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......