Moineau Rouge V

Moineau Rouge V

Sometimes lies are so casual, and so difficult to distinguish from the truth that they blend in seamlessly and add to a picture that had already begun to monopolize the dissonance that made up the world. Other lies however are less insidious. They are far too obvious and the truth that they obscure is still laid bare before all of our eyes.

I remember Ana's words, "It doesn't matter anyway."
"How can you say that" Marie replied.

The two girls were sitting down in the cafe, what were they talking about? Marie smiled, "Life does matter, more than you know, perhaps there is no greater meaning in the universe, perhaps there is, that is not important. Our lives are given meaning by the impact they make on so many others. The good we can do, and even the mistakes we make. All f these little things make up a greater picture. One in which we can have real beautiful and meaningful lives even in a world as lost as this. Lost, not over. This world still has so much left in it, and there is so many good deeds we can do to make it a better place!"

Ana stared for a moment and spoke, "Maybe I don't care to make it a better place, maybe I don't care about the world or anyone at all. They are all going to die, they are all going to leave! So what difference does it make? The world is going to fall apart, and there isn't anything we can really do for it, even if it did matter!"

Mat stared blankly into his coffee, at a loss for words as his love continued to spout off nihilism. As she slipped farther into her own abyss. Maybe he should have shown her some warmth, maybe this moment would have been one in which to assert himself, but he just sat there. Sipping his black coffee, and letting Ana slip away.

Marie looked a bit said and spoke, "No, Ana, that's not it at all. You have people who love you, and need you more than anyone else. Think of how lost Mathieu would be without you? Or how much your brother needs someone to care for him."

Mathieu looked up hearing his name and looked at both women staring back at him, both wanting him to validate them in some way. Marie wanted Mat to assure Ana of his love, of his need for her. And Ana just wanted him to be philosophical, to feed her nihilism to vindicate her point that nothing mattered. And nothing really did, because all he could manage to say was, "I'm hung over, Marie could you get me some more coffee?"
And she got up and went to the kitchen and Ana looked at him a little longer than looked away. She stood up and looked out the window, "I think I need some fresh air." She wanted company, but Mat was only thinking of his pounding head. He was only thinking of a mess of dishes he still had to do. So he watched her walk out that door. Alone. Needing him to be there, he wasn't. Needing something more than passivity.

And I still look out that window sometimes, wondering where she went that day. Wondering why she needed me so badly. And of course regretting my foolishness. Regretting my callousness. Regretting my absence and selfishness. Maybe me and Jean died a long time ago. And maybe, just maybe, this cafe is hell. It is the hell we have been sent to for our mistakes and failures.

A hell where I can remember my missteps, but not make amends. A hell where all light is banished from our lives and any hopes of warmth evaporate away. We freeze because we lost the fight. We shiver because the fires that once burnt so intensely in our hearts have now burnt out.

So there I was with my cup of black coffee. And here I am with my bottle of cheap wine. The lights are dim. Jean is passed out, face down on the table. And I question my lot in the universe only the way a hardened criminal might. I've been condemned for crimes I am guilty of. However is there no force that has even considered me for parole?

And if not, how long is forever? How long will me and Jean rot and decay. Trapped in this cafe. In which our hopes have evaporated into the air creating a toxic smoke which imbues our days with more regret. And we are left with an all too obvious reflection. The emptiness of these bottles, the emptiness of our souls.

And tomorrow will be no different.

Cough, Sneeze, Blood Spatter

Cough, Sneeze, Blood Spatter

               The bus whizzed by right in front of her face. She barely found the time to jump back, now desperate, panic stricken and late Ana ran down the block hoping to make up for lost time. Of course grace was not this young woman’s best quality, and running in heels, well that was another event she was, lacking in. Little Ana crashed into the pavement.

               It was no surprise to her that no one even acknowledged her fall. Big cities have a way of reminding us of our absolute smallness, and on that dirty concrete with her scraped elbow and blouse Ana was as interchangeable as the rats in the alley, or the vendors on the street. In the vast interconnectedness of the city, everything became another part, and each part became alienated from the others as it was specialized and given a purpose.

               What was Ana’s purpose? Well, she was late for one, and for two, she was some administrative person of little significance. She was conscious of her lack of purpose, of movement, and most of all of the ever eroding years of her twenties. Ana bought travel books at local bookstores and dreamed of vacations. Or romances and dreamed of being rescued from this monotony, this alienation.

               Getting up from the gutter, she felt the sting in her elbow and a slight tear rolled down, just enough to ruin her mascara, it was going to another awful day. Another dreadful meaningless day, as awful as the last and with nothing to do. And with nothing to believe in.

               When she got to the office, the door was locked. Ana stood staring at the glass confused and tried to phone her boss. Finally she noticed a document posted on the wall, Due to the Outbreak non-Essential Businesses Are Closed. Outbreak? Ana had no idea what they were talking about, so she headed to get a cup of coffee and maybe head home.

               Staring at her shoes as she walked down the street she noticed they were a little scuffed. The clumsy girl fell far too much. Ruining so many nice outfits. Her mother had always told her, most likely she’d never amount to anything or find happiness for that matter.

               The coffee shop was closed too. It looked like the glass had been smashed in, and most of the workers were sleeping on the floor amongst so much spilled wine. Why hadn’t she been invited to such a wild party. She thought she could be a pretty fun girl if the time was right.

               The streets were less crowed than usual. This was good, all the hustling and bustling usually worked against her. In the bizarre emptiness of the city Ana felt more herself. Freedom from some of her clumsiness. Freedom from the judging eyes of those around her.

               Although she heard some rustling in alleys she didn’t bother to look up. She kept her head down. It was safer that way she thought. Passing block after deserted block she saw the connivance store across from her apartment building. The door was unlocked and the place was trashed, but she hardly considered it her place to judge.

               She brought a bottle of wine to the counter and some chewing gum. No one was there, so she reached over and grabbed a pack of cigarettes. Menthol. She left exact change plus a two dollar tip, and a little note with a heart and a smile. Walking out into the road, Ana looked over at her apartment complex, this section of town is really getting bad she thought. It’s starting to look like a warzone.

               She had to force open her apartment building door, but did so. Now they’ll raise my deposit she thought. Some kids had spray painted the wall on the stair case. It said Solomon Flu and it was written in bright red. Shrugging her shoulders, she walked up stairs went into her apartment and locked the door.

               Ana didn’t have a television so she poured a glass of wine lit a cigarette and stared at the white walls. Solomon Flu, what a weird name for a gang she thought. As the bottle emptied she smoked cigarettes and sat there alone and quite defeated. Eventually dozing off with her head on the table.

               The sound of a car backfiring woke Ana up; she walked over to her window and looked outside. There was a mass of people moving confusedly towards a set of barricades. Men in green were shooting at the regular people as they ran forward. Trying to understand what was going on Ana put some pants on and walked out on her balcony. She lit another cigarette and stared at the mass of people. The green suited people were being overwhelmed.

               What a weird sight she though. She thought she must be dreaming. So she walked back inside and lay down on her couch. There was a loud pounding on her door. Ana opened it confusedly looking at four men in green. They looked at her then ran in. One barred the door with her chair. She wanted to speak but stared at them silently, finally she asked, “would you care for a cup of coffee?” The men in green looked at her incredulously. She went and made coffee while they stared in silence out the window.

               Bringing out the coffee she smiled, “It’s been a while since I’ve had guests, what do you do for a living?” The men in green blinked incredulously at Ana’s vapid outlook. Finally one spoke, “We are in the national guard.” Ana blinked, “Oh that sounds exciting, what are you doing in our fair city?” They looked at her with utter shock, finally another spoke, “You don’t pay much attention to what’s going on do you?”

               Ana smiled, “Yea I guess not, work was canceled today, I know that. I have a little wine left if you’d like some.” The man spoke, “You mean you were out there today?” Ana nodded, “Yea missed the bus, and then sprinted down the street trying to be on time.” And suddenly the soldiers had a very different picture of the events of the day.

               A terrible virus had broken out; people brains swelled up and they went crazy. Ana’s walk to work and back had been sheer suicide. Her survival while all this was going on was but chance. The bus she missed had crashed up the street and everyone on it had died.

               When she fell she was nearly mauled, except a soldier had killed the infected running towards her.

               Her coffee shop had been a massacre too. But the infected were in the back by the time she had gotten there.

               When she went into the store to get wine and smokes. The owner was upstairs fighting desperately against death.

               Finally her apartment had been spared the worst of it, because no one had broken in yet, the soldiers had come in looking for shelter after their unit was wiped out.

               Ana laughed, then told them, “They are good comedians.”

               At this moment the door was broken down and a wave of infected poured in. Failing to fight them off Ana and the last soldier were on the balcony. He shot himself and fell off leaving Ana alone with only glass between her and the human plague.

               She fainted. And when Ana awoke she was still on the balcony. Her room was filled with convulsing corpses. She got up but slipped on the soldier’s blood. And little Ana went soaring off the balcony to find the hard pavement come up and greet her. Their bleeding to death, head cracked open on the pavement, Ana wished she was a little less clumsy.

Moineau Rouge IV

Moineau Rouge IV

               It’s a simple idea that man can have the strength to continue on. That a human being can breathe after living with all of what we can mockingly call, gifts of life. Now staring out into the dark sky in this empty café it is hard to understand why any person on the Earth has the strength to get out of bed and give into all of the universes absurd indifferent demands.

               Now I can open another little door in a memory full of darkness, the little red droplets dripping down the side. I see the next morning, after that young girl had died. Antony and Jean walked in, they sat in silence. Marie and Jean nodded and left to head back to the café. Now it was my… well Mat’s turn to speak, “Look, Antony, it wasn’t your fault or anything.” Of course maybe he shouldn’t of said that because Ana glanced icily at him.

               She spoke, “Did you get any sleep brother?” And still silence hung over their heads, the beautiful soft silence of black clouds, the utter scientific desolation of a guillotine, dozens with blades ready all sitting over everyone’s head. Hanging there in wait. The blade begging to fall, but the moment not right.

               Ana spoke again, “Come on, you need some rest, have a drink and go to sleep. There is no sense in sulking. It happened. That is all. You can’t change it.” Mat could see in her eyes something dreadful, like a bargaining with the fates, outside she was trying to comfort her brother, but inside, she was at war with a mix of envy and jealousy. She continued, “Listen, if I could take her place, you can bet I would love to, but it’s not like that. We are all going to die, and some sooner than others, but it’s part of the deal.”

               Feeling a little smart, Mat spoke, “She escaped from a life full of troubles and pain. Under her cheery exterior she was already undermined. The girl that died in that bathroom was already dead. She had given up the struggle a long time ago. What came outwardly as vapidity was really a genuine resignation. She was dead a long time ago and just waiting for the body to catch up with the soul.”

               Ana’s brother slugged Mat in the chest than got up and went to his room slamming the door. Mat tried to speak but sat in silence looking at Ana. It was the kind of silence that bespoke regret, failure, and a genuine insecurity. It played notes of discord that formed a bizarre cacophony, like the scratches of devils along the floor trying to break out of hell. Trying to bring us down to their level. Not as a punishment, but just so we could understand each other, and speak as if on a level playing field.

               Finally after what seemed like hours Ana smiled. The kind of smile that washes all doubt away from a foolish boy. The kind that disarms you, robs you of your reason, and eventually leaves you half frozen and shattered on the pavement. Her lips mouthed the words “I love you” but no voice followed, so Mat just smiled got up and threw his arms around her.

               Embracing in that kitchen, in full juxtaposition with life, death, pain, and love all competing within each of them. In the brutal servile indifference that leaves us in constant conflict at the brevity of our lives. The kind of conflict where no lasting peace can be found. No day can quiet a man’s heart forever. Once opened up it is hard to close the wounds that our real smallness leaves.

               Mat began to speak, “You don’t really wish you could trade places with the dead girl do you?”

               Ana didn’t speak, but trying to choke back a few tears kissed Mat once more. Then in a soft emotional tone she lied to him. She lied gently for the sake of his heart. Ana told him, “Of course not, I am alive because I still have so much to do, and even with all the weariness around me, I couldn’t leave you alone, what would you do with yourself? Sit up with Jean everyday getting drunk until you both passed out at the tables and Marie took him to bed?”

               Mat tried to smile, he knew she was lying. Like I know today. And now I sit alone in that immutable café. I sit alone in awkward awareness and painful readiness for a moment in which I can reclaim for myself a few days peace before letting my body fade away and expire. And I go on living because I’ve nothing else to do. No better plan, no greater purpose, I breathe only because air fills my lungs, not because of a general desire for purpose or meaning. And as the air fills them and the alcohol fills my stomach I can close my eyes and imagine the man I was then. And the woman who loved me. I can picture a world where I was a happy rebel. One in which I stood proudly laughing at the universes indifference. But I’ve no fight left in me. And the bottle is empty.

               Goodnight, and Regards.

Moineau Rouge III

Moineau Rouge III

            And then it all began to fall apart. It was nearly three in the morning. The red and blue lights outside the apartment seemed to be a pretty bad sign. Ana sprinted forward, scared for her brother’s safety, but as Matt caught up Antony was sitting on the curb with his head in his hands.

            Jean had already showed up with Marie, and they were speaking with the police. Marie walked over and hugged Ana. Her pretty blonde eyes tired and washed with sorrows. “Molly had been shooting up in the bathroom. The young girl overdosed.”

            Ana ran over to her brother and through her arms around him. His eyes were watering. The paramedic walked forward. “Antony, I’m sorry, she didn’t make it. You’ll have to go with that officer to answer questions.”

            Jean stepped forward, “I’ll go with the boy, he’s only nineteen, officer.”

            Jean and Antony got in the car and drove off. Mathieu looked at Ana and Marie then at the ground. “Should we go up stairs out of the cold? We’ll put some coffee on while we wait for them to get back.” The three of them walked up stairs.

            It was death consuming youth. That itself is nothing new, but if only Mathieu knew back then. If only he saw that this was the start of something terrible. However, can any of us say that in that apartment, that much in love, with a beautiful woman, why think of the future?

            We all cling far to tightly to the past. It slowly penetrates our reality redefining who we are. In each moment we are dead, then reborn again. Each little second we are all dying and at that moment, Molly was dead, and Mathieu could hardly be bothered.

            He poured them all a cup of black coffee. Marie smiled and looked in direction of the bathroom. The door was still open. As the hot black coffee was drank time passed in silence. It seemed that they had no words to express this untimely death. Finally Mathieu spoke, “I suppose that she took our little idea too seriously, she died right now. And did not live forever.”

            Ana looked at him and finally spoke. “Mathieu, you are right. She has proven our point, and her little sacrifice is what we will remember. A beautiful young woman.”

            Matt smiled, “I hope he at least got laid before hand.”

            Marie stared at them and smiled, “Most users usually would shoot up before sex. Antony probably was waiting in his room horny, confused, and ready for a decent lay.”

            They all stared into their coffee cups. Mathieu smiled, “Well that has to be a little traumatizing. At least I have my dear Ana, and this bottle of wine.”

            As the glasses were poured the three sat in an awkward silence.

            The same silence in this lonely café. The same awkwardness that keeps me and Jean in quiet desperation.  

Moineau Rouge II

Moineau Rouge II

Ana purchased his forgiveness with a kiss.
Ana  purchased his faithfulness with her soft skin. She purchased Matt's unfaltering love with her body pressed against his. To be young, to be happy, to be in love. The night after the concert Matt and Ana went for a walk while Antony headed back to the apartment with Molly. The noise and thrashing of the night had got their blood going. They were going off to do the sort of quiet things that we never know.
Ana looked over at Matt, her lips curled, and she smiled, "My dear boy, would you rather live forever or die tomorrow?" He stared at her and smiled, "Would you be with me for eternity?" Ana nodded her head, "No, I would have a normal life span. Would you still love me if I got old and you remained young?" Matt laughed, "No way, if you turn into an old wrinkly crone, I'm out!"
I can hardly believe it, can hardly believe him,  Today, this cold sour wine sowed and tear soaked days, immortality would be hell, and without her, not one day would be worth it. Without her, today is black and white. This wine is tasteless. These hands feel nothing but the cold. The stupid boy, she was all that was good in him. All his potential......
Her eyes showed a real concern for Matt's callousness, but she faked a smile. She let the words role off her lips, "I would be alright with dying tomorrow. " Mathieu glanced back at her about t speak, but she continued, "You see my dear foolish boy, I have lived my life one way, I easily had other alternatives, but this was what I chose, and well I'm ok with it ending, Immortality would be hell." Regaining her composure, she continued, "It would start out easy enough, but as time rolled by we would lose each aspect of being human.  First we would lose track of time because it no longer mattered. And pain would be meaningless, knowing that we would be alive forever. "
Interjecting Matt smiled, "A life without pain shouldn't seem so awful."
Scornfully she looked at him, "no my dear, you see pain is the most important thing in the world, it leaves us beautiful scars in our hearts. They follow us constantly, and until we die we look back over our lives and think about the cuts and bruises along the way."  Her eyes were now alight with the flame Mathieu lobed so much. "Every day we are reminded of our fragility, of our lack of destiny, of our insignificance, In our smallness is where we realize the vast beauty of the infinite world that we are only a very small part of. " At this she stood up on the stone wall along the beach, looking down at the ocean below her. "I could throw myself from this wall like Ophelia, and end my story with the world, end my universe. And it would be a matter of profound indifference to me." Matt looked at her, cocked a smile, "Than do it Ophelia" She closed her eyes and leaned forward, letting go slowly, but as she knew, his arms were already around her.
Pulling her back off the wall he fell onto the sidewalk. She smiled at him and laid on him, her body limp like a corpse. "What would you d without me my dear?" The words echo in my ears and rob me of my sleep. Mathieu looking more critical let his emotions go , "I really don't know, your smile makes my day. Your lips are my drug. I spend more time anticipating the moment I will see you next than I do thinking of anything else."
They laughed on the ground together, kissing as the waves crashed against the walls. The cool night air hung over them like a little guillotine. The winds of the universe making each second a little more precious than the last. Each day a finite commodity of love in an ever effacing world where happiness and desire could be lost in a moment's pause.
Would that the night had lasted forever.  And today I wouldn't be alone and drunk. Tonight I wouldn't be staring at a blank wall. Alas, things don't work that way. All things must come to an end.

Powder

He was hot, his face flushed with red patches, but his hands were cold. The sweat in his palms only served to invite the chill into his knuckles. There were far too many people for his taste. One ought to be able to shop for groceries without having a panic attack.

Deep breath in.

Deep breath out.

Repeat.

People were staring at him now. Their eyes aimed to crush; every gaze that fell upon him added one hundred pounds to his chest. He could do nothing to stop them from looking at him, from witnessing his shame. It was all outside his control, and these strangers would see him at his most vulnerable. See him, and judge him. His heart was pounding from behind his Adam’s apple, not fast, but HARD. Every thud landed with a jolt of pain, and every jolt of pain blurred a detail in his surrounding environment. Oh god, their faces. The faces judging him were no longer human, but alien. Distorted in ways that would kill a normal person. A nose turned around backwards and inserted into an empty eye socket. There was a woman who’s eyelashes looked as if they were sewn into her brow, forcing her cruel stare into ceaselessness. And one man’s red beard grew out from his teeth as he laughed and pointed. Powder. They were crushing him into powder. And our young hero collapsed. 

Atonements

Atonements

I never said I wouldn't pay for these sins.
Not one action did I not engage in full volition.
I knew what I was doing, I chose these sins.
Yet, they blame me more, they say I knew better.

Insomuch as I knew it all along.
They knew me all along.
I really wanted to act differently.
I would have given so much to be like you.

I never said I wouldn't pay for these sins.
But who could ask for this.
I am plagued by their memories.
Are these scars? Are these tear not enough to atone?

So here I am, alone and wrecked.
You demolished my last stand.
And now I'm still here.
I'm still begging for forgiveness.

I never said I wouldn't pay for these sins.
However, hasn't it been long enough?
Haven't I bled out so much?
I even offered my life and that wasn't enough?
 

Moineau Rouge I

Moineau Rouge I

What is the difference between a beginning and an ending?
There sat three people in a dimly lit cafe. Ana, oh she was beautiful. Red lips, pale skin, soft and gentle, but somehow bruised, her voice bespoke years of menthol cigarettes and broken hearts. Antony was her younger brother, a bit protective, but a good enough fellow, tall, slim, dark hair, dark eyes, dark features, you get it right? And there I sat with them. How old was I? What did I look like back then? Who was I?
Its hard to explain the distance I feel to that young man. It was so long ago, yet there we were in Jean's cafe. Jean's hellish little gift to an indifferent world. The wine was good, and the food was artistic. For that matter, the coffee wasn't so bad either. Well since I can't do this feeling attached to that other man, we will call him Mathieu, and he was young. As young as he was foolish, as young as he was idealistic, as young as he was stupid, as young as he was the man I use to be. The man I could have been. The man whose shell sits in this same cafe today. Alone besides Jean, he will live forever my friend. Only a golden bullet can kill him.
What were we doing that day? Ana was talking, beautiful red lips mouthing the words, "Jean, I know you said, no smoking, but for your favorite employee, you'll make an exception right?" Calling back from the kitchen Jean yelled, "Non!" Of course, Ana, being Ana lit one up anyway and poured herself some more wine. Antony gazed at her glass, "Don't you think you have had enough?" Mat smiled, "C'mon, don't be such a drag, we work better drunk." Calling from the back, Jean yelled, "No you don't, you only think you do."
They all laughed. I wish I knew how to laugh like that.
As the night rolled on and people came and went from that immutable cafe, that sublime object in the distance, that blurry past that this bloodied face, and these tear stained eyes. Well, sometimes if I squint hard enough, sometimes I can almost see back then, I can almost grasp happiness.
Now we were out on the street, Jean had locked up, and finished another bottle with us before falling asleep with his wife Marie. Ah, Marie, Blonde hair, blue eyes, Innocent. Everything about her said "kindness", everything about her said, "I'm from a world less fucked up than all this" and it said "I saved him". Jean would be nothing more than a sad miserable man without her. He wouldn't have the strength to go on.
He told me that he had tried to take his own life a few times in college. He felt so alone. He quoted Chateaubriand to me,  "The greatest souls must, by necessity feel the greatest sadness." Jean was a good man, and one day little Marie fixed him up nicely. They fell in love in some gods forsaken place, some damn idealistic crusade Jean had began out of a feeling of atonement, and a genuine conviction to right the wrongs of his youth.
I'm no great soul, but I have had my share of sorrows. They cascade along my memories, little explosions of red coloring a dark and empty corridor. A corridor that goes on forever. We pass doors, each one locked, each memory one I beg, no, I plead, will never have to be relived, but life isn't a forward motion. No, it is a series of backs, and forwards, we march on, and we fall back.  Today is yesterday. Is tomorrow, is back then, is never.
Jean and Marie were the closest thing to happiness I know. However god luck telling Mat this little bit of information. Especially not that night, not that brick road, those cobble stone sidewalks, that cool ocean air, and youth, hell, we all love youth.
Ana laughed, a desperate laugh, "So what is the plan for tonight?" Mat, looking over at Antony said, "We need to get this fucker laid!" Antony smiled, "Actually, my dear friends, we are meeting up with a very nice girl." Mat smiled, "And what do you think a girl like that would want with you? She'll be instantly drawn in by my charm, but you can have her when I'm done." Antony glared at Mat, "Oh, well I don't think my sister would like that very much." Mat looked back at Ana, "Well she wouldn't mind if the girl was prettier than her." A right hook from Ana, into his face, knocked Mat into a brick wall. Then she kissed him and continued walking with her brother while the dazed Mat leaned against the wall. He ran to catch up. "As I was saying we need to get Antony laid." They all smiled as they crossed the busy street.
Damn was I stupid back then, what an ego I had, but it was all talk, and when I remarked " she wouldn't mind if the girl was prettier than her", well to me, no one could be as beautiful as Ana. She was the last word on my lips every night. Her warm body was what kept me here for so many years, and now my cold bed speaks of the seven gentle tragedies that left me and Jean here. Alone, and quite drunk actually.
We picked up Molly, she was dumb and pretty, Antony really knew how to pick them. Matt led the quartet to an underground music show they had planned on seeing. The place was packed full of all the best losers and freaks, the kind of people who excel at this sort of jumping and thrashing. Ana and Mat sat at the bar, while Antony and Molly were down in the worst of it. "A gin and tonic" Ana said, and I had a ..... Matt ordered some whisky. He sipped his drink as Ana flirted with the man beside her. A little harmless revenge for Matt's comment. However, as the man put his arm on her leg, Mat got up and headed towards the pit. In the midst of it, he felt a girl tugging on his arm, Ana purchased his forgiveness with a kiss, and the two of them caught up with Antony.
After the show, the people spilled out on the streets, still laughing, and drinking. It was all quite marvelous. Those days always were. These days are hardly decent, yet here me and Jean sit, in this little cafe, waiting in constant readiness, and a constant drunkenness, waiting for the marvelous to return. Pleading with all the gods we don't believe in, and all humanity, that we have lost all faith in, pleading that someday the fates will color our lives with something wonderful again, we will take anything, but more death and pain.
But the wine is running low, and we both need sleep desperately. Good Night.

V-Twice Bitten

V-Twice Bitten
The alarms were sounded. Bashir and Amin woke Camille from his sleep. "Camille, Camille, it is the French!" Flashing back to his days in the army Camille jumped out of bed, "aux armes!" Then as his eyes focused he looked upon his Egyptian friends and blinked. He began, "What is going on my friends?" sighing, "was all of that a dream?" looking around the bey's mansion, "no, we are still in Constantine."
Amin smiled, "It seems your countrymen have invaded the regency." Bashir pulled out a few maps and laid them on the table, "They have already taken Algiers, and Constantine has been holding out the best it can, but uncle believes there will be no help sent from the Sublime Porte." Then Amin spoke again, "If we can get to Morocco we could bored a ship for the Caribbean on one of the Spanish Isles, there we may be able to hide you.
Camille looked perplexed, "but what about my condition?"
At this moment Achmed walked in, "You are quite lucky my boy. One of the Sultan's of old had caught the disease in Transylvania, from the aforementioned man, Tepes." The sultan was a deeply religious man, and the sickness filled him with shame. He developed a large bump on his head from praying so hard every day." Camille blinked, "And how does that help me? Should I pray?" Bashir laughed, "No, we have brought you a veil that will shield you from the sun. It will cover all of your skin. However...."
"What?" Camille shouted as the French cannons fired in the background. Amin looked at him, "Its a woman's veil. We are disguising you as a woman for the travel." Camille stared blankly. Achmed snapped his fingers. A beautiful Persian girl came and sat down beside, "There is the veil, and your breakfast my dear boy." The confusion on the young girl's face was palpable as the men walked out of the room.
After being washed, Camille entered, well fed and dressed as a Persian concubine.
Achmed smiled, "You will travel light. And fast my dear boys, this is a god damn war, and if anyone finds you they will take you for deserters. In Oran I have a friend who can secure your escort to Morocco.  Amin has been given all of the information." Bashir smiled, "Now Camille, we must run before your countrymen greet us in their native tongue, the cannon."
Camille stepped forward, "Just a moment." looking over at Achmed, "You know you can't win, I was at the Battle of the Pyramids, the French are a modern army!" The bey was placing some ornamental armor on, his servant latched the chest plate. Achmed smiled, "I've lived longer than mosts, and had every joy of this world ol boy. And many of the other world!" He broke into laughter. Camille smiled at the old man, "I understand, but I have one more question before I depart."
The sounds of the cannon grew louder, and Achmed smiled. "I've got a battle to fight old boy. Before sailing for the new world there is a Berber Witch in Morocco that you will speak to. For I will answer no more questions, and you my boy, must flee!" And once more at the old man's command Camille obeyed.

Bottled

Bottled
He looked down at the copper liqueur in his cup, the ice had already melted, and its watered down  color made the prospects of finishing it a little rough. Well, "waste not, want not,"  He slurped the whisky down and laughed. The bar tender walked over, and in a bright mindless manner, asked, "Would you like another?" Jean smiled and politely declined, he handed her a fifty and walked towards the door.
He pulled out his beaten up pack of cigarettes. Then fumbling around for a lighter he heard a girl giggle, a sweet innocent little laugh at his awkwardness. Looking up Jean forced a smile. The bar tender was out having a cigarette. Laughing she motioned him over. Jean allowed her to light his. Then she spoke, "Are you walking home darling?" Jean nodded.
Her reds lips pursed with a smile, "I'm off in ten, would you care for a ride? Its rather cold don't you think?" Jean was taken aback by her simple kindness, and took a deep look at her beautiful face. She had blonde hair tied up for work, blue eyes, pale skin, almost porcelain, and such gentle features, as if she had never had a care in her life.
He could barely speak, "I don't want to be a burden."
"No, no," she said, "It is no trouble." The softness and gentleness of her voice had already won him over. As the ten minutes rolled by Jean looked down at the ground, it was beginning to snow. The beautiful girl walked out. Smiling she called out to him, "So, you're name's Jean right? You sure don't talk much, but you always leave a good tip. I'm Claire." Claire, Jean thought, the name and her features rolled through his mind. Finally he smiled and said, "Well mademoiselle, perhaps we should get going."
At this Jean stared intently as three perfect snowflakes landed on her breasts. Claire blushed when she saw him looking so intently at her chest. In an attempt to recover Jean spoke, "I'm sorry.... I was watching the snowflakes..."
Claire giggled again, "It's alright, the snowflakes are nice aren't they?"
Confused Jean replied, "your snowflakes are nice"
Claire hugged him then she smiled, "The blue car is mine darling."
Her stereo was playing some Canadian indie music, Jean stared intently at the time, 2:00am.... God it was late, he thought. Claire kept glancing over at him. "Jean" she said, "Jean... where are we going?" He looked perplexed, and sat a moment, wondering why she needed directions. Then remembering what was going on Jean laughed, his first real laugh in a long time....
"From 28 we take a left, and my apartment is on Cold St." Jean was pleased with his composure. Claire smiled at him. Her soft lips pressed against his cheek, he could smell the gin on her breath. A little drunken angel. Jean smiled again, "I have some very nice red wine I think you would like..."
Claire laughed, "And what makes you think that, darling?"
Frozen again he stared forward at the snow, now falling faster, Claire was looking at him. Suddenly he felt the words escape, "Because you are beautiful."
She smiled and looked forward, the snow was really pushing its way down. The heavens opened up as if every wonderful pillowy cloud had been instantaneously lacerated, and now all the random stuffing was crashing to the ground.....
Crashing? The cold roads were icing over.
Claire smiled. And Jean looked at those innocent blue eyes.
At that moment the car slid, but Claire managed to correct it. She spoke, "I'm from Iowa actually, and darn, we can get a lot of snow there."
Jean smiled again, the most he had in a long time, but although, Claire was as good a driver, as she was beautiful, as she was innocent, as she was.... well was... get it?
Another car lost control, and like a slow motion ballade crashed into the side of her little blue car. Jean looked at the serene beauty as their car sailed across the pavement swiftly and into a tree.
A gentle darkness began to envelope everything, it began out of the corners of his eye, but as the slow motion horror continued it slowly engulfed everything. The only color in this world of darkness was the little spurts of red that splashed across.
As the blackness slowly receded Jean looked forward. He wasn't in the car, but on a snow peppered landscape.  The snow was soaked with a  beautiful red ink. Jean felt his legs were weak so he stumbled toward the car. With all his energy he pried open the door. Looking towards Claire, Jean called out, "Beautiful angel, are you alright?" Claire, with her face bloodied, just looked back at Jean and cried, all she could say was, "I'm sorry Jean, I'm sorry."
Jean's face contorted with confusion, and then he looked down at his blood soaked clothes.  Then looking at Claire, he smiled once more, "You couldn't make me not alone, could you? No. But, your beauty, your kindness, have given me the most beautiful present possible. Would you do me just one favor?"  With her makeup running Claire cried out, "Anything"
Jean smiled,  "Not nearly that much, but please hold me, let me die in your arms stranger, as I wish you could have lived in mine?"
As she held him Jean bled out in her arms. When the ambulance came, they put a black tag on his toe.

Master of Small Favors

                The fungus on the walls dampened the sound of echoing screams. Whips snapped and flesh tore, chains cranked and bones crunched. The sounds mixed discordantly, culminating in a grotesque symphony that only the Devil could enjoy. Well, the Devil … or the Man in the Onyx Mask.

                He sat in the balcony on his throne and inhaled deeply through the holes in his black façade; blood and must. He relished the scent as he took a second, deeper breath throwing his head back in ecstasy.  The Man in the Onyx Mask exhaled slowly and lowered his eyes upon scene before him. He watched, enraptured, as the unrelenting torture built to a crescendo releasing a palpable sense of terror into the atmosphere. He fed on it for what seemed like hours.

    Satisfied at last, he stood and raised a single gloved hand.

                As the people below him noticed, one by one, the sounds diminished. The screams subsided into sobs, and everything ceased. All who were able looked upon his stone face and waited in silence.

                “Now,” he said staring down at them from above, “feel free to have your way with them.”

                Instantly the torturers began to tear and remove their clothing. They used sticks and parts of machines, anything they could find to make bandages and splints. The victims were tended to through tears of apology, and were offered water though most weren’t able to stomach it.

                The Man in the Onyx Mask turned to leave the dungeon and spoke over his shoulder, “Your debts are forgiven. Take your children and leave.”

La Mechanique

La Mechanique
No, I don't have an I.D. could you wave that rule just this once. I will surely make it worth your while. Yes, that will be alright, Thank you so much, which room is it? 407, oh I see thank you very much.
I must put a chair in front of the door, I'm never safe he is always chasing me, he is so relentless. He has chased me from Kansas to Maryland. Always close behind me. Oh, cruel fate, why me? Why am I the one he is after? Aren't there others?
I haven't had a sound sleep in so long. Everywhere I go it is a new fake name. I keep to the shadows to avoid him. If he sees me I'm done for, but is this chase ever going to end?
No, I can't think of that, it will only end one way, me in the grave and I just won't have that. No, I have lived too short of a life. I want to live so much more. There are such great wines I haven't tasted, but I don't dare drink anymore. And women who I haven't bedded. Ah, so many soft and succulent lips. So many gentle breasts bumping slowly up and down as I give the good ride.
Alas, I can't even enjoy such a simple pleasure anymore. He could get me with my pants down if you know what I mean. He is everywhere. He is unceasing. Am I going mad? Is this just a terrible nightmare that I can't wake up from?
Its an existential trap. I'm forced into despair at the very real prospect of my own demise. Yes, I will be killed by him it is inevitable but how do I face my death? My mortality? I can't! I have to run. Run forever. Run until my heart gives out or my flesh is hacked from my body, if you know what I mean.
Yes I am a sinner, yes I have so much guilt, but aren't there so many more guilty than me? Pimps who beat women. I could never see why a man would hit a woman, they are so comforting. Oh, it has been too long. How long? Perhaps weeks, or maybe months. When you are running desperately for your life it is hard to keep track of time.
It is hard to keep track of anything. Where to begin. Forgive me father for I have sinned. And now on my death bed I fear hell above all things. I know my damnation is soon, and maybe even a death bed confession will take a few years off my sentence.
I have lied, cheated, stolen, blasphemed, and , made a whore of myself. I have failed to honor my parents. I left at seventeen. I ran off to California with a girl. Oh she was so supple. They all are. Each one a work of art.
Don't get me wrong I am sorry for most of my sins. All of them if you will save me. Even more of them if you can even by me another day.
The sun rises, another desperate bus ride out of town. To Boston. Here I might be safe. In the dead of winter will he still chase me? Oh my, I promised not to say dead or death anymore. They remind me of him.  Would that I could bribe him. Or stop him somehow but I fear this is inescapable.
I think someone said man is responsible for everything he does, but not for his birth. I was born by chance. I didn't want to be a debauch. I could have even devoted my life to good deeds or charity. Oh, I remember Charity  didn't she dance at that club? Or was it Crystal?  It doesn't matter. Perhaps, here I will be free.
Another cheap motel. In Jamaica plains or Chelsea maybe. I have more of a chance of remaining anonymous or using a fake name. Can he track my receipts? No, those whores in Baltimore meant nothing to me. Please don't add it to my sins.
I didn't chose to be born I cried at the sheer terror of being alive. Now I cry for being damned. There are so many people in New York, maybe I can escape here.
No there he is, in the street, silently stalking me. Well this motel will keep me safe. I will hide from the window. Bar the door with a chair. And maybe pray. But who do I pray to Christ? Allah? Yahweh? Who can stop the inevitable? Are these religions not fatalist? Don't their very words damn me?
So what? I'm damned. Hell awaits me. Fine I will face my death like the sniveling coward I am. Hiding and running. Weak and base. Oh, what a fool. I am. I hear a knock on the door. It is gentle at first, but it won't stop. It is maddening. I cry out go away! But the knock continues. I begin to beg for my life, but only silence and the knocking remain.
Perhaps, we are all born to die. And this is my time. All the running, the despair. I've lost all hope now. I see the world for what it is. An indifferent hell. Fine bring on the inferno. Come in. I'm ready to face you. Vain, cowardly, but I won't die a cowards death. No, my noble Celtic blood won't allow it. I take the chair from the door and he walks in. Wrapped in black faceless. I sit on my bed as he walks across the room. He pulls the blinds shut. Then takes his hood down to display the face of death and despair.
I collapse as my breathing slows. I can't breathe everything is going numb. Fine death you finally got me. Hell awaits. I'm sor........

11:18

Its 11:18, my mind is so far away. A harmless question, "you are not afraid of heights are you?" I stared off for a moment, "no, of course not." But now I was hung on the implied question, what do I fear? What does a man who spends so many hours thinking about death, who spends more time in the caress of lady suicide than in the warm bosom of life.
What do I fear? Weakness. Cowardice. Failure. I fear that I will not be strong enough for the ever dwindling list of people I care about. I feel even the best of them, that their patience with this pathetic little boy will finally break. That their tolerance for all my little acid comments and all my moments where I can't be the better man.
I fear that I will be afraid. That when the cards are dealt that I won't be the man I thought I was. That I will run from the fire not into it. I fear that my strength will never be enough for these long days. I fear failure, most of all failing myself. Which every day I become convinced that I have already done this. That the man who I wanted to be is fading into a memory washed down with cheap wine, and long moments of despair.
Yet I don't feel afraid. I keep my eyes forward. Yes I do fear my own weakness, my own cowardice, and my potential for failure. But I am not a coward. I have not failed. And I am yet still strong. Take a deep breath Jean, try not to over think things. You are younger than you realize.
Come now there is still so much to do......

Guilt, Regrets, and Silence

Guilt, Regrets, and Silence

"Jean,.... Jean,.... Jean" Mathieu called as Jean stared off. "You are always somewhere else." Mat laughed, "And damn old friend, you look like hell."
Jean smiled at his old friend, "I haven't had a good night's sleep since..." as he faked a smile to hide a frown, "Well you know."
Mathieu stared into his eyes, "Well is there nothing to be done for it? Have you seen a doctor about it, maybe get put on some sleeping pills?"
"No" retorted Jean, "I think I will go this one on my own." At this Jean politely stood up, left a few dollars for his cup of coffee and bade his friend a warm farewell.  Although warm it lacked authenticity. And for all his good etiquette Mat knew his friend was not well. But these things could hardly be helped.
When Jean arrived at his apartment he tossed his keys on the counter and walked into the bathroom. On the counter was an overturned photograph in a pretty purple frame. A young woman with black hair and a beautiful smile was hugging a man who looked like Jean did, in happier days.
In the bathroom there were still two towels. A his and hers set from the wedding. It had been a lovely event. Beautiful Anya had looked so amazing in that white dress. Had looked so wonderful always. To the point where Jean could hear himself saying "Anya my love... Anya... please hurry up... you've been in there for hours... I'm sure you'll look fine, but we will miss the play" Or whatever..... He sat down in the shower and began to cry. The cold water couldn't hold back the tears tonight. The tears he shed for dear Anya.
Jean stood up and looked in the mirror. In the reflection he swore he could see Anya standing behind him. But not as she was, not young and beautiful, but tortured and broken. He could see the unclosed wounds where her face broke on the steering wheel.  He could see a few ribs hanging out, and cringed. The sight of it made him vomit, and brought him to his senses as he threw up in the toilet.
Jean cried out once more "Anya" but as he looked around there was no one there. He walked into a kitchen filled with little knickknacks and clutter that his dearly departed had once adorned their quiet little home with. A home Jean had been unable to alter since the accident.  He stared at a ceramic kitten, all white and pure, like his Anya had been. Then in a fit of rage he smashed the figurine on the counter and began balling.
As his teary eyes looked up he made eye contact with the same horrific caricature as before, his dear Anya, his dear Anya the way she looked the night he lost her. Jean stared at her mangled body standing in front of him judging him. Jean stuttered but finally found a few words.  "Anya, I'm so sorry." The corpse remained silent. Just judging him from those hollow eyes. "Anya" Jean continued pleadingly, "Anya, I should have been driving that night!" The tears running down his face he put out his arms to embrace the corpse of his dearest love but the image faded and Jean abruptly fell to the floor.
"Anya" he cried out again as he laid on the floor, curled up a grown man who felt as broken inside as the corpse of his dead wife.
On the night of the accident it had been raining. Jean had terrible eyesight at night in particular and made all the worse by the rain. He politely asked Anya to drive. Being the adorable couple they were, beautiful Anya gladly took the keys. They kissed right before she turned the keys and then began to drive.  She put a hand on Jean's hip as they drove. He smiled at the beautiful woman, but his mind was elsewhere. They were newlyweds, and had so much to get done the next week if they wanted to be able to go on honeymoon to Barbados.
Anya had always wanted to see the Caribbean, but had grown up so poor. Jean wasn't wealthy, but he always had enough to make his Anya happy. He tucked away money in secret over the three years of their engagement. Surprising her on their wedding day with tickets to Bridgetown.
As Anya squeezed Jean's hip again gently she turned slightly to look into Jean's eyes, but just as that happened a car from the intersection slipped, its brakes failed in the rain and clipped Jean and Anya. The side of her face smashed on the steering wheel. and her ribs broke against it. Jean hit his head badly on the dashboard. As things began to blur he felt her hand still tight on his hip and gazed at what was left of her face. Tears ran down his cheek and his memory faded.
Jean's survival had been miraculous, or so the doctors said. All he could think of was the picture of beautiful Anya dead in the driver's seat.
As Jean got up from the floor he wandered into their bedroom. There sitting on his bed was the same ghastly image. He could not get it out of his head. She seemed so real. He screamed out, "What Anya ! What can I do?" She motioned for him to pick up his journal.
Jean obeyed, grief stricken with tears running down his cheeks. Anya pointed to the pen. Then Jean felt his hand writing without his control. The hand writing was familiar, but clearly not his. He looked again, not yet reading the message. Finally he found some wedding thank you cards he never sent. It was Anya's writing. Jean read the message.
I can't be dead without you.
Jean looked at her. The mangled corpse pointed to the bathroom and vanished. Jean walked into the bathroom and stared into the mirror. Anya's corpse stood behind him in his reflection. She placed her hands on his and moved them to open the drawer. There Jean pulled out a razor blade. He stared at her reflection with tears in his eyes.  Then he moved the blades down his wrists as the ghost moved them in his reflection. As the blood ran from his wrists the Anya's reflection grew fairer, the wounds healed and she looked ever more beautiful. As he fell to the ground he stared into the mirror.
Eventually his eyes began to blur. There written in blood beside him were the words:
Together, Once More, Now and For Eternity

IV-The Feast

IV-The Feast

So there they sat. Amin and Bashir cast a distrustful eye at their uncle. Camille happily sucked down wine. And Uncle Achmed with a grand smile on his face recounted a battle just a few nights ago. He said,
"So there we were, it was just me a few janissaries and a couple Bedouin against an entire tribe. They had refused to pay taxes and rather than lose face in front of that stuck up Bey Hussein we rushed out that night to meet them. My Janissaries fired a few volleys  into their ranks but the cavalry quickly recovered.  As soon as things went from bad to worse my Bedouin fled leaving just me and a few janissaries."
Camille looked up, "However did you survive?"
Uncle Achmed smiled wanting someone to egg his story on. "Soon we were surrounded. I dismounted my horse and drew a sword. We slashed and cut out way through one side of the circle, but then they span around and hit us again. Now all that was left was myself and the three remaining janissaries, one of which who had taken a substantial wound on the shoulder. I smiled at my men and cried Allahu Akbar. And ran toward the charging cavalry. The men were puzzled but returned the cry and ran after me."
Camille, "I had forgotten the excitement of battle. Do finish good Pasha"
Achmed continued, "By the end of the fight we had slew 1200 of them and lost merely fourteen. God truly is great." And at this last line Achmed winked at the boys.
Camille, now excited interjected, "How could you have survived!"
Achmed laughed, "Enough of this for now, let's get some food my friends!"
As the old man snapped his fingers the slaves came out carrying a sumptuous feast. There was wine from the best regions in Spain and France. Plenty of Goat and Mutton. And of course there was magnificent bread. Baked by artisans. The four guests ate so heartily they felt as if their stomachs were about to explode. Could there be no end to the delights of Achmed's palace?
As the dinner was finished the slaves cleared the table. In return they brought out Hookah, Coffee, and Baklava.  Amin tried to politely decline desert but his uncle insisted.  And as the hookah was lit three beautiful black belly dancers were brought forward.
Camille stared entranced by their grace and beauty, these women were incredible. Every move followed a hypnotic rhythm and it seemed their bodies were created only to memorize.  Camille felt entranced by the women.
Amin laughed and looked over at Achmed, "Well my uncle, what shall we do from here?"
Bashir interjected, "What can we do for our master?"
Achmed spoke in an eerie voice, "You say you are bound to him, but what do you know of oaths?"
Amin tried to speak, but could not find the words.
Achmed continued, "The man you were bound to fell in Belarus fighting monsters alongside you. This man is merely an reanimated body. His soul is unable to inhabit it forever. Souls cannot live in a body past death. However they don't slip out all at once. No, things like this are never that easy. You see my nephews our soul will remain as long as it can, but it strains itself trying to accept the inhumanity growing in its master. In an average person's life the soul will slip out little by little. A murder, a theft, a lie, and so on. Finally when you reach old age you will have as much soul left as you have goodness in your heart."
Bashir stared into his uncle's eyes,  "Camille still has plenty of good left in him my uncle."
Achmed continued, "Camille will live as long as his body can survive, until someone is strong enough to kill him. Every day he will have to make little sacrifices to survive.  And each little sacrifice will bring him closer to losing his soul forever. Losing his humanity and his self in eternity."
Amin interjected, "Was that why the creature attacked us when we entered the temple?"
Achmed smiled "Yuri Indoslav was a 400 year old vampire. He had lived in that section of the world since long before any of us drew breath. However being an original Yuri was forced to watch everyone he cared about be killed by the Crusaders ravaging his country, or by his own hands as he tried desperately to control the bloodlust. It is no doubt his soul found little goodness left to hold onto, and when a body is finally emptied of all hope, of all light, well there is little left we can do."
Bashir, "You knew him?"
Achmed laughed, "No, I knew of him. In 1710, while I was only a mere boy of eighteen I was called up to war by the Sultan. The Russians had attacked our people. We made common cause with the bitterest foe of Russia, Charles XII of Sweden. The war was costly and we fought each other to a standstill. However it was in Wallachia that I met a man who spoke of an old man in Transylvania named Tepes .
Amin, "Well that doesn't explain everything. Now does it?"
Achmed smiled, "It is getting late. We should all retire. Camille my boy!"
Camille looked up instantly, "Yes?"
The old man replied,  "You will not cause any trouble tonight right? My nephews are still a little nervous, but I know you are a good fellow right?"
Camille nodded.
Achmed smiled "Then be a good gentleman and go to bed."
Compelled once more Camille went to bed without a second word. Amin wanted to speak, but knew words would be wasted on his elusive uncle. All he saw was Bashir mouthing the word tomorrow and they went off to there rooms.

Sanglante de la neige: 3

Sanglante de la neige: 3 : As the boat approached the bay the two men smiled raucously. It was almost sun down and their parcel had been locked away for far too long. Three Janissaries approached the boat as it docked. After the traditional assalam wa alaikum the men asked for the ships papers. The Maltese captain exclaimed in a strange French-Arabic patois that they had come from Tunis bringing provisions. The men walked up to Amin and Bashir. The captain spoke "And what brings you to the regency?". Bashir smiled "We are here to visit our uncle, a relative has died and we must burry him soon before the body decays". The man beside the captain interjected, "maybe we should search the coffin, these men might have smuggled weapons." The captain smiled, "No, I do not think that will be necessary, Achmed Pasha would have our heads if we harassed his favorite nephews." The two soldiers began to laugh nervously. Then the captain smiled, "you two will carry the coffin for these boys, and we will get them a cart so they can make for Constantine with haste." As the road to the city winded towards the gate a honor guard surrounded Bashir and Amin. After greeting the boys the old man instructed some men to carry the coffin for the boys to their old uncle's palace. When the boys entered Achmed was still sleeping. He took to sleeping away most of the days, but usually had a look alike posted to greet the less knowledgeable traveler. The men were shocked when Amin demanded the coffin be given a room. Bashir quickly covered the boys tracts explaining "the corpse must be washed and prepared. Doesn't it?" Around four the Pasha woke up. He sent for the boys and held a secret council in his room. Achmed smiled, "I was worried when I heard that the French Sultan had invaded Egypt. So many people were killed or otherwise disrupted by the wars. Now some half-mad Albanian sits on the seat of government. The mamelukes couldn't even stop him. But I sense you have no need for lectures in current affairs, or politics. What brings the sons of my favorite sister to my home?" Amin began to speak, always rashly he never found the quite right words, "It was a half-mad mameluke that wanted mine and Bashir's heads!" Bashir realizing the need for discretion interjected, "Well you see, oh great uncle, we were in quite some trouble, and a French officer saved us. He was very young, barely twenty, but had been appointed by his brother to a decent position, his brother was a great general of the French Sultan." Achmed guessing as much already smiled, "my spies are many, but fewer these days, it took all I could just to know that, and of course of your poor mother's death. Terrible business wars are." Amin continued, "this French officer took us in and treated us like brothers. We fought the mad Cossacks in the east. Terrible men loving nother but killing. They burn churches and raise villages just for sport." Achmed mouthed the word Kufr or dog in the local tongue, Bashir interjected, "We were gathering intelligence in the Russian kingdom when our party was attacked by a strange cultist." Amin held up a symbol from the old pagan temple. Achmed smiled then snapped his fingers, some men were called for the coffin. They brought it in and then were dismissed. Achmed smiled with glee, "And this is your Frenchman I suppose?" The boys opened the casket to reveal Camille in his blue jacket chained in the coffin. The old Pasha laughed, in my house there is no need to restrain him. Achmed called another servant who brought in a young slave girl. In an almost effortless gesture the venerable old man cut her throat deliberately allowing the blood to fall on Camille. Whose black eyes opened as he felt the bloodlust take over his body. "Drink" the pasha said as he handed the girl to Camille. The command, seemed so matter of fact that Camille obeyed without second thought. Achmed smiled, "Rule number one my dear boy, feeding stops the blood lust and keeps you in control, it is the devil's curse, you must feed to rettain your humanity, but you must be inhuman to feed!" At this the old man burst with laughter. "And your cloths! Do you want to look like a corpse?" The Pasha snapped his fingers and some men took Camille away to wash and dress him. Bashir stared coldly at the corpse on the floor and then at his uncle. Amin then spoke, "So it is as we though uncle?" Achmed smiled "Our guest has returned, now Camille, and boys go and have some wine and coffee, we will have a sumptuous feast in a few hours. Camille and the boys began to walk out of the room. Achmed called back, "You feel better now don't you? Rule number two, you are a house guest so behave as one!" The command ran through Camille's mind and he felt like he was under the old man's control.

Deux- A Folly

Deux- A Folly
Bashir called out to Amin, "I think I found him".
Amin began to pull rubble off of a lifeless Camille. The three men were surrounded in the bombed out ruins of a temple. A temple to the old pagan gods. It looked every much as timeless as a Roman ruin. Villagers would be sacrificed to the gods on these old corrupted altars.
Everything had the look of inverted redemption. Gods that should have been saving men demanding a blood price.
Alojzy limped into view calling out to the brothers "I found a peasant farm. They are no friends to the Rus. We can treat him there." Glancing at Camille's pale skin, "Or at least prepare his body."
The brother lifted Camille's body. Although the pallor was gone from his it seemed there were no visible wounds on his body.
They laid him on a table inside of the barn. Then to both the peasant and Alojzy's surprise Amin and Bashir began tying Camille to the table. Then the brothers asked Alojz and the woman to leave. Bashir smiled "Oriental medicine mustn't be witnessed by outsiders. Give us some time and trust in Allah. Camille will be better by the morning.
Alojzy looked lustily towards the peasant girl. He wouldn't have to be told twice. They disappeared into the house.
Bashir and Amin began chanting. As they muttered these lost words Camille's body began convulsing. These death throws were accompanied by an apparent verisimilitude, it looked like his entire body was rejecting itself.
Camille's eyes finally opened but the pupils had expanded so far as to give his entire eyes a blacked out look. As he writhed he began to spit blood everywhere screaming like a mad man. The brothers just kept chanting.
Finally the convulsions slowed and the red blood from his mouth began to look the brownish color of stagnation. The brothers stopped chanting and wiped the blood from his face. Finally Camille spoke, in short halting sentences "Where am I? What happened? Why can't I see?"
Bashir smiled "You are very sick my friend. How much do you remember?"
Camille, regaining his composure "we were going to follow up on some of the information the priest had got for us."
Amin's lips pursed a few more words, "Ah, well I think you found what we were looking for. The good news is that those immortals aren't invincible. We were able to kill one. Or at least you were."
Camille looking shocked "what do you mean?"
Bashir smiled let me explain what happened, "When we found the temple it looked like it had been there since time immemorial. We were welcomed in by peasant girls scantily dressed drugged little servants of the priest. "
Amin "they brought us to the priest. A soft spoken gentle old man. He seated us and began to speak. It was a black mass. As he continued profaning the name of god, the old priest from Königsberg began to grow heated. As if the scars on his body felt the ancient wounds."
Bashir continued "The priest began an incantation from his God. It was to banish this demon back to hell. At the sound of these words the gentle old man grew angry. He ran towards the priest and tore his beating heart out. The men panicked and went to run but the servant girls ascended on them. They ripped our men a part. Only Alojzy, myself, and Amin were the only survivors."
Camille growing impatient, "Well I survived right?" A nervous laugh follows.
Amin paused "Well technically no."
Camille in a joking hesitation said "Yea so what this is hell?"
Bashir looked at him, "Yes in a matter of fact. After tearing the priest a part it came after you. Your bones broke under each punch as the three of us tried to pull him off you. He bit your throat. Ripping you skin off. The blood was flowing out in torrents. Alojzy hit the creature with a candle stick."
Camille "That brave little Pole!"
And Amin interjected, "The priest threw him threw the wall out into the woods. When we found him he could barely even blink. Broken arms, legs, and bloodied to a pulp. We stitched him up and cured him."
Camille laughed "how did you two stop it?"
And Bashir continued, "We didn't. You destroyed it. Amin and I were thrown to the ground and it was planning on finishing us off when you got up, still blood soaked, but something evil was unleashed. Your eyes had turned black and you ran at it like a mad man. You fought him for hours as the temple was destroyed all around you. Finally as the temple started to fall we ran outside."
Camille "I fought him after bleeding to death."
Amin spoke "When we came to we grabbed Alojzy and began rummaging through the rubble looking for you. We found him first. You had torn off one of his arms and there was a gaping hole in his chest. We removed his head then burnt the body for good measure."
"So how long was I out for?" Camille retorted.
Amin smiled "you were knocked out for an entire year"
Camille's shock was obvious, "Well since we cleared all of that up can you tell me why I'm tied up?"

Anatomy of an Overactive Imagination

Conundrum present.
Yes or no?
Left or right?
Nowhere to go.
Shifting sands
And morning sun.
Wake to dreaming.
Devils run.
Forever at a seamless loss.
The Watchers watch,
The Tossers toss.
Drifting into nightmares olde.
Surrealistic tempter's gold.
Visit cities made of gore,
As tomes tell of in ancient lore.
Buildings there of skin and bone,
Made from flesh not wood or stone.
It's there one will absorb the stench
Of rotting dreams in broken French.
Forever damned to breathe the air,
And drink the poisoned water there.

-Selador of Wordcraft

Sanglante de la neige: 1

Sanglante de la neige: 1

As the hooves of the three horses stomped down the snow the youngest of the three riders let out a scream. Lining the camp in a circle where the bodies of Russian Cossacks hanging from trees. The bodies were naked, and horribly mutilated. The throats were cut and the genitals cut off and shoved into there throats. The Maréchal slowed his horse to calm the boy. He spoke softly but still paternally, "Listen my boy, these Cossacks aren't men like you and me, they are monsters, throwbacks from before the enlightenment of humanity." The boy shivered as the three riders dismounted.
A voice from the darkness boomed, "Bienvenue, mon bon Maréchal!" And as the riders walked toward the fire Camille stood up. Beside him were two Moors decked in their traditional garb. Their names were Amin and Bashir. The two had come back with the French after the emperor had conquered Egypt. Amin slowly drew his dagger and stared at the riders. The Maréchal began with the same paternal inflection, "Are those corpses really necessary?" Camille retorted, "Oh my great and wonderful Maréchal these corpses are exactly why we are so safe. And besides I remember your words so clearly. So terror in the countryside, make the Russians think the demons in hell are fighting alongside then battalions of France."
A moment of crushing silence overtook the six men. It was finally broken by the warm laugh of the Maréchal, he laughed and then embraced Camille, "Oh my young brother you were always too thorough." Camille smiled at his brother "Isn't that why I am out here in the first place?" Amin returned his little dagger to his scabbard. And with this signal Bashir and Amin walked off to sit with the rest of Camille's men. The Maréchal began. "Camille, my dear brother, your men exceed even my high expectations of you. Our spies tell us that even now the Czar prays to his false god for deliverance. One even claimed to hear Alexander I claiming that Napoleon was the antichrist himself. It is all too splendid. But your band of cutthroats and ne'er-do-wells will not be needed for much longer."
Camille's slips pursed a gentle smile "Zut Alors! Do you mean to tell me Napoleon and Alexander have decided to stop acting like spoiled children and enter into negotiations?" The Maréchal snapped into a white hot rage, "Camille if you weren't my brother I would have you shot for such treasonous babble!" Then slowly calming down, "Our great and glorious emperor has another job for you. There have been rumors of ancient pagans in the dark forests of Lithuania. Our spies seem to think they have harnessed a dark and evil magic so powerful that their priests can live forever." Camille laughed answering incredulously to his brother, "Ah my good Maréchal, you mean rather than continue a rational guerilla and terror campaign against our enemy I am to run off to the woods in search of ancient pagan non-sense?" His laughter echoed brilliantly around the camp. Until the third rider took his hood off.
Standing before Camille was an ancient man. Scars adorned his wrinkled cheeks. The man looked almost a hundred, life worn completely down by worries and pain. And his eyes were as black as night. "I am a priest from Königsberg. Our monetary was founded during the crusades. The Prussian knights were slaughtering the Lithuanians with impunity, but we balked at this. A man of god wants the sheep to come to the fold not be fodder for the wolves. Our order began preaching to the villages, trying to make their lives a little more fulfilled. However the people thought the Prussians, all of us Germans to be monsters. they clung to their false gods, and we let the knights from all over Europe cut them down."
Camille laughed "Oh the kindness of Christianity!" The Maréchal stared at him "Finish your story old man." And the priest began again, "In a desperate attempt to hold off the crusaders the high priests made a pact with their pagan gods. In exchange for the strength to fight the Franks their souls would be forever cursed with a horrific disease. It mutilated their body and gave them an insatiable desire for human flesh. The high priests went mad with this curse, and retreated to the forests. They abandoned their people when they needed them the most."
Camille interjected again "It sounds like priests in general." The Maréchal slapped his brother, then smiled "Continue my friend." The old priest looked up at them "After the wretched pagans accepted our lord the knights set up a brutal dictatorship. Our order was merged with the Teutons. We joined them to hunt down heretics where ever they were. However in the deep dark pagan forests the priests still lived. They sustained themselves off of human sacrifice and the people prayed to the old gods for salvation from the Christians. We hunted these priests down. We killed them. The first time I laid eyes on one of them I was fifteen." Camille retorted "And it was 1193 right?"
One of Camille's men approached. His name was Alojzy. Alojzy smiled and began to speak, "We have heard of these demon priests in small towns in Poland they are used as bed time stories. You threaten little children. If they don't behave they will be fed to the old gods. It is mostly wives tales and non-sense, but..."
The Maréchal interjects, "Listen Camille your orders are to investigate these priests of the old gods. The emperor has special interest in immortality. This priest and the boy will accompany you. If you can pull this off you might earn yourself a pardon. In the meantime head for Lithuania, and take these maps from the middle ages. The priest should help you find one of the covenants. Now, I must make haste to meet up with the grand army it seems Kutuzov plans to meet us in an actual engagement.