Sanglante de la Neige-VI

               Sanglante de la Neige-VI

He sat down at the bar. This was a man carrying the weight of many worlds on his shoulders. The waitress walked over to him. She had red lips and chalky pale skin. The man looked at her in silence. She blushed out of a little nervousness. Finally speaking the girl said, “Well boy? What will you have?” Trying to smile he spoke, “Get me some wine.” The girl nodded and disappeared behind the bar.

               At that moment, two men walked in. They sat at a table by the door. Only a few people would notice the subtle nod they gave the sullen man at the bar. The men ordered in Spanish. The waitress smiled, “Up from Florida are you?” The men smiled and the girl brought them some beers.

               The man at the bar got up and walked towards the two men with his wine. Each step carried with it the pain f endless indelible sins. He smiled and joined them in silence. The waitress came over and in a big southern smile spoke, “Ah! The sad French boy has some friends!” They still remained silent. “May I join you?” She asked. One of the Spanish men nodded and she sat down.

               Still talking, “Are you guys political exiles or something?” Finally Amin spoke, “Yes, we are Carlists fleeing from the turmoil in Spain.” Camille looked at him with disappointment, and then looked at the young girl, “What is your name dear?” She smiled, “Ana”. Camille looked at her, “Have you ever considered eternity Ana?”

               She laughed, “You mean like going to church and what not? Are you traveling priests?” Bashir laughed, “If priests were damned to hell and cursed for their crimes, then priests we are.” Camille and Amin looked at Bashir. The weight of these days seemed to hang heavier on him than anyone else.

               For Bashir, his loyalty was the only thing keeping him bound to Camille. Camille had saved him and his brother. They owed him their lives, but the unnaturalness of his sickness made this all the more painful. They had lived longer than a man ought to. And worse yet they had hardly aged. They were bound to him and this odd status granted them an extended life. But whereas Amin enjoyed this blasphemy, Bashir wore the pain of his soul on his shoulders.

               That witch had warned the boys that their souls were bound to their unnatural master. They were his familiars and would live longer than normal lives. And the corruption of the curse would draw them. As until now they had remained only his familiars, his assistants, but Bashir knew his brother had become increasingly interested in the idea of becoming like Camille. And Idea that nauseated Bashir. Yet he remained, torn and broken by the curse, but he was bound to Camille and his brother.

               Camille spoke, “No my dear, like walking across eternity, cursed but blessed.” Ana stared at him, a little scared, but she found comfort in his voice, it seemed to hypnotize her. Finally Bashir stood up, I will be returning to my room. He stormed off, and Amin looked to Camille.

               The night is young my dear, join us on a walk. Ana nodded and followed them in silent compliance.

              

Échec-Veronica Verie

Échec – Veronica Verie

               And as I walked up the stairs the answer was already in my head. I was too late. Whoever this was, whoever was behind that door, I couldn’t save this sorry person. I was just walking towards another corpse.

               A few officers ran ahead of me, they got my call. Rick walked up to me, “So by your pace I surmise we are too late?” I didn’t respond. Heck the only thing I wanted was a drink. A gin and tonic, a cold beer, a….One of the officers shouted, “She is dead.”

               I walked past the others, and stared at the corpse. She was beautiful. Or, she had been, when she was alive. Rick looked at me, finally he spoke, “Did you know her?”

               I nodded, “I saw her once.” Staring at the empty pill bottles around her I closed my eyes.

               Veronica Verie was a singer. I saw her perform once a couple years ago. It was a dim lit bar. I sipped my drink as we waited for her to come on stage.

               There I saw a woman walk up. She was pale and wearing a red dress. Her eyes were a steel blue. They were a stolen blue. She took them from a deep well of despair. It was a bottomless pit in which her soul seethed and her moments fleeted. She wore a depth of pain under that dress that cut through every inch of her.

               And as she spoke before the song you could hear days spent washed in booze and pills. Every moment of this woman’s life was unending despair that suffocated the hope out of each person she encountered.

               When she was fourteen she ran away from her home. Her father was an abusive drunkard. He had gotten worse after her mother died. Those early days of desperation and suffering brought about so many scars on a young girl’s psyche. These were wounds she would carry her entire life. And when she left she brought all that pain with her.

               Days spent waiting tables and pumping her veins full of junk. Nights chasing away the sickness and pain with a bottle. And all the while she was emptying her heart along with each drink. She was spending every cent on drink and drugs. And spending each moment wandering ever forward toward the inevitable.

               Her pain was as authentic as it was tragic. And who can really not love a tragic beauty a little bit. And so Verie’s skill and beauty only grew juxtaposed to her pain. All the while she only slipped further away. Veronica, a shattered woman, she was inching further into desolation.”

               Now I look at her lifeless body. She was lying on the floor. Next to her were empty bottles of pills and wine. Empty like she was now. There on the floor a beautiful woman destroyed. She was destroyed by her pain. Broken by days spent lost to the endless suffering that cascaded in her memory.

               I bent down on the floor next t her. Kissing her hand I put a sheet over her. Good night beautiful angel. The officers looked at me in silence, and finally I spoke, “Rick, this woman didn’t deserve this.” Staring at the ground I continued, “None of them do! Why the hell is it so dark in this world? Why are we so alone? If only she knew it wasn’t so bad. Those scars might never fade, but over time we can learn to forget them. Learn to forgive those who left them, and atone to those we left scars on!”

Rick interjected, “Jean, it’s not your fault!” Staring at him, “Rick, I wish I could have. I couldn’t save anyone, but why the hell do I have to deal with all this. Why is it me that they are drawn to? Every time one of these poor wretches dies I lose a little of myself. And now I’m losing more than ever.”

Rick wanted to speak again. I just looked at him and nodded. I walked out the store and out to the street. Staring at the pavement I began to think of those I lost already. Of my mother, my father, those friends and lovers, all of them fallen into oblivion. All the while I couldn’t help any of them. They died and I couldn’t save them. I was weak, as weak as them. So why do I go on?

Well at least I knew what drove me to march on tonight. Tonight it was only a vodka tonic for me. Yet, however maybe I could find more. Like that pretty woman that just smiled at me……….

Monte

               You do it a hundred times. You watch their eyes follow the Joker as he lands face down in the middle of the two red queens. You smile ever so slightly as they go to point him out. They hesitate. You pressure. They miss. You make money. People are their own worst enemies.

                I play with the heart and diamond bitches, my money card is the clown. “Find the clown and make a buck, he’s never in the same place twice,”… oh but he is. He’s in the middle. He’s in the middle every. Damned. Time.   “Care to try your luck?”

                The street was hot with people begging to give me their dollars, the winners walked away proud. I paid them to bring me more losers. It’s always a pleasure to do business.

I had a lurker today. She was a hot young thing who watched eight people out of ten pay me. Then sixteen out of twenty. I never let people just watch for that long, pay to play or hit the road. I’m no corner guitar man. But I let her watch. She saw my clown pay 17 people. He paid them from the same cozy spot between my ladies every time.

As the sun went down, the crowds started to dwindle. Nobody trusts a Three Card dealer in the dark. But before I packed up, I called her over. She’d already had a nice little quip worked out. Of course she did, she knew I saw her there. She’d said the same simple thing again and again in her head for at least the last hour.

“You and me, let’s play,” she smacked a moist hundred dollar bill on my platform and smiled at me.

I said, “Dollface,” she liked that, “magic man don’t play checkers. I play chess. And I only use three pieces.”

“Lay ‘em out,” she picked up my speech patterns. Good. Mirroring. She’s trying to build rapport, but I’m always one step ahead. I scratched my nostril and her nose itched.

“One, two, three,” face up diamond, Joker, heart, “Find the one in the middle.” I pointed at my clown and told her exactly where to find it. “One, two, three,” my cards were face down. Enigmas.

“Before we get started,” let’s make this game interesting. I pulled out my hundred in tens and laid it on top of her bill. “As always, it’s winner take all.”

“But?”

“But if you win … I’ll give you my cards.”

“And if I lose?” Flirt.

“I take you back to my place and we play a different game.” I looked her right in the eye, and smiled.

“Deal.”