Skip to main content

Cold as ice

The bird's golden talons latched on to her back as she turned around in intense pain. She was hopelessly cornered by the bird of prey. The animal then began lifting her up into the air with a powerful force unimaginable of its weight and size. All she could do was watch herself be dragged into all of it in fear. It then began floating high up into the sky still latched on to the woman's clavicles painfully. Her skin would droop as if it was about to get torn apart from her body. Blood started dripping through her shoulders and into her breasts and back. She had no other option but to close her eyes and wait for it to end.

When the girl opened her eyes, she woke up in a dark cellar somewhere and immediately thought she was dreaming all along, but the scars penetrated by the claw of the fowl and the blood stain in her clothing proved otherwise. She had no recollection of what happened then. The place was filled with nothing but soiled linen and cobwebs made by impecunious spiders and it smelled of rotten eggs and unwashed feet. Light was scarce. The only source of light were from tiny holes in the ceiling which then came from the other floors above. She was alone and scared stiff. She would remain there for the next four days without food and company.

On the fifth day, a man came down to see her. He had a regal aura in him, and his white beard was as much as distracting as the sound of dripping water from a distance. He wore royal clothes made of fine silk and leather, and he looked at her in disgust and shame. He stood there for awhile without moving and she wanted to say something, if only she had the energy to do it. Disgracefully, she crawled towards him like a lizard coming out of a rock, slithering and dirty. She reached for his left boot while he remained astounded of her actions towards him. She almost touched the boot, but then he pulled it back and moved a step backwards. She lifted her head up and looked at him, with eyes begging for mercy and to spare her life.  He spat on her face and walked away. She wept once more without tears any longer, she had used it all up. He opened the door and light came in and disappeared, locked the door shut with a thunderous thump.

The next day the same man appeared while she was still asleep, weaker than usual. She woke up from the sound of the clunking of the keys in his hips. He brought along a tray with a tiny bowl filled with porridge. She could smell the nice aroma from the ground, and she would salivate shortly whatever is left of it. His countenance was unchanged, cold and unbearable. He put the tray down steadily without releasing his sights on her.

'Champion,' he said, finally opening his mouth, with his pride remaining intact and on hold. She crawled to the tray pathetically. 'You can call me that.'

She would pay no mind to him, preoccupied by the fact her mind demands her to grab the porridge immediately on that spot, the sense of hunger consumed her. She ate it like it was her last meal on earth, messy and disgusting, unhygienic and unlikely of a woman. But she was no longer concerned about that once the pain kicked in.

'"You're digging for gold, you're throwing away a fortune in feelings, but someday you'll pay." Does that sound familiar to you?' he asked.

She stopped eating there and then. She begins to understand. All of this, all that is happening, it is becoming much more clearer to her now. She looked at him wide-eyed and could not believe her eyes.

He slyly makes a broken smile. 'You do. Good.' He walks away, she remains appalled and dumbfounded. A feeling of guilt starts overwhelming her as she remembered the days from long ago. He disappeared in the background but she remained sitting on her legs, head down. She finally understands, and now she regretted every little thing. She closed her eyes.

She woke up at home in the middle of the night with the sound of a bird in the window and the otherworldly moon gazing at her, mesmerising. 

Popular posts from this blog

Strange Fruit

I had recently adorned a vow of silence for myself with Miriam for no apparent reason whatsoever other than to suit my whim, and, regardless of the pettiness associated with this misdemeanour, I pray this will only strengthen us both in spirit for the coming days. The coming days are definitely not meant for one such as me.
In the next few hours, not shortly before I am done with this piece, this vow will be disavowed. Miriam is sleeping soundly in my right, broken by the exhaustion that seemed to catch her unaware. This was not what she had prepared for when coming to London. This was not what I meant for her when I asked her to come. In order to alleviate the guilt of me making it more difficult for us both, I do what it is that I do best, and that is to love her hungrily and wildly. And some little bit of swag on the side to cure her state of frustration albeit temporarily.
My days are long and yet wields very little. For now I do and take whatever I can, whenever I can. A grand f…

Snippet: In her darkest days, Elaine (worldbuilding), unfinished

Voices of strange busybodies could be heard on the other side of the edifice. Elaine reckoned she recognised one of them. An old friend. Perhaps not necessarily a friend, or not technically a friend. A friend is a rare commodity for her these days. She could walk right past them and not blink an eye, but Elaine waited for a little bit more until the lot toned down. Having a group of opposites around her, poking her skin through their eyes, meticulously making sure she was an enabler who to them an abundant source of entertainment, was all the reason needed to convince herself to back away from the complexity of it all. Home is an awful lot more awful than this place though, Elaine thought, as she gripped her handbag tightly, hoping the ray of darkness from the moon would envelope her and shield her from the attention of the lonesome trail.
"This would not have happened had you only listened to me, Elaine," complained Darco. "Half the people out there would skin us both…

True Blue

Bits and pieces of things long lost have started appearing out of nowhere all of a sudden. Memories of people, places, and thoughts associated with my belongings knock at the door waiting to be let in, never to be left on its own accord. I am to be the master puppeteer of this cerebral construct, of nightmares I wish were forgotten, of people I wish to rid all manner of associations with.
Mother had surprised Miriam with a message for me. Of a very far-fetched idea on how to maximise my potential to become something which I totally am not. A preacher for a religion I have absolutely no faith of of all things. Perhaps as a way to once again fuck up and atone for the totality of my insufferable existence. Fortunately for me I now have total control of my destiny. Something of which has never brought me much satisfaction, in fairness, true, but still the freedom to be a clueless and monumental buffoon is much more satisfying than to be a scholar trapped in the confines of virility, prej…