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)

Conclusion: Revelation

(art by Sui Yumeshima)

A month has passed and I am still waiting for her to come to me. I dare not leave my chambers in case  I miss her. I do not care for food or drink...or sleep. I have become a ghost of my former self, I feel I have lost everything and yet I feel nothing.

It is late in the afternoon and I am lost in thoughts and memories in front of the fire and I know that I am not alone anymore, there is someone behind me, staring at me so I turn around.

"Cl...." the word dies in my mouth as soon as my eyes fall on his face.

"Richard" I exhaled, "Is it really you? You are alive like she said..."

I ran to him with arms open wide and I locked my lips on his cheeks..

"My dear...dear love." I said " You are so cold...please come closer to the fire; we have so much to say.."

I felt his fingers running through my hair sending cold shivers down my spine, he said nothing until we both heard the door opening and Clainia stepped inside the room.

She looked different, cold and pale almost dead. She looked at me and Richard who opened his embrace to let her in too.

"What is this? What's going on?" I took a step and looked at them both.
"Show her!" he commanded never leaving me out of his sight. "SHOW HER!" he shouted.

Clania took a small knife out of her small pocket of her dress and made a deep cut across her wrist.
Blood trickled onto the floor and I saw her slither towards me.
"Drink" she said "Drink fast, and discover the truth"
She took my head in her hands and I saw the blood running over her elbow, its smell filled me with pain and fear, I tried to pull away but she held me fast.
"You have done this before" she said with clenched teeth, "Drink and let the blood speak"

"FINISH THIS NOW!" he ordered impatiently.

Hatred, anger and despair took over me. I wanted this to end, I wanted to understand and so I sealed the open wrist with my tongue.

Her blood filled my head, it drowned me.

 I heard her voice coming from her blood and her words painted pictures in front of my eyes, she showed me the truth.    
  (click and scroll down for the English version)

.............................................................................................................................................................

                  (painting by Caravaggio)

"And so it is done...at last....just like I wanted.."

Richard was lying on my large bed, hands behind his head, enjoying his view.

"Come my brides...join me"

Our heads turned towards him and holding hands we climbed the bed, Clainia on his left and I on his right.

"I was right, wasn't I?" he said looking at Clainia but this time he was the one doing all the talking.

Clainia placed her head on top of his and sealed his mouth with hers in a passionate kiss while I reached for one of the two old swords  decorating the wall above the bed.

Richard moaned with pleasure and pulled Clainia's dress down her shoulders.

"I am ready" I announced softly and Clainia pulled back.

Together we forced the blade on his neck. Four hands and a mighty will separated Richard from his head which was cast straight into the fire.
Clainia stabbed him at the heart and tore it out making sure that he will remain dead for all eternity.

And thus release came for the both of us at last.

Part IV: Initiation

                                         (painting by Auguste Renoir)


Standing side by side we watched our metamorphosis to our former selves. My red hair gradually turned to gold and my breasts threatened to tear the cheap shirt I was wearing. Clainia still looked gorgeous in the green dress she had on....she should keep it, as a remembrance of a magic month of princesshood...

"Ok, now we have to decide..." I said dropping the rags I was wearing onto the floor.
"There is nothing to decide; it is you he wants..." she said matter-of-factly.
"He doesn't like the way you dress and I think he is a little bit afraid of you" I added softly.

"Everyone seems to be afraid of me.." she said looking at me straight in the face.
"I am not afraid of you, I love you, I know what you are and what you can do..."
"Then come with me tonight..." she said. I could hear the challenge behind those five words.

"Where?"

"In the forest of course, where witches are made..." she sang.
"I thought witches are born not made."
"Some are born...but there is a kind that you can make.."
"Which one?"
"The kind that is willing to make a great sacrifice..." she said and her green eyes shimmered.
"And if that kind makes the sacrifice, then what, do they become a witch like you?"
"No, not like me, no herbs and potions for...that kind...something greater...darker." Her smile was lost, she was not looking at me anymore and then before I knew it she was back.
"Will you come then, you can always change your mind and just watch...it will be interesting.."

I started to brush my long hair which had lost its lustre due to brutal neglect on her part.
"Is that a leaf? Clainia, you should really take better care of yourself, you know!"

"Will you come?" she whispered.

"Yes." I said and went on counting the brush strokes "10, 11....."

....................................................................................................................................................................

(art by Andreea Cernestean)

                             

                                             

"Hear the silence of my beating heart,

Hear me Goddess of the Moon,

I am here to give and not to ask,

Help me perform this sacred task.."

The trees shook and the dark clouds hid the full moon. Darkness covered us like a heavy cloak but Clainia went on and the women who had gathered around us continued to chant:

"Hear us..hear us..."

Clainia went on in a voice I could not recognise"

"Thy power brings me no fear
your voice whispers beside me
only ecstasy, simple-pure and clear
an unending, orgasmic high comes free
immortality my sacrifice YOUR TRUST
this song of darkness in full moonlight
your shadows hiding my lust."

The candles around her were suddenly lit, one after the other they closed the circle around her.
"Hurry!" she shouted inviting me in. As soon as I entered the circle the fire sealed it.

On the ground there was a chalice filled with red wine, a wide Celtic drum and a large wooden bowl filled with some emerald liquid that looked like paint.  She offered me the chalice and I drank; it was strong wine.
Clainia's eyes fell on the necklace around my neck.

"Where did you get that?" she asked looking confused.
"Richard gave it to me..its Lapis Lazuli in gold...I wanted to wear something nice for the occasion..."

"Drink" she said and taking my hand she placed my fingertips inside the green paint. Then she buried her nails in the ground and lifted the moist soil only to throw it on the ground again.

"Drink" she whispered and drew two large feathers from her cleavage and shook them on top of my head.
 The chalice was drained, the red wine was gone and I was euphoric.
"I am ready" I proclaimed standing up.
Clainia, still seated, picked up the drum and started to play. Louder and faster the tune went and I started to dance. I turned around and around to the sound of the drum until all of a sudden the music stopped and the candles went out.
I saw all the women around us approaching me and Clainia  withdrawing in the shadows.
My lapis lazuli necklace fell on the ground and before I could protest my dress fell on top of it.

The women left without a sound and as I stood there naked I felt the silver moonlight on my skin, there were dark clouds no more. Its light was stronger than the sun's and what it revealed to me left me breathless and cold.
Richard, my darling Richard, was tied to the tree right opposite me, unconscious he seemed, with his head hanging loosely from his neck.

"What is this?" I shouted
"This is the sacrifice you should make.." Clainia said standing right next to him.
"What do you mean?" I shouted
"His blood must be drunk... by you tonight." she said and revealed the madness inside of her.
"I SHALL NOT DO SUCH THING!" I shouted and picked up my dress.
"If you want the power, then you must."
"I want you to untie him and take him home where he belongs...with me!"

"I cannot do that Eleanor..." she said and smiled.

I remember her coming towards me, I could see her holding the bowl with the emerald paint, my fingers were soaked with it, they were itching me.
"Eleanor..." she beckoned

As much as I try to bring back the rest of the night, the images leave my mind like water in cupped hands.
Morning found me under that tree and Richard was nothing but a corpse hanging by the ropes..she had killed him, she had done it, there could be no other way, there's nothing more to remember...nothing....or is there?



( Two women, two parallel stories, read Clainia's side of the story at matiasmeni.blogspot.com in her own tongue (or in google translation) or just click on the title of this post to go directly there. Lady Eleanor's side of the story will continue here.)

Part III: Retrospection

(painting by William Adolphe Bouguereau)


How could I go back to bed after this? I sat in front of the fire and watched the dancing flames. They reminded me of the last time Clainia was in this room, it feels like ages ago, sitting in front of the fire making the flames dance to the tune I was singing. The flames changed direction before my eyes, rising in the high tones and falling in the low ones. It was wonderful to watch, Clainia could do everything for a few laughs. I began singing the song in a low voice;

"Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme
remember me to the one who lives there,
he once was a true love of mine....."

I was startled to feel  the tears trickling down my cheeks just as I was startled to see my best friend turn into my worst enemy.

"How did it come to this?"

I weapt for all the games we played in the forest, for the stories we told one another in front of the fire, for the secrets she revealed to me, for our songs in the lake, for the promise we gave one another to always be friends no matter what....

(painting by Sir John Everette Millais)

Then one morning Richard came to the castle, the distant cousin we hadn't seen for such a long time. He was a man now, but still his eyes sparkled like when he was five.

He was such a challenge and we were so bored, with nothing new to play. I wanted him for myself and so did Clainia but who would he choose?

"Of course, Clainia if you start your potion- making and you spell-casting then of course he will choose you..."

"I would not do such thing if you don't want me to......but you will lose either way."

"No, he'll pick me..."

"Because of your title and estate and your father's power, isn't that a kind of magic?"

"What would you have me do? Deny my father and my privileges to have Richard.....be real!"

"We could switch places...." she whispered

"What are you talking about....switch places...how?"

"Well you become me and I become you. We will see how he treats us and then we will decide who gets him..." she said with a smile "I can do it, with the right herb that is....well? Don't tell me you are afraid..."

"Do I have to wear your rags?"

"Rags, shoes and all! For a moon." she said.

"A MONTH!!! A month is a long time don't you think? I..."

"It takes a moon for the effects of the potion to wear off..."

I thought about it for a moment but I could tell by the way she looked at me that she knew I wouldn't refuse, and she was right, this was a new game, a game I had never played before..

"All right but I you need to wash all your clothes and your hair properly and brush it, and cut your nails and...."

"You can do all that when you are inside me..."

"And what will YOU do?" I asked with a crooked smile.

"We'll see....We'll have to go herb hunting now, I need a fortnight to prepare the brew..."

(painting by John William Waterhouse)

And so she had and our bodies were switched. A wicked game it was, one we were not ready to play...

( Two women, two parallel stories, read Clainia's side of the story at matiasmeni.blogspot.com in her own tongue (or in google translation) or just click on the title of this post to go directly there. Lady Eleanor's side of the story will continue here.)

Part II: Parley

(Art by Angie Mcleod)

"You shouldn't have come here....GUARDS!" I shouted.

"I am here to talk, there is noone outside to come to your rescue.."

"What have you done?"

"I gave them some well-deserved rest...Now get dressed!" she said and threw the white night gown on my feet. My hands trembled as I pulled the fabric over my head, I didn't know if I was feeling more fear than anger.

I walked to the fireplace and threw a log into the fire.

"When are you going to stop hunting me?" she asked with a pained expression on her face.
"When you are dead." I answered without meeting her gaze.
"I didn't kill him." she said

"I saw him dead. I saw him with my own eyes."

"I know you did, but our eyes do not always tell us the truth."

"I know what I saw..." I snapped

"Yes but do you know what you did that night, what really happened before you found him dead in the morning?"

I closed my eyes to hide my guilt and shame but the dancing flames behind my lids didn't grant me refuge. The Witching hour. I had agreed to it, I had even demanded it and now I could not hide from it.

My head felt heavy on my shoulders I let it fall.

"Do you want to know?" I heard her whisper in my ear and  turned around in panic.

She was standing right behind me, the same height as mine, her red hair swimming around her face with a life of its own, she had magic to her very bones.

"Why don't I remember then?"
"Because you chose not to.."

"You betrayed me, you never cared.." I complained.

 She shook her head in frustration, I caught glimpses of green as her eyes moved in front of the flames.

"I need a moon's time to rest and then you will see Richard again. Maybe he can explain better than I."

I was stunned by her words and said nothing. She turned her back on me and started to walk to the door.

"A moon's time!" she shouted  and was gone.

( Two women, two parallel stories, read Clainia's side of the story at matiasmeni.blogspot.com in her own tongue (or in google translation) or just click on the title of this post to go directly there. Lady Eleanor's side of the story will continue here.)