Mi Tortura (HTB)

(Chapel of All Saints, Kutna Hora, Czech Republic)


No one can sacrifice a person on the altar (or elsewhere for that matter) better than I.
By trusting my inner wisdom in the art, I know how to give a clear and easy death to my offerings without looking twice at the material at hand.
Thin, fat, muscular, bony, woman, man, they all die gracefully in my hands. 
I cut, slice, poke, carve, cleave, dissect, hack, sever, flay..all according to the cult I work for at the time. I am the one who does it all and does it well!

I don't need any bloody book to remind me of my lines. I know all the books by heart. Their grammar and intonation, punctuation and articulation, I know it all!
 For the past 14 years I have sacrificed hundreds of people gracefully, respectively and sometimes spectacularly.
Yes, I have made mistakes but mistakes are a vital part of the learning process. Having made mistakes does not mean that I deserved the job at the High Temple of Blood (HTB) less than anyone else.

Despite what happened, I still feel I was most suitable for the job.

When I sharpen my knives I do not like to be disturbed. 
This is because I want to be fully concentrated on the crucial task. I see my equipment as an extension of myself and I respect myself as I respect the people I am going to sacrifice tonight, therefore I am careful and thorough.When sharpening a cleaver the movement should be even slower, more deliberate and upwards, never lose eye contact with the blade.
 You can imagine my vexation when the phone rang.
When I picked up the phone and heard the lady identifying herself I dropped the damned thing.
It is not everyday that I receive a call from the HTB.


"I have your CV in my hand."  she said "We are in need of a high priestess immediately especially one with heavy blade experience. How soon can you come over?"
"I can be there in half an hour." I replied leaving the cleaver on the floor.

"We are looking for a person to cover Satan's upcoming offerings, 8 per week in total. As you know HTB is the only temple with Biblical Authorisation, which we are very proud of, and we expect you to meet our standards." the woman behind the heavy bone-made desk said.
I looked around the small room. Everything down to the last detail was made of skulls and bones. Nothing went to waste here.
"I have a small collection of skulls myself." I said. "Some relatives, from my early life and some ex-boyfriends, if you know what I mean..."
"Oh, yes." The woman nodded. "I have some of those myself."
We smiled at each other. It was obvious that we had a mutual understanding. Despite the pompous surroundings the woman's heart was in the right place.
"We are going to call you tonight to let you know, but I am very pleased.." she said and walked out of the room, purple robes ballooning behind her.
I caressed the  small skull on my armrest and gave it a small peck. I was elated.
 The universe was finally returning my calls.

A few hours later the phone rang:
"....you see, what bothers my employer is your lack of BSR (Bachelor in Satan Rituals). All our Priestesses own that degree, but because I liked you so much I would like you to come over tomorrow and perform a ritual in front of my employer, grade C, child offering, dagger." said the woman over the phone.
My heart sank. I hate it when my emotions roller coaster like that. I could feel my stomach seal its doors, Serotonin was leaving the building. I was being rejected.

"In the name of Satan.." my voice bounced on the walls as I extended my dagger to the South,
"...Lord of the Infernal Regions; Lucifer...." I turned to the East,
"Bringer of light and wisdom; Belial.." I turned to the North,
" King of the Earth; Leviathan.." I turned to the West..
"Ruler of the watery Abyss, I command the forces of Darkness to bestow their infernal power over me..." I looked up at the ceiling but it was lost in the shadows and the smoke from the countless bone candle holders spread in the room.
"Open wide the gates of hell..." I yelled confidently to the hooded people below me who bowed their heads even more. The woman from the interview was standing at the very back and was smiling at me.
"...and come forth from the abyss..." I could do this, if their decision was to be based on my work then I had no option but to succeed.
"...in answer to your most unholy names...." the door was slowly pushed open and a beautiful woman in a glittering silver robe entered the room and glided to the skull throne opposite me. I took a deep breath and lifted up the dagger I had brought from home.
. . .
The lady walked out before I finished my last lines which was not a good sign. The vibrations I got from her as she glided out of the hall were as low as the offering's blood pressure. That is why I was not very surprised when a few hours later the woman called and without clarifying the reasons she told me that the HTB had rejected me. 
She was polite though.
Rejection is not something I take lightly especially when I do not know the reasons that caused it. I feel cheated and weak, I feel tortured.
As I'm completing the sharpening of the cleaver I'm thinking of the Cthulhu cult that has booked me for tonight. I love rituals performed by the sea at night; it's the smell of the salty air, the moon shining above me. Being a freelancer is not such a bad thing after all. I get to meet so many different cultures and get to kill so many different people. Some day the HTB will open its doors for me. For that I am sure.
...still these thoughts aren't making me feel any better.
Unfortunately, rejection is not something I take lightly.

How it should be.

Posting videos is not really my style, but this one feels like it was ripped right off  the core of my brain so I hand it over to you. A little something to start off this second blogging year.

I hope it gives you pleasure.

Eternally yours,

Alithia Pes


P.S. If your wish is to pause the music of the blog, the pause button is under Soundtrack on the bottom right corner.

Time...dies.

(painting by Natalia Naka Adamska)

The Nursery. (Days 1 to 3)

Day 1: Snow White and the seven Dwarves.

"Welcome my new little Prince, sooo happy to see you again...Oh he'll be just fine Mrs Silver, we always take good care of our newcomers, especially if they are as sweet as this one. Don't you worry about a thing...come alone sunshine, let me show you around..." said the beady-eyed woman bending down towards the little boy; me; James Silver aged 4 and a half.

"Bye Mum...don't worry about me, this school looks swell..." I lie to my poor mother who is already late for her new morning job and looks so worried; her forehead is wrinkled all the way up to the roots of her hair.

"Yes..."my mother says sniffing around. " You have fun now and I'll see you in a few hours...take care." She says and her voice falls to a whisper: "If you don't like it here, we'll find a new school, don't worry love.." I know she means it, she always does. I have a good Mum.

I smile back and nod while she opens the heavy wooden door of the nursery school and walks out back first into the street. A rush of fresh air hits my face and I realise why Mum was sniffing; this school smells funny.

The door closes with a thud and I look up at the fat lady who reminds me of the evil Gormiti.
"OK, James, it is time to meet your teacher Miss White and your six classmates, come along now.."

I bow my head obediently and the both of us move into the bowels of the school. We open doors and move through dark corridors, I can see shadows moving in the darkness, they are short like me but completely silent, unlike me.

The first faint light appears from underneath a door.

"This is your classroom dear. Try not to make much noise now; listen- Miss White is reading a story...."

"In the candlelight?" I ask, "Why don't they turn on the lights?"

"Oh, It is better like this dear, candles create such a soothing atmosphere..Go sit inside the chalk circle with the other kids.. go! Miss White we have a new pupil, Mr James Silver."

The black haired, willowy woman comes towards me and bends down to my eye level....My mouth is dry and suddenly, I need to pee..

Day 2: Alice in Wonderland

"I DON'T WANT YOU TO GO BACK THERE JAMES... THERE IS SOMETHING WRONG WITH THAT PLACE..."

"Please don't shout Mum.. I like it I want to go back...please, we are going to be late.."

"And how come you are so eager? From what you told me all your teacher did yesterday was read you stories...that's it.."

"I like stories, you know I do...and she...reads them well.."

"I am trying to locate another school, you go today, perhaps tomorrow and that is it. Moving away was not a good idea after all...."

"C'mon...we are going to be late."

"Today and perhaps tomorrow and THAT'S IT!"

"Fine..can we go now?"

"That school smells funny..."

"Let's go!!"

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

"Good morning Mrs Silver...Hello James..." the Gormiti woman says.

"Are we late? Have they started yet?" I can't wait for her answer. I am late I can feel it.  I hurry inside and don't bother saying good bye...I push at the heavy door with all my weight and speed inside the school. The smell is stronger today, the deeper I go the more it makes my eyes water..I hope I am not late.

I run down the corridor but I am not afraid of getting lost, I follow the moving shadows, as quiet as they are,...they show me the way...my throat burns..I need to find the classroom...I mustn't disobey.

"TAKE ME TO THE RIGHT DOOR!" I shout and start running again.

Finally I stand before the heavy door.... I can see the dim light coming from the crack underneath it. I push it open and walk into the candle light. Six pairs of eyes slash at my face and my eyes drop to the floor.

I AM late. Crap!

I silently walk inside the chalk circle and sit without bothering with my coat. 

"I am sorry for being late Miss White." I don't even dare look up at her. 

"Oh my ears and whiskers, how late it's getting! the rabbit said and ran off again" resumes Miss White in a buttery voice. "But Alice catches the rabbit in the end, oh yes..she did...didn't you Alice?" she asks piercing a little girl with her eyes.

"Yes, I did Miss." says the girl sitting on the other side of the circle. I pull myself a little forward to see her better. 

"Come Alice!" Miss White says and bends down to a large box next to her. Alice stands up and walks to the centre of the circle facing Miss White. She has shoulder-length brown hair and is wearing a blue dress with a small white apron on top of it. Something is gleaming in her hand. It is reflecting all the candle light around it.

 A large kitchen knife, that is what it is, the one my Mum calls a cleaver. Alice is holding it tight. It looks so big in her hand. 

Miss White opens up the box and pulls a large, white rabbit from inside. She holds it by the ears as it squeals and squeaks. 

"Alice, show us what it is you did to the rabbit." she says and hands the rabbit to the little girl who grabs it tightly. The rabbit is so big it scratches her knees. Alice lifts the hand with the knife.....

......I need to pee.

Day 3: Hansel and Gretel.

"Peeing your pants one day I can understand, accidents happen...but two days in the row...James...what IS going on in that school? Are you ever going to tell me sweetheart?"

"...................."

"It doesn't matter. I have enrolled you to a fine school outside our enrolment area, a fine school full of light and open spaces...they are waiting for you tomorrow, Mrs Williams, your teacher, has a boy your age, you are going to be best friends, you'll see... You can stay with me today, we'll go to work together, help me do things...we'll have a great time!"

"Why can't I go back this one, last time...I'm never going back there anyway. Just one last time..."

"No, you are never going back there, James...I'm sorry."

"If you let me go, I'll tell you everything that's happened so far...what do you say?"

".............. 

.......................................   Speak!"

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

"Some of you will be leaving us soon, so it will be such  a shame not to tell you the lovely story of young Hansel and his little sister Gretel." Miss White begins. 

"Once upon a time...." the story starts and we all sit inside the chalk circle.

"......but the woman had only pretended to be so friendly. In reality, she was a wicked witch who lay in wait for children. After she had captured them, she took them to a special room at the basement of her bread and sugar house and kept them in rusted cages made for animals....Let us all go and see...shall we?" she says and opens a small door at the other side of the classroom revealing a narrow staircase which implied that there were even more rooms below. 

"Hurry!" she says and we all begin to descend the dark staircase, lit only by the light of a few candles on the walls here and there.

The smell is unbearable the further down I go. I have never felt so disgusted in my life. I hold my nose as tight as I can and so do the others. Miss White leads us to an enormous room the size of a football field. There are fires of the walls and muck on the floor. All around us cages are hanging from the ceilings. Some of them are empty some of them are full.

(by Nootoon @toonpool )

"...The witch seized chubby Hansel with her evil hands and shut him in a little cage with a grating in the lid and locked it. Scream as he would, it didn't help him any..." Miss White went on and Hansel's eyes opened wide as Miss White grabbed him from the collar of his shirt and pushed him inside one of the rusty cages hanging from the ceiling. Hansel was startled but didn't scream nor shout; he just looked at his classmates mutely and confused.

"...He has to stay in the cage and get fat, fat, fat...As soon as he's fat...then, we can eat him." Miss White says and moves further inside the room towards another cage. We all follow her like puppies, full of interest and curiosity.
"You!" she shouts, "Put out your finger so I can feel whether you are getting fat!" she said to a shadow of one of the other cages that were hanging mutely from the darkness above.
A small, bony finger appears between the rusty bars, he puts his little finger between the bars and she presses it in her long fingers.

"YOU LIE! YOU LIE! YOU LIE" she bellows and the echo hurts our ears. I try to keep it outside my head. I squeeze my ears shut but still I can hear her words...YOU LIE!

Miss White pulls the cage open and drags a little boy....it was a boy in there....out. He falls in her arms, he is covered in gore and muck...

"LOOK HOW FAT YOU ARE YOU LIAR!" she shouts. "GRETEL...LIGHT THE OVEN....WE ARE GOING TO HAVE A ROASTED BOY TODAY!!!"

A little, skinny girl obeys and walks behind a gigantic metallic box in the centre of the room. There's a loud CLANK and then a sudden soaring fire lights the room so forcefully I shield my eyes with my hand. In a few moment the fire subsides and burning coal is all I can see at the bottom of the oven.

"Crawl in Gretel...see if it's hot enough for our boy to roast.." Miss White calls.

The girl opens the heavy bolt and sizzling heat rushes out burning the girl's curls.

"I don't know how to...How do I get inside?" The girls asks.

Miss White lets out a loud giggle..."Well said Gretel....Well said..." She moves towards the oven dragging the filthy boy behind her..

"We'll peel the clothes off after he's done.." Miss White mumbles.

The oven door opens again and the little boy is tossed inside..the door slams shut. His chubby hands are glued on the burning glass and I feel the heat inside my pants and all the way down to my feet.

"Mum" ...I whisper and try to move but can't. "Mum" I say again and I hear loud voices behind me, doors break open.

"JAMES!"

(painting by Loba Chan)

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)