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Warning: The following story
contains violence, angst, death and other such nasties that may not
be suitable for all audiences. Reader beware your in for more than
your typical fare. ~_^ Discalimer: The characters within this story are all the creations of my own over-active imagination. Any resemblance they bare therein to any real people is purely coincidental. by Joana Rodriguez a.k.a Lady Dragon The sun is setting now, its soft hued rays of gold and crimson touch the endless meadow of wild-grass setting it ablaze in righteous color. Ever so softly does the grass sway now, entertainers to the merry children dashing across it in boundless glee soaking up the day's last warmth before they are called in to dinner and the cold comfortless night. As I speak they are running now, completely unaware of hidden eyes watching their every breathe, every step. It should burn me, that golden sphere hung so low now in the sky. It should burn me for the filth that I am. For daring to look upon its blessed and holy offspring, yet it does not. In all honesty it is completely neutral on the topic of my existence. It could care less what I did, whether I came or went. How I wish the old myths be true, at least then I would know how to bring about an end to my worthless existence. Fire might burn me to cinders but I am no pyro-maniac prone to such follies. Nor do I periodically stab myself with wooden stakes, silver daggers or any such object for that matter. A sadomasochist I am not! And though I thrive upon the blood and adorn myself with leather I care not for what these modern-day Marquise de Sade's call BDSM. So sorry if I've dashed your hopes that my kind are some sick perverted lot who cower before the cross' holy glow, shrink away from the sun's ghastly rays and flinch at the mere thought of wood and silver piercing our vain-glorious skin. Religion, it means little to me for if there was truly a God then evil I would be and those things called holy I would not touch and render grotesque with my profane hands. There are those, no doubt, of my kind who would readily play the bad and evil demon for you. I however am not one of them. Although I may, rarely will I find myself walking out into the day. Allowing the rays of warmth to smile down upon my blanche and weary skin. To feel the sunshine beat down upon my brow, to witness the cheery day-travelers, to laugh as one of them is an insufferable pain to me. Always I am reminded of what I am and what I've lost, the ability to just die. To wake up and cheerfully go about my daily takings never realizing it might be my last day upon this green-washed earth. Yes that’s the ability I mourn, that and all those whom I've left behind strewn about through the sands of time. My but mortals don’t realize how lucky they are. But come now, I must sound like the eternal mourner to you. Yet that is simply not me. I have merely grown indifferent to the world around me. Everything is drab and dreary in this world devoid of color and sound. Although my eyes see the beauty my heart remains dead, buried within this aged and decaying body. Loathe am I to waken to this world everyday yet I do not bring about an end to my torment. Is it a wonder then that when I do find something that holds my fancy for more than a few moments I play with it as does a cat with a mouse. To cowardly am I you ask, to seek an end, to seek salvation? Perhaps I am. Though truth be told I find those who take their lives to be the true cowards. To afraid are they to learn what life has in store for them. I am here now, and it was no divine being who put me here but nature herself. To keep the balance, to keep the circle of life. That is why I exist. And until she deems me un-necessary I shall be. "Papa..." The little child's gasp draws my attention at last. Surely you didn't think I'd just let them be. I told you did I not? I seek my entertainment where and when I can. "..Papa....help..." She's dying that’s all there is to it, simply that and nothing more. Her last breathes she wastes calling to her father who never arrives home from the city and his tedious office job before nine p.m. Always he appears with a touch of some harlot's perfume and perhaps a smudge of lipstick too. But she never realizes this. For at that time she's snug in her bed cuddled up next to some doll or other. Safely hidden away from the loud rows between mother and father that leaves her elder brother quaking in fear. Her elder brother, whom I have already feasted upon, is the one who bears the painful knowledge of these displacements. She, Madeline, knows only of the loving father who leaves tiny little presents by her pillow the morning after. The father who lovingly kisses and hugs her tightly to his heart. That is the man she knows and now calls out for. That strong man who would protect her from the evils of the world. Sadly though he will not save her tonight, nature has deemed it so. Nor shall she awake in her little bed again, secure in the knowledge that she is loved. She is sweet. Her blood a wondrous bubbly and bright thing inside of me. I should finish her now, put her out of misery and pain's reach. Yet I don’t. Call it cruel, but I enjoy the sight of such an innocent being writhing in pain, agony and fear within my arms. Knowing that I, Benji Wilhoulm, have caused it. Righteous curls of spun gold spill across my drab and unimpressive garb as she twists in pain from the gaping wound upon her neck. I was perhaps rougher than need be, but I hold no regrets. Her pain brings a smile to my face one that nearly reaches my dead and soulless eyes. Swiftly I stand allowing her to fall from my arms onto the hard and unforgiving earth where she calls out one last time to the elusive man she calls her father before at last her little heart stops beating and that brave and wonderful tasting will of a child is gone from those emerald depths. Ah but a splendid exit she made. Truly we all wish that same exit from our own dreary lives as well. The moon is out and in her full glory. Bleaching the color from the skin of the children and casting them into the limelight of death. What marvelous actors they were. How very much different from the weak creature whom they called mother. Cocking my head to the side I listen. Yes there, faintly it is. She calls to them, and to her leech of a husband, she calls near unawares her end has come. Within the blink of an eye I am standing within their kitchen. Dinner, now cold, sits upon the dinner table their wreck of a mother lays sobbing upon the cool tiled-floor like the broken thing she is. Weak. Utterly and completely weak, as is her blood. A mere taste of it left me nauseous. Hurriedly I bundle her into my arms, allow her to see the honey-colored strands of hair that trail around me and fall endearingly into bright luminous sky-hued eyes. "Angel, merciful angel. Please I beg you, my children. Save my children!" She wails, delicate bird-like limbs wrapping around my neck. "Angel from heaven, sweet Lord's helper guard my children. Banish the devil come to harm us." She cries, voice rising in timber as she fervently prays to me. Religious rubbish spewing from thin lips. "There, there my dear its alright. All is as it should be." I speak nothing but the truth though as I look into her fevered eyes I can see that our truths lie in different paths. She looks again into my face looking for comfort, reassurance no doubt. Whether she finds it I know not. I merely know what she sees, a sweet and caring face so innocent in expression. An angel on earth come to save her. I've seen this in the minds of my victims throughout time. It no longer surprises me. It merely enrages me at times. Never though was there a bigger fool than she. How could she forget that mere hours ago she invited this very angel in and it was he who brought death to her offspring and pain and misery to her. With an almost animal-like cry I open the oven's door and hurl the mass of tears and lamentations into the greasy gateway slamming it shut. Almost a minute passes before she becomes aware of what has happened. A little slow on the up-take this one is. During that lapse I manage to prop a chair against the door effectively trapping her within. Any human should be able to push that door open yet with such little room for mobility and her own weakness she is rendered trapped. With well concealed glee I search the house. Nothing catches my fancy yet I do spy a candle, one of those contained within a tall glass with a picture of Christ upon it. Truly befitting the occasion I believe. Humming slightly I light the blasted thing and watch merrily for a moment as the flame dances in the darkness. As soon as it came my glee is gone and I walk back to the kitchen and the weak women's sobs. Setting the candle down upon the counter with unnecessary reverence I marvel at the wonderful gas stove. Amazing really, this house so nicely furnished and well done decor scream out the family's love for modern day technology yet here within this kitchen lies appliances from an outdated era. Truly amazing. Growing bored I turn the knobs allowing the death bringing vapors to fill the room. The woman seems now to realize my intent. The room in which she slaved in daily is now to be her funeral pyre as she screams piteously from within the oven. Pity I do not care. With a narrowing of the eyes the beautiful angel glanced back over the kitchen once more before leaving as silently as he came through the kitchen door and out into the sweet and equally silent night. The door clicking audibly shut behind me. -=*=- Fin. Please Leave a Review
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