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.”