the individual or give them a sense of belonging and wholeness in their – the abstractions, that is – purest, truest states. "I desire acceptance and belonging," Trixie concluded, straightening in her enlightenment and newfound hope. Determination flooded through her as she recalled the delight she expressed after Twilight forgave her. "Then may Celestia bear witess, Trixie Lulamoon, as you grow great ... and powerful ... again in this aspiration," the stallion suggested, sincerity in his gentle tone. He rose and trotted out of the living room, galloping back with an elegantly-adorned box. Proudly presenting the item to Trixie, he gestured for her to not hesitate to open it. A familiar cloak and wide-brimmed hat lay folded inside. That night, Trixie slept peacefully, the new garments clutching lovingly in her hooves. A smile stretched across her muzzle as she dreamed of the wonders awaiting her when she recovered thanks to the stallion's assistance. The stallion – Purgatio Torrent – approached his desk, levitating a slip of parchment, which he briskly scrawled a poem, then tucking away in his mane before scrawling a quick note for Trixie when she woke the next morning. Silently creeping past the slumbering mare, he stepped into the night. Reaching to his forehead, Purgatio snapped his metallic, serrated – no, not tapered – horn at the base. A silve aura danced across the detatched horn's surface before glistening as a reflection of Luna's moon across its smooth, flat blade. "Tonight," Jeffrey Woods whispered into the frosty air of Hollow Shades, "a mare sleeps soundly." Turning to the north, he regarded a pub in the distance, "You, however, will be waking up for a ... nasty surprise."
