In the mirror-faced reflection across from him, Henry Crow saw himself sitting next to the right side candelabra, but also six more figures standing behind him. They came closer to the light, and he saw they were the traces of six of his past loves--three men, three women--but they were all so much more gaunt and pale than he'd ever remembered them being. Black rings circled around their dull eyes; they all rasped wispy breaths.
'But they're not dead!' Henry began to exclaim, feeling panicked.
'Mostly not, at least,' Dave explained. 'Look at them; look in their eyes, Henry.'
The flickering candlelight seemed to be burning holes directly into all their pupils.
'These are just the core of the countless men and women you have stolen away from their spouses--wooed the women away from their husbands, their children, their own lovers, and doing the same with the men through trickery; all for your own amusement, your own enjoyment. All for your own selfish pleasure, you stole their lives away. You laughed after having your way with them and turning them away. You smiled as you heard their proclamations for you and only added them as trinkets to your ego, and felt the calm come over you knowing how badly they wanted you to be theirs. Why, Henry?'
'Why, Henry Crow, why?' they all began to chant as a chorus.
They were all writhing towards Henry, in the mirror's reflection, all pawing at him where he sat and cooing his name. It seemed to echo so strangely within the cavern's walls.
'Henry..love us, Henry..'
Henry stared at the mirror as they all began to caress his reflection more, all began to give hungry kisses to him, the movements becoming all the more frantic. Eventually, after a slight blonde man kissed him, blood was drawn from Henry's lips. Their pawing became less sensuous and more like rabid, starving animals, clawing at his clothing as well as his face and ripping at his slicked back hair.
'LOVE US, HENRY!! WHY, HENRY!?!! WHY DON'T YOU LOVE US, WE LOVE YOU!! WHY DON'T YOU LOVE US, HENRY CROW!!?!'
They all began to spit on him and claw at him more, when just as soon as Henry felt he couldn't bear to watch anymore, they all stopped, and silence resumed in the dark, dank dwelling. They were removed from the mirror, and only a cowering, bruised and scratched Henry sat at the table, shielding himself. He sat alone, as he stared back at himself beneath the figure's hood.
He sat alone...but only briefly.
Eventually, after a moment's silence, another Henry Crow came creeping up from behind, giving the original reflected Henry Crow an evil, completely sinister grin. This one had a wild look in his eyes, made only wilder by the flames reflecting off of them. The original Henry knew this was not going to end well. The doppelganger clasped his hands on the original's shoulders.
'I created a bit of a monster with what I've created in you,' Dave mentioned, still looking forward at the mirror-figure before him.
'You can't even appreciate the spray of the sea, or the scent of spring anymore, can you?' the doppelganger seemed to sneer at the original Henry Crow. The double ran his fingers through the sitting Henry's hair, slightly. He looked down, sadly. 'How pathetic.'
He waited a moment before grabbing a thick lock of his mane and slamming his face against the table, his head bouncing back for a moment, causing the candelabras to skip as well.
'PATHETIC!!'
Henry Crow the original lay there, stunned for the time being. He wanted to sit upright, but it was too straining to even imagine moving right then. The double crouched over him, speaking softly into his ear:
'All because of them, isn't it? Always them. Weak.' He shoved Henry Crow's lumped over figure slightly. 'Cry, cry, cry. She thought you ugly. He thought you worthless. Bitch, moan, pisser,' he flippantly concluded, giving another shove to his still-resting skull.
'Perhaps you're a bit hard on yourself,' Dave quietly mentioned. The double shot him a look of something fierce, within the mirror-face. Henry the original began to sit up, looking completely dazed and feeling like utter shit. He ran his fingers through his hair, resting on the spot that stung for a moment, and cracked his neck, before addressing the doppelganger.
'Well, you're just mad because they think you're a faggot.'
The double stared daggers at the original Henry.
'And I am.'
He gave a bit of a laugh before the double roared and charged at him, both grasping at the others' neck and taking occasional swings. The first Henry took a sharp elbow to the face, bleeding out of his nose profusely.
'Take it, motherfucker. Take it! You NEED me. You need me to LIVE--to FUNCTION,' the double shouted. 'TO FUCKING BREATHE!!'
Henry the original was hunched over, catching breaths between spitting away droplets of blood, when the double started lurching toward him. He went to knee Henry in his face, but the adrenaline surging through his body caused him to react on a moment's notice, swinging himself over to the side and grabbing the double from behind. He got a strong choke-hold on him. The double started to struggle, trying to claw at Henry's face behind him, smacking him, anything to attempt to free himself. His breathing became strained.
'I actually don't need you, you rotten little sonofabitch.'
The double's body went limp, and Henry Crow let it collapse to the floor. He took his seat back and breathed for a moment, looking over at his bloody friend still focusing only on the mirror-figure. He looked across at his own reflection, expecting to see a complete mess of a man staring back at him. But there was no bloody nose; no scratches or bruises or cuts on his face. His clothes were clean again. Pale as ever. It was like nothing happened. Confused, he looked over at Dave's mirror. It flashed the image of a tombstone tucked behind some grass. Dave's tombstone. The bear still slept contentedly, the commotion around him completely unacknowledged.
'How I went, Henry?' Dave began, nodding down at the bear, 'Not natural. Someone on high wanted me to go, no questions about it. I was a real bastard when I was alive. That's a bit of the limbo thing: working to achieve the happiness I should be rewarded, but sins of the past restricting me.' He paused. 'I taught you everything you know and then some.. I had to be taken down in one of the most absurd ways possible to really have to see the wrong I did in my life, the destruction within ME I would unleash on others. Even you.'
Henry looked away from the tombstone and stared back at his own pale reflection.
'There's still time for you, Henry Crow. So use it. Be the best man you can possibly be.'
Finally, Dave broke his stare away from his mirror-figure, and the tombstone it reflected, and tiredly turned to his friend.
'Me, I'm a real bastard. You? You're a bit more of a sonofabitch,' Dave concluded.
Henry acknowledged this statement with a gentle nod. Dave smiled and reached over to place a hand on his shoulder.
'Go home, friend. Goodbye Henry.'
...
Henry Crow snapped awake face-down on his dirty linoleum floor.
He was in the same position he had been in when he passed out, and moved only his eyes around for a moment, looking all around to see a trace of Dave, the bear, or anything he just experienced. Nothing. The apartment was as dirty and dingy and empty as he left it.
He pulled himself up and took in a deep breath. He stood there with his hands on his hips, staring all around him, looking down at the mess the turkey sandwich made upon being dropped, and just shook his head a bit. He tossed it out, grabbed a rag and cleaned up the smears on the floor, then took his coat and stepped out again.
He decided to walk to the harbor.
He still looked down at the ground, predominantly, just out of habit, but he also noticed the changing colors in the sky, and how nicely they contrasted with the orange hues of the street lights. He passed over the bridge covering one of the canals, and stopped for a moment, noticing something small and interesting on the ground. He stood over it: the small porcelain figurine of a brown bear. He took it in his hand and stared down at it for a moment, feeling his heart beating, warming. He placed it in his pocket, and looked out at the sky brightening and reflecting off the water, and the sailboats bobbing contentedly. He rested his elbows on the bridge's railings.
Henry Crow welcomed the steely blues of the dawn breaking.
...
.
.
.
END.
Tuesday, July 5, 2011
Saturday, June 25, 2011
Henry Crow (pt. 2)
...
Henry Crow awoke to a cold, wet slap to the face, realizing he was propped upright on his run-down, sunken couch. He was startled when his gaze fixed upon the crimson figure of Dave sitting next to him, smiling--Dave to a T, but covered in vibrant, candy apple blood--as well as a mid-sized bear sitting contentedly at Dave's side on the ground, licking its paw. He jumped up in his seat a bit and started to squirm around.
'What in the FUCK is this all about?!!' he exclaimed, eyes wild with delirium.
'I've gotta have a talk with you, Henry,' Dave calmly replied. Even his hair was drenched in blood; his black suit was sopping wet, the white undershirt clinging to his form and looking like it was drenched in Kool-Aid. Henry was having a very hard time grasping all of this.
'Am I dead? Did you fucking kill me?'
Dave laughed a bit.
'No, no, I'd never do that! No, I'm here to help steer you from your evil ways to show you the beauty of life and human decency. Help save your immortal soul and what have you. Also, there was acid in that turkey.'
Henry readjusted himself in his seat, slicking his hair back a bit and taking in a deep breath. He went to grab his smokes and came back to Dave, lighting one up.
'Why are you all, red?'
Dave sighed. 'This is ain't shit. I figured it'd be surprising enough seeing me after all this while, so I put in a favor to at least have a bit of form before you saw me. I actually don't mind this shade of red on me..'
'Are you a ghost?' Henry asked.
Dave shrugged his shoulders. 'Something like that. A man stuck between worlds, a soul killed by unnatural means with unfinished business who needs to rectify his bit of the world to at least attain something of an afterlife. Limbo, yup.'
'You were killed by a bear..' he paused and looked down at the bear still licking its paw on the floor, 'being flung through your window. Another driver hit it and sent it soaring toward you. That's not supernatural in the least.'
'Though the evidence is tangible, and it can be explained, I doubt you would call my demise anything close to natural, Henry,' Dave said, raising his eyebrow and leaning in a bit closer toward his wary friend.
Henry looked down a bit and took a slow drag of his smoke in contemplation.
'What's that thing doing here, anyway?' he asked, nudging toward the bear.
'He's dead, too; also in limbo because of the situation.'
Henry took another slow drag off the cigarette.
'So, what do you want with me?'
Dave smiled. 'So glad you asked. Do you know the story of Gabriel Grub? It's a Dickens short.'
Henry exhaled through his nostrils after a bit of thought. 'I think I remember you saying something about it, actually,' he quietly mentioned.
'That's right. A surly gravedigger who's sent to the goblin cave to learn the err of his evil ways, one dark and frozen Christmas Eve...'
Henry gave him a bit of a look.
'Are you ready to go, Gabriel Grub?'
'Where--what?'
'Actually, I guess not one of those questions really matter, hmm?' Dave laughed to himself.
In the blink of an eye, Henry Crow found himself in the darkest, coldest place he'd ever been.
...
Black.
'What..where am I?'
Henry Crow was now sitting in a black cave at an elongated dinner table, two three-pronged candelabras sitting at the opposing sides--the only form of light in the dark, frozen dwelling.
Across from him sat two figures in black cloaks, their only distinguishing features the gaping holes for the faces. But they weren't faces underneath the cloaks. Not even a feature. In place instead were oval mirrors staring blankly back, reflecting himself and Dave sitting at his side. He turned to his sanguine friend.
'What is this?'
Dave paused, never taking his eyes off the figures before them.
'Eventually, Henry Crow, we all have to face ourselves..'
The figures seemed to be studying them intently.
'..and the demons within.'
Henry felt coldness plunge to his very core.
...
.
.
.
(One more, after this.)
Henry Crow awoke to a cold, wet slap to the face, realizing he was propped upright on his run-down, sunken couch. He was startled when his gaze fixed upon the crimson figure of Dave sitting next to him, smiling--Dave to a T, but covered in vibrant, candy apple blood--as well as a mid-sized bear sitting contentedly at Dave's side on the ground, licking its paw. He jumped up in his seat a bit and started to squirm around.
'What in the FUCK is this all about?!!' he exclaimed, eyes wild with delirium.
'I've gotta have a talk with you, Henry,' Dave calmly replied. Even his hair was drenched in blood; his black suit was sopping wet, the white undershirt clinging to his form and looking like it was drenched in Kool-Aid. Henry was having a very hard time grasping all of this.
'Am I dead? Did you fucking kill me?'
Dave laughed a bit.
'No, no, I'd never do that! No, I'm here to help steer you from your evil ways to show you the beauty of life and human decency. Help save your immortal soul and what have you. Also, there was acid in that turkey.'
Henry readjusted himself in his seat, slicking his hair back a bit and taking in a deep breath. He went to grab his smokes and came back to Dave, lighting one up.
'Why are you all, red?'
Dave sighed. 'This is ain't shit. I figured it'd be surprising enough seeing me after all this while, so I put in a favor to at least have a bit of form before you saw me. I actually don't mind this shade of red on me..'
'Are you a ghost?' Henry asked.
Dave shrugged his shoulders. 'Something like that. A man stuck between worlds, a soul killed by unnatural means with unfinished business who needs to rectify his bit of the world to at least attain something of an afterlife. Limbo, yup.'
'You were killed by a bear..' he paused and looked down at the bear still licking its paw on the floor, 'being flung through your window. Another driver hit it and sent it soaring toward you. That's not supernatural in the least.'
'Though the evidence is tangible, and it can be explained, I doubt you would call my demise anything close to natural, Henry,' Dave said, raising his eyebrow and leaning in a bit closer toward his wary friend.
Henry looked down a bit and took a slow drag of his smoke in contemplation.
'What's that thing doing here, anyway?' he asked, nudging toward the bear.
'He's dead, too; also in limbo because of the situation.'
Henry took another slow drag off the cigarette.
'So, what do you want with me?'
Dave smiled. 'So glad you asked. Do you know the story of Gabriel Grub? It's a Dickens short.'
Henry exhaled through his nostrils after a bit of thought. 'I think I remember you saying something about it, actually,' he quietly mentioned.
'That's right. A surly gravedigger who's sent to the goblin cave to learn the err of his evil ways, one dark and frozen Christmas Eve...'
Henry gave him a bit of a look.
'Are you ready to go, Gabriel Grub?'
'Where--what?'
'Actually, I guess not one of those questions really matter, hmm?' Dave laughed to himself.
In the blink of an eye, Henry Crow found himself in the darkest, coldest place he'd ever been.
...
Black.
'What..where am I?'
Henry Crow was now sitting in a black cave at an elongated dinner table, two three-pronged candelabras sitting at the opposing sides--the only form of light in the dark, frozen dwelling.
Across from him sat two figures in black cloaks, their only distinguishing features the gaping holes for the faces. But they weren't faces underneath the cloaks. Not even a feature. In place instead were oval mirrors staring blankly back, reflecting himself and Dave sitting at his side. He turned to his sanguine friend.
'What is this?'
Dave paused, never taking his eyes off the figures before them.
'Eventually, Henry Crow, we all have to face ourselves..'
The figures seemed to be studying them intently.
'..and the demons within.'
Henry felt coldness plunge to his very core.
...
.
.
.
(One more, after this.)
Monday, June 20, 2011
Henry Crow (pt. 1)
He wasn't a very nice man.
Henry Crow was not a man known for his blindingly sunny disposition.
He wasn't necessarily the type to make lemonade, when life would hand out lemons, so much as squish them directly into his mouth with a reckless abandon after doing a shot of tequila beforehand, and then subsequently spit on the ground. He wallowed in life's bitterness, at times.
Henry Crow would drift around town after the sun set and the street lights became bright, getting rowdy from bar to bar, breaking the jukebox for not playing his song soon enough on more than one occasion. He was sleazy with the women and sometimes the menfolk too, if his fancy struck him, though more often than not it came to blows of a different kind at the end of the night.
A man with that much bitterness in him has to have had it bore into him right from the start. This was a man who felt life's stinging prick early on. Alcoholic, unattentive parents, countless failed romances, and most recently the death of his closest and only friend, Dave, in a freak accident involving a bear being hurled through a car's windshield. The world made even less sense to him than it had previously, at that point.
Henry Crow was a man who would take whatever he could get. He finds a chilly, near-full beer left alone, he grabs it. He always looked at the ground when he walked, hoping to score a dropped pack of smokes or some other forgotten trinket lying on the streets, undiscerning as to what he may find. He was dirty and grizzled, a slight hunch in his stature and very gaunt; a decent dresser but nothing too flashy, clothes always a bit wrinkled--always a slight bounce in his step. His hair was a thick mess of brown that he'd haphazardly slick back from his face. His brow was dark and thick, and always furrowed into a frown. Even when he laughed, it sounded more like a demonic cackle.
People were always a bit wary around him, though each person expressed it differently. Some react to the fear by staying away, while others would want to poke and pry, seeing what lay underneath the gruff exterior. Often, the latter came with some form of price on the offending party's part.
Henry Crow was a man alone in a dark and dreary world, made darker by his emptiness without Dave and by his own dark mind.
Soon, at least, he'd have one last evening with his oldest, closest friend.
...
Flying bear to the fucking face, he thought to himself as he meandered through the store.
What the fuck?
He stopped in front of the beer, grabbing a cheap 40 for the road. He managed to have a bit on him, magically finding a five dollar bill earlier on, and decided to splurge for the night. He even got his own pack of smokes. He took dull thuds of strides back to his flat. He felt particularly tired that night.
.
Slowly he walked up the stairs and almost collapsed through the door as he unlocked it, gripping the black plastic grocery bag tightly. He flicked on the lights and stared at the pile of papers on his tiny kitchen table, adjacent some three feet to his miniature (and rather unkempt) stove top against the wall. He hadn't swept in a while. It was chilly in there.
He rested the black bag on the table and sifted through the contents: his 40 and a pack of Camels--and something else...? Some prize was still resting in the bag, an error either he or the cashier didn't notice. He peeked in. Deli turkey, roasted, thin-sliced. He took it out of the bag and studied it, smelling it, making sure there wasn't anything particularly foul or grotesque on it. He tested just a nibble, and gave a few minutes before grinning to himself and breaking open the 40, taking a few large gulps and then going over to his dingy fridge. He broke out the bread and mayo and topped it with a bit of mustard.
Henry Crow was a scandalous man.
He put on some Mozart as he bit into his free meal. He almost thought it must've tasted better simply by the fact it was given to him by plain dumb luck. The musical accompaniment made it all the more delectable. He attacked that damn sandwich. This was going to make the work week all the more sweeter, knowing he could have that bit of food to come home to. He had plenty else for his mind to fixate itself on, otherwise.
Dave floated to the front of his mind for an instant, as he was about halfway through his dinner. He paused for a moment to take a sip from the 40, offering a bit in remembrance of his friend. He toasted the air in solidarity, letting out a crisp exhale after a few large swigs of the malt liquor.
Dave would approve of this, he thought to himself.
Dave would've done the same thing, if he found that prize in his bag.
After he swallowed one particular bite about halfway through, he felt a tinny sensation roll over his tongue. His taste became metallic, like he'd had some pennies in his mouth. He coughed a bit, clearing his throat, and went for the bottle again to wash it down. He stood there for a moment, feeling a dizziness starting to come over him as he leaned against a metal chair. He started to notice time seeming to slow down, and a heaviness sinking directly into his skull. He looked down at the seemingly innocent sandwich still in his hand.
Mother..fucker..., he thought, as he started to pass out.
He collapsed face down onto the linoleum floor before him, the sandwich hopping out of his grip and flinging itself all over the ground. He lay there, one arm outstretched, the other tucked beside him; he felt his legs going. His breathing was steady, but still a bit slow. He felt paralyzed--his eyes bugged wide open, stuck in a stare at his tiny, messy excuse of a living room. He couldn't even make a noise.
Without warning, a familiar voice came from above.
'Oh, Henry?'
Henry Crow's eyes rolled as far as they could toward the side and saw what appeared to be the silhouette of his old friend, Dave, blocking out the lamplight and looking down at him, pitifully.
Dave smiled and leaned down, whispering into his ear: 'You get to learn you a lesson tonight, friend.'
His eyes glazed over and everything went black before him, traces of "Rondo Alla Turca" jubilantly wilting away in the distance.
...
.
.
.
(This one's gonna have a lot of dark humor. I'm excited.)
Henry Crow was not a man known for his blindingly sunny disposition.
He wasn't necessarily the type to make lemonade, when life would hand out lemons, so much as squish them directly into his mouth with a reckless abandon after doing a shot of tequila beforehand, and then subsequently spit on the ground. He wallowed in life's bitterness, at times.
Henry Crow would drift around town after the sun set and the street lights became bright, getting rowdy from bar to bar, breaking the jukebox for not playing his song soon enough on more than one occasion. He was sleazy with the women and sometimes the menfolk too, if his fancy struck him, though more often than not it came to blows of a different kind at the end of the night.
A man with that much bitterness in him has to have had it bore into him right from the start. This was a man who felt life's stinging prick early on. Alcoholic, unattentive parents, countless failed romances, and most recently the death of his closest and only friend, Dave, in a freak accident involving a bear being hurled through a car's windshield. The world made even less sense to him than it had previously, at that point.
Henry Crow was a man who would take whatever he could get. He finds a chilly, near-full beer left alone, he grabs it. He always looked at the ground when he walked, hoping to score a dropped pack of smokes or some other forgotten trinket lying on the streets, undiscerning as to what he may find. He was dirty and grizzled, a slight hunch in his stature and very gaunt; a decent dresser but nothing too flashy, clothes always a bit wrinkled--always a slight bounce in his step. His hair was a thick mess of brown that he'd haphazardly slick back from his face. His brow was dark and thick, and always furrowed into a frown. Even when he laughed, it sounded more like a demonic cackle.
People were always a bit wary around him, though each person expressed it differently. Some react to the fear by staying away, while others would want to poke and pry, seeing what lay underneath the gruff exterior. Often, the latter came with some form of price on the offending party's part.
Henry Crow was a man alone in a dark and dreary world, made darker by his emptiness without Dave and by his own dark mind.
Soon, at least, he'd have one last evening with his oldest, closest friend.
...
Flying bear to the fucking face, he thought to himself as he meandered through the store.
What the fuck?
He stopped in front of the beer, grabbing a cheap 40 for the road. He managed to have a bit on him, magically finding a five dollar bill earlier on, and decided to splurge for the night. He even got his own pack of smokes. He took dull thuds of strides back to his flat. He felt particularly tired that night.
.
Slowly he walked up the stairs and almost collapsed through the door as he unlocked it, gripping the black plastic grocery bag tightly. He flicked on the lights and stared at the pile of papers on his tiny kitchen table, adjacent some three feet to his miniature (and rather unkempt) stove top against the wall. He hadn't swept in a while. It was chilly in there.
He rested the black bag on the table and sifted through the contents: his 40 and a pack of Camels--and something else...? Some prize was still resting in the bag, an error either he or the cashier didn't notice. He peeked in. Deli turkey, roasted, thin-sliced. He took it out of the bag and studied it, smelling it, making sure there wasn't anything particularly foul or grotesque on it. He tested just a nibble, and gave a few minutes before grinning to himself and breaking open the 40, taking a few large gulps and then going over to his dingy fridge. He broke out the bread and mayo and topped it with a bit of mustard.
Henry Crow was a scandalous man.
He put on some Mozart as he bit into his free meal. He almost thought it must've tasted better simply by the fact it was given to him by plain dumb luck. The musical accompaniment made it all the more delectable. He attacked that damn sandwich. This was going to make the work week all the more sweeter, knowing he could have that bit of food to come home to. He had plenty else for his mind to fixate itself on, otherwise.
Dave floated to the front of his mind for an instant, as he was about halfway through his dinner. He paused for a moment to take a sip from the 40, offering a bit in remembrance of his friend. He toasted the air in solidarity, letting out a crisp exhale after a few large swigs of the malt liquor.
Dave would approve of this, he thought to himself.
Dave would've done the same thing, if he found that prize in his bag.
After he swallowed one particular bite about halfway through, he felt a tinny sensation roll over his tongue. His taste became metallic, like he'd had some pennies in his mouth. He coughed a bit, clearing his throat, and went for the bottle again to wash it down. He stood there for a moment, feeling a dizziness starting to come over him as he leaned against a metal chair. He started to notice time seeming to slow down, and a heaviness sinking directly into his skull. He looked down at the seemingly innocent sandwich still in his hand.
Mother..fucker..., he thought, as he started to pass out.
He collapsed face down onto the linoleum floor before him, the sandwich hopping out of his grip and flinging itself all over the ground. He lay there, one arm outstretched, the other tucked beside him; he felt his legs going. His breathing was steady, but still a bit slow. He felt paralyzed--his eyes bugged wide open, stuck in a stare at his tiny, messy excuse of a living room. He couldn't even make a noise.
Without warning, a familiar voice came from above.
'Oh, Henry?'
Henry Crow's eyes rolled as far as they could toward the side and saw what appeared to be the silhouette of his old friend, Dave, blocking out the lamplight and looking down at him, pitifully.
Dave smiled and leaned down, whispering into his ear: 'You get to learn you a lesson tonight, friend.'
His eyes glazed over and everything went black before him, traces of "Rondo Alla Turca" jubilantly wilting away in the distance.
...
.
.
.
(This one's gonna have a lot of dark humor. I'm excited.)
Tuesday, June 7, 2011
'I'm not having this conversation right now.'
She pushed me aside and went to the cupboard to get a mug, preparing her usual afternoon tea.
'There's nothing to discuss. I was just...confused. It was fun, but now it's too heavy.'
I didn't look at her as she was saying it. Partially because I didn't want to believe her, partially because I didn't want to break down in front of her.
'Look at me when I'm talking to you. Please.'
I glanced over at her, feeling the lines creasing over my face, my muscles tensing. We stared for a moment.
'You mean to tell me that nothing that was said, nothing we shared, mattered to you at all?' I asked her.
'Of course it mattered. It's always mattered. Do you think I wouldn't be freaking out right now if it didn't matter to me..?' she trailed off. She started to shake a bit.
I went up to get closer to her, and started stroking her arm. She relaxed a bit, enough to let me wrap her up in my arms; she breathed onto my neck, nuzzling into it for a moment. I didn't want anything else, at that moment. I started to run my fingers through her hair, when she realized what was happening and broke away from me.
'NO! Go. You have to go now.'
'Baby, please, I'm just--'
'NO! I can't do this right now, goddamnit! Back the fuck off!'
'Wait, I--'
'FUCK IT!' she cried out as she swung an open palm to my face.
She got me so hard I bled out the corner of my mouth. I placed my hand to the blood and looked down at it, then back at her, astonished. I stared at her, my eyes opened wide. She was rubbing her hand gingerly as she stared back in horror.
'I didn't..I'm...babe--'
'Fuck this,' I said quietly, turning on my heel, grabbing my jacket and making a mad dash for the door as she reached after me, repeating my name. I let my fingers slip through hers as I reached the front porch, and she stayed behind the screen door and watched me as I jumped into my car and took off, hiding the tears in my eyes.
...
Little lumps of snow started falling from the sky as I drove towards the mountains. They seemed to be the only movement; there just seemed to be stillness all around me. I had pulled over to one of the parks I frequent to calm myself and clear my thoughts. This spot in particular had sentimental value: we had some of our closest moments here. I could almost hear the laughter echoing amongst the floating snowflakes; I could almost retrace the footsteps underneath the white blanket taking form. My memories began to wash themselves all over me at once, when I regained focus long enough to reach up to touch the dried blood at my mouth's corner.
I don't quite know what I'm doing here..., I thought to myself.
I felt the tears welt up in my eyes again and let them drop to the ground, joining in with the rest of the frost and cold. It felt like being punched to your very core, whatever that feeling is. I bent over and placed my hands on my knees, trying to breathe steadily and catch myself. Trying to not collapse from all the memories rushing back to me all at once. I took in a deep breath and walked a bit further. I didn't want to go back to my house any time soon.
I wanted to feel the cold biting at me.
.
As I got further away from the main road, and more into the woods, I noticed small roots and twigs along the sides of the path protruding through the snow in sort of an odd manner. One could almost imagine them being bony fingers reaching through the soil, desperate to grasp a hold of you.
I walked further through the woods for what seemed like hours, the evergreens still full and blocking out whatever light was available. The dusk was fast approaching, though I didn't mind. I was nearing the end of the path, just around the residential areas of scattered cabins full of creature comforts, my body feeling entirely numb. I watched my breath steaming out of me with every passing step, occasionally staring down at the twisted roots around me. My mind was so off in its own space that I didn't even pay attention to the scenery changing around me--how I broke out of the canopy for an instant and happened upon an open field in the distance just ahead. I pressed forward, noticing a solitary dead Oak tree in the middle of it. As I came closer, it became apparent to me that this Oak tree was shielding a lonesome grave site, some sort of decrepit family plot. Something caught my attention out of the corner of my eye, on the ground.
As I came closer, I noticed someone had laid out a design in front of the plot, underneath the tree's barren branches, clearing out the snow just for it, especially. They used some sort of corn meal or powder to draw the shape of a large, perfect circle, a cross placed in its center and dividing it into four. In the center of each piece, a copper penny was placed heads-up. I stared for a moment, then started to investigate the plot.
An odd red moss covered the few scattered headstones in the decent sized enclosure, a type of moss I'd never seen in the area before; even odder, the snow didn't seem to stick on nor around them. I traced my memory back to my youth, as I'd remembered hearing tales of a hidden witch's grave built some hundreds of years back, and how the children used to frequent it every Halloween in hopes of a good scare. Some of the ones I spoke with said they'd never go back.
The snow continued to fall steadily around me, a gust of wind occasionally blowing past. Though there were no visible leaves on the ground, I could swear I heard the rustling of someone approaching me while I was hunched over, trying to decipher the barely-legible names on the stones, trying to note the designs etched into them. For an instant, I thought I heard a woman's laugh, but thought nothing of it. Then, another--two this time--seemed to be getting closer. I stood up and whirled around, already a bit on end. Nothing. Just my imagination, it seemed.
I bent back down to read the dates. 1787. 1787. 1787.
Why did they all die the same year?
I heard the laughter again, this time alarmingly closer, and spun around. To my utter surprise, two women were standing just outside of the grave's fence, smiling at me and holding arms together. There seemed to be a hunger in their eyes.
'Good evening,' the dark haired one smiled.
'What does this beautiful creature bring on such a biting winter's night?' the red haired one inquired.
Their clothes were tattered and grey, dirty corsets over ripped, flowing gowns. Their skin was pallid, blue and grey veins protruding from their nimble arms, while their eyes appeared to be a striking shade of green.
'Who are you?' I asked.
They looked at each other and laughed a bit to themselves, coming through the fence and closer to me.
'I don't think that should be your concern, kind friend...' the dark one said, circling around me, eyes roving up and down.
'You see, we know who you are,' said the red one, playing with the buttons on my jacket, 'and we have waited for so, so long. The cold is just so unbearable, wouldn't you say?' She stopped to reach up to my mouth, where I was bleeding earlier.
'We will need that,' she smiled to herself, her green eyes seeming to flash excitedly.
Though my heart was racing, I felt in a trance being around these women. I knew I should run, that I should push them away, but my legs were left completely immobile. It was as though the twigs and roots were coming out of the ground and grasping onto me, refusing to let me go. I stared at them cautiously.
'What do you want?'
'You will find out soon enough, pet,' said the dark one, giving a bit of a curtsy as she rejoined the red one in front of me. I stood frozen in place as they started to dance around me in a circle, never breaking eye contact with me whenever they came to my front. They kept chanting unintelligible things, the only word I could recognize was 'fourth.' They stood at my back as I was unable to turn around, slowly raising their voices as they repeated the guttural invocations. As it became almost unbearable, they stopped and came to my front.
The red haired one held a large snake.
The black haired one held a large dagger.
'Our fourth is arrived,' the red one said, almost licking her teeth eagerly.
They began to stalk forward towards me. I wanted to move, I was screaming inside my head for my legs to break whatever this spell was and to sprint as far away from these women as I could, but there was nothing I could do. I stood there wide eyed and speechless, bracing myself for whatever torture was about to occur. As they got not more than a few feet from me, I felt another presence come up from behind me.
'Stop,' a stern woman's commanded.
The other two women froze and looked behind me, their excitement immediately drained from their expressions. They took a few steps back and stared as a stringy blonde figure dressed exactly as they were came around my back. Though the features and dress were similar, her expressions weren't as fierce as the others. She stared at me quizzically and gave a bit of a smile after some thought. She looked back at the other two.
'What are you doing?'
'That is the fourth. We called for it and they have arrived. After this, we will be unstoppable!' the black one roared.
'Revenge is oursssssss!' hissed the red.
The blonde one let her eyes study me, a pitying expression coming over her face. She came up to me and stroked my cheek.
'No. No...this one is too pure. Too pure to be our fourth. Another mistaken identity,' she decided, flippantly.
The other two looked disheartened and completely disappointed upon hearing this. She came close to me and stared deeply into my eyes. I almost got lost in how vibrant a green hers were.
'You're free to go, innocence. Never come back here again.'
She went to wrap her arms around my neck, and gave a nudge into my ear. She began to whisper to me.
'As far as your lover goes, allow her the distance. And if that's not enough consolation, I still love you, my darling.' She looked at me for a moment before kissing my lips, her own as cold as the snow and air around us. I felt a chill run through my entire body and deep into my chest as it ended. She smiled at me once more before stepping back and disappearing into the night. The other two stared for a few seconds more and looked disgusted with me before fading away like the first. Everything was as still as I arrived. The sensation regained in my legs, I made leaps and bounds back to my car all the way back at the front of the forest.
...
About an hour later, completely out of breath and still a bit shakey, I made it back to my car. I stopped at the trunk to catch my breath, hunched over and coughing, the numb air stinging my lungs. I stopped to stare up at the full moon for a moment in an attempt to truly recount what just went on. I couldn't decide if it was real, and maybe I didn't want to, as I wiped my brow and made my way to the driver's side.
I got in and slowly put the keys in the ignition, trying to steady myself. I heaved a heavy sigh, and started the car up, flipping the heat up to the highest setting, waiting for the windows to defrost. Everything was blurred like an impressionist painting from within the car, the frost melting into droplets rapidly. Finally, after a few minutes they had melted enough for me to engage the wipers. As they swept away the sleet on the window, I was shocked upon seeing the dead vulture curled up some 10 feet in front of me...one wing precariously reaching upward toward the sky, almost specifically posed in that manner. I gasped and peeled out onto the main road.
I can't say for certain, but I almost swear I heard laughter as I drove away.
...
.
.
.
She pushed me aside and went to the cupboard to get a mug, preparing her usual afternoon tea.
'There's nothing to discuss. I was just...confused. It was fun, but now it's too heavy.'
I didn't look at her as she was saying it. Partially because I didn't want to believe her, partially because I didn't want to break down in front of her.
'Look at me when I'm talking to you. Please.'
I glanced over at her, feeling the lines creasing over my face, my muscles tensing. We stared for a moment.
'You mean to tell me that nothing that was said, nothing we shared, mattered to you at all?' I asked her.
'Of course it mattered. It's always mattered. Do you think I wouldn't be freaking out right now if it didn't matter to me..?' she trailed off. She started to shake a bit.
I went up to get closer to her, and started stroking her arm. She relaxed a bit, enough to let me wrap her up in my arms; she breathed onto my neck, nuzzling into it for a moment. I didn't want anything else, at that moment. I started to run my fingers through her hair, when she realized what was happening and broke away from me.
'NO! Go. You have to go now.'
'Baby, please, I'm just--'
'NO! I can't do this right now, goddamnit! Back the fuck off!'
'Wait, I--'
'FUCK IT!' she cried out as she swung an open palm to my face.
She got me so hard I bled out the corner of my mouth. I placed my hand to the blood and looked down at it, then back at her, astonished. I stared at her, my eyes opened wide. She was rubbing her hand gingerly as she stared back in horror.
'I didn't..I'm...babe--'
'Fuck this,' I said quietly, turning on my heel, grabbing my jacket and making a mad dash for the door as she reached after me, repeating my name. I let my fingers slip through hers as I reached the front porch, and she stayed behind the screen door and watched me as I jumped into my car and took off, hiding the tears in my eyes.
...
Little lumps of snow started falling from the sky as I drove towards the mountains. They seemed to be the only movement; there just seemed to be stillness all around me. I had pulled over to one of the parks I frequent to calm myself and clear my thoughts. This spot in particular had sentimental value: we had some of our closest moments here. I could almost hear the laughter echoing amongst the floating snowflakes; I could almost retrace the footsteps underneath the white blanket taking form. My memories began to wash themselves all over me at once, when I regained focus long enough to reach up to touch the dried blood at my mouth's corner.
I don't quite know what I'm doing here..., I thought to myself.
I felt the tears welt up in my eyes again and let them drop to the ground, joining in with the rest of the frost and cold. It felt like being punched to your very core, whatever that feeling is. I bent over and placed my hands on my knees, trying to breathe steadily and catch myself. Trying to not collapse from all the memories rushing back to me all at once. I took in a deep breath and walked a bit further. I didn't want to go back to my house any time soon.
I wanted to feel the cold biting at me.
.
As I got further away from the main road, and more into the woods, I noticed small roots and twigs along the sides of the path protruding through the snow in sort of an odd manner. One could almost imagine them being bony fingers reaching through the soil, desperate to grasp a hold of you.
I walked further through the woods for what seemed like hours, the evergreens still full and blocking out whatever light was available. The dusk was fast approaching, though I didn't mind. I was nearing the end of the path, just around the residential areas of scattered cabins full of creature comforts, my body feeling entirely numb. I watched my breath steaming out of me with every passing step, occasionally staring down at the twisted roots around me. My mind was so off in its own space that I didn't even pay attention to the scenery changing around me--how I broke out of the canopy for an instant and happened upon an open field in the distance just ahead. I pressed forward, noticing a solitary dead Oak tree in the middle of it. As I came closer, it became apparent to me that this Oak tree was shielding a lonesome grave site, some sort of decrepit family plot. Something caught my attention out of the corner of my eye, on the ground.
As I came closer, I noticed someone had laid out a design in front of the plot, underneath the tree's barren branches, clearing out the snow just for it, especially. They used some sort of corn meal or powder to draw the shape of a large, perfect circle, a cross placed in its center and dividing it into four. In the center of each piece, a copper penny was placed heads-up. I stared for a moment, then started to investigate the plot.
An odd red moss covered the few scattered headstones in the decent sized enclosure, a type of moss I'd never seen in the area before; even odder, the snow didn't seem to stick on nor around them. I traced my memory back to my youth, as I'd remembered hearing tales of a hidden witch's grave built some hundreds of years back, and how the children used to frequent it every Halloween in hopes of a good scare. Some of the ones I spoke with said they'd never go back.
The snow continued to fall steadily around me, a gust of wind occasionally blowing past. Though there were no visible leaves on the ground, I could swear I heard the rustling of someone approaching me while I was hunched over, trying to decipher the barely-legible names on the stones, trying to note the designs etched into them. For an instant, I thought I heard a woman's laugh, but thought nothing of it. Then, another--two this time--seemed to be getting closer. I stood up and whirled around, already a bit on end. Nothing. Just my imagination, it seemed.
I bent back down to read the dates. 1787. 1787. 1787.
Why did they all die the same year?
I heard the laughter again, this time alarmingly closer, and spun around. To my utter surprise, two women were standing just outside of the grave's fence, smiling at me and holding arms together. There seemed to be a hunger in their eyes.
'Good evening,' the dark haired one smiled.
'What does this beautiful creature bring on such a biting winter's night?' the red haired one inquired.
Their clothes were tattered and grey, dirty corsets over ripped, flowing gowns. Their skin was pallid, blue and grey veins protruding from their nimble arms, while their eyes appeared to be a striking shade of green.
'Who are you?' I asked.
They looked at each other and laughed a bit to themselves, coming through the fence and closer to me.
'I don't think that should be your concern, kind friend...' the dark one said, circling around me, eyes roving up and down.
'You see, we know who you are,' said the red one, playing with the buttons on my jacket, 'and we have waited for so, so long. The cold is just so unbearable, wouldn't you say?' She stopped to reach up to my mouth, where I was bleeding earlier.
'We will need that,' she smiled to herself, her green eyes seeming to flash excitedly.
Though my heart was racing, I felt in a trance being around these women. I knew I should run, that I should push them away, but my legs were left completely immobile. It was as though the twigs and roots were coming out of the ground and grasping onto me, refusing to let me go. I stared at them cautiously.
'What do you want?'
'You will find out soon enough, pet,' said the dark one, giving a bit of a curtsy as she rejoined the red one in front of me. I stood frozen in place as they started to dance around me in a circle, never breaking eye contact with me whenever they came to my front. They kept chanting unintelligible things, the only word I could recognize was 'fourth.' They stood at my back as I was unable to turn around, slowly raising their voices as they repeated the guttural invocations. As it became almost unbearable, they stopped and came to my front.
The red haired one held a large snake.
The black haired one held a large dagger.
'Our fourth is arrived,' the red one said, almost licking her teeth eagerly.
They began to stalk forward towards me. I wanted to move, I was screaming inside my head for my legs to break whatever this spell was and to sprint as far away from these women as I could, but there was nothing I could do. I stood there wide eyed and speechless, bracing myself for whatever torture was about to occur. As they got not more than a few feet from me, I felt another presence come up from behind me.
'Stop,' a stern woman's commanded.
The other two women froze and looked behind me, their excitement immediately drained from their expressions. They took a few steps back and stared as a stringy blonde figure dressed exactly as they were came around my back. Though the features and dress were similar, her expressions weren't as fierce as the others. She stared at me quizzically and gave a bit of a smile after some thought. She looked back at the other two.
'What are you doing?'
'That is the fourth. We called for it and they have arrived. After this, we will be unstoppable!' the black one roared.
'Revenge is oursssssss!' hissed the red.
The blonde one let her eyes study me, a pitying expression coming over her face. She came up to me and stroked my cheek.
'No. No...this one is too pure. Too pure to be our fourth. Another mistaken identity,' she decided, flippantly.
The other two looked disheartened and completely disappointed upon hearing this. She came close to me and stared deeply into my eyes. I almost got lost in how vibrant a green hers were.
'You're free to go, innocence. Never come back here again.'
She went to wrap her arms around my neck, and gave a nudge into my ear. She began to whisper to me.
'As far as your lover goes, allow her the distance. And if that's not enough consolation, I still love you, my darling.' She looked at me for a moment before kissing my lips, her own as cold as the snow and air around us. I felt a chill run through my entire body and deep into my chest as it ended. She smiled at me once more before stepping back and disappearing into the night. The other two stared for a few seconds more and looked disgusted with me before fading away like the first. Everything was as still as I arrived. The sensation regained in my legs, I made leaps and bounds back to my car all the way back at the front of the forest.
...
About an hour later, completely out of breath and still a bit shakey, I made it back to my car. I stopped at the trunk to catch my breath, hunched over and coughing, the numb air stinging my lungs. I stopped to stare up at the full moon for a moment in an attempt to truly recount what just went on. I couldn't decide if it was real, and maybe I didn't want to, as I wiped my brow and made my way to the driver's side.
I got in and slowly put the keys in the ignition, trying to steady myself. I heaved a heavy sigh, and started the car up, flipping the heat up to the highest setting, waiting for the windows to defrost. Everything was blurred like an impressionist painting from within the car, the frost melting into droplets rapidly. Finally, after a few minutes they had melted enough for me to engage the wipers. As they swept away the sleet on the window, I was shocked upon seeing the dead vulture curled up some 10 feet in front of me...one wing precariously reaching upward toward the sky, almost specifically posed in that manner. I gasped and peeled out onto the main road.
I can't say for certain, but I almost swear I heard laughter as I drove away.
...
.
.
.
Friday, May 13, 2011
Friday the 13th edition
I've been working on another short story for the past week or so, and I wrapped it up earlier today. I like it, I hope you do, too.
(Though I'm probably going to work on fleshing out the ending. Damn those endings!)
...
Busted, bloody knuckles.
I always have busted, bloody knuckles.
Little rubies, little rivers of lava embedded with small flesh platelets. They only hurt when I touch them on certain spots, at least. Otherwise, it feels like a badge; a reminder of protection.
...
I went to visit my grandparents' grave site, as I do every Sunday. I find cemeteries to be peaceful places as a whole, and frequent them often to clear my thoughts and be still for a moment. Theirs is my favorite, both for sentimental and aesthetic value.
The gravel road gives way to fine dirt, a few precocious pebbles scattered throughout. Small grassy mounds give way to vast, rolling hills of the dead. For the dead. A variety of wooden, rotting crosses, some barely together still, paired next to areas of awful beauty; a marbled Christ resting his weary head upon the cross, and a stained Mary weeping at chiseled feet. Standard headstones broken in half, one only reading 'MY MOTHER,' rest next to grandiose mausoleums in the privy lots for the privy few. A beautiful ivory woman sits contemplatively atop a checker-topped sarcophagus in a flowing dress, hand resting on her chin, staring down at the pattern before her.
The day was dark, and the wind was strong. It howled through the passageways throughout the cemetery as I clung onto my overcoat, trying to keep warm. It was menacing, that Sunday. It seemed to loom overhead, whatever the impression was, and its presence was felt with every passing step.
Even the statues seemed to gain sensation.
Even the beatific angels seemed to be screaming.
...
I sat down on the grass cross-legged, next to their grave. I lit up a cigarette and took a slow drag--I've managed to cut down and it was my first one in two weeks at the time.
'EVANS'
The name stared back at me. A small anchor designed onto his side, a delicate rose etched onto hers. They didn't live more than three years without each other.
The sky was gray, ominous clouds rolling over me. I heard a slight rumble of thunder in the distance. Rain was on the way, so I made the decision to leave a bit earlier than planned. I kissed a finger and laid it on the stone.
"'Night, guys," I sighed to myself before trudging off.
A heaviness seemed to sink on my chest. I could even feel it resting on my shoulders. Something dark wanted to grasp my attention. I kept walking at a steady pace along the dirt road, feeling the condensation rise in the air, occasional drags off my rapidly dwindling cigarette. A few mist droplets landed near its pointed ember.
Won't be long now, I thought to myself.
A few drags more, and I flicked the end of the smoke a few feet in front of me, and squished it underneath my boot's sole.
The statues almost seemed to have a mind of their own. I passed a display of life and death--a woman dancing with the shrouded figure of a skeleton, forever dipped in a mournful embrace. She seemed weary, and her fingers curled upright uncomfortably, as though she was enormously fatigued by her struggle.
When they gained distance behind me, I swore I could hear a piano tinkling an eerie tango near their plot.
As I walked long, weary strides along the path, some part of the sensation looming throughout the cemetery started to come over me. My thoughts began racing, blurry images in my mind playing with my actual eye sight, things seeming strained in front of me. I felt something crawling inside me, writhing underneath my skin. I felt it creep along my spine, causing my whole body to shudder. I felt my muscles tense up. Suddenly, for no reason, I felt a burning within my very core, and I lashed around, screaming and striking the closest thing to me. My fist hit the delicate features of a granite statue, a man in a cloaked hood standing guard at one of the mausoleums, half his face hidden--only a sullen mouth and stern chin to be seen; a moss-ridden bible in his hands. My hand, now completely dulled with pain and stuck in a tight grip, came back to me. A new, shiny, perfectly straight slit appeared on my thoroughly calloused middle knuckle, while two bright new red dots on the opposing sides stared back at me. Powder from the stone breaking against my skin coated the open wounds. I looked back at the statue.
My blood made perfect little imprints into the slight indentation I made on its gray skin, along the chin. And as I stared at it, the statue seemed to raise its head, as if raising its gaze toward me, its mouth straightening into a tight grimace. I froze, startled.
The statue...shook its head very, very slowly at me. As if it were saying 'No, no, no...
I took a step back, gasping in surprise.
'Time to go. It's time to go,' I decided to myself.
'Noooooo, don't LEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAVVVE usssss!' they rasped.
As the wind picked up, lightning struck nearby, almost lighting one of the dead trees aflame. Indistinct moaning seemed to be rising from nowhere. The heaviness on my shoulders became almost unbearable, and I felt the adrenaline surge through my body as I spun around and ran down the hill, desperate to get back to my car.
There was a deafening choir of groans, cries and howling winds in my sprint back to safety. Dirt and debris kicked up into my eyes, blinding me for an instant and causing me to trip over myself just as I reached the bottom of the hill, the cemetery gates not more than 20 feet in front of me. I landed on my chest and a bit of my face, slightly winded for an instant, but rolled over and hobbled over to my parked car, thankful for the enclosure.
I could still hear them faintly moaning as I took in deep breaths and tried to steady myself, sweat beading all along my brow. I dipped my head into the inside of my shirt to wipe it off, and gave a bit of a chuckle to myself as I reached inside my coat pocket to get my keys and take off out of there, back to the comfort of a steadying drink in the privacy of my home.
They weren't in the pocket I normally place them in.
As I checked the other pockets, it became painfully aware to me that they fell out at some point during my mad dash back to the automobile. I felt my heart sink to the very center of the earth. I had to go back and look for them. The day was only getting bleaker, making the possibility of walking to the nearest establishment null. Even then, it was at least 10 miles up the road. I didn't have a cell phone on me. There was no other way.
Slowly, I stepped outside of my car, and turned to face the cemetery again.
'Cooooommmme baaaaaaaaaaaccccck!' they cried, as eerie laughter followed.
I took a deep breath and adjusted my coat, and strode through the iron gates.
I looked only on the ground, desperate to see something silver and not let the terrifying noises and movements out the corner of my eye throw me off. They seemed to only get louder, having a competition with the roaring wind, chanting and crying from all sides around me.
However, as I began to ascend back up the hill, just at the base of it, one noise in particular seemed to stand out from the rest. A beautiful, soothing, calming voice rose above the cacophony, and said to me a simple, 'Wait..'
I turned to the voice, over to my left, and noticed a placid angel resting underneath a wreath of orange and brown leaves from a dying blackberry bush, weaving themselves above her head and all over the body. Her outstretched wings covered in brown, thorny, veins. Her hand was outstretched toward the heavens contemplatively, and on one of those very vines entwined around her index finger hung my misplaced keys. After a bit of struggling and maneuvering, and a few more cuts on my hands, I retrieved them and stared at the angel for a moment.
She raised her blank eyes to the sky, and commanded me to go.
A booming groan went off behind me, breaking my fascination, and I darted past the gates and back into my car.
I switched on the lights, started the engine, and peeled off onto the gravel entryway. I smoked a cigarette when I reached the freeway. Even the clouds let up when I reached the main road.
.
I do still visit every Sunday, to this day.
But only when the weather's good.
...
.
(Though I'm probably going to work on fleshing out the ending. Damn those endings!)
...
Busted, bloody knuckles.
I always have busted, bloody knuckles.
Little rubies, little rivers of lava embedded with small flesh platelets. They only hurt when I touch them on certain spots, at least. Otherwise, it feels like a badge; a reminder of protection.
...
I went to visit my grandparents' grave site, as I do every Sunday. I find cemeteries to be peaceful places as a whole, and frequent them often to clear my thoughts and be still for a moment. Theirs is my favorite, both for sentimental and aesthetic value.
The gravel road gives way to fine dirt, a few precocious pebbles scattered throughout. Small grassy mounds give way to vast, rolling hills of the dead. For the dead. A variety of wooden, rotting crosses, some barely together still, paired next to areas of awful beauty; a marbled Christ resting his weary head upon the cross, and a stained Mary weeping at chiseled feet. Standard headstones broken in half, one only reading 'MY MOTHER,' rest next to grandiose mausoleums in the privy lots for the privy few. A beautiful ivory woman sits contemplatively atop a checker-topped sarcophagus in a flowing dress, hand resting on her chin, staring down at the pattern before her.
The day was dark, and the wind was strong. It howled through the passageways throughout the cemetery as I clung onto my overcoat, trying to keep warm. It was menacing, that Sunday. It seemed to loom overhead, whatever the impression was, and its presence was felt with every passing step.
Even the statues seemed to gain sensation.
Even the beatific angels seemed to be screaming.
...
I sat down on the grass cross-legged, next to their grave. I lit up a cigarette and took a slow drag--I've managed to cut down and it was my first one in two weeks at the time.
'EVANS'
The name stared back at me. A small anchor designed onto his side, a delicate rose etched onto hers. They didn't live more than three years without each other.
The sky was gray, ominous clouds rolling over me. I heard a slight rumble of thunder in the distance. Rain was on the way, so I made the decision to leave a bit earlier than planned. I kissed a finger and laid it on the stone.
"'Night, guys," I sighed to myself before trudging off.
A heaviness seemed to sink on my chest. I could even feel it resting on my shoulders. Something dark wanted to grasp my attention. I kept walking at a steady pace along the dirt road, feeling the condensation rise in the air, occasional drags off my rapidly dwindling cigarette. A few mist droplets landed near its pointed ember.
Won't be long now, I thought to myself.
A few drags more, and I flicked the end of the smoke a few feet in front of me, and squished it underneath my boot's sole.
The statues almost seemed to have a mind of their own. I passed a display of life and death--a woman dancing with the shrouded figure of a skeleton, forever dipped in a mournful embrace. She seemed weary, and her fingers curled upright uncomfortably, as though she was enormously fatigued by her struggle.
When they gained distance behind me, I swore I could hear a piano tinkling an eerie tango near their plot.
As I walked long, weary strides along the path, some part of the sensation looming throughout the cemetery started to come over me. My thoughts began racing, blurry images in my mind playing with my actual eye sight, things seeming strained in front of me. I felt something crawling inside me, writhing underneath my skin. I felt it creep along my spine, causing my whole body to shudder. I felt my muscles tense up. Suddenly, for no reason, I felt a burning within my very core, and I lashed around, screaming and striking the closest thing to me. My fist hit the delicate features of a granite statue, a man in a cloaked hood standing guard at one of the mausoleums, half his face hidden--only a sullen mouth and stern chin to be seen; a moss-ridden bible in his hands. My hand, now completely dulled with pain and stuck in a tight grip, came back to me. A new, shiny, perfectly straight slit appeared on my thoroughly calloused middle knuckle, while two bright new red dots on the opposing sides stared back at me. Powder from the stone breaking against my skin coated the open wounds. I looked back at the statue.
My blood made perfect little imprints into the slight indentation I made on its gray skin, along the chin. And as I stared at it, the statue seemed to raise its head, as if raising its gaze toward me, its mouth straightening into a tight grimace. I froze, startled.
The statue...shook its head very, very slowly at me. As if it were saying 'No, no, no...
I took a step back, gasping in surprise.
'Time to go. It's time to go,' I decided to myself.
'Noooooo, don't LEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAVVVE usssss!' they rasped.
As the wind picked up, lightning struck nearby, almost lighting one of the dead trees aflame. Indistinct moaning seemed to be rising from nowhere. The heaviness on my shoulders became almost unbearable, and I felt the adrenaline surge through my body as I spun around and ran down the hill, desperate to get back to my car.
There was a deafening choir of groans, cries and howling winds in my sprint back to safety. Dirt and debris kicked up into my eyes, blinding me for an instant and causing me to trip over myself just as I reached the bottom of the hill, the cemetery gates not more than 20 feet in front of me. I landed on my chest and a bit of my face, slightly winded for an instant, but rolled over and hobbled over to my parked car, thankful for the enclosure.
I could still hear them faintly moaning as I took in deep breaths and tried to steady myself, sweat beading all along my brow. I dipped my head into the inside of my shirt to wipe it off, and gave a bit of a chuckle to myself as I reached inside my coat pocket to get my keys and take off out of there, back to the comfort of a steadying drink in the privacy of my home.
They weren't in the pocket I normally place them in.
As I checked the other pockets, it became painfully aware to me that they fell out at some point during my mad dash back to the automobile. I felt my heart sink to the very center of the earth. I had to go back and look for them. The day was only getting bleaker, making the possibility of walking to the nearest establishment null. Even then, it was at least 10 miles up the road. I didn't have a cell phone on me. There was no other way.
Slowly, I stepped outside of my car, and turned to face the cemetery again.
'Cooooommmme baaaaaaaaaaaccccck!' they cried, as eerie laughter followed.
I took a deep breath and adjusted my coat, and strode through the iron gates.
I looked only on the ground, desperate to see something silver and not let the terrifying noises and movements out the corner of my eye throw me off. They seemed to only get louder, having a competition with the roaring wind, chanting and crying from all sides around me.
However, as I began to ascend back up the hill, just at the base of it, one noise in particular seemed to stand out from the rest. A beautiful, soothing, calming voice rose above the cacophony, and said to me a simple, 'Wait..'
I turned to the voice, over to my left, and noticed a placid angel resting underneath a wreath of orange and brown leaves from a dying blackberry bush, weaving themselves above her head and all over the body. Her outstretched wings covered in brown, thorny, veins. Her hand was outstretched toward the heavens contemplatively, and on one of those very vines entwined around her index finger hung my misplaced keys. After a bit of struggling and maneuvering, and a few more cuts on my hands, I retrieved them and stared at the angel for a moment.
She raised her blank eyes to the sky, and commanded me to go.
A booming groan went off behind me, breaking my fascination, and I darted past the gates and back into my car.
I switched on the lights, started the engine, and peeled off onto the gravel entryway. I smoked a cigarette when I reached the freeway. Even the clouds let up when I reached the main road.
.
I do still visit every Sunday, to this day.
But only when the weather's good.
...
.
Monday, May 9, 2011
Short story
Good evening, everyone.
It's been a long time (since I rock 'n rolled [hwwaaahhh]).
To summarize: I've been working on collaborating with numerous creative people around here from many different schools of art; painters, photographers, fellow writers and an amazing, amazing musician. The last one and I have traded artistic efforts--him with a track he's been working on, me with this short story I'ma hit you with in a second, here.
I have a theory that something beautiful can come out of these scary stories I've been working on. Even if they don't manifest into songs right off the bat, I think they're compelling enough to entertain you even as just a story.
So.
Here we go!
...
I dreamt of crows that morning.
.
I had come back because I needed a break--my relationship was in shambles, my bills overflowing, my occupation uncertain. Home was never where my heart is, but it was at least nice to breathe new air for a few days.
I decided to go for an early morning jog. Help clear the thoughts, and get the blood flowing.
Generally, when I'd come back, I'd stick to only a few roadside paths to do my routine on. It's a very rural area, you see, so there are no proper sidewalks--and all the good ol' boys revving their engines and hootin' and hollerin' at the unsuspecting pedestrians can make the trek back and forth all the more treacherous.
That morning, I decided to go the path I'd barely crossed before, in my years living there.
.
It was a crisp morning. Overcast, with an eerie mist filling every crevice in the valley. Not a bird sang, nor a frog croaked, nor a cricket chirped. Frost clung to the leafless limbs of distorted Oak trees adjacent to the road, twigs twisted and turned upright as if recoiling from something dreadful.
I went to the East. Past the dilapidated farms, past the spent vineyards, past the quaint country homes with the smoke pluming from the chimneys--the families undoubtedly contented within. I went towards the woods, at the end of the the road where it forks off. I can only describe it as, I felt driven to, that day.
Some of the fields, along the road...some of the fields, with the dead, yellow grass, its open plains rolling like waves in the wind, have their own stories behind them. Local tales of murders, or witches' ceremonies from the days of yore, animal sacrifice and demons. Small town superstition to satiate the locals, I'd always believed.
I took in sharp breaths and let the chill numb my lungs; I had a lot on my mind that morning. Along one of those very fields, I stopped alongside one of the wire fences to catch myself and think for a moment. I looked down at the murky mud puddle before me, and back at the stranger's reflection staring at me.
'Who are you today, friend? Where are you, even?'
I laughed to myself a bit, all be it rather dishearteningly, and decided it was time to head back.
As I began to turn away from the field, though, something interesting caught the corner of my eye. Something white, in the distance, seemed to be dancing feverishly. I stopped for a moment, and looked back at it. What I saw next, I still cannot properly explain to this day.
At first believing it to be a sheet somehow blown astray, I was astonished to see what appeared to be a skeletal figure--ashen white, with a menacing grin upon its skull, and empty, barren eye sockets--dancing as some sort of display. Frantic movements, but also eerily graceful. It laughed and swirled aimlessly, occasionally ducking down into the brush, only to hop back up and laugh maddeningly, pantomiming with a white shroud it'd occasionally sport as a cloak, or throw jubilantly into the air. Soon, three other skeletons arose from the ground, and joined with the first one--the ringleader--in this odd danse macabre.
They all joined bony digits together and started spinning in a circle, still cackling aloud. They were singing things that were unintelligible to me; their own twisted, foreign language, interrupted only by growls or more sinister laughter. Their speed became more rapid, and just as their ceremony seemed to reach a fevered pitch, they broke apart, all letting out terrified high-pitched shrieks.
A giant crow flew overhead, its massive wings making loud, graceful swoops as it glided over them.
The skeletons raised their hands over their empty eyes, shielding themselves, and as they cowered in fear, they seemed to disappear into the surrounding mist, and back into the grass. Their cries echoing off toward the hills.
.
I stood for a moment, trying to decide if what happened was true, or if it was brought on by a combination of stress and weakened lungs, and lack of oxygen to my brain. Everything was as still as it had been when I arrived, the air just seemed slightly...heavier. I noticed something resting in the distance, some 30 feet from where I stood. My curiosity thoroughly piqued, I decided to investigate.
I came upon two carcasses of two large pigs, the both of them laid out almost as if they were rugs. Their bowels were completely removed, as were every other internal organ, but they were no where to be found. The skin was a bit leathery, but it and the bones were still intact, the heads untouched, and all their limbs were outstretched. As I stared at them, slightly astonished, the crow flew over me once more, letting out a solitary caw before passing. I watched as it flew away, looked down at the pigs and back at the field once more, and made the decision to go back that afternoon.
I walked along the treacherous, lonely road, staring at the angry limbs of the trees reaching out to me.
Home...is a funny thing.
.
...
Feel free to leave any comments.
It's been a long time (since I rock 'n rolled [hwwaaahhh]).
To summarize: I've been working on collaborating with numerous creative people around here from many different schools of art; painters, photographers, fellow writers and an amazing, amazing musician. The last one and I have traded artistic efforts--him with a track he's been working on, me with this short story I'ma hit you with in a second, here.
I have a theory that something beautiful can come out of these scary stories I've been working on. Even if they don't manifest into songs right off the bat, I think they're compelling enough to entertain you even as just a story.
So.
Here we go!
...
I dreamt of crows that morning.
.
I had come back because I needed a break--my relationship was in shambles, my bills overflowing, my occupation uncertain. Home was never where my heart is, but it was at least nice to breathe new air for a few days.
I decided to go for an early morning jog. Help clear the thoughts, and get the blood flowing.
Generally, when I'd come back, I'd stick to only a few roadside paths to do my routine on. It's a very rural area, you see, so there are no proper sidewalks--and all the good ol' boys revving their engines and hootin' and hollerin' at the unsuspecting pedestrians can make the trek back and forth all the more treacherous.
That morning, I decided to go the path I'd barely crossed before, in my years living there.
.
It was a crisp morning. Overcast, with an eerie mist filling every crevice in the valley. Not a bird sang, nor a frog croaked, nor a cricket chirped. Frost clung to the leafless limbs of distorted Oak trees adjacent to the road, twigs twisted and turned upright as if recoiling from something dreadful.
I went to the East. Past the dilapidated farms, past the spent vineyards, past the quaint country homes with the smoke pluming from the chimneys--the families undoubtedly contented within. I went towards the woods, at the end of the the road where it forks off. I can only describe it as, I felt driven to, that day.
Some of the fields, along the road...some of the fields, with the dead, yellow grass, its open plains rolling like waves in the wind, have their own stories behind them. Local tales of murders, or witches' ceremonies from the days of yore, animal sacrifice and demons. Small town superstition to satiate the locals, I'd always believed.
I took in sharp breaths and let the chill numb my lungs; I had a lot on my mind that morning. Along one of those very fields, I stopped alongside one of the wire fences to catch myself and think for a moment. I looked down at the murky mud puddle before me, and back at the stranger's reflection staring at me.
'Who are you today, friend? Where are you, even?'
I laughed to myself a bit, all be it rather dishearteningly, and decided it was time to head back.
As I began to turn away from the field, though, something interesting caught the corner of my eye. Something white, in the distance, seemed to be dancing feverishly. I stopped for a moment, and looked back at it. What I saw next, I still cannot properly explain to this day.
At first believing it to be a sheet somehow blown astray, I was astonished to see what appeared to be a skeletal figure--ashen white, with a menacing grin upon its skull, and empty, barren eye sockets--dancing as some sort of display. Frantic movements, but also eerily graceful. It laughed and swirled aimlessly, occasionally ducking down into the brush, only to hop back up and laugh maddeningly, pantomiming with a white shroud it'd occasionally sport as a cloak, or throw jubilantly into the air. Soon, three other skeletons arose from the ground, and joined with the first one--the ringleader--in this odd danse macabre.
They all joined bony digits together and started spinning in a circle, still cackling aloud. They were singing things that were unintelligible to me; their own twisted, foreign language, interrupted only by growls or more sinister laughter. Their speed became more rapid, and just as their ceremony seemed to reach a fevered pitch, they broke apart, all letting out terrified high-pitched shrieks.
A giant crow flew overhead, its massive wings making loud, graceful swoops as it glided over them.
The skeletons raised their hands over their empty eyes, shielding themselves, and as they cowered in fear, they seemed to disappear into the surrounding mist, and back into the grass. Their cries echoing off toward the hills.
.
I stood for a moment, trying to decide if what happened was true, or if it was brought on by a combination of stress and weakened lungs, and lack of oxygen to my brain. Everything was as still as it had been when I arrived, the air just seemed slightly...heavier. I noticed something resting in the distance, some 30 feet from where I stood. My curiosity thoroughly piqued, I decided to investigate.
I came upon two carcasses of two large pigs, the both of them laid out almost as if they were rugs. Their bowels were completely removed, as were every other internal organ, but they were no where to be found. The skin was a bit leathery, but it and the bones were still intact, the heads untouched, and all their limbs were outstretched. As I stared at them, slightly astonished, the crow flew over me once more, letting out a solitary caw before passing. I watched as it flew away, looked down at the pigs and back at the field once more, and made the decision to go back that afternoon.
I walked along the treacherous, lonely road, staring at the angry limbs of the trees reaching out to me.
Home...is a funny thing.
.
...
Feel free to leave any comments.
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Beautiful Monsters.
Kind of in the same vein as "Strange Creatures" as far as titles are concerned, but we'll go with it for now.
Significantly darker.
I kind of like it a lot. Here we go!
...
It is my beauty
That is what made me
Surpass any other
My allure and grace,
Charming many a suitor
Nations drawn
To my elegance and pomp
But it,
As with all,
Has faded
As the hours and minutes
Click by
And with it
The light within
One in us all
That is ours to maintain
No
It is a void, now
Cold, dark, and bleak
I wish to break the mirror
And drive the shard
Into something beautiful
I wish to break the fairest maid
And drown in her tears
Or to drive my nails
Into her flesh
And caress her warming blood...
Beauty
Is not
Forever
Beauty
Is not
Forever
Statues will crumble
And iron will rust
Ashes to ashes
Dust to dust
I wish to share my fears
So we'd share nightmares, the same
And I wish to smile quietly
As they grow further insane
To find a satisfaction
Lost in time
The attention of others
Now, pleading for mercy
Break the mirror
And twist the shard
What macabre terror is this?
Beauty
Is not
Forever
Beauty
Is not
Forever
Statues will crumble
And iron will rust
Ashes to ashes
Dust to dust
...
(You know something, more may be added, later..)
Significantly darker.
I kind of like it a lot. Here we go!
...
It is my beauty
That is what made me
Surpass any other
My allure and grace,
Charming many a suitor
Nations drawn
To my elegance and pomp
But it,
As with all,
Has faded
As the hours and minutes
Click by
And with it
The light within
One in us all
That is ours to maintain
No
It is a void, now
Cold, dark, and bleak
I wish to break the mirror
And drive the shard
Into something beautiful
I wish to break the fairest maid
And drown in her tears
Or to drive my nails
Into her flesh
And caress her warming blood...
Beauty
Is not
Forever
Beauty
Is not
Forever
Statues will crumble
And iron will rust
Ashes to ashes
Dust to dust
I wish to share my fears
So we'd share nightmares, the same
And I wish to smile quietly
As they grow further insane
To find a satisfaction
Lost in time
The attention of others
Now, pleading for mercy
Break the mirror
And twist the shard
What macabre terror is this?
Beauty
Is not
Forever
Beauty
Is not
Forever
Statues will crumble
And iron will rust
Ashes to ashes
Dust to dust
...
(You know something, more may be added, later..)
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