This is the literary splurb doodle non-sense that made me want to take the series seriously. I just wrote random crap here, but you can kind of see the essence of Taste of Cherrys. Like a baby Cherie still being raised into what she is now. Enjoy!

A long time ago, Darkness found its way into my heart. It must have been when I was very little, because I don't remember how it got there. But over the years it's grown, consuming me. I've only tamed it with sanity—rational thinking. If I do this, then that will happen. If I go here, then this will be there. If I hurt her, then I will suffer the consequences. Only in my mind can I enjoy the darkness, and sink into its comfort. Only in fantasy can I embrace it. I'm afraid that one day, rationality will lose it's hold, and that I'll be too wrapped up in the sweet intoxication of the darkness to consider what might happen. I'm afraid I'll lose my last shred of humanity.

Cherie's hand shook as she reminded herself what she had written. The hand was outstretched, and hesitant. If she let go, she could very well be sentencing herself to a psyche ward. With a deep breath she looked at Dr. Harmon, feeling her fingers tighten around the paper reflexively. His voice was soothing as he tried to calm her.

"Cherie, it's okay. I won't have you committed just because of a few personal thoughts. This is merely an exercise, so that we can make progress." He smiled warmly, and slid forward to carefully take her admission to insanity.

It was torture to watch him read it. His eyes darkened with worry as he neared the end of it, and yet he still forced a comforting smile. "This is good. You're 'last shred of humanity' is intact, you haven't acted on anything, and there is resistance. Cherie look at me."

She looked at him.

"You haven't broken yet. You're not a psychopath, just a confused little girl who doesn't know which way to go. It's okay."

She wanted to believe him. Wanted to put trust in that warm, fake smile, but then something echoed from him. He didn't move, he didn't speak, but the words fell from him as though he were saying them all over again.

Therapy is bullshit.

People just want to blame their problems on their crazy mothers.

They want to feel special.

Sound familiar, Tate?

Sound familiar, Tate?

Dr. Harmon's voice echoed in Cherie's ear as she opened her eyes to the daylight. She'd gone into the study in her sleep again. Why her father had set it up at all was a mystery to her, but at least the room wasn't just empty. And besides, Dr. Harmon seemed to like it. It was close enough to the way he would have set it up, she supposed. With it's red leather seats, and oak wood desk and shelves it seemed very professional and timeless. The books along the walls weren't really any specific subject, they were just random books that her and her father had taken to over the years. Everything else in the room was just décor, like a show room. Though it was a nice place to go when she just wanted someone to talk to.

With a sigh Cherie got up and went into her own room, noting that the paper she'd written was in fact gone from her own desk. Frustrated, she flung herself onto her own bed and wrapped her fingers into her black curls meaning to tear at them but stopping just short of it. Therapy wasn't complete bullshit. Sometimes he could answer questions that she couldn't, and that in itself was enough.

Angrily she screamed, trying to get rid of that horrible emptiness inside of her, and it worked. For like, two seconds. Then an odd wave of discomfort took it's place and in her confusion she wondered if she were actually sad, not angry. Or maybe it was the lack of emotion inside of her unsure of how to feel when she was wrapped up in her thoughts.

"Why do we long for understanding?" She said suddenly apathetic, though still hoping to be heard and answered. That was one good thing about this house, in a way. When you didn't want to focus on your thoughts by your self, at least one of it's inhabitants might find you interesting. "Is it for empathy? If all of our emotions are fake, then why do I feel so damn depressed!"

"Maybe it's because our emotions are only a shadow of what normal people feel."

Cherie spun towards the voice, startled. Just as with Dr. Harmon, she could hear words pouring from him as though he were speaking them himself, but it wasn't his voice. It was his mothers. The voice of a poet without the grit or steel that acts as a bulwark against this horrible world. Almost as though to further the point of his mother, Tate grinned, unaware of what Cherie had heard.

She grinned back. "So...I'm asleep again?"

"No, you're awake. You've always been awake." Casually he laid back on her bed, arms folded behind his head.

With a sigh, she crawled next to him, absently playing with her curls. "With everything going on in this house, I'm not going to pretend that I'll ever understand it completely."

"I'm surprised you made it this far."

"Without dying?"

"That too."

They laughed, and again Cherie found herself watching him. Sunlight filtered through the thin space between her curtains, cascading across his brown eyes, his cheek, the tip of his nose, his lips... She rolled to face him, for a moment she forced her eyes to the blood red of her sheets. She started twisting her curls around her finger again. "Tate?"

"Hmm?"

"How did it feel? When you killed them, I mean." Was she really, nervous, asking him this? Or was she just trying to be endearing? It's not like she could just say it without any emotion at all. It felt wrong.

And then, what about Tate? They were supposedly the same after all. So was it real confusion when he furrowed his brow and his lips curled in that slightly rejecting look. Was he trying that hard to forget, or was he withholding it from her only? "Who?"

"Any of them. I know there are several of them here, but then there's also the students too. Was it the same with all of them?" With genuine interest, Cherie reached her hand out towards him, wondering if he would answer her or if he would run, if he was straining to keep that look, or if it was natural. Her fingertips had barely touched his skin when he backed away from her.

"I don't know what you're talking about. Why would you say that about me? I haven't hurt anyone." Oh there it was. He was definitely lying; The tears came too quickly. Though it was sweet how his lip trembled so believably.

"Tate, honey, ever since I set foot in this place it's been telling me it's secrets. And I know that you know what you did."

Any questions, comments etc. about the series? Ask away! I'll continue posting little notes here and there, I thought about doing a few bloopers chapters, or deleted scene type stuff just for fun.