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.”

Silence

Silence

Sometimes silence slices deeper,

Leaving lacerations exposing our bones,

Revealing the naked reality of what we are,

Exposing the ruins of who we were.

 

And when the cold passes,

It sinks into our veins,

Pumping silence and imbuing despair,

All the while signifying nothing.

 

Deep, dark, and desolate,

Yet silence cuts across the darkness,

And the words left yet unsaid,

They mock the thoughts wasted in my minds.

 

All the while my days shorten,

And my pace slackens,

So I watch the moments sail by,

And I stitch the cuts closed.

 

Ana the Ripper

          Daddy, are we going to be on this boat much longer?” Young Ana said to her father. He laughed, butchering some French as he responded to his daughter. “I'm an envoy for the British Parliament to the French President.”. Ana rolled her eyes, “Don't you think those cheap bastards could book us a more luxurious room for travel though?”

            Ana's father laughed. His daughter had grown so beautiful. Her French mannerisms reminded him of her mother, but the poor woman had died a few years back. Some strange disease they picked up traveling in the orient. For his part the man had gotten his daughter the best education and primping English pounds could buy.

            It did however annoy him that out of all her courses, all Ana seemed to enjoy was the medical sciences. For his part he hoped if she remained devoted to it, at least he could hope to move her towards botany. Her father planned to marry her off to a nice English gentleman, hopefully he could even make a great profit off of the union.

            As they stared into the murky channel waters Detective Solomon Light was going to see his girlfriend. A beautiful Irish woman named Marie Jeanette. Marie was a kind young girl. She had pretty red hair and treated the detective quite well. He always told his friends at the pub, "If only my job wasn't so dangerous, if only I was a merchant or something, then I could really make an honest woman out of her."

            Yet, Solomon knew that if he died in action that it would break Marie's heart. And of course now that Solomon had been visiting her so much people have been calling her a common prostitute! "Musing to himself, my Jeanette? A prostitute? How dare they!"

            When he arrived at Marie's she put on the tea and fixed Solomon's dinner, "You spoil me Marie". She smiled, "Oh Solomon, you are an angel." As the tea boiled Marie planted a kiss on Solomon's forehead and they sat down to eat. And as Solomon sat happy and in love Ana's father was introducing her to some minor nobility.

            The count smiled, "I'm a count in Austria! My family can be traced back to Charles V!" Ana's father looked amazed, "Charles V you say? Have you met my daughter?" Ana walked over filled with boredom. Her father put his hands in the air gesturing, "Introducing, Lady Ana de la Malfleur!" Sarcastically Ana took a bow but barely looked at the old Count. "He is fat she thought, and the night rolled on. And as the people went the darkness hung in the air. The stench of death sat upon it like smoke rising.

            And when Solomon showed up at work the next day he was aghast! The officer walked up to the detective and spoke softly, "Polly Nichols has been found dead. A working girl. Her throat had been sliced and her body mutilated." Solomon stepped into his office feeling ill. It was days like this that he dreaded most.

            In the salon the old British women were chirping about the news, the look of boredom hung over Ana's head. Her father was rambling to more high class types, but the entire day seemed to drag on endlessly.

            Staring at his desk it felt like it had been ages since he had thought about anything but these horrific murders, "Nichols, Chapman, Stride, and Eddows. The trend was alarming. Who would be next?" An officer walked in, "Sir, you've been at it for days, what don't you get some rest. Go see that woman of yours, I'm sure she would love some protection tonight." Solomon stared at him, "You are right, I am beat."

            Sitting in her room reading an anatomy book Ana glared at the door. Her father had been keeping her under strict lock down because of the murders. He was worried, but she couldn't take the boredom for much longer. And so Ana climbed out of her window and headed out for the night.

            Solomon walked slowly, listening for people talking trying to hear rumors. A City besieged by fear. All London was a roar with the news of the murders. Terror gripped everyone, and all Solomon wanted to do was kill this whacko and bring peace back to his home. He decided to hurry toward Marie's. "Intuition" he thought.

            And there Marie was, murdered, torn to pieces by this demon. A monster from hell, Solomon was sure as the tears were flowing he caught sight of a man leaving the sight, "Stop he yelled!" The man kept running so Solomon bolted after him. They ran through the night, finally the man stopped along a bridge.

            Solomon spoke, "Sir, I need you to come down to the station for some questioning. Marie Jeanette has been murdered, you were in the area!" The man remained silent, and Solomon's rage boiled, "Who are you? Do demons have no tongue?" And then the man took off his hat. Long black hair fell. It wasn't a man at all. Ana smiled.

            "Demon, why yes, I do suppose you can call me that, but I was just so interested to see what there insides looked like. And for that matter, I think I would like to see what makes you tic." Ana ran at him and slashed him once before he knew what hit him.

            Solomon leaped back. And Ana slashed again. She ran and jumped at him. He looked full of terror but knew he wanted to avenge his love. So he took another slash, but this time landing his hands around her neck. Ana drove her knife into him again and again, but his grip didn't loosen.

            As they got along the side of the bridge Solomon spoke, "I'm personally taking you back to hell demon, and he fell into the cold waters bleeding with Ana sinking unconscious. Solomon thought of Marie once more. He closed his eyes and drifted down, thinking of tea and warm dinner. As he slipped away he wondered why he had been fated to kill this young girl.

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.