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)

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)

9 days

Day 1

After a long, treacherous journey I arrived in Stuttgart and went straight to the glass palace where I was supposed to spend the night. Cold beer and warm food, satisfied me fully and I rested well.
The King and his brother invited me to breakfast in the open gardens of the city and under a glorious sun I explained the purpose of my visit. She had been sighted not many days ago and rumours had it that she had fled to Zurich. I intended to find her at all costs.

Day 2

Switzerland was darker and its roads less inviting in comparison with the large carriageways of Germany. I arrived in Zurich in mid-afternoon and ran to the river where I knew she would be hiding. I ran to the boats but the boatman was gone which I found very peculiar.
I lay under the statue of the deer to gather my strength feeling all dark inside. Soon afterwards my men recovered the body of the poor boatman under the bridge. The man's insides were spilled in the water.
"Basel, to Basel..." he muttered just before his last breath escaped his lungs, and so to Basel I fled.

The King welcomed my to his quarters at the Rathaus, where Knights of old found refuge in days past. I walked along the river and among the beautiful buildings that littered the river banks but there was no sight of her or her victims, no sight of evil, only a cold breeze coming from the river sending its ripples to my feet. She had escaped to France, most likely Paris, so I decided not to linger another moment.

Crossing the border to France was not an easy business mainly due to my poor French and the fact that the gate master refused to use a different tongue though I had the feeling that he understood me perfectly.

Eventually, the night found me in French soil and in the first inn I came across right after the border.

My poor Frech barely allowed me to order dinner, I just said 'oui' to most of my landlady's questions.

The white plate was immediately filled with red blood as soon as my knife and fork pierced the surface of my steak, perhaps the lady had thought I was a vampire and interested in consuming raw flesh. I pushed the plate away disgusted and pained. I was indeed very hungry. The lady took the plate rudely away, I barely had the chance to mutter something about soup.

"Cassoulet" she muttered and threw a steaming bowl of floating white, meaty things in front of me. A large ladle protruded from the bowl whose brown liquid overflowed. I couldn't bring myself to taste this horrid looking concotion.

I spent the night struggling to keep the filthy blankets as far away from my skin as possible. I was certain that my horse had a better fate than me that night.

Day 3

The Kingdom of Luxemburg turned out to be a haven for my tortured body. I decided to spent the night there, one last night before I enter the city of Paris and meet my fate.
Anna and Jean the two blessed housekeepers took excellent care of me and my men and managed to vanguish my hunger with a superb duck that Jean had prepered just for us. Kind Anna tried to explain to me that Cassoulet is a very good traditional dish and that I was misfortuned enough to run into a bad cook. I wish I had more time at their home to give the dish a second try.
The language was no barrier here where the kindness of these hospitable people was a tongue on its own. A little bit of English, some Spanish, a little German and a kind heart spoke volumes of these fine people.
The heavenly smells made our mouths water. These kind people did their best to provide us with the best accomodation possible and I rewarded them generously.
I took the time to roam the glorious streets of Luxemburg feeling nothing but awe and envy for this jewel of a city.  The bells were ringing, and square after square opened before me like magic before my feet led me to the thick forest that enveloped the city in its fregrant embrace. The city gave me strenght and courage for my gruesome task that lay ahead and the flowers falling at my feet, like a blessing bid me farewell.
I would gladly exchange the land of my forefathers to dwell in this place, how I wished again and again that I could stay just a little longer but Paris awaited and with it a terrible doom.

Day 4

I knew Paris was bad news for me the moment I stepped my foot down. I was not welcomed here. The people addressed me like they had dung under their noses and dung is all I smelt in this vast city.
I found a place to stay and waited for 45 minutes just to be able to get my keys to my door from the indifferent housekeeper who told me I had to pay 25 gold pieces just to get my towels renewed the next day. My horse had to stay on the road and there was noone to take care of it. My window overlooked a pile of rubbish and manure and I was the only one of the tenants who seemed to be disturbed by this but I had found a place to stay for me and my two companions so I kept quiet. My plan was to stay in the city for three days and finish the deed I had set out to perform.
I began my search of the area around the centre of the city where at 5 o'clock in the afternoon I was attacked by a coloured prostitute inside a carriage who for no reason threw a bucket of soap on my face and cursed my soul in rapid French. I decided to move forward and pay no attention to the poor woman who for some reason I cannot fathom felt threatened by my presence. And so I moved nearer to the centre of the city where I began to look for her trail of victims if there were any.

I proceeded to the Hotel des Invalides because I thought that this would be the ideal place for her to get food and I was right. Five open coffins lay open in the church of Saint-Louis, being dead less than three days. Their throats were opened and their guts ripped. I tried to find a person to talk to about this and to warn them about her presence but noone seemed willing to put the language barrier aside.
I wept for these men and for all the people who were going to meet this fate but there was nothing more I could do.
At nightfall I went for a meal of dirty glasses and absurdly expensive trash and went to bed feeling exhausted and helpless.

Day 5

                       (Digital Art by Magrad)

On the fifth day I left my companions at the inn for a well-deserved rest and visited Montmatre. The area was filled with decadent cabarets, drunks and whores, an ideal place for a Succubus to hide and seek food. It seemed that my prey had Paris in mind all along and so didn't linger to my other destinations. I only had a small painting of her to guide my search but I knew she was a shape shifter and extremely good at the art of deception, but I was going to take my chances. I couldn't go back home empty handed. I went inside the first cabaret I saw and took my diary out to write a few more words. By the time I had finished my sentence I saw a stunning woman stabbing me with her violet eyes. She was the most beautiful creatue I have ever seen, so angelic, so pure. I know I am wasting precious time with her but she is the one woman I have to meet. I will order another drink and one for her if she is willing to drink with me..

Day 6    Louvre Meat

(painting by Rembrandt)

He travelled far and wide to find me and that is so flattering. He was a very flattering man. I usually don't enjoy seducing men and killing them afterwards but he was really worth all the trouble I took, and this diary...ah I love diaries! Never kept one but always loved them. I have decided to finish wtiting this journey for him. After all there are only four days left to complete it. I see that he has written nothing about who he was and what he did. As far as he told me his name was Theodore and he came all the way from the Balkans. He was after me ever since I paid a visit to his village a few months ago and though I remember nothing of it, which means it was nothing special, he seemed to be holding a grudge for everything that took place. Some people cannot let go...

I let him have me as much as he liked, I gave him pleasure, but I am what I am and so I broke his neck and bled him dry. Then I tore him open and ate, because this is what I do. I hope the future readers of this diary don't think badly of me. This is what life after death turned out to be for me. But I'd rather have this than nothing at all...

Anyway, I let his body there and went out to get some fresh air. His people will claim him and take him home whereas I might as well go on with my journey.

Paris has a certain kind of air that is devoid of flowers and sweet smells, it's all meat!

That is why I go to the Louvre every day.

I like to see the people of the museum look at the tourists with disgust, like flies that just never go away. They are tired of them, yet there is nothing they can do but tolerate them with as little affection as possible.

 Their noses looking up at the ceiling, the women are the worst but it's the men I am most interested in. I know people think that I am a threat to the tourists but I feel nothing more than pity for them. Baking under the sun, women with stollers, small children, old men and women, waiting for hours and hours just because the people in charge are not interested enough to open another ticket desk. Tourists are mistreated as it is, it is the others that I take home with me. You'd be surprised how many languages they speak when they are in trouble!

Day 7  The Versailles massacre

I could have visited the Palace in the dead of night but I like the smell of many people in enclosed spaces and I was feeling lonely. A girl like me cannot hold friends for long and I like to have some company around me.
 So I decided to wait outside with the crowd. It was 10 o' clock in the morning and there were about 700 people queuing in a neat file all waiting to enter a very small door in the distance to get their tickets. Two hours later and the line hadn't moved much. More people had come and more were coming. An Asian lady behind me with a baby in a stroller went to the man at the gate, more than 100 metres away and told him that her baby was baking in the sun and asked for permission to enter. The man's profile frowned and he aswered something in French pointing to the queue where I was standing. Now that is the kind of man I usually invite to dinner.

I know what they say about the women of my kind; the sun is a killer and we roast on the spot. Hell! I wish that were true. The only thing that sun does to me is get on my nerves, so after 2 hours of waiting with my fellow tourists, I left...but I didn't go too far -if you know what I mean!-

I know that you are waiting for all he gruesome details of my feeding but I will leave some things to your imagination. What I will say however is that the King's bed was not as comfortable as I thought nor as large. The man at the entrance was found the next morning swimming with the fishes in the beautiful gardens of the palace.

Day 8   Brussels

Nourishement aplenty, more beautiful than ever but still I was happy to leave Paris. All this white dirt around every single momument worth visiting went straight into my eyes with the slightest of breezes.
Ladies covered in dirt, shoes losing their colour though nobody seemed to care.
 I still don't see why the French haven't discovered gravel yet. With that mystery in mind I packed my bags and called for a carriage. Brussels is my next stop.

This is where I spent my one day in Brussels. The Grand Place is truly grand and so were the people around me. I felt kind of sad because the next day I was bound to return to my castle and stay there to rest for a while but I managed to relax in this beautiful place and chose not to eat because I was still heavy from the previous night.
In one of my afternoon strolls I visited the local hospital, I think I was attracted by the smell of it. This particular hospital was very clean and tidy and there was a lady doctor in charge who at that particular time was alleviating a young woman's pain. The doctor spoke softly and gave the woman medicine which helped her immediately. I became rather fond of the doctor and kept my distance.


Day 9      Rapeseed

   (painting by Joseph Mallord William Turner)

It is here in Cologne on the banks of the Rhine that I will part with this diary for ever. Firstly because this is my last stop before I go home and secondly because this turned out to be a fine city indeed. Crispy clean with friendly people and good food for those interested in such things. I wish I could stay here another day but I run on a tight schedule and home calls.
Very rarely indeed do I get the chance to roam the world  and every time I do I discover that it has changed and I have to discover all the familiar places once again. May this diary be witness to all that happened in these last 9 days and deter people from ever coming after me again.

It's the rapeseeds that always welcome me home. Yellow is the colour of sleep that I crave most of all right now. I am tired and homesick and full of blood, I am content.
Here's to Theodore who inspired me to write, may he rest in peace, I know inside me he already does!
My castle is not far from here, surrounded by two small rivers which like small water snakes coil around it to their cool embrace. I love its stone bridge than connects it to the rest of the world, its small courtyards and all its possessions which I have collected over the centuries. I shall not say more of it because I do not wish to temp the reader into finding it or into claiming what is mine.

This is the end of this journey and I wish you all farewell.

With unsatiable hunger for your flesh,

AlithiaPes

All the words-she-left-unsaid

All the words-she-left-unsaid have retreated on the roof of her mouth turning textures into grains.

Then, she swallowed hard to be rid of them because causing problems is the last thing she wanted, so they went down and into the bloodstream, seeking to return to the royal palace, where they were born.

Their journey had been in vain.

Soon, the familiar crystal grounds lay before them.

The glass palace of her brain was crammed with visitors, passers-by and refugees,

many of whom were gathered outside the glass doors waiting to be received,

something which was rarely refused.

The doors slowly opened and a tiny creature with small ears and a huge mouth made his announcement:

"New Secrets and New Lies, New Ideas, New preconceptions, New Pains, New Guilts and New Angers and Fears, welcome to her majesty the Architect!

As you know, there is room for everyone, however, you need to be patient for we need to avoid desperation at all costs.

We have prepared an excellent buffet for you all, in the garden of imagination,

where you can rest, eat, get fat and become obsessions.

When your number comes up, which can be at any time, you shall enter the dome and find your assigned drawer. Thank you for your patience."

Everyone walked to the garden of imagination for the amazing feast, all but all the words-she-left-unsaid.

They were not new, so they could not follow the others.

Soon the doors opened again and another funny creature appeared. This one had no eyes, only huge ears hanging from the sides of its head. In its hands, it was holding a thick leather volume.

"May I be of some assistance?" he said with a soft voice.

All the words-she-left-unsaid climbed the steps and presented their case.
Since they were unsaid and not new where should they go?
"We had no choice but to come back to our birthplace."
"No, no, no, no...." said the small creature. "You cannot stay here, it's not healthy! You should find another way out soon, or you'll turn into ghosts!!!!"
"Ghosts..." muttered all the words-she-left-unsaid.
"Another way out..." this was unheard of..
All the words-she-left-unsaid looked at each other in fear and awe.
"Yes, yes, yes..:" said the creature. "I shall give the order to the hand to fetch a pen and at the right moment you have to jump out, timing is crucial here!" said the little thing.
"You should leave immediately, you have overstayed as it is...you look a bit airy already... and smell the air..anger is rising. There will be a storm unless you get out of here. We don't want another flood...no,no,no,we're still mopping from the flood of 2004." The little scared creature looked up at the red sky, as if it could actually see it.
"A spark of insipation will carry you to the assigned place"
"Maybe we should wait for her at the feast.." all the words-she-left-unsaid said.
"Hell no! The last thing we want is to get you fatter than you already are...Aaahh..I am told that she is here. Goodbye, I hope I never hear the same of you again!" said the thing and went inside the glass palace.
The spark of inspiration raised its sails and carried them though the beating heart, to Cape Right Hand.
Then the Hand started to move and pure light fell on ther feeble heads. Their time had come, they will not be unsaid any more.
One by one they joined the light:

You-stole-it-you-sick-little-thief jumped first and turned to light.

You-died-before-i-had-my-chance dived and let out a joyful shout.

I-still-crave-for-your-acceptance danced in the air.

Stop-undermining-my-intelligence-you-fat-bitch turned into smoke and disappeared.

I-won't-buy-you-anything-else-unless-i-get-my-money-back turned into a smudge and lost all consciousness.
I'm-sorry-for-not-being-there-I'm-just-not-strong-enough was washed away by a passing tear.

I-hate-seeing-your-distorted-grumpy-face-all-the-time turned into a smile.

You-are-obsessed-and-full-of-guilt-stop-harassing-me broke the pencil....

thank goodness all of them were out...or were they?

Poor I-need-more-time-to-write stood there trapped and watched its small limbs disappear....




(painting by Octavio Ocampo)