Vexed

(painting by Sas Christian)

Retaliation. Decapitation. Justice.

I'm looking at my beautiful vexed face in the rear-view mirror and mull over the irony that has led me to this.

 I, the only human being capable of lifting whole cities with my mind, causing death in every step, manipulating thousands of people with one thought, I, a fuckin' super hero, sitting behind this wheel stuck in a traffic jam, watching the old lady with the pink hair apply nail polish in the car next to me.
Why am I tolerating this?
Why don't I order them to drive their car over the cliff and be done with it? Why am I wrinkling this immaculate forehead thinking of their pitiful lives? All I have to do is close my eyes slowly and connect with their decadent minds, plant the idea that they would get faster wherever they are going by jumping off the cliff on the left and then sit back and watch the street empty right in front of my stormy eyes.

I would and I could...if I wasn't such a Nice. Girl.

Like Spiderman said before me; (and I quote): "With great power comes great responsibility", I am trying to be in control here, to be responsible...it is hard, damn hard it is.

I am rolling down the window, I need some fresh salty air to caress my face, God how beautiful I am, so powerful, and my lips...look at my lips and my make up...flawless. I didn't do it of course. I walked inside a MAC store and ordered the make up artists to do it, nails and all, all with my mind and I didn't pay of course; it was the manager's thank you gift for visiting his shop. He felt so happy to take care of me. Yes, I planted that idea too. I know you can't see my clothes but they were a gift too and the shoes...see the ring? It is platinum, another gift from...what's-his-name? that actor that I spent the night with....he plays in the new X-Men movie...he does Xavier? Oh I don't remember his name..he left the whole family behind and flew all the way from Europe for me...because I sent him brain waves to which he felt compelled to obey...I'm fuckin' Jean (X-Men Jean), I am a GODDESS!

And a Goddess has to be merciful first and foremost.

All this anxiety brings me mental pain, right here behind my right ear...
 I am going to give them a small push, just to get them going...juuuuust a little, when the light turns green....

MOVE NOW GET OUT OF MY WAY
MOVE OR I WILL HAVE YOU JUMP INTO THE OCEAN
MOOOOOOVE! MOOOOOOVE! MOOOOOOOOVE!

- Calm down honey it's going to be alright now, no need to shout, the other girls want to watch too....no don't pull the bandages away....easy girl. You pulled your ear off its socket remember? You almost bled to death... There is nothing left there to pull honey...

- MOOOOOOOOVE! MOOOOOOOVE!

- Security! You need to listen to me now..open your mouth....aaaata girl, now swallow.   Let me see....open your mouth princess..... good. Now if you calm down I'll untie your hands...here you can watch X-Men one more time....

Pierre is in love.

(Painting by Guillaume Seignac)

Fatal, inevitable, inescapable.
A victim of desire, infinite passion and heartfelt obsession.
A dreamer, a warrior of love, a merciless killer.

Pierre is in love again.

Yet Madeline is nothing like poor Columbine.
She is rich, married and endlessly bored;
corrupted, a sinner, a barren, palace whore.

She and her decadent court, without a trace of propriety,
require daily entertainment of extraordinary variety;
young maids and their dogs, local jesters, a juggler with his fiery torch.
Orient dancers and puppeteers,
pantomime to laugh till their eyes are filled with tears.

Still pining for love, all in pantomime,
yet Madeline is so much more than Columbine.

He is enchanted by her honeysuckle smell,
her buttery skin, her beady eyes, the way her dress fell.
The way she moves her fan when she is displeased,
the fan is always closed when she is kissed.

She lets him touch her everywhere,
he is hers to kiss and hers to share.

Still Madeline is no Columbine,
(Pierre's eyes shine)
but she may soon be,
unless she is wise enough to see...


It was the news that her husband
will soon return from his travel,
that this story began to unravel.

Her fan was immediately picked up and forced open at once,
then it started to writhe like a dying fish in her hands:

"You should leave Pierrot.
I shall have you no more!"

Columbine's dead face
broke free from Pierre's sealed memory case.
He saw her writhing in his hand,
just like Madeline's red velvet and lace fan.

She was a liar and a cheat,
dancing around with naked feet,

"the cold lake suits you fine,
ragged and pale Columbine."


His hand around her neck
strangling a tiny scream,
the evil fan falls mutely onto the floor.

Her folded body inside the sack.
It's laden with stones.

It mutely hits the cold lake floor,
and so did the heavy lid on the wooden memory box
until Pierre falls in love again,
and opens up for more.

How I want it.

(painting by Natalie Shau)

"Do you like what you see? Is it playful enough, even for you... I mean?"
"Why? What's wrong with me?"
"I'm sorry kind Sir, I meant no offence..It's just that I went to a lot of trouble to prepare this for you tonight.."
"You did well. I need a minute to prepare. Kneel in front of the chair and let me look at you..now hold still... touch your cheek with your finger...a little lower...yes that's right...look at me... lovely..you look lovely..no don't smile, like that, yes.................. Is that fear I see in your eye?"
"Should I be afraid...Sir?"
"Yes....and no...we'll see."
.............................................................................................

"My knees are aching....can we have a break, I'm not feeling very well..."
"No need for a break, I'm almost done, come and see.."

"All this red..looks weird..."
"Do you like it?"
"Well, it looks all right I guess...but what are all these red spots all over my body?"
"That.... is blood..."
"Blood? Why?"
"Don't look so surprise little girl. It's blood because it's how I want it. Your skin is so white, one needs the distraction, you'll see soon enough...."
"Are we done? I'd like to leave now.."
"I thought you were a brave girl...are you afraid of a little blood? Blood is joy...it's life and it looks so beautiful on your pale skin....no?"
"Now that IS fear isn't it? Don't worry, you will have changed your mind by morning, you'll see..."

The landlady's daughter.

(painting by Natalie Shau)

I will tell you all about it man...you would think that these things only happen in movies and books...well it happened to me man.. and I peed my pants...I am not going back there..not even to pick up my things. Let them have them...I am not going back....Let me tell you man..if you were me, you'd lose your marbles...if you saw what I saw, if you did what I did...

...I am calming down, calming down... I'll tell you, give me a minute here...



You know how hard it is to find a decent place to rent nowadays especially in a city like this...most places are crummy, shabby, begrimed and ridiculously expensive, you can imagine how I felt when I found this flat...I'm telling you it was pure karma, or so I thought at the time.

I was walking uphill past St. Ignatius street, already running out of money and I was desperate man...I couldn't afford to stay in a hotel any longer, I had to find a place to stay, somewhere near my job so I wouldn't have to take the train every morning.......

Do you want to hear the story or not? Then don't rush me man...

Where was I?

Ah yes, walking past St. Ignatius street, map in hand looking for a place and then I saw HER....the most gorgeous girl I had ever seen...She was sooo sweet, a brunette, with eyes as blue as clear skies and skin as white as my grandma's lace......She was wearing a small blue dress and rushed by me...of course she didn't see me..I ran after her for a few blocks but I lost her..

She was the one who opened the freaking door man...that same girl... the landlady's door..


Can I have another coffee please? Thank you..would you like a refill? This is going to be a long story man...yeah get him one too..


Anyway, like I said I ran after her for a few blocks but I lost her near a coffee shope, so I go in for a coffee, I chat with the waitress and she tells me that in her building there is a vacancy and I should check it out...she gives me the landlady's name, the address and everything and so I go.

The building is at the top of the hill overlooking the park, an old Art Deco building, well-preserved, I walk up and ring the bell. ".I am interested in the vacant apartment" I say "On the first floor please.." a woman says, the door opens, I go up  the stairs and before I have the chance to look for the right house a door opens...

that girl I told you about, that dream of a girl opened the door. She was the landlady's daughter man...

That was my thought exactly...this was meant to be.

The mother comes to the door and sends the girl away. She greets me in a polite and somewhat reserved manner and leads me to the vacant flat which turns out to be connected to theirs with a small but otherwise charming anteroom located inside the lady's apartment. Yes.... I thought it strange too but I was overwhelmed with the excellent condition of my flat and with the very low price.

Yes, it was strange that a whole flat was glued to another flat like that, I had never heard it before either. From the outside, it didn't look like there was room for two apartments...but there you go..
Oh, it had a bedroom and a large living room, a small kitched and a new bathroom, large widows overlooking the park, it was perfect for me.

The anteroom? It is funny that you ask about it......I'll tell you.
This was a very small room, quite unlike the rest of the house.... the rest of the building if you ask me.
It had a superb marble floor that you could see your face in, a silk blue wallpaper that glittered against the light, all empty but for a huge piece of heavy, oak furniture, which almost touched the ceiling. The top part was occupied by a large mirror in an intricate carved frame and the bottom part was a double door cupboard with a heavy skeleton key protruding from the key hole. The lady said that it was an antique sideboard from her grandmother's house and rushed to show me my flat.
 Alas...if only I had known that this anteroom would be my torture chamber for the next few months.....I would have flown away..
Mental health and peace of mind are the most important things.... man...... and a man's rest.

Every day I would wake up walk past the anteroom, open the lady's door, which was always unlocked, go through the house, which was usually empty, and go to work.
In the evening I would knock on the lady's door, the daughter would lead me inside. She would smile at me... back then I thought her smile was inviting, promising, if you know what I mean. Then she would lower her eyes and look up at me through her heavy, raven eyelashes like that......her eyes smothered me...her lips parted a little, wet and pillowy and so pink....I always invited her in for a night cap and she always refused. "I couldn't...." she would say "Mother...."

Mother.....that thing never had a mother...that woman was not her mother...she was her pawn, bound to do her bidding..she was not a girl at all man...she was the devil. And the anteroom? That huge mirror touching the ceiling? That my friend was the gate of hell..

Pennsylvania Ballet dancers depict "The Gates of Hell" in the finale of Margo Sappington's Rodin, Mis En Vie
     Photograph by Paul Kolnik


Every other night I could hear voices and sounds coming from the room next door. I would open the door to the mirror room and it would be empty but the noises were there so I figured that my neighbours were having people over...Some nights there were drums and a burning smell but I never found the courage to knock on the door and see what was happening. The whole thing was bothering me....I never had a good night's sleep, I was dragging my feet in the morning....feeling sick all day at work...


Until two days ago, when I saw her again on my way to work. She apologised for all the noise her mothers' guests were making...and she invited me to the next party taking place that night. She said she would knock on my door right after midnight. Her eyelashes fluttered like trapped birds as she said this, man...there was no way I could refuse, no way.

When the clock struck twelve there was a soft knock on my door.

I could hardly recognise the sweet girl I had talked to in the morning.  Her raven hair was wet, dripping on her half bare breasts, and her eyes burnt like torches in a cave. I don't know what was the thing she was wearing because it felt like it slithered on her skin, pleasing her, obeying her every move.
She pulled me inside that small room and closed the door behind us. Tall candles were burning on either side of the antique furniture, filling the room with a sweet and bitter smell, immediately having an effect on me.
"Come" she said and sat on the marble surface of the side board. Her lips parted and she pulled me close into a kiss. My knees felt weak and just as I was about to close my eyes, my gaze fell on the mirror behind her....which was no more.

I saw.....what I saw was..... the face of what I thought it was her mother, a gelatinous, grotesque face of a satyr, appearing where the glass was supposed to be and behind her, an abyss of red flames and miasmal gases tearing harpy-like at a sea of naked bodies swimming in their own blood....but I didn't pull away.
 Hands, claws, teeth and tongues wrapped themselves around my arms as she pulled me even closer to her and I....without fear or remorse rejoiced in her embrace.

I saw what was behind her, I wished I could leave but... I wanted her even more..... I can't explain it, I wanted her more than my own life....I didn't leave, I didn't let go............................................................

When I opened my eyes I saw myself on the glossy marble...the mirror was back on its frame and I was still alive, which was all that matters...right?

Oh, I know, trust me..It never happened in my dreams, It was real......let me show you how I know, try not to freak out...

See? My whole body is covered in them....man..... I wish I knew what I have done....even now I don't regret it as much as I would have liked.......I wish I did..........................................................................

.....that night man?.... I slept with the devil herself.

The Flood

(painting by InsAnnaty)

MacCulloch & Wallis. This is the label of the brown cardboard box, the first in the room, that started floating in front of me a few minutes ago.
 MacCulloch & Wallis Haberdashery. I know it is empty since my mom used the last dressmaker's pins and threads to make me this unthinkable dress which I never bothered taking off though I wish I had.
The box is travelling around the dinner table and under mother's antique chairs, following the ripples of the water that is slowing rising. I can see now that the place is not as clean as my mum had claimed to be because the water is filled with dog hair and dirt that was hiding for God knows how long in the corners of the room, under the heavy furniture and deep inside the thick dark rugs that mum had bought on her last trip to Egypt.
 In a few minutes I will be able to touch the half soaked, travelling box with my fingertips. Having a life of its own,  it is travelling far and wide.
 How strange for mother's box to be wiser than I. The water pushes it to the left it, it follows its will, the water throws it against a wall, it retreats. Yet, here I am sitting in a flooding house, all alone, watching a haberdashery box tour my mother's living room, with a gun in my hands...pathetic.

Unfortunately not all my mother's interests can fit in a box; sewing and knitting kept her company only when the moon was not at its fullest to accomodate her in grave digging, tomb raiding and  witchcraft practicing in search of the one who will release her from the bonds of time that were already taking hold of her body as is usually the case for any person over fifty, something that my mother refused to accept.

It was on the arrival of another MacCulloch & Wallis box that she disclosed the fact that she had finally found what she had been looking for. She had found the man she had spent all her life searching for, the one that would grant her wish; a real, blood-drinking, 400 year-old vampire.
After tracking him down for more than 25 years she had found his ancient tomb, managed to wake him up and kneel before him long enough for her to present her desperate case. The gentleman in question, ' a wonderful creature of incredible beauty ' was moved beyond reckoning by her fiery passion to join the living -dead and had agreed to offer her his blood and take her with him, for ever.

"He told me he will come with the flood Lucinda, and when he does, you should not be here unless....." she said raising an eyebrow.

After that she started working on the dress.

(painting by Wolfmorphine)

The rain started on my way home from that meaningless congregation of tiresome youths and heavy spirits. The night was wasted rather than spent but that was unavoidable in the company of the young yet rich entrepreneurs of this boring city; mother urged me to attend AND wear the dress in question.
The rain grew heavier by the minute and some of the alleys were already flooding when my cab entered the driveway.
'MOTHER! MOTHER!' I shouted running from room to room but all I could hear was the rain slashing against the windows and doors with the force of a thousand whips finding holes and cracks in the walls I never knew existed....

....my thoughts exactly. It is the flood.
Why would I leave?
I have my father's gun to blast the impostor's head off the minute he walks through the door.....

The water is cold and I can feel a draft from somewhere. I can smell wet soil inside my very living room. My candle is dancing frantically against it. This isn't my imagination, can't be.

 MOTHER....I do not want to immerse my feet in the icy cold water, I am so cold already.
MOTHER IS THAT YOU?

A splashing sound and my candle is out. Damn!! I have to light it again...something brushes against my naked knee. I'm on my feet, the water is so cold, my dress is soaked to the hips.

WHO'S THERE? WHO'S THERE?

A spark and the candle flame is resurrected. There is a face behind it, I am not alone in the room anymore. I lift my arm and push the trigger again and again.

BANG! BANG! I fall backwards on the velvet settee.

In a new flood of terror the words die inside my mouth. I gape at the man sitting opposite me and at the wide holes my bullets have inflicted on his jacket. Relaxed and smiling he places the lit candle in the bronze candle holder and sits back crossing his legs under the surface of the water. Another splashing sound and we are not alone in the room anymore.

"Lucinda.... why are you here? I told you to leave unless....." I follow the voice inside the room.

"Mother?" I stammer "Mother, get out!"

I didn't see her entering or walking towards him. Standing upright, her long black hair sizzles against the candle light, the woman stands behing his armchair and wraps her pale arms around his neck. Her full breasts, firm and round, settle behind his neck like ripe fruit while her ruby red lips caress his neck lustfully.

"Yes...it is me. Breathtaking right? she says and glides like a elegant gondola around him towards me.
"Look at me now, daughter!"
Like a marble statue she is, Aphrodite in her 30s. She turns around playfully so I can have a better look at her body, the water whirls fast around her.

She turns to him but he never tears his eyes off me.

"You should have left, now, it is all too late I am afraid.." she whispers looking back at him. "He wants you too. Which is not as bad as you think daughter..." she says and turns around to face me.
My teeth chatter, I am soaked to the bone now, the water licks my breasts and ribs, my hands are blue but I don't feel the cold anymore.

"You will die either way. You will drown and die or he will take you and live..." she says tenderly.

"Mother...please.."

I am not on the settee any more. My body is floating. I turn around and swim towards the window, she has lost her mind, she is not my mother anymore. My fingers lock on the window sill and push the window upwards but it doesn't move. I hit the glass with all my might. I hear screams that must be mine.....I swallow cold water, I can't move my legs, the dress is pulling me down..

A cold hand pulls me backwards, soft touch against my neck, sharp laughter from far away, I can't breathe, the water is too cold, he is pulling me against his body, the water turns red, the water is red,

DAMN HER! DAMN THEM BOTH!

...damn the flood..

Where the end of stories dwell.

(painting by Mark Ryden)


I have been hearing about the land of where the end of stories dwell since I was a little girl.
It is the land of truth, where all questions are answered before they are formed, where all endings meet in retrospection, where all people know and accept; some easily, some with great difficulty, some never.
The land is never praised for the beauty of its natural surroundings though it is green and blue with occassional red because it is said that those brave enough to go don't care to look around as the true end of  their story blinds them with such a sharp light that they care of and can see nothing else.

Once an end-of-stories year, the ends gather in the great meddow of false hopes and sit around the great fire of regret. They burn denial incense and take turns tell their story's end.

My mother used to say that the ends are like lost limbs that nobody wants, because everyone loves the stories but very few are ready to listen to their true end. So the ends left the land a long time ago and live in a place far away, alone with the truth.

I know that my end is sitting around that fire and is reciting an end I know nothing of, an end that I greatly fear and I am sick of being afraid. I hate fear more than anger, less than despair, which completes my range of emotions but no more because, I have decided: I am going to the land where the end of stories dwell to find out the truth about everything there is, and when I know it, all the shrines of misconcetion, misguidance and doubt inside my mind will finally crumble. The light of truth will cast the shadows inside me away and I will never be afraid again.

And so I left.

(painting by Mark Ryden)


I travelled far and wide. For 35 years I never faultered, looked back or regretted leaving.
 The road took me to places I never thought of seeing; the land of the red Lotus-eaters who fed me their ripe fruits of Lithie, almost making me forget my quest. The land of Seekers, who promised me carnal delights worthy of Sheikhs and their throngs of wives and yet I turned away, the people on the banks of Dream who begged me to stay with them because they had run out of fresh dream supplies offering me whatever life I wished in a dream for ever, I left them, nonetheless.

Even when I was captured and tortured by Tromos I clenched my teeth and buried my nails deep inside my palms, forever it seemed, until he grew tired of my tortured body and threw it to the bottomless pit of the Unknown...and yet I went on.
The King of Death himself offered me eternal life in return of the truth I sought and he left empty-handed. I deserved to find the land of the where the end of stories dwell more than anyone else before me.

You always get what you want in life one way or another.

(painting by Mark Ryden)

It was on a crispy Autumn morning that I stood before the gates of where the end of stories dwell.

The tall, wooden gates stood open in front of me and I would never have known I had arrived if it weren't for the sign that stood of a short wooden pole that said:

Brave are the ones who seek a story's true end,
For bitter is the truth, and sharp as knife.
They lived happily ever after never was,
and never will it be part of life.

I didn't like what the sign said, for I was weary, cold and hungry and in search of something bright. However through the gates I went and trod on.
Whether it was a beautiful place or not I'll never know, my eyes were caught by the dead bodies hanging from the fruit ladden trees, rotting away. I stared at them shocked and repulsed.

How terrible can truth be? I asked myself.  The answer to that I was soon to find out.


The sun had started to set when I arrived at the medow of false hopes where small creatures the shape of falling drops were building a fire, quite large for their size.  I looked at them in fascination for they had no eyes, nor mouths, they just glided silently on the ground reflecting on their watery skins the tress and bushes around them.
They took no notice of me as I sat among them and waited.

The sun set fast and the fire of regret was roaring in front of me. The creatures, like mirrors, reflected the orange light everywhere around them, multiple flames danced around me and then one of the fires died and I saw a face swimming in the watery surface of one of the creatures, it was the face of a bearded man in his 50's. He was drinking from a glass and then he collapsed. A little girl came into the room and opened her mouth in a scream and though I could not hear what she was saying I knew the man was dead. Then the belly of the end sitting next to me shone a white light and the face of a small boy appeared. He was walking in a forest all alone picking up something from the ground and calling out, and then two hands appeared from behind him covering his small mouth...

(painting by Mark Ryden)


One by one the bellies of the ends started playing their story's end. My head snapped from one side to the other trying to catch a glimpse of them all. The story of the dead man collapsing was playing over and over, the boy's mouth was covered hundreds of times and still I could not find see myself in any of them.

A small girl lay dead on a pavement, a woman's eyes closed while doctors were running around them, an old man collapsed, a volcano errupted...

I ran around the fire, pushing some ends away so I could see the ones behind, full of agony and despair I started shouting "WHERE IS MY END? WHERE IS MY END?"  but all was mute.

I felt trapped in the most horrible nightmare, I had come all this way for a reason, I couldn't leave empty-handed. My end had to be here among the others and I had to find it. Tears ran down my cheeks, as I continued to run around their mute bodies.

"Why don't I have an end? Don't I deserve one? Happy or sad, I don't care...I came all this way...for nothing...it can't be..SHOW ME! SHOW ME!" I screamed and my voice slapped me back.

The ends kept on playing their stories on their bright bellies and all I saw were people dying in a hundred different ways. Some alone, others with family around them, some naturally others brutally, some easily others with great difficulty, some willingly others by force.

When the people died, the end was replayed, there was nothing else; no after life, no meeting of the loved ones, no memory, no meaning, nothing to wait for...their bellies reflected the fire again for a minute and then the end was replayed..

 There was no magic, no hope, no prize.

 I should never have found this place, I should have taken whatever those I had come across offered me, I should have stayed home.

The people were right to cut the ends of all stories, they do not deserve to be heard...it suits them fine that they are mute in this forsaken place...I hate them.....they deserve to die, all of them to fall into oblivion...they should be the ones to be forgotten not us..not us...

I ran to their small bodies and started kicking at their bright bellies, kicking and screaming, I pulled at where their faces were supposed to be and kicked harder but nothing moved them. I felt my socks and shoes soak after every kick and my hands filled with warm water with every punch.
I brought it to my mouth and tasted the salt in it. The ends were made of tears..

"WHO CARES WHAT YOU ARE MADE OF? YOU SHOULD DIE!!!!!" I screamed.

A bluish-grey smoke then danced out of the fire and coiled in the air above. Its smell was sweet and soothing. I inhaled deedly and opened my mouth of let it out, it washed my tears away.

"This is a lie, a dream...of course, why didn't I see it before...this....all this ...is.......a figment of my imagination...oh  thank goodness.....a lie."

I felt my knees go weak and I collapsed on the ground relieved and exhausted that happily ever after is still an option.

In the end, you always get what you want in life, one way or another.

(painting by Mark Lyden)

"In loving memory"

(drawing by Brian Satalino)

I was never fond of Great Aunt Bertha and whenever she visited us I found all sorts of excuses to stay as far away as possible.

It was her smell.
A strange soapy odour that reminded you of a cheap car air-freshener that burnt your throat and upset your insides. A concotion she probably made herself.

It was her size.
I could have sworn that a small clark truck was hidden beneath her floral  dresses, carrying her through the door. I remember stretching my ears to hear the sound of its motor but all I could ever hear  was the fleshy sound of thighs rubbing against eachother, fighting for some space.

It was her face.
Hidden behind layers upon layers of glistering makeup, pencil-drawn eyebrows and scarlet lips that touched the base of her over-powdered nose.
I never saw what her hair looked like, only raven-black roots managed to escape the captivity of her golden-threaded turban that she always donned.

It was her voice.
Gelatinous and full of phlem that came from her whale-like mouth lined with tiny, gleaming teeth.

The woman was a nightmare and now just because "..it is part of who we are" and "...without our beliefs we are nothing but animals." I have to eat her.


                  .                  .                .

"What a beautiful establishment!" my father said before knocking on the door of the In Loving Memory funeral home.
"The best in town, dear...great aunt Bertha always had a good taste for these things...I read somewhere that they even have their own ovens so everything is freshly made...not like the other times...." my mother said.
"Aunt Bertha is lucky to be taken care of like that..." added my father in a mellow voice.
"Oh please! Let's get it over with" I cut in, took the heavy door knob in my hand and gave it a push on the polished door which opened at once.
"We are here for our aunt Bertha.." said my father softly.
"Please come in, the rest of the family in here already" said a sweet looking lady the colour of organic peach.
Great I thought and my shoulders drooped a little more. True enough, the Flinns, Flosses and Faucets had all gathered for a bit of Bertha!

"Jonathaaaaaan, Bettyyyyy, hellooooo." It was aunt Julie, my father's sister who slid towards us with open arms.
"Kristeeeeeen dear, how much you've grown!" she said and run her jeweled fingers through my hair.
"And what a gorgeous place this is...look at the table, the decorations...this is going to be a great feaaaast!" she said with a small hop on her heels, " we are going to take aunt Bertha inside us with loooove.." she added, closed her eyes and placed her palms on her stomach tenderly.
"With loooove" repeated my parents and touched their bellies. Fortunately, we were interrupted before I had to join in.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, please be seated!" announced a handsome man in his 50's and everyone found their seats, unfolded their soft, red napkins and placed them either on their laps or around their necks. I chose the former.
"I am Mr Pertelis, the owner of In Loving memory and I am honoured to welcome you to Mrs Bertha Flinn's one-year-later feast. We took great care of Bertha this past year and followed her orders to the letter. 27 courses!"

"Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh!"

"Yes, ladies and gentlemen. 27 courses is her lifetime achievement! 27 courses for 30 people..such greatness! Is there anyone form the family that would like to say a few words before we begin?" Mr Pertelis asked addressing the family.

They all looked at eachother mutely until my father rose from his seat and spared them the embarrassment of dealing with the fact that noone knew her that well.

"My dearest family!" my father started "some of you I see only at one-year-later feasts. It seems that the flesh and bones of our relatives keep this family together!" to this everybody nodded in agreement.

"I remember last year at Grandpa Marcus feast....the poor man was so skinny we had to share a plate in two, yet how close did that bring us? Grandpa Marcus meat was stiff and could only produce a thin, meagre, soup but we all were together to share the love of the sacred moment we all took Grandpa Marcus inside us.
Today of course is different. Great Aunt Bertha will feed us all today and probably tomorrow...Mr Pertelis, can we take left overs home?'
Mr Pertelis nodded while wipping a tear from his cheek with the back of his hand.
"We will receive her inside us..."my father resumed, "with love and respect and together we shall bring back memories....until the break of dawn!"

"Here, here!" they all shouted.

"What wine did she reserve for us kind Sir?" my mother asked
"Red Idipnoos of 2006" Mr Pertelis answered proudly.
"Excellent choice...." everyone agreed.
"Well done Bertha!" some shouted.

The side doors opened and a small army of waiters in black tuxedos walked inside the hall.
Candles were lit, bottles were uncorked and red wine filled our tulip glasses...it smelled like a freshly dug grave in an elf forest!

"Ladies and Gentlemen let the Feast begin!"

.              .                 .


"AUNT BERTHA WITH ROASTED BALSAMIC ONION AND THYME SAUCE!"

Good, I thought. All the thyme should cover the car freshener smell.

I don't know whether it is a psychological thing, but while running my tongue around a smell piece of aunt Bertha in my mouth I though I caught a whiff of car... but perhaps it was only aunt Julie's cheap deodorant; she had her arms raised in the air on top of her shouting: "GREAT AUNT BERTHA I CAN ALREADY FEEL YOU INSIDE OF ME....WITH LOVE!"
"WITH LOOOOVE" everybody shouted in reply.

I gulped my lovely red wine and concentrated on the onion but just then the door opened again.

"PEPPER-WINE BERTHA!" Mr Pertelis shouted and another large plate landed in front of me.

"Bu...bu...but I haven't finished with my onions" I said to the waiter who took the vegetables away.
"Kristeeeen, it's all about the meat today, Jonathan haven't you taught her anything?" aunt Julie shouted across the table. My dad pouted his lips and rose an eyebrow in a meaningless facial expression that my mother found adorable.

"I want to be cooked like this!" she said to my father in a flirty tone, brushing her shoulder over his.
"I don't think our family can afford it, sweety but we'll eat you the best we can..."my dad said in the same tone and added "now stop drinking and get some Bertha in there..."

Pepper-wine Bertha's smell made my mouth water so I dug my knife and cut off a piece, it was soft and juicy. I wondered what part of Bertha that was but then I decided that it would be best not to know.
The wine helped me empty my plate...Great Aunt Bertha wasn't so bad after all. Maybe she was never that bad, maybe I was too young and too confused to appreciate her...

"PRIME BERTHA RIB!" shouted Mr Pertelis

"TENDER-BERTHA ROAST!"

"MASALA-CRUSTED BERTHA FILLET!"

"BERTHA GOULASH!"

"PAPARDELLE AL' BERTHA!!!"

The third bottle of wine was placed next to me next to the papardelle. Normally I would go for the pasta first but looking down on my plate I felt heat gathering behind my eyes.
How dare they hide Bertha underneath all the soulless, flour?

I picked up all the pieces of meat I could see and pushed all the pasta in my soft, red napkin..

"Aaaatta girl!" giggled aunt Julie and pushed all her papardelle on top of mine.

"You can feel her inside you already, can't you?......you start to like her?.... she tastes well, doesn't she?"

This confused me. I knew Bertha all my life, why is her tasty flesh making me change the way I remember her?

 Is this why we eat people? To forget all their flaws and sins, to see for ourselves that they were made of flesh and blood so that we will be able to finally let go of our anger and forgive them?

"MINUTE BERTHA WITH CHERRY RED WINE SAUCE!"

"TO BERTHA! MAY SHE BE BLESSED INSIDE US AND FORGOTTEN BY NONE!" uncle Philip announced
"TO BERTHA!!!!" everybody shouted in responce.
"I FEEL YOU BERTHA! I FEEL YOU INSIDE ME ALREADY!" aunt Julie shouted, tears ran down her cheeks and merged with Bertha grease around her mouth.

"BERTHA BOURGUIGNON!'

"BOURBON-GLAZED BERTHA!

"BERTHA TAGINE!"

"BERTHA WITH PAK CHOI!"

"BERTHA CARPACCIO!"

"BERTHA AND BOOZE CASSEROLE!"

My belt fell on the floor, I needed the extra space inside me for more...Bertha was unstoppable, my hunger for her was insatiable. My mouth filled and emptied, my eyes closed, the red wine pushed it all down like the tides.

Why did I despise her so much?

It was her smell.
A soft soapy smell that spoke volumes of a lady that kept herself clean.

"LARDEN BERTHA BLADE WITH PRUNE AND PISTACCIO TOPPING!"
"BRESAOLA!"
"CHILLY CON BERTHA!"
"RAGU!"

It was her size.
A fully grown woman, full of scrumptious  juices flowing inside of her, sweet and tender.


"PENANG BERTHA CURRY!"
"BERTHA PATTIES!"
"PIRI PIRI BERTHA!"
"BERTHA MIXED PAELLA!"

It was her face.
Funny...I can't really recall her face but I'm sure I can recall her healthy, small, bright eyes. They must have been clear,  brown and tender.

"BERTHA RICHELIEU WITH MADEIRA SAUCE!"
"IRISH CODDLED BERTHA!"
"STICKY CHIPOTLE BERTHA!"

It was her voice.
Sizzling and crispy. Moist and creamy. Crunchy and spicy.

I felt the hot tears on my cheeks and I bowed low almost kissing the tender loin.

"I ... love you Bertha! I LOVE YOU BERTHA!!!! OH HOW MUCH I MISS YOU!!!!"

Aunt Julie's greasy fingers were wrapped around my face. Her spicy breath entered my nostrils, she was weeping too.
"We love her, that's why we must eat her whole, sugar" she whispered.

"CHATEAUBRIAND!"

The plate looked so sweet in front of me. I was happy it didn't have sauces covering Bertha's flesh.
I let my fork slide down my fingers and took the first piece of Bertha in my hands. I closed my eyes and took in her smell. Sweet and bendy.
My jaws grabbed the meat and bit on it hard. It broke without complaint and left a red smudge on my tongue before I pushed it down with wine.

"KOKORETSI!"

Bertha intestines wrapped around her smaller inner organs challenged me. Eating them would be my ultimate act of love and it was something I had never done before. I closed my eyes and hovered above my plate.
I remembered her warm smile, her small teeth more glittery than her gold turban, soft body soft hands, and chewed on her liver with contentenment.

This was dessert!

School's out.

It was the end of year celebration at the school of St Bernard. There were plays, dances and concerts, the kids were outstanding and the parents in tears and full of pride for their offspring.
The night ended with an amazing rock band singing "...sweet dreams are made of this...". The lead guitarist had the air of a super star and the girls screamed his name in adoration...

Alas, this glorious night was doomed to end in horror.
The Headmaster, Mr Sotan,  took the microphone and announced that the doors of the school gym were sealed shut and that none of them was to come out alive. It was his time to get revenge.
Mr Sotan took a remote from his jacket pocket and hit the button that opened the roof above with a loud metallic screetch. Bight moonlight sneaked inside the hall with the first crack.

However at first none paid much attention to him; he was always a nagging sort of a man, always complaining about this and that, with no friends or family to speak of. But then he started to change in front of their wide open eyes.

His corduroy jacket was ripped in pieces revealing giagantic scaly wings and his patent leather shoes burst under the weight of smoky hooves that burned the wooden planks underneath.
He was a man no more.

Some children screamed, more ran to their parents, a few just stared numb with fear but three of them, the members of the rock band, stood still at the very back and gave the wickedest of smiles.  They were not surprised by their headmaster's gruesome nature, they did not fret, they knew and they had come prepared.

Meanwhile, Mr Sotan spread his wings on top of everyone's head. The headlights above them gave them a bloody red colour and made them look almost transparent so that everybody could see the veins and bones inside them that spread like gigantic roots from the shoulders of this Headmaster demon to the scales on their surface.

The beast roared and black smoke emanated from its nostrils the size of wine barrels. Then it spoke with a raspy, crackling voice, the words came slowly out of his mouth, distorted and some meaningless.
It said: " MON...GRELS,       TYRAN....TS,         DEVOU...R..."

The rock band looked at the parents around them falling on their knees shouting prayers and crossing themselves. Like cowards there were trying to hide under the buffet table of behind chairs suffocating the children in their arms.

"Disgusting" the boy with the guitar said. "They are good at scolding, shouting and working other than that they are completely useless.."
His huge, brown eyes were on fire,  he looked fierce, with his Mohawk hair dyed blue for the occasion and his dark complexion; he looked like one of those Manga warriors with super karate powers and sharp swords. He felt like one too.
"I know" said the pretty girl next to him. Her eyes were glued on her mother who was shouting her name in tears, holding a tiny gold cross up towards the beast. "Pathetic!" she said and like a rubber band she sprang on the metallic beam above her and started crawling towards the head lights above the former Headmaster.
She was a singer, a dancer specialising on acrobatic stunts.
"Let's do this!" said the boy next to the Manga warrior. This was the drummer, a blond, plump boy with large blue glasses and brains to match Stephen Hawking.

The Manga warrior, Stephen Hawking and the Acrobat were the only people in the school who knew about the Headmaster. The Manga warrior, the leader of the band, was the one who had seen him first.

You see at the previous full moon Mr Headmaster had pulled the same stunt at the local park and though there wasn't any visible audience the Manga warrior happened to be cutting through the park on his way back from band rehearsal. He hid behind a bush and saw his Headmaster go back to his old form the minute a cloud hid the full moon sentencing them to temporary darkness; it was all the Manga warrior needed to see to know that the man was a Beast in literally tearms as well.

Back to the school, the Headmaster, started grabbing whoever happened to be near and shoved him down his throat. There was hysteria and terror but at least there was no blood spilt; the Headmaster was thorough.

The acrobat jumped from beam to beam and stood right above him, Stephen Hawking took out the timer and counted the seconds away.

The moon was as red as guts and so big nothing could keep the Headmaster at bay but then something happened.

It was the eclipse...

The Beast did not expect this, despite the fact that he was a Science teacher for 15 years before his promotion to Headmaster, he never cared about it which cost him his life.

The rope came from above and took him by the thoat and by surprise. There was no cloud in the sky and the Moon had conspired against him...he thought.

A loud roar escaped from the bottom of his throat and he fell forward right on top of the Warrior's sword which penetrated the whole body and came out on the other side; yet no blood was spillt.

"Rip him now before the moon hides completely and he turns human, do it!" Stephen Hawking orderd the Warrior who with one slash unzipped the deamon's chest and belly just in time to get the people out.

Then the moon disappeared and the Headmaster's gutted, spreadeagled body lay on the floor, dismantled, almost unrecognisable.

Everyone was silent and still. Noone could believe what had taken place tonight.

The Manga warrior threw the bloody sword on the floor and picked up his quitar.

When the police and paramedics came to open the doors for them the first thing they heard was the guitar and the Manga warrior singing an old Maiden song:

" What did I see?

Could I believe?
That what I saw that night was real and not just fantasy...."



In search of an idea

(painting by William-Adolphe Bouguereau )

Dearest Visitor,

I am searching for an idea, something that will trigger an interesting story.

If you are a reader or if you just happen to drop by and you have an idea that you think will make a good story please share it with me and I will do my best to make it come alive. I will publish it right here for your pleasure, comments and suggestions.

Thank you in advance,

Alithia

P.S. Comments have been enabled so you don't need to have an account. Those of you who have tried and failed, please please give it another go.

Queen Bitch

                                                      (painting by Carrie Ann Baade)


Her: "Stop staring at the ugliness and consider the loneliness
          of being what I am, for you.
         Consider the fact that I am the only one strong enought
         to play the part of the monstrous, the obscene,
         the abominable, the cruel.


        Does the truth start to swim into view? (not yet?)


        I am what I am because you are imbecile and naive,
        feeble and weak.
       You need someone like me to rule,
       to think and choose what's good for you,
       to tell you what to do,
       I am you...because you want me to."




Me: "You crept inside me when I wasn't looking
          and when I looked I found you there,
          waiting for me, yet I didn't care.


         In time you bear more fear and despair,
        you poison the water and the air,
         you are my queen because I am mad,
         I want you dead...no...yes....this makes me sad."




Her:   "Take this knife and cut me out,'
            I'll leave, I swear, you'll be without
           the saddness, the fear, the despair
          you'll never fear death again.."




Me: "I'll cut you right after tonight is gone,
         just stay the night, it won't take long.
        We'll share tonight's fear and despair,
       wrap your tentacles around me,
       (don't we make a lovely pair?)
        Make me feel the sickness and the dread
        just this night
       before I cut you with the knife...like last night."





Me: ( I think you are beautiful)
Her: (I know...it's time to go)