Hard

I sit here sipping from my glass, a fine glass at that; delicate in nature, with spinning hues of barest midnight blue drawn through its perfect surface, creating an undulating wave of confused beauty. Beauty; I look at the cavern around me, the carved seat I rest upon, my enclave, my domain, my perfect world. Things of beauty surround me, but only at my beck and call. True, some have come crawling, but I find I’ve no use for such sniveling. They – are no longer amongst us. Is there not a creature worthy of my attentiveness? Ordering one of the grovlings to fetch me a new pet, I wait with little patience.

Finally, she is brought before me. “Kneel.” There is no question she will do as instructed, they all do. I toss a collar onto the floor, it is attached to a leash fastened to the arm of my perch. “Put it on.” She begins to speak.

“I do not recall telling you to open your lips. Put it on, and do so with your mouth shut!” She scrambles to do as ordered, but the idiot grovling has yet to release her from the crude looped choker used to drag her here. A glance at the grovling and he realizes his folly. He apologizes profusely, trying to loosen the choker as she desperately tries to fasten the collar around her bleeding neck with shaking hands. I let him babble, his stupidity is quite amusing, then I bore of hearing it. Standing, I descend the two steps that separate myself from the others. She shivers uncontrollably as I pass by. He drops to a knee while still begging forgiveness for his lack of foresight. Foolish, that. The assumption that he’s been given the right to foreshadow my thoughts or wishes, a mistake I would not have made had I been in his position. Crouching in front of him, my wing tips curling against the stone floor, I order him to lift his chin. As he does so, he pisses himself. Glancing down to the puddle growing beneath him, I gently tap the edge of the glass against the floor. It fractures magnificently.

“Do you recall when this glass was made for me, grovling?” Desperately, he tries to hold my eye, but cannot. His own orbs flick quickly to the glass, I smile. He opens his mouth to respond and I shush him with a gentle, garnet adorned finger upon his lips. “My question did not require an answer, or did your foresight fail you yet again?” Trembling with indecision, he is unsure if a response is expected. I’m of the opinion it is not, but I’ll allow his inner torment to continue a bit longer. The jingling to my right finally stops; she has managed to fasten the collar around her neck. I hear a slight tinkling, the metal chain leading from the collar back to the leashed handle affixed to my seat; she is frightened, but doing admirably well – so far.

Waiting is the sweetest torture, one my many eons in this festering shit hole has taught me well how to exploit. The grovling on the other hand, is finding the wait – arduous. I can sense his overwhelming desire to speak; I can see the thoughts flick through his feeble little mind. Dragging the now jagged edge of the glass through his own urine, I provoke him. “It must be so difficult kneeling before me, wanting to speak your mind, but knowing you probably should not. I almost feel compassion for you, honestly, I almost do. Was being obedient and keeping your mouth shut so very hard that you simply found yourself incapable of the task?” His lips part, bait taken. If I were a sport fisherman, this is the point at which I would yank the line, one quick hard pull to set my hook. In what is a blink in his world, I ram the piss covered broken glass through his eye socket clean into his brain cavity. The ickor that oozes into the glass is proof enough that his brief squeal will be his final utterance.

I turn to the captive beside me, realizing that the grovling’s piss has spread to her knees. Retrieving the handle of the leash, I gently guide her to the hot spring welling in the far corner of the cavern. “Come, let’s clean you, then we shall figure out what purpose you might serve.”

(…more on this piece as other letters crop up…)

© Copyright 2013 Nina D’Arcangela. All Rights Reserved.

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I’m doing the 2013 Blogging from A to Z Challenge! Pop back everyday but Sunday through the month of April for a new letter prompt to spawn my deranged ramblings! ;}

Grave

I sit before your grave and mourn you, or perhaps I mourn for me. The light that was stolen from my life is unjust, leaving behind a harsh glare where once there was a gentle glow. I still feel your touch, your hand gently caressing my face as it slowly slides into my hair, cupping the back of my head. I feel my eyes flutter shut as you gently glide my lips toward yours. A final remembered glance of your amber tinted eyes as your deliciously long lashes flutter shut as well. My hand falls, not to rest on your soft, warm thigh, but upon this cold stone monument. Jarred from my revere, my tear moistened eyes open to see not your liquid eyes looking back, but the hard edifice that now entombs all that you were. If there had been one final moment, what would we have done; what would we have said; would you have allowed me to come with you? Is what was shared between us enough to carry me though another day in this world while you exist in another?

I sit before your grave and mourn you, or perhaps I mourn for me. The light that was stolen from my life is unjust, leaving behind a harsh glare that blinds me to all the beauty you once revealed. Perhaps I will lay my head down and rest with you one last time. The snow my cushion, my memories the only warmth I need on this cold, heartless night.

© Copyright 2013 Nina D’Arcangela. All Rights Reserved.

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I’m doing the 2013 Blogging from A to Z Challenge! Pop back everyday but Sunday through the month of April for a new letter prompt to spawn my deranged ramblings! ;}

Fjord

“A-ha! There! Do you see it before us, brother? I told you the gods would see us safely home, was I not right?”

“Be at ease, young brother, we are not home yet. We’ve still to traverse her icy cold waters, and narrower passageways.”

“Bah, you’ve no faith, my brother! The gods would not have brought us this far to see us fail now. Perhaps the trickster, but not the hammer, he wishes to see us die in battle. Come, brother, do not tell me you fear drowning more than death by axe or cudgel? Smile, fate and life lay ahead, our journey nearly complete.” Pouring two horns of mead, he offers the fermented honey concoction to the man standing beside him. “Drink, celebrate with me; celebrate our return to this, our homeland!”

Glancing into the carved keratin vessel his younger brother has handed him, and back again to the high cliff walls of the fjord, he steps to the side of the boat and pours the mead into the waters below.

“Brother! You waste so much when we have so little left after this voyage? Why?”

“Do not question my actions, little brother. An offering to the gods is of far greater value than sating my thirst for celebration. I offer them this drink and ask that with it they grant us safe passage through these cliffs. Honor them as I do. Honor them or we shall all suffer. Heed my words, young brother, your youth blinds you.”

“Bah,” the younger man drains his horn into his gullet and tosses the hollowed carving overboard. “The gods have no use for sentimental offerings. They want us to live as men, as warriors, not as scared sheep!”

The sky now darkening, clouds swiftly rolling in. Their boat caught in the unsteady waters of the fjord, the younger man looks dubiously  upward as the crew grumbles of bad omens. The older brother stares at the younger, resigned to what fate has cast upon them as the waters begin to froth and the wind picks up speed.

© Copyright 2013 Nina D’Arcangela. All Rights Reserved.

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I’m doing the 2013 Blogging from A to Z Challenge! Pop back everyday but Sunday through the month of April for a new letter prompt to spawn my deranged ramblings! ;}

Egret

Crisp snowy white and regal, you move with a fluidity that shames most creatures. Long, needle-like beak, a brilliant hue of yellow, used to pluck small fish and amphibious morsels from the waters you feast upon. Still you stand, almost statuesque, waiting for opportunity. A splendid creature, moving meticulously through your real… But to see you spread your wings and take flight, the grandeur of such a sight makes you nothing less than queen of your domain. Soaring close above the water’s surface, your reflection ripples with equal beauty.

Mating season arrives, your brilliant verdant plumes draw them, they flock to you. Eight, ten, perhaps twelve suitors this season. They sit amongst the trees waiting for you to choose. A prize chosen, you dance together on the air, you lead, he follows. You perch among the foliage, building together, creating together, but now that the creation is complete, he leaves. In your nest you wait, you birth, you rear. The smaller of the young lost to the larger, yet still they are yours to accept. Youth does not always grant grace, but in time, it will come.

You, the Egret queen, soar magnificently over the waters, and stalk this pond upon foot with serene patients as the others watch with jealous pride.

© Copyright 2013 Nina D’Arcangela. All Rights Reserved.

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I’m doing the 2013 Blogging from A to Z Challenge! Pop back everyday but Sunday through the month of April for a new letter prompt to spawn my deranged ramblings! ;}

Breath

The screaming, the screeching, the un-godly wailing that echoes down the hall – it’s deafening. Splashing hot coffee onto my shaking hand, I howl in pain, adding my minor wound to your egregious suffering. The scorching brown fluid beads upon my skin. The hours, they seem to never cease, passing by slower than time should allow. Will this night never end? Your breathing harsh and ragged, my fear beyond measure. Should there be this much blood? My expectation was of a few difficult moments, sweat dripping, faces smiling… but the screaming, the agony – no one told me of these things. If I had known, I would never have let him touch you. I would never have agreed to this – the price too high. Dragging myself through the hall, fighting the buffeting waves of fresh torment tearing from your body, I arrive at the room once more, just as the screaming ceases, just as the tears begin to flow, just as the wail erupts. A first breath taken, the beginning of what will forever be our new life.

© Copyright 2013 Nina D’Arcangela. All Rights Reserved.

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I’m doing the 2013 Blogging from A to Z Challenge! Pop back everyday but Sunday through the month of April for a new letter prompt to spawn my deranged ramblings! ;}

The Slip

The texture of the brass dials a thing so fetching, feel them spin, with a tick and a click, tightening ever so slightly as the prize is nearing.

Nimble fingers twist knobs , first left, then right, and back yet again. Feeling for the slightest shift, as slowly they spin.

A tick, a click, the slip. The first dial is set. How these tired tips work at gaining entry, their art lost to time, man’s arrogance a false sentry.

These fingers you see, they are for hire, they spin, they click only for the most discriminate buyer. What lies beyond the beauty of this contraption of brass, these fingers care not – their job only to spin, to click, to find the – slip.

Ah, the slipping of the final pin into place, pride to be had for a task well done. These fingers find no pride being named thief, only in the triumph of yet another breach.

Never touching the treasures concealed inside, the gift is in the spinning, the clicking and the glorious sound of the decisive slipping as the lock disengages, and the tomb readies to release.

The thrill done, the game complete, the mastery of infiltrating the impenetrable is what these tired digits did seek. Their desirous splendor being the one called to task, no other hand as capable on the brass.

These fingers, they are old, and worn with time, slowly they reach out and gentle the slide.

A slight pop, the pressure released, the door opens a mere chink, allowing for those who would have the briefest of peeks.

The thrill these old finger have felt now past, gone on this final releasing of brass. This buyer untrue with intentions corrupt, these fingers have felt for the final time the tick, the click, the magnificent slip!

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For those of you who don’t know, in each issue of The Sirens Call eZine, we do a Comparative Flash amongst ourselves with fairly strict guidelines. We choose an image, and each of us writes a flash piece of 300 words – no more, no less – that is inspired by the image itself. We don’t discus the topic each has chosen, nor do we reveal our pieces to each other until everyone participating has completed their flash. Here is the image, and my piece that ran in the June issue – Kalla and I went head to head on this one. I hope you enjoy it! I had a ton of fun writing it… and the picture, what is it exactly? You tell me  ;}

Trust

I crouch cowering in the shadows of the barn. I should not be here. I was asked to stay away, yet I could not.

The unnatural sound of bones snapping, sinew tearing, and skin stretching is a thing so foreign that it rends my soul to shreds as I witness it, yet for all the breath left in me, I can not turn away from this creature I see.

I should have respected his wishes and not intruded upon his privacy – one that he has guarded so warily till this day. Trust is what I offered blindly for so long; now I see that my trust was both justly placed and unspeakably abused.

The depth of sorrow that emanates from the eyes that I have so often peered into is more than I can bear. I know now why he asked to own this anguish in solitude; I know now why he felt a need to protect me from the torture of his full nature; I know now the extent to which he wished to guard me.

He suffers more pain, my heart weeps. I reach out to touch him, he begs me to stay away with his agonizing gaze – so longing, so loving… so final.

Struck by a rising terror I’ve not felt before, my mind screams that he is no longer mine but belongs solely to the night. If only I had not violated our trust, we would have been as one forever.

Fully morphed he stands before me, yet I still see only him. He turns one final time – his eyes saying all his misshapen mouth is no longer capable of speaking.

A blink; he is gone.

Rushing forward I see all that remains of him torn and twisted upon a nail while I listen to his baleful cry carried upon the night’s harsh wind.