Normally she would just wrap herself in one of her many silk kimonos, slip on the matching house slippers and give her short curls a quick brush. But this was one of those occasions. He needed another little nudge to do the right thing, so she had to be immaculate. She had to remind him who they were.
As she walked into the library, the first thing she noticed was the strong scent of cigar. He had picked up that habit again then.
He turned around to greet her, a slick smile on his young, handsome face.
You must tell her the old woman said after the usual pleasantries. She deserves to know.
Her smoker's voice was one the young man knew all too well. It had taught him all he knew and more.
Thus, he nodded unenthusiastically and lit another cigar. His lips curled and deigned him an air of superiority, an air that had come with his inheritance.
The old woman touched the ruby at her neck. Usually she would drape herself in diamonds, but this was not one of those occasions. He needed a stern warning.
If you're going to drop her, she needs to know straight away. She needs to plan her next move and get away from here as soon as it is possible for her. The scandal won't wait. She did not avert her eyes from him, while his were glued to the cigar.
She watched him linger out the moments before he had to give a proper answer. He had her brother's long, elegant nose and her sister-in-law's smile. The eyes were her father's. Cold as ice and full of malice. The kind of malice that attracts and destroys. And he would destroy his latest prey before the evening was out. Everyone would know and she would die inside. He would live again, refreshed, like a vampire after having fed on virgin's blood. Beautiful as ever.
No one in the family must know. They would demand a marriage of you. They know of her wealth and they would not allow you to let this opportunity fall at your feet and be kicked away, she croaked.
Yes dear aunt. He raised his champagne glass and toasted to his ingenious plan, of which his beloved aunt would know nothing until he had executed it. He would keep the wealth and leave the woman. No one who had ever attempted such a thing lived to tell the tale.
He noticed her long, silky skirt and her white, cold blouse. The only thing that was breathing life into her was the ruby. A strange choice for an afternoon spent at home, with family.
Thursday 7 November 2013
Saturday 17 August 2013
Lace and Tea In The Afternoon
It was one of those beautiful, yet instantly forgettable days.
The girls were wearing white lace and chiffon, running barefoot on the freshly mowed grass. The boys were playing a ridiculous game of cricket, each one of them displaying no talent at all. Of course, they pretended to excel, like with everything else.
The lord and lady of the house had gone for a long ride through their many fields. He had briefly remarked that he wanted to check on the constructions of the new foundry in the next town, whilst she wanted to buy some new ribbons for the girls. The lady liked to make these kinds of purchases herself, instead of sending the tasteless new maid. She missed her old maids, maids that knew her inside out, but after the latest hushed-up scandal, the man of the house, the pater familias had let them all go. Scared old man. The lady suspected that he had bedded all of them and was afraid that with the wave of revelations that was hitting their part of the county, they might speak out about his indiscretions.
It was a picture of quiet beauty, of still serenity. If someone would have frozen this or that moment during the course of the afternoon, it might have looked like an Impressionist painting.
No one felt the impending sense of dread.
The girls made flower garlands for their long, free-flowing hair and the boys played tag, occasionally glancing over to the girls and giggling at their girlishness.
The adults had tea and discussed anything but politics and what was going on in the land. They too could not see beyond their own fields, beyond the life they knew.
A storm would hit and devastate them soon enough. The higher powers knew that. So they let blissful ignorance gently cast its spell over this calm, delicate summer's day.
The girls were wearing white lace and chiffon, running barefoot on the freshly mowed grass. The boys were playing a ridiculous game of cricket, each one of them displaying no talent at all. Of course, they pretended to excel, like with everything else.
The lord and lady of the house had gone for a long ride through their many fields. He had briefly remarked that he wanted to check on the constructions of the new foundry in the next town, whilst she wanted to buy some new ribbons for the girls. The lady liked to make these kinds of purchases herself, instead of sending the tasteless new maid. She missed her old maids, maids that knew her inside out, but after the latest hushed-up scandal, the man of the house, the pater familias had let them all go. Scared old man. The lady suspected that he had bedded all of them and was afraid that with the wave of revelations that was hitting their part of the county, they might speak out about his indiscretions.
It was a picture of quiet beauty, of still serenity. If someone would have frozen this or that moment during the course of the afternoon, it might have looked like an Impressionist painting.
No one felt the impending sense of dread.
The girls made flower garlands for their long, free-flowing hair and the boys played tag, occasionally glancing over to the girls and giggling at their girlishness.
The adults had tea and discussed anything but politics and what was going on in the land. They too could not see beyond their own fields, beyond the life they knew.
A storm would hit and devastate them soon enough. The higher powers knew that. So they let blissful ignorance gently cast its spell over this calm, delicate summer's day.
Friday 9 August 2013
Late Night Thoughts With The Bartender
The men flocked to the two new arrivals like cocks to hens.
How pathetic. They ran and rammed into each other, trampling like an elephant herd.
I sniggered to myself as I watched them.
They were so obvious in their attempt to get laid. It was cruel upon the eyes.
I sniggered a little more and turned to my friend, who was quietly ignoring the entire scene. He sipped on his drink like a man who had done nothing but elegantly sip on drinks through thick and thin. He looked over to me coolly.
"What?" His eyes said, sharing my disgust at this display of shallow need.
So they couldn't keep it in their trousers for more than a day or two?
Ah hell, who could.
We'd all be at it if we could.
I reflected on my stream of consciousness, despising every word as I revisited it.
I miss this, I miss that.
I miss you, I miss me.
I miss me.
I sipped on my drink, not realising that the glass had been dry for a while.
The bartender took one look at me and poured me another finger of champagne, or something that looked remotely like it. It tasted nice.
The bunch of horny elephants did not return. I felt blessed to be distant from them.
The stupidity seemed to be contagious.
But we all struggle sometimes. I can't iron for shit. The man next to me smells like cheap loneliness. The one on the other side is asking himself how I am. How he is. How we are and how we should be.
Does it really matter?
I downed my drink and stopped the bartender from topping it up. He understood, nodding at me with no smile at all. I understood.
I uncrossed my legs, sighed at the emptiness of this past evening, sighed at the fact that I was not tipsy, sighed at the frustration I started to feel towards the world.
Bitter. Bitterness. Bitter Bitterness.
But it isn't wrong to feel a little bitter sometimes.
Only if it is sometimes and not more.
Tomorrow will be different.
And with that thought, I returned to the bar and ordered another drink.
Existentialism could wait.
The night was young and so was I.
How pathetic. They ran and rammed into each other, trampling like an elephant herd.
I sniggered to myself as I watched them.
They were so obvious in their attempt to get laid. It was cruel upon the eyes.
I sniggered a little more and turned to my friend, who was quietly ignoring the entire scene. He sipped on his drink like a man who had done nothing but elegantly sip on drinks through thick and thin. He looked over to me coolly.
"What?" His eyes said, sharing my disgust at this display of shallow need.
So they couldn't keep it in their trousers for more than a day or two?
Ah hell, who could.
We'd all be at it if we could.
I reflected on my stream of consciousness, despising every word as I revisited it.
I miss this, I miss that.
I miss you, I miss me.
I miss me.
I sipped on my drink, not realising that the glass had been dry for a while.
The bartender took one look at me and poured me another finger of champagne, or something that looked remotely like it. It tasted nice.
The bunch of horny elephants did not return. I felt blessed to be distant from them.
The stupidity seemed to be contagious.
But we all struggle sometimes. I can't iron for shit. The man next to me smells like cheap loneliness. The one on the other side is asking himself how I am. How he is. How we are and how we should be.
Does it really matter?
I downed my drink and stopped the bartender from topping it up. He understood, nodding at me with no smile at all. I understood.
I uncrossed my legs, sighed at the emptiness of this past evening, sighed at the fact that I was not tipsy, sighed at the frustration I started to feel towards the world.
Bitter. Bitterness. Bitter Bitterness.
But it isn't wrong to feel a little bitter sometimes.
Only if it is sometimes and not more.
Tomorrow will be different.
And with that thought, I returned to the bar and ordered another drink.
Existentialism could wait.
The night was young and so was I.
Thursday 1 August 2013
Run Run Lover Run
The car seats were damp.
Kee had left both windows open, in an attempt to get rid of the stale smell of smoke and the pungent taste of vomit. Rose pulled the two sweaters he had given her tighter around her shivering body. Her lips were slowly turning blue, but she would have rather frozen to death than continued to breathe in the poisonous fumes.
He was still driving. She looked outside, catching a glimpse of a sign reading a Northern town.
Where are we? Where are we going?
She sighed resentfully. Kee turned to her, that look in his eyes again, and turned away again, reaching for a packet of cigarettes. Stolen, like the stinking car. In fact, the only thing that was not stolen, was one of the two sweaters that were not keeping her warm. The blue one with their initials.
Rose contorted herself into the passenger seat beside Kee. He had lit a smoke and was puffing away, trying hard not to blow the sickening gas into Rose's face. He would have earned a mighty slap for that, no matter how tired she was.
"Do you know where we are?" She asked him later, before turning on the broken radio.
"Somewhere up north." He replied curtly.
I can't do this. I can't stand the smell, the taste, the sight, the atmosphere. Stop. Stop.
"I liked this song once upon a time." Rose said, turning the fake volume up. She started whistling along. Kee looked over at her and smiled his crooked smile.
"It was playing when we met."
"I know, you silly bugger. I know that."
They whistled together until their lips felt numb. Then Kee stopped in a hidden car park, just off the country road they had been driving down for the last half an hour.
Their kisses revived their lips. And suddenly the damp car seats did not matter anymore. The terrible smell had almost gone.
But we'll never be free of what we have done. Of what I have done. Of what I made him do.
Kee had left both windows open, in an attempt to get rid of the stale smell of smoke and the pungent taste of vomit. Rose pulled the two sweaters he had given her tighter around her shivering body. Her lips were slowly turning blue, but she would have rather frozen to death than continued to breathe in the poisonous fumes.
He was still driving. She looked outside, catching a glimpse of a sign reading a Northern town.
Where are we? Where are we going?
She sighed resentfully. Kee turned to her, that look in his eyes again, and turned away again, reaching for a packet of cigarettes. Stolen, like the stinking car. In fact, the only thing that was not stolen, was one of the two sweaters that were not keeping her warm. The blue one with their initials.
Rose contorted herself into the passenger seat beside Kee. He had lit a smoke and was puffing away, trying hard not to blow the sickening gas into Rose's face. He would have earned a mighty slap for that, no matter how tired she was.
"Do you know where we are?" She asked him later, before turning on the broken radio.
"Somewhere up north." He replied curtly.
I can't do this. I can't stand the smell, the taste, the sight, the atmosphere. Stop. Stop.
"I liked this song once upon a time." Rose said, turning the fake volume up. She started whistling along. Kee looked over at her and smiled his crooked smile.
"It was playing when we met."
"I know, you silly bugger. I know that."
They whistled together until their lips felt numb. Then Kee stopped in a hidden car park, just off the country road they had been driving down for the last half an hour.
Their kisses revived their lips. And suddenly the damp car seats did not matter anymore. The terrible smell had almost gone.
But we'll never be free of what we have done. Of what I have done. Of what I made him do.
Wednesday 3 July 2013
Scarlett's Dream and Its Giver
"Scarlett appeared by the single street light in an unexpected flash. She could not remember how she got there or why she was even here, on this desolate pavement by the only light for miles.
And then he materialized through the mist.
Of course it was him. Her eyes widened and she stopped breathing. Classic moment before the heart turmoil begins.
He recognized Scarlett and walked straight to her. She noticed that not once did he take his alluring blue-green eyes off her. It was almost as if he felt it too.
"So where are we going?" She said, only slightly cocking her head to the side when he stood in front of her. It was the tell.
The young man brushed his finger tips along her jaw line and down to her collarbone, still not blinking, still penetrating her with his intense gaze.
He sighed, obviously satisfied with himself, as well as with her.
"We're going to Sarah's."
Scarlett raised her wild eyebrows. "Which Sarah?"
"Blonde Sarah. Thin Sarah. The one with the annoying voice."
"There is no way I'm going to hers."
He caught on to something. "And why not?" He pulled her a little closer.
"Because I slept with the guy she liked and potentially still likes. The one that's now working in Canada."
The man laughed, running a rough hand through his shiny black hair.
"We're going to Sarah's."
They appeared at hers. It was not exactly what Scarlett had expected, as there was a full-blown orgy happening in the living room and on the staircase, where the drunker people were congregating in the hope of pulling someone decent looking and equally as drunk.
Scarlett thought only one thing: "How depraved."
She had had three and foursome experiences herself, but nothing as public as this, and with good reason. A quarter of the participants were occasionally fumbling for their phones.
Scarlett looked over at the man she had come with.
"What are we doing here?" She asked him openly, defiance written on her pale face. But he just smiled and went to greet a few people he knew. People who had no idea who she was. Presumably just another one of his many conquests. It was the way he worked after all. Nevertheless, if only they had looked better, with a critical eye instead of an inebriated one, they could have seen the power that they had over each other, even without realizing it. Oblivious.
There were sparks flying everywhere. They would have burned the house down with everyone in it.
Arsonists with electricity. Hmm.
And then they were in the garden, finally locking onto each other like they should have done by the street light where he had appeared to her through all of the lack of clarity.
She opened her blue eyes after a particularly intense kiss.
He was gone."
And then he materialized through the mist.
Of course it was him. Her eyes widened and she stopped breathing. Classic moment before the heart turmoil begins.
He recognized Scarlett and walked straight to her. She noticed that not once did he take his alluring blue-green eyes off her. It was almost as if he felt it too.
"So where are we going?" She said, only slightly cocking her head to the side when he stood in front of her. It was the tell.
The young man brushed his finger tips along her jaw line and down to her collarbone, still not blinking, still penetrating her with his intense gaze.
He sighed, obviously satisfied with himself, as well as with her.
"We're going to Sarah's."
Scarlett raised her wild eyebrows. "Which Sarah?"
"Blonde Sarah. Thin Sarah. The one with the annoying voice."
"There is no way I'm going to hers."
He caught on to something. "And why not?" He pulled her a little closer.
"Because I slept with the guy she liked and potentially still likes. The one that's now working in Canada."
The man laughed, running a rough hand through his shiny black hair.
"We're going to Sarah's."
They appeared at hers. It was not exactly what Scarlett had expected, as there was a full-blown orgy happening in the living room and on the staircase, where the drunker people were congregating in the hope of pulling someone decent looking and equally as drunk.
Scarlett thought only one thing: "How depraved."
She had had three and foursome experiences herself, but nothing as public as this, and with good reason. A quarter of the participants were occasionally fumbling for their phones.
Scarlett looked over at the man she had come with.
"What are we doing here?" She asked him openly, defiance written on her pale face. But he just smiled and went to greet a few people he knew. People who had no idea who she was. Presumably just another one of his many conquests. It was the way he worked after all. Nevertheless, if only they had looked better, with a critical eye instead of an inebriated one, they could have seen the power that they had over each other, even without realizing it. Oblivious.
There were sparks flying everywhere. They would have burned the house down with everyone in it.
Arsonists with electricity. Hmm.
And then they were in the garden, finally locking onto each other like they should have done by the street light where he had appeared to her through all of the lack of clarity.
She opened her blue eyes after a particularly intense kiss.
He was gone."
Cigarette Lips
"The taste of cigarette smoke clung to her tongue, even though she had not touched a single one in months.
On her short walk home, the girl waded through her whereabouts of the last few days, still wondering where this bitter taste in her mouth came from.
Was it Charlie?
Charlie smoked, but they had not kissed in three days. He was still at the conference in Brighton. And she was here, in the City, alone with her cigarette lips and a strong desire to get rid of them.
Vi's thoughts returned to the night she had passed in rowdy company in a seedy pub in a "you should avoid it if you can" part of town. Not once did it occur to her that she might not be safe. She had worn thick eyeliner and lipstick for the first time in months. Charlie did not like her with make-up on. She loved it.
"Who. Is. That?" A friend of Charlie had asked another friend of Charlie.
"Charlie's girlfriend."
That was that. He did not come talk to her. But... Another friend of theirs, whose first love was eavesdropping, did. He came over to where Vi was sitting among a group of other people, discussing the latest nihilistic novel they supposedly had all read. It was exactly the kind of conversation that would get you in trouble in those parts of town, but no one seemed to care that a bunch of intellectuals were congregating at a rock concert that quickly escalated into a beer throwing fest.
Vi did not seem to mind, neither did the rest.
By the end of the night, every single person smelt like the floor of a brewery and looked like a broken hearted drag queen. But the night had been a success, for the aim had been to "expand their horizons". They had fulfilled their weekend mission and could now return to their monotonous every day lives, packed with coffee orders and mindless chit-chat, as well as being one step from suicidal.
Vi thought about Charlie. She would soon have to tell him that she was no longer in love with the life they had built together and that she wanted to wear make-up every day and dance on podiums all night. He'd hate it.
She was strangely looking forward to it, as if she was finally answering long awaited call from a friend in a war zone."
On her short walk home, the girl waded through her whereabouts of the last few days, still wondering where this bitter taste in her mouth came from.
Was it Charlie?
Charlie smoked, but they had not kissed in three days. He was still at the conference in Brighton. And she was here, in the City, alone with her cigarette lips and a strong desire to get rid of them.
Vi's thoughts returned to the night she had passed in rowdy company in a seedy pub in a "you should avoid it if you can" part of town. Not once did it occur to her that she might not be safe. She had worn thick eyeliner and lipstick for the first time in months. Charlie did not like her with make-up on. She loved it.
"Who. Is. That?" A friend of Charlie had asked another friend of Charlie.
"Charlie's girlfriend."
That was that. He did not come talk to her. But... Another friend of theirs, whose first love was eavesdropping, did. He came over to where Vi was sitting among a group of other people, discussing the latest nihilistic novel they supposedly had all read. It was exactly the kind of conversation that would get you in trouble in those parts of town, but no one seemed to care that a bunch of intellectuals were congregating at a rock concert that quickly escalated into a beer throwing fest.
Vi did not seem to mind, neither did the rest.
By the end of the night, every single person smelt like the floor of a brewery and looked like a broken hearted drag queen. But the night had been a success, for the aim had been to "expand their horizons". They had fulfilled their weekend mission and could now return to their monotonous every day lives, packed with coffee orders and mindless chit-chat, as well as being one step from suicidal.
Vi thought about Charlie. She would soon have to tell him that she was no longer in love with the life they had built together and that she wanted to wear make-up every day and dance on podiums all night. He'd hate it.
She was strangely looking forward to it, as if she was finally answering long awaited call from a friend in a war zone."
Sunday 23 June 2013
Snigger Away
"The Queen threw the dirty letter on the floor.
"They have murdered my ambassador on the steps of the Temple." Her voice shook and she clenched her fists tightly as she spoke. "You know what this means, do you not? War. I say it means war!"
The King looked over at her, slouched in his throne of thorns, chewing on a juicy grape.
"And what might you, a woman, know of these matters?"
The Queen turned to face him, eyes thunderous and fists still clenched, in an attempt to steady herself.
"Might I recall a certain Battle of the Three Hills to Your Majesty's attention? A conflict where my counsel was the only one that led you and your generals to victory?" She bowed her head slightly.
He paid no mind.
"Take her away. I'm not in the mood for your moods and your dramatic nature. As you know, I haven't been for a very long time. Your being here bores me. Leave."
The first general stood up briskly. "Your Majesty. If I may have permission to speak -"
"Silence. I won't have you defending your whore's honour."
The throne room grew silent. One could have heard a handkerchief falling to the ground.
The Queen was the first to recompose herself.
"Majesty. I beg your indulgence for just a moment before I take my leave of you. It sounded to my ears as though you were accusing me of having an affair with the here present general, a man most loyal to you, my dear husband. How ridiculous." She smiled at him.
"And now, if you will excuse me, I have grown tired of your insults. I shall retire to the drawing room." She nodded towards her ladies in waiting and they followed her out of the still silent throne room like obedient little ducklings.
"She's a madwoman and a whore. Your whore." The King nodded to the general. "Better yours than mine." He laughed wholeheartedly.
If only he could have seen his second in command quietly sniggering behind him. What everyone except the King and Queen knew, was that for a long time that man had been spying on them both, paying careful attention never to be caught in the act, but catching many others in flagrante delicto and in many other, rather uncomfortable positions."
"They have murdered my ambassador on the steps of the Temple." Her voice shook and she clenched her fists tightly as she spoke. "You know what this means, do you not? War. I say it means war!"
The King looked over at her, slouched in his throne of thorns, chewing on a juicy grape.
"And what might you, a woman, know of these matters?"
The Queen turned to face him, eyes thunderous and fists still clenched, in an attempt to steady herself.
"Might I recall a certain Battle of the Three Hills to Your Majesty's attention? A conflict where my counsel was the only one that led you and your generals to victory?" She bowed her head slightly.
He paid no mind.
"Take her away. I'm not in the mood for your moods and your dramatic nature. As you know, I haven't been for a very long time. Your being here bores me. Leave."
The first general stood up briskly. "Your Majesty. If I may have permission to speak -"
"Silence. I won't have you defending your whore's honour."
The throne room grew silent. One could have heard a handkerchief falling to the ground.
The Queen was the first to recompose herself.
"Majesty. I beg your indulgence for just a moment before I take my leave of you. It sounded to my ears as though you were accusing me of having an affair with the here present general, a man most loyal to you, my dear husband. How ridiculous." She smiled at him.
"And now, if you will excuse me, I have grown tired of your insults. I shall retire to the drawing room." She nodded towards her ladies in waiting and they followed her out of the still silent throne room like obedient little ducklings.
"She's a madwoman and a whore. Your whore." The King nodded to the general. "Better yours than mine." He laughed wholeheartedly.
If only he could have seen his second in command quietly sniggering behind him. What everyone except the King and Queen knew, was that for a long time that man had been spying on them both, paying careful attention never to be caught in the act, but catching many others in flagrante delicto and in many other, rather uncomfortable positions."
Friday 21 June 2013
Realization
"The strangest thing happened the last time I saw him.
The most unexpected thought crawled into my mind as he was joking around with the rest of them. We have nothing to say to each other, we don't even look at each other with interest anymore. And now that the physical thing between us has run its course, there is no reason for us to interact, to see or to even think about the other.
When these thoughts occurred to me, there was a calmness floating through my mind, along with the realization that should have come to me sooner: no matter for how long I did not see it, the truth had been there for years. It just took seeing him clearly for me to finally comprehend that there never was and never will be a true friendship between us. This must all seem quite repetitive, and I must apologize for that, dear Kitty, but you are the companion that never retorts or laughs inadequately or hiccups at the wrong moment during our conversations. And most importantly, you knew him too, through my eyes and your own. A blessing and a curse, both in disguise.
Now we are rid of him, of thoughts that would start with the likes of "what if we ended up in bed together again" and end with, let's be honest, a few graphic images. Now we are rid of him. Now we are rid of him.
No matter how many times I repeat it to myself, and inevitably to you my dear, I await a sensation of sadness and a feeling of loss to slowly make its descent upon me. It has not done so, and I know that it will not ever come to that. He is gone, lost to me, in a good way. He is there, should I want to talk to him, but at the same time, he is gone from my world.
You felt it too, did you not? You know what I mean.
You knew before I did that there was nothing more between us and you just wanted me to find out on my own, not to be influenced by your opinions, my sweetest friend.
And I love you dearly for it."
The most unexpected thought crawled into my mind as he was joking around with the rest of them. We have nothing to say to each other, we don't even look at each other with interest anymore. And now that the physical thing between us has run its course, there is no reason for us to interact, to see or to even think about the other.
When these thoughts occurred to me, there was a calmness floating through my mind, along with the realization that should have come to me sooner: no matter for how long I did not see it, the truth had been there for years. It just took seeing him clearly for me to finally comprehend that there never was and never will be a true friendship between us. This must all seem quite repetitive, and I must apologize for that, dear Kitty, but you are the companion that never retorts or laughs inadequately or hiccups at the wrong moment during our conversations. And most importantly, you knew him too, through my eyes and your own. A blessing and a curse, both in disguise.
Now we are rid of him, of thoughts that would start with the likes of "what if we ended up in bed together again" and end with, let's be honest, a few graphic images. Now we are rid of him. Now we are rid of him.
No matter how many times I repeat it to myself, and inevitably to you my dear, I await a sensation of sadness and a feeling of loss to slowly make its descent upon me. It has not done so, and I know that it will not ever come to that. He is gone, lost to me, in a good way. He is there, should I want to talk to him, but at the same time, he is gone from my world.
You felt it too, did you not? You know what I mean.
You knew before I did that there was nothing more between us and you just wanted me to find out on my own, not to be influenced by your opinions, my sweetest friend.
And I love you dearly for it."
Friday 31 May 2013
Semper Catatonic, Semper Paratus
"He's been catatonic for months now and we have seen no change in his condition whatsoever. I'm very sorry."
The doctor's distant voice momentarily broke through the bubble Victoria had carefully constructed around herself before she stepped into the waiting room.
"I see."
"You might want to start considering the treatment we discussed in our last session. I realize that this level of aggressiveness may have its consequences, but so far nothing else has worked."
"Yes. Yes we might consider that", Victoria mumbled. She pressed her hands together, letting the fingers slip through each other. He had always said that she had the hands of an angel.
"Won't you come through to my office? We can make an appointment for you to come back and review the situation with Dr. Bergman and I."
Why did doctors' voices always sound so forced? How many other people had she told that they may very well lose their already lost loved one? That they would be swallowed up by a darkness that could neither be fought nor controlled?
A deadly shiver ran through Victoria.
"Mummy. Mummy I want to go home. I don't like this place."
"Yes darling, Mummy is almost finished." Victoria turned to the doctor, who for the first time had taken her lifeless eyes off of her and had directed her cold, calculating gaze onto Jamie, Victoria's six year old son. He hid behind his mother when he felt the doctor's stare upon him. Being looked at intently made him uncomfortable, as if someone else wanted to be in his skin and expel him from his body. He had been that way since his father, the man now known only as "Catatonic SX655", had lost all possible sensation and had collapsed on the floor in front of him. He spoke solely with his wide-open eyes, pleading for Jamie to go find help. Then they glazed over and Jamie never saw a look of life in him again.
"Mummy. Mummy please."
Victoria caressed his little head. How she wanted to shield him from what was happening and what was bound to happen sooner rather than later."
The doctor's distant voice momentarily broke through the bubble Victoria had carefully constructed around herself before she stepped into the waiting room.
"I see."
"You might want to start considering the treatment we discussed in our last session. I realize that this level of aggressiveness may have its consequences, but so far nothing else has worked."
"Yes. Yes we might consider that", Victoria mumbled. She pressed her hands together, letting the fingers slip through each other. He had always said that she had the hands of an angel.
"Won't you come through to my office? We can make an appointment for you to come back and review the situation with Dr. Bergman and I."
Why did doctors' voices always sound so forced? How many other people had she told that they may very well lose their already lost loved one? That they would be swallowed up by a darkness that could neither be fought nor controlled?
A deadly shiver ran through Victoria.
"Mummy. Mummy I want to go home. I don't like this place."
"Yes darling, Mummy is almost finished." Victoria turned to the doctor, who for the first time had taken her lifeless eyes off of her and had directed her cold, calculating gaze onto Jamie, Victoria's six year old son. He hid behind his mother when he felt the doctor's stare upon him. Being looked at intently made him uncomfortable, as if someone else wanted to be in his skin and expel him from his body. He had been that way since his father, the man now known only as "Catatonic SX655", had lost all possible sensation and had collapsed on the floor in front of him. He spoke solely with his wide-open eyes, pleading for Jamie to go find help. Then they glazed over and Jamie never saw a look of life in him again.
"Mummy. Mummy please."
Victoria caressed his little head. How she wanted to shield him from what was happening and what was bound to happen sooner rather than later."
Saturday 20 April 2013
Cold At Heart and Through and Through
The man behind the large wooden desk sipped on his brandy. One day it would kill him and he knew it, but the surge of power he felt as the liquid transformed into fire inside his body was addictive. How could he let go now? How did he ever stand a chance against it?
The man's secretary was waiting for an answer. He scared her with his silence as he had always done, from the first day she had worked for him and every day since. Outside the office, she was a pretty confident woman, a wife who stood up to her husband and her two loud sons, a friend you could rely on for uncompromising honesty. But in here, power was not hers. It was sucked out of her violently as she stepped over the threshold. Her voice became a whisper and her wits deserted her.
As the man turned to her, she lowered her gaze. She would not want him to take her unflinching stare as a challenge. That would be most unwelcome. And very unprofessional.
The secretary had met his wife. She too was a creature of the dark. Pale as can be she was. And cold like the marble her expensive heels sharply clicked on. Their marriage had been a business deal like any other. The wife's family's company had been in serious financial trouble and she had been ready to sell herself to a loveless life in order to keep the legacy from drowning into irrelevance. And she did, without a moment's hesitation. Neither of them would ever dream of disgracing their arrangement with an affair. And yet, sometimes, the secretary could have sworn that there were suspicious noises coming from the great big cold office opposite hers.
"Do it", he said, his deep, self-assured, crude voice causing the little delicate hairs on the back of her neck to stand up straight in protest. She nodded, eyes held low.
"Do it", he repeated. The calm urgency in his voice was most unusual.
The man's secretary was waiting for an answer. He scared her with his silence as he had always done, from the first day she had worked for him and every day since. Outside the office, she was a pretty confident woman, a wife who stood up to her husband and her two loud sons, a friend you could rely on for uncompromising honesty. But in here, power was not hers. It was sucked out of her violently as she stepped over the threshold. Her voice became a whisper and her wits deserted her.
As the man turned to her, she lowered her gaze. She would not want him to take her unflinching stare as a challenge. That would be most unwelcome. And very unprofessional.
The secretary had met his wife. She too was a creature of the dark. Pale as can be she was. And cold like the marble her expensive heels sharply clicked on. Their marriage had been a business deal like any other. The wife's family's company had been in serious financial trouble and she had been ready to sell herself to a loveless life in order to keep the legacy from drowning into irrelevance. And she did, without a moment's hesitation. Neither of them would ever dream of disgracing their arrangement with an affair. And yet, sometimes, the secretary could have sworn that there were suspicious noises coming from the great big cold office opposite hers.
"Do it", he said, his deep, self-assured, crude voice causing the little delicate hairs on the back of her neck to stand up straight in protest. She nodded, eyes held low.
"Do it", he repeated. The calm urgency in his voice was most unusual.
Sunday 7 April 2013
Harlot Set Up (follows "From A Man")
"I was with my girlfriend of two years, meeting a few of our mutual friends in a bar in New York. I was on a business trip and she decided to join me. She had never been to New York. Really all she wanted was to have her picture taken on 5th Avenue. Like a real Italian tourist.
But no matter, back to October and that night.
We went to a truly curious place. I can't even remember its name. All I recall are the expensive cocktails and the English porcelain tea sets. A waiter came up to us and asked one of our friends something, to which he nodded and gave the waiter a 100 dollar bill. He's rich, he could afford it. The waiter's smile suddenly looked real and soon he was flashing his fake pearly whites, escorting us through the bar, down to what at first glance looked like an unused wine cellar. I thought he might murder us, or rob us, or something along those nasty lines. Instead, he opened a passage into one of the wine vaults. We passed through there, suddenly aware that at the end of this mystery trail there was sultry jazz music playing. What was this? A sex club? Burlesque? Illegal poker game? Time travel even? I was drunk on excitement. My girlfriend, lovely as always, was dubious.
We turned a corner and found ourselves in an underground, 1930s inspired club. The little booths that you would expect to find in a gangster film had been turned into large divans, where people gathered to admire each other's beauty.
And there she was.
October."
E.
But no matter, back to October and that night.
We went to a truly curious place. I can't even remember its name. All I recall are the expensive cocktails and the English porcelain tea sets. A waiter came up to us and asked one of our friends something, to which he nodded and gave the waiter a 100 dollar bill. He's rich, he could afford it. The waiter's smile suddenly looked real and soon he was flashing his fake pearly whites, escorting us through the bar, down to what at first glance looked like an unused wine cellar. I thought he might murder us, or rob us, or something along those nasty lines. Instead, he opened a passage into one of the wine vaults. We passed through there, suddenly aware that at the end of this mystery trail there was sultry jazz music playing. What was this? A sex club? Burlesque? Illegal poker game? Time travel even? I was drunk on excitement. My girlfriend, lovely as always, was dubious.
We turned a corner and found ourselves in an underground, 1930s inspired club. The little booths that you would expect to find in a gangster film had been turned into large divans, where people gathered to admire each other's beauty.
And there she was.
October."
E.
From A Man
"My heroine this time around is called October.
We went to High School together and we were in love. At least that's what we told each other and anyone that would listen. She had dark red hair if I remember correctly and would dress mostly in black, as if that would keep the dark spirits that circled her at bay.
I lied to her when the flame had burned out.
I avoided her when her love for me became too much.
Then, I left the private school to go to a public one. I changed without realizing and I stuck to that person that I had become. She tried, she really did, to bring back the person she knew best. But she never could, and so we saw each other occasionally, kissing under a beach hut in the rain, while our respective girlfriends and boyfriends were clueless. That became a different type of love and we never told anyone any more.
She left the country after she finished High School. And I didn't see her again. Until two nights ago.."
E.
We went to High School together and we were in love. At least that's what we told each other and anyone that would listen. She had dark red hair if I remember correctly and would dress mostly in black, as if that would keep the dark spirits that circled her at bay.
I lied to her when the flame had burned out.
I avoided her when her love for me became too much.
Then, I left the private school to go to a public one. I changed without realizing and I stuck to that person that I had become. She tried, she really did, to bring back the person she knew best. But she never could, and so we saw each other occasionally, kissing under a beach hut in the rain, while our respective girlfriends and boyfriends were clueless. That became a different type of love and we never told anyone any more.
She left the country after she finished High School. And I didn't see her again. Until two nights ago.."
E.
Sunday 17 March 2013
Exile
"The cold wind bit into her frail visage as Maska tried to rearrange her thick woollen scarves around her. It did not seem to help at all. The ice had perforated her skin all over and had started mating with her bones, making the memory of warm dressing rooms and long, protective fur coats a futile hope to cling onto. Had it only been a few weeks since they had been ordered to leave the castle, their home?
Maska remembered how it had looked as she was driven away by people she did not know, in a car she had never entered before. It was a simple little thing with no adornments or any kind of luxury. It had no warmth either. That had been the first time Maska had felt the cold creep up her spine and into her scalp, into her throat and into her heart.
Unable to shake this parasite, she walked back into the house. Seeking a moment of pause, she knew the guards would soon come fetch her and drag her outside with the rest of her family. Work had to be done. But how would any of them stand it? Maska remembered the many festivities her family had been a part of in their old life. How heavy the gowns were, how splendid the jewels and how delicious the food. Maska bit back tears of remembrance for fear of them turning into ice on her face. She could barely feel her feet and her hands, not to mention her nose. Maska walked to the small oven they had been given a few days after their arrival and began making a cup of hot water. Maska remembered the porcelain cups she had drunken her hot water with lemon and honey out of whenever she had been invited to tea by her father's mother, the greatest lady she had ever known. How knowledgeable she was and how witty! She had been the one that taught Maska what was proper and what not.
Her thoughts were irrecoverably disturbed by two young bearded soldiers who commanded her to return outside. Maska recognized one of them, but the other one must have arrived only a day ago and must been busy with other duties. She asked to rest a moment longer. The unknown soldier scoffed and breathed some insult in dialect, a string of words that Maska could not understand for the life in her. Nevertheless, the coarseness of his tongue made the delicate hairs on her arms stand straight.
Maska carefully lifted her eyes to plead with the guard she had seen before. She saw the same hunger in his eyes she always did. He made her uncomfortable in the most innocuous manner possible. With his eyes. Now they were silently battling, for warmth, for suppression of an improper fire, for comfort. The guard spoke, his deep voice a stark contrast to the other man's. Soothing with a hint of sensuality. Maska lowered her eyes and blushed. The water was boiling. The guards said nothing. Maska took it as a sign of their intention of doing nothing.
As she slowly sipped the scalding water, one of the soldiers left, leaving her alone with the one who still had his gaze fixed upon her. She tried smiling, but a smile would not come. Her expression would have turned into a monstrous grimace, so she abandoned it.
The man would not look away.
Maska hid her eyes, pretending to take another sip of her drink.
It was not proper, not proper at all."
E.
Maska remembered how it had looked as she was driven away by people she did not know, in a car she had never entered before. It was a simple little thing with no adornments or any kind of luxury. It had no warmth either. That had been the first time Maska had felt the cold creep up her spine and into her scalp, into her throat and into her heart.
Unable to shake this parasite, she walked back into the house. Seeking a moment of pause, she knew the guards would soon come fetch her and drag her outside with the rest of her family. Work had to be done. But how would any of them stand it? Maska remembered the many festivities her family had been a part of in their old life. How heavy the gowns were, how splendid the jewels and how delicious the food. Maska bit back tears of remembrance for fear of them turning into ice on her face. She could barely feel her feet and her hands, not to mention her nose. Maska walked to the small oven they had been given a few days after their arrival and began making a cup of hot water. Maska remembered the porcelain cups she had drunken her hot water with lemon and honey out of whenever she had been invited to tea by her father's mother, the greatest lady she had ever known. How knowledgeable she was and how witty! She had been the one that taught Maska what was proper and what not.
Her thoughts were irrecoverably disturbed by two young bearded soldiers who commanded her to return outside. Maska recognized one of them, but the other one must have arrived only a day ago and must been busy with other duties. She asked to rest a moment longer. The unknown soldier scoffed and breathed some insult in dialect, a string of words that Maska could not understand for the life in her. Nevertheless, the coarseness of his tongue made the delicate hairs on her arms stand straight.
Maska carefully lifted her eyes to plead with the guard she had seen before. She saw the same hunger in his eyes she always did. He made her uncomfortable in the most innocuous manner possible. With his eyes. Now they were silently battling, for warmth, for suppression of an improper fire, for comfort. The guard spoke, his deep voice a stark contrast to the other man's. Soothing with a hint of sensuality. Maska lowered her eyes and blushed. The water was boiling. The guards said nothing. Maska took it as a sign of their intention of doing nothing.
As she slowly sipped the scalding water, one of the soldiers left, leaving her alone with the one who still had his gaze fixed upon her. She tried smiling, but a smile would not come. Her expression would have turned into a monstrous grimace, so she abandoned it.
The man would not look away.
Maska hid her eyes, pretending to take another sip of her drink.
It was not proper, not proper at all."
E.
Friday 15 March 2013
The Train Station
Steam crept up from the halting train, hissing gleefully at the bystanders, the long-lost friends wrapped in their knitted scarves, the anxious mother waiting for her son, the lover dying to take his one and only into his strong arms again.
There she stood, amongst the people who knew nothing of it all, how she had missed this one for the last two years, when they had been apart. She had resigned herself to never seeing him again after the way things had ended, and yet, he had promised to be on that train, at that time; he had promised to come find her in this new life of hers.
The girl's heart jumped a mile when she thought she saw him in the windows, but the steam made it hard for her to see. All around her the people were gathering with the descending passengers, looking, finding, fleeing to one another.
An old, haunting indie song began playing in the distance.
The girl's eyes flickered from person to person and each time she established a new hope and killed it instantly.
Then,
there he was, his blond hair out of sorts, his eyes as kind as they had ever been. A swell of music was heard when their eyes met. They both shook their heads in delight. She covered her mouth to hide her needlessly goofy smile.
The embrace was long overdue, and yet nothing made it more worth it than those two years spent apart, and the indie song playing on repeat.
There she stood, amongst the people who knew nothing of it all, how she had missed this one for the last two years, when they had been apart. She had resigned herself to never seeing him again after the way things had ended, and yet, he had promised to be on that train, at that time; he had promised to come find her in this new life of hers.
The girl's heart jumped a mile when she thought she saw him in the windows, but the steam made it hard for her to see. All around her the people were gathering with the descending passengers, looking, finding, fleeing to one another.
An old, haunting indie song began playing in the distance.
The girl's eyes flickered from person to person and each time she established a new hope and killed it instantly.
Then,
there he was, his blond hair out of sorts, his eyes as kind as they had ever been. A swell of music was heard when their eyes met. They both shook their heads in delight. She covered her mouth to hide her needlessly goofy smile.
The embrace was long overdue, and yet nothing made it more worth it than those two years spent apart, and the indie song playing on repeat.
Friday 1 March 2013
Royal Purple (follows "The Court")
"She remembered the day she had first been presented at court. A blossom of youth she had been, delicate to look upon until she opened her mouth to speak out. Even then, her thoughts and opinions were not appreciated. Being fully aware of this, the young girl had devised an ingenious plan to mark her entrance into the world of nobles, the world of luxury, the world of kings, emperors, queens and empresses.
The royal family was long washed out, faded, reduced to clinging onto their void title and infertile lands with castles that barely stood. It was known. The king, demented by age, was hanging on grimly, as if death meant more pain instead of peace of mind. He refused to give in to the gout that had spread through his once-strong and admired legs, to give in to the forgetfulness that made him a laughing stock and to all the other diseases that plagued him. His wife, the Queen Consort, was a dried up flower, once beautiful and vivacious like a young sparrow in the spring time, now dragged down by the ever-demanding life at court. She no longer sat straight on the throne that had been carved with her name and title and she rarely ever attended jousts and feasts. The two sons they had given life to fared no better than the old couple. The first in line to the throne was loud and rash, a womanizing idiot who had inherited his father's thighs and passion for hunting. He was far more interested in making a good kill than preoccupying his young mind with the welfare of the kingdom that one day he would preside over. His younger brother had been born two months early and as a result, he was never right in the head. He preferred the company of dogs to the company of men. The adolescent boy seemed gentle enough, but there were times when the echo of his manic screams could be heard throughout the castle and beyond. The boy was either bursting with glee or sitting in his bed, weeping like a newborn. When asked why, he would point to the only window in his room. It was rumoured that a beautiful bride-to-be had once resided in that very same room. The night before her wedding to the then heir to the throne, she had donned her white gown and thrown herself to oblivion. It was prophesied that the young prince would one day be claimed by death the same way.
But he was not part of any of her plans for the future. She was going to make herself known to the capable members of the royal family and she was going to imprint her image in their minds forever. All she needed was to heed her arrogance and sweeten it with grace.
When announced, she remembered taking two steps, walking straight into the light, and pausing briefly before continuing her journey to be presented to the royal family. The crowd gasped at her insolence. Without wiping the seductive smirk from her face, the young lady advanced towards the thrones. The king, the queen and both their sons were as shocked as the rest of the onlookers, nobles and servants alike. She took a deep bow that lasted several seconds. Then she raised her eyes to look upon those who would soon become her kin. It was written in their faces.
No one had dared to wear purple, the colour of royalty, for 200 years. And yet, here she stood, clad in purple and gold from head to toe.
Instead of losing her head as many would have done, the lady rose to the highest honours of the country. Then, as promised by a wise woman she had once encountered in her travels through Hungary, the Lady became a Queen."
E.
The royal family was long washed out, faded, reduced to clinging onto their void title and infertile lands with castles that barely stood. It was known. The king, demented by age, was hanging on grimly, as if death meant more pain instead of peace of mind. He refused to give in to the gout that had spread through his once-strong and admired legs, to give in to the forgetfulness that made him a laughing stock and to all the other diseases that plagued him. His wife, the Queen Consort, was a dried up flower, once beautiful and vivacious like a young sparrow in the spring time, now dragged down by the ever-demanding life at court. She no longer sat straight on the throne that had been carved with her name and title and she rarely ever attended jousts and feasts. The two sons they had given life to fared no better than the old couple. The first in line to the throne was loud and rash, a womanizing idiot who had inherited his father's thighs and passion for hunting. He was far more interested in making a good kill than preoccupying his young mind with the welfare of the kingdom that one day he would preside over. His younger brother had been born two months early and as a result, he was never right in the head. He preferred the company of dogs to the company of men. The adolescent boy seemed gentle enough, but there were times when the echo of his manic screams could be heard throughout the castle and beyond. The boy was either bursting with glee or sitting in his bed, weeping like a newborn. When asked why, he would point to the only window in his room. It was rumoured that a beautiful bride-to-be had once resided in that very same room. The night before her wedding to the then heir to the throne, she had donned her white gown and thrown herself to oblivion. It was prophesied that the young prince would one day be claimed by death the same way.
But he was not part of any of her plans for the future. She was going to make herself known to the capable members of the royal family and she was going to imprint her image in their minds forever. All she needed was to heed her arrogance and sweeten it with grace.
When announced, she remembered taking two steps, walking straight into the light, and pausing briefly before continuing her journey to be presented to the royal family. The crowd gasped at her insolence. Without wiping the seductive smirk from her face, the young lady advanced towards the thrones. The king, the queen and both their sons were as shocked as the rest of the onlookers, nobles and servants alike. She took a deep bow that lasted several seconds. Then she raised her eyes to look upon those who would soon become her kin. It was written in their faces.
No one had dared to wear purple, the colour of royalty, for 200 years. And yet, here she stood, clad in purple and gold from head to toe.
Instead of losing her head as many would have done, the lady rose to the highest honours of the country. Then, as promised by a wise woman she had once encountered in her travels through Hungary, the Lady became a Queen."
E.
Thursday 28 February 2013
The Court
"The queen's eyes drifted over the squabbling crowd.
Liars, thieves, beggars. Liars, liars all. The men wanted her for her power and her beauty, not her wit. And naturally, like all men, they wanted what was under her long, lavish gowns. The women on the other hand filled her ears with unimaginably dull gossip, trying so very desperately to outdo one another in the knowledge of scandals. They wanted to be her, and if that could not be arranged, they wanted to bathe in her glory, be her lap dog, be treated like kin.
And yet none of them knew that the biggest, most shocking secret was sitting on the throne of their great country, ruling over them all. She was their beloved queen.
An ambassador was presented to her. For the first time in years, her eyes lit up. They started paying attention to the diplomat, the way he gesticulated when explaining why he was here and how honored he was to be received at her court.
The queen smiled.
The closest around her lauched a series of quizzical gazes at each other. The queen has smiled."
E.
Liars, thieves, beggars. Liars, liars all. The men wanted her for her power and her beauty, not her wit. And naturally, like all men, they wanted what was under her long, lavish gowns. The women on the other hand filled her ears with unimaginably dull gossip, trying so very desperately to outdo one another in the knowledge of scandals. They wanted to be her, and if that could not be arranged, they wanted to bathe in her glory, be her lap dog, be treated like kin.
And yet none of them knew that the biggest, most shocking secret was sitting on the throne of their great country, ruling over them all. She was their beloved queen.
An ambassador was presented to her. For the first time in years, her eyes lit up. They started paying attention to the diplomat, the way he gesticulated when explaining why he was here and how honored he was to be received at her court.
The queen smiled.
The closest around her lauched a series of quizzical gazes at each other. The queen has smiled."
E.
Monday 25 February 2013
Musings
"Darkness descended on the cliff where she had been sitting since dawn. The air was thick with smoke, as the land behind her burned itself to the ground. Ashes to ashes. Below her, many miles away, the sea roared for her approval. Violent waves clashed with the mighty earth like the day she had risen from the remainders of another world. She barely remembered, and yet sometimes.. sometimes a sudden flash of light would bring her back instantaneously. She would twitch, a demon would possess her for a second, a minute, an hour. And then she'd be alone again, in that feeble body that had been given to her. She begged to stay in the warmth and familiarity of the world she had known for a brief while, but each time something would yank the darling spirit away from her, and she would be alone again. Flames licked across the coast. She could smell it, taste in on herself - her pale, ceramic-like hands, her delicate frame, her monstrous lips and her eyes, the only part of her that had ever truly known anything. A feeling, a sentiment, a trifle of love, a piece of a life long past. She shivered at the thought, engulfed in the fire's greedy arms. She continued to dream, to let her feet dangle from the cliff. They longed for the coldness of the water, even the itch the salt would leave as it always did when she returned underwater. Whether this was her destiny this time around she did not know. She could not determine whether it was in her best interest or whether she'd be condemning herself to an impetuous, impulsive and unnecessary death. The thought became an idea in her mind. Her eyes opened to another world, an escape. An escape. Another world? Another escape? Escape. She covered her face from fire, fire and water, wave and flame. Her skin burned and her mind was washed away. She awoke, deeply lost within herself. Escape?"
E.
E.
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