Category Archives: Diary Of An Immortal

The Diary of an Immortal. Chapters 6 – 9


Chapter 6

We are on a rock held road which is the cause for me to be mildly thrown side to side in this fast paced box; I peek out of the curtain of the carriage. The sun is dangling on the mountain’s peak getting ready to plunge from its balance and hide behind the panorama, the stars are faint in the sky as nights sky is fitting into its clothing.

Suddenly, it jitters through me like being struck by a lightning bolts will, my motor functions become unmanned, unpredictable with a slight proportion of paralysis. My hands grab anything that I can constrict. The night has its hold, I snap back to the hell and tedium of this world with the gritting of my teeth, but Beth is still dancing in the back of my mind. The horse’s pants are every two gallops of their hooves.

“Ease up, ease it!” The driver chases at the horses ears.

The door flings open to show a gigantic home, clinging to the buildings skin is dying ivy, murdered by the weather.

I step closer to the building with a disruption of patience, I did not want to be here, I could leave, but I must keep up my appearance to these people. People descend from their carts, like rain drops from the skies. The women wore dresses of many colors, but some stuck to the traditional white, to me they all looked like upside-down flowers, with their honey located in their special of places, passing it out to whomever takes fancy to them, when the nectar of alcohol curses their extremities to sexual desirous acts. The men with them are no better, covering up their homosexuality with marriage and the search for an heir, in the wombs they had no pleasure in delivering life towards.

I stand out-of-place in front of the carriage watching the greedy hearts meet and greet one another, they do not take well to money, they do not suit even the pockets they inhabit, just like the dinner table they are full but still seeking more. I skim through the main window people are gathered, holding up glasses to one another; congratulating their greatness, in the bottom right window they are dancing in synchronize with turns and twirls. At the top, a couple are in the middle of a kissing contest, ravishing each other’s faces with the thought of what they are doing is named as passion. I turn my head only catching a glimpse of the last window in my withdrawal; I face my carriage and put my arm out to leave, with a peculiar notion. I spin around.

“Did I just see her, the girl from the market? I only caught her tone and smile, but it is unquestionable as the notion I feel was her.”

I retrace my backwards steps and walk up the path, to the doors, to the woman. The light from the main door unrolls over the ground, filching my steps and imagination. I pace through the arch way, making myself known to the There he is. I revolve, inspecting everything and one. The house was modern, oak flooring kept warm by ruby carpets that only took up parts of the walking space and ghost like walls with hanging ghosts.

“Special guest presiding – Lord Maze Celestial!” A speaker shouts from the top balcony.

Everyone stops, the music stops and the dancers halting their twirls, waiters and waitresses hold their platters and everyone else just their stares. The new money and quietly rich, get in their standpoint, just to claim a look at the most successful man ever to live, in their minds. I place the back of my hand at the lower of my spine and begin to float through the quietly spoken love and dislike “There he is…” and “How much money do you think he really has…?” and “I wonder what he is like under the sheets?” even “It is unlikely that someone who well-to-do became that prosperous by working inside the rules, he had to have stolen it or killed for it, they say that his father died of unknown circumstances, I am thinking he was probably sleeping and he came into his room with a pillow and held it over his father’s face, that should give you a great bank account number.” But with money comes envy.

I have to acknowledge them, I do with slight bows and smiles this has no longer become a banquet to praise me but to perhaps get a name from the kiss I received earlier.

“Maze, you are finally here, I would like to introduce you to a few well named people over here.” Verntro says while ushering me towards strangers with half a glass of scotch but by this morning climbs back I would have forgotten their faces and names, so they could not have been that well named.

“This is Lord and Lady…” Then I zone out staring through these people with smiles and nods looking for her.

Others adore me with pats on the back as they walk behind me. My patience was finally tested by all of this. Verntro stands on top of a chair.

“And here he is ladies and gentlemen, the man of the year, Lord Maze. I knew this young man’s father and I am not jesting, he has broken from his father’s shadow and forged a new destiny and surpassed his father in every ways of charity within our beautiful flourishing country. And in honor of us on this splendid evening of evenings, we or should I say all of us would like to give you a token of our appreciation.” Verntro says slurring his words; he must have had a few glasses of a vineyard’s finest before I arrived.

A young woman, it is her, walks over to Verntro and hands him a darkened wood box with a glass lid, he takes the box from her and indicates his hands outwards towards my space. My eye shift to the box, in the back of my mind I don’t want this box in my hand just her in my eyes, trying my hardest not to glance up. I take the box and stand in near death to be taking a gift from the lowlife that were made from the money and effort of the true workers of the communities. Inside the box was a medal with a lion crest pressed into the metal.

“Thank you all so much, from the deepest gorge of my heart, I am a little lost for words at the moment but thank you all, I will treasure it always.” I manage to throw out.

A round of applause circulates through the main room, I stand in smoke and mirrors with my smile, I look through the crowds, market girl is pressed against the wall at the back of the room with the largest applaud, she stood out to me as if she truly meant it, hers was the only one I counted.

I had dealt with the escape from Verntro with ease introducing him to someone more intoxicated than him. I diagonally walk through the other drinkers; she has her back to me with a silver platter, carrying booze for the unthankful guests of Verntro’s. She is wearing a grey blouse and long black skirt, down to her feet, in her hair she has a white cloth that keeps her hair back and her face exposed.

I am right behind her, should I tap her on her shoulder? Excuse me, Miss, but do you remember me? I cannot say that, it implies that she should remember me. I could always ask her how the ring fits. That’s awful; it has only been a few hours.

She spins around, at first she does not know my face; there is just a blank stare that she had shown to perhaps one hundred people tonight. She stops her thoughts that she would like to speak.

“Would you like a beverage, sir?” She asks.

“No, but I would like to talk like we did today in the market place, miss.” I say hoping for a positive response.

“We met today sir? I’m working, the only thing I am allowed to do is ask if you would like a drink, Master Maze.”

“Don’t call me that ever, it is just Maze to you, I do not care about your job title or how any person in this building thinks. I just want to talk.” She is deterrent still and walks away with no answer.

“Today in the marketplace, no woman at any time in my life has challenged my word and finished it with a kiss, a friend is all I want, I pledge, you will not get in trouble.” holding my hands together in a praying action. She stands rubbing the frustration from her brow and begins to nod.

“But we have to go upstairs to the balcony, so I don’t get caught. There is fewer people up there.” She says.

“Lead the way.” Holding out my palm to show her the direction to the stairs, she looks around to see if she would be seen. The working woman in her is saying, no, do your job, but the market girl in her tells her, yes, have some fun. I traipse up the stairs and walk behind the woman to the outside balcony.

We both post ourselves at the wall, staring out towards an endless black sky, sharing the stars and seconds of silence together. The wind quiets down.

“I am Bethany Sampson, but people around here just call me Beth.” She tells me.

“I am guessing I don’t need an introduction, but it’s such a great relief I now know your name.” I say, she laughs.

“I did not think for a second you were, Lord Maze, perhaps a banker or solicitor, but nothing close to the richest man ever to walk these lands.”

She has a slight disappointment in her eyes.

“Believe it, but to tell you the truth, I do not want this life, I feel poverty and failure coursing through me, but when you have a lot of money, it’s hard to get rid of it than to attain it.”

“I will have it, if you do not want it” We both laugh at her joke.

“I won’t give away my money, but if you let me I will show you the effects of happiness it can bring, if you let me.”

“What do you mean?” She is confused with a stare.

Embarrassment drips waterfalls over me, Just say it, Maze.

“Have dinner with me, any food your heart desires, any wine your tongue requests, it will be yours.”

She stands stunned, picking up her empty silver platter and walking in a runaway, did I say something wrong? I quickly grab her dangling arm. She tries her hardest not to share eyes.

“No, I can’t, the results could be real bad for me, if it was to go wrong, I… I don’t think I can.” She pleads for mercy from what I want.

The ring, I see it wrapped around her neck on a piece of string. I hold it in-between my fingers.

“It kept on falling off, every time I put on my finger, so I put it around my neck to keep it close to me.” She says.

I remove her head-scarf and comb back her black hair, removing it from her face to see her blossom in my memory. Her thoughts are giving into submission, she lifts her head, her bottom lips tries its hardest not to quiver in a nervous fit, either that or the cold had really gotten to her. I remove one of my gloves and blow warmth into it and place it on the side of her face, her head moves into it with her eyes closed, she tries to hide an exhale, it prolongs from her as it was her first and last. Her hand cases mine keeping me there for as long as possible, we are here forever it feels.

“Oh, my lord, you are chasing after the help, I would never have taking you for loving, dirties, Maze; if you wanted a woman, I could have arranged one that didn’t wear a head-scarf, by the way, where is yours?” Verntro had come looking for me, glass in hand, feathers on his feet and no order in his movement.

Beth stands back from me; her eyes are hooked to the floor. Verntro stares at her and her two smudged sisters.

“I think you better get back to work, my little slave girl.” Verntro sights rest upon Beth’s position in this world.

“Verntro, it is not her fault, she is who she is, just leave her be. I was the one who instigated our meeting, do not blame her.” I implore to him.

Beth takes back her scarf and grabs her empty platter and speeds away downstairs, back to the gathering, she strikes at the tears that slid down her face and hangs on her top lip. Verntro slithers up to me.

“I now know that you are not better than me, because I have something you want and I promise you that I am not willing to part with my possessions, like you, oh, Beth told me about the ring you had given her, extremely charming.”

I throw my face in front of his.

“I am not in the mood for this Verntro, I will be partial to whomever I am attracted too and you and no one else will tell me different.” I say with ferociousness, its evil hold slowly tiptoeing its way back to my imagination. I could pluck out his eyeballs so he could never put his ugly look upon Beth again, I could heave out his tongue so he could not speak wrong words of her again, take his fingers from his hands so the last thing he felt was his own fear. His eyes are blood hounding me but are being led away by the devil whispers of alcohol.

“I will let your words go as you are not of sober mind, Verntro, consider this your warning, do not underestimate me because of my sober actions.” I say to him, bringing myself back to tranquility. Verntro’s head bobs in midair like waste in water, he is not worth my effortless hunt.

I break our eye exchange and pace slowly away with clenched fists I keep by my side, undeterred in each step to lastly let him know that he has unaffected me, trailing his red carpet I reach the edge of the stairway, finally I turn and have a look at my enemy for the night. He sways like a tree in the wind, with a bowed head and angry narrowed eyes that tear strips from me and my intentions, but it is no longer my intentions that I am fretting over, it is shown in the corner of his small smile; he has a plan. I must forget about him.

I trudge down the stairs almost in a stampede; I must get out, not letting this atmosphere on my behalf hold me here any longer than I need to be. I reach the bottom step; Beth is nowhere in sight, just the reality that these people are ugliest of the low, not in beauty but nature. The under-toned women stand behind their spouses against the wall areas, ghost whispering about their bedroom brawls and unsatisfied sexual antics. The women pan the room trapping with sexual desire young adolescent men who have recently been established as wealthy as a passed away relative has left them their inheritance, plus into the bargain the women would always disgrace their marriage when their husbands are working, leaving them with a young man’s body upon their used skin.

The low laughing men gather in groups in the middle of the rooms, strangling their brandy glasses in one hand and attached to their fingers are imported cigars, their stance is power filled and uncaring, badmouthing the world that has giving them everything, but never enough, hiding the fact they have homosexual feelings for one another, I am still farfetched from the root to their attraction to other men but I have come to the conclusion that it is either their own vanity and have fallen in love with the mirrors of themselves or just their penises against another’s penis.

I barge by the crowds; they notice the dwindling tone of my mood and lack of eye contact by my vertically aimed eyebrows. I break out in a burst for freedom to the outdoors, the cold air calms me, the unsightly try to entice me back with supple looks to lure me back to their cave of eternal darkness, no. My heartbeats were galloping and I couldn’t slow the shakes of what I should have said and done. I speed walk towards the carriage, Benjamin flicks away a cigarette.

“Sir, has the banquet finished already?” He says replacing the smoke with fresh air.

“Yes, the company I keep should be better thought out, because you never know what they are truly thinking.” I reply.

“Home?” He says; fasten up the buttons on his overcoat.

“No, not for me, you go, I will get a horse from Verntro; just need some cold air to settle my frame of mind. Have a nice night.”

“Thank you, sir… Come on, lads!” He climbs on to the seat of the carriage and begins to whip the leather harnesses and trots away.

I stare back, I finally realize I do not need this world, this world needs me. Smile blessed and free, a breath living within my lung and saved wealth within my bank, what more could I want… Beth.

I walk in the opposite direction to my detention named, Verntro Manor, towards a wooden fence, the moss on it has grown and evolved in to its own nature. I jump it and walk until I am in the void of the valley that is infested with grass that rises to the waist. Not even the sharpest of eyes could see me from here, I stare back anyway as history has always caught up to the present, time and time again for not being cautious when I feel untouchable. Verntro’s home was a black jewelry box that emanated light to the forests around it. I reach into my overcoat and pull out a pair of black gloves and a large piece of cloth; I kneel and fold and re-fold the cloth on my knee, then wrap it around the bottom part of my face, nose and mouth, tying it behind my head, I slip on the gloves. I spin around and charge for the heavens with both fists, the cold airs pincers latch on to my visible skin, the sky seems endless as I glare into its millions of eyes but beneath me seemed empty to the movers of the world. I slow to a halt; I can see the glow of Kingston lodged in-between two monstrous mountains; the churches steeple gives it away as it is the only building I can place my vision upon. A black sheet of secret kept the ground asleep.

The calmness of the world scares me; it reminds me of my third wife, Amyala, a true beauty.

Chapter 7

Brown hair, wide wild brown eyes that pull you towards her, she was like a love poem that you had to read four or five lines before the plot became apparent. It was about three thousand years ago in Greece, the weather for the time of year was especially warm, the country had just gotten over a drought that had taken a few lives, but we were in the midst of a long needed storm that had been like a vengeful God in the sky for three whole days, throwing lightening everywhere and shaking the floor with his genuine voice. The sun had been dragged by ropes beneath the end of the world’s line. I lived on a cliffs edge next to the sea, which was often raged with Poseidon’s wrath.

The home I lived in was only a wooden box, with one obscure hole in the wall for windows, a dining room, bedroom and a cooking area. I was a sheep farmer and was enjoying life. My memory of this time had faded and details of her had just been overtaken by time.

I come bursting through the door, ragged and filthy, with a leaking bucket of water; I waddle to a ceramic bowl and pour the water in.

“Petra, you’re home; I thought you had gotten swept away by the current.” she shows her head from the bedroom.

“Lucky for you, I did not” I say out of breath.

“Yes, lucky for me…” She says in a sarcasm tone.

“Does my love bestow a joke on me?”

Amyala runs over to me throwing her arms around my neck and locks it with a kiss from her warm lips.

“Jokes and kisses… I must have done something right, for a change.”

“No, nothing, just for you being you, plus you need all the love you can get as your wife of twenty-three days may steal it and run with it forever.”

“She would not dare… But as I think about it, she does seem like the sort.” I put on the face of a scary mythical creature that haunts caves and eats virgin girls. She is impervious to the laughable mask.

“Have you brought in the herd? I don’t want them to wander in to Eldorado’s land again.” She asks.

“Done and dusted, do not worry, I have taken care of everything, we shall eat then go to bed, without a worry on our minds.”

She kisses me again and releases her grip, turning and walking into the kitchen, I stare at her perfectly made body, her skin had been breathed on by the sun, her beautiful backend swayed like a butterfly on a gentle wind, I cannot help but stare. I walk over to a cylinder pot and pull out two spoons.

I take hold of my chest, my heart attempts to bash through my chest, I feel the tears rush to my eye line, the animal behind my ribs were thrashing and snapping at all of my other insides. The two spoons fall to their doom and my breath becomes cursed by the evil within my heart, which leads me to the idea of food. I hadn’t eaten in one and a half moons. Amyala was silent in the dark of my secret, the reason was she was an innocent and I longed for normal.

Amyala retreats back to the main room with two bowls of soup, she see me in agony and quickly places the bowls on the old dried-out wooden table.

“What happened?” She says, holding up my head so we were eye to deranged eye. I manage to catch one breath that sets my lungs back into their rightful place.

“I lost my footing.” She wraps her arms around me once again, picking me up to my feet, I cannot blink, the frenzy had taken shape as a thought I had banished to the recesses of me, I did not want to hurt her, but there are forces within my world more powerful than love. Half of me wanted to run but the other needed its taste of love before death.

I bury my head tenderly into her hair until I am nestled in her neck. My body quivers as I unbolt my doors from myself. I place my hands on her shoulders and push her back; she takes a few back steps and is stopped by the wall. I fall back to my knees.

“Do not you come near me, you run, run now!” I shout at her sight, I must hate her.

“I will stay by you, I can help.” She replies.

I look up; she is still beautiful in her worried state. My eyes begin to build up and send tears to their suicide and turning my pupils black with truth.

“Please tell me what to do, Petra?” She asks with tears and a quiet voice. Petra? …Not anymore. I jitter and jerk, trying to hold back myself.

Nothingness is my strength but love has no place within me, she is not love, she is but routine, a face I have placed in my memory enough times to think she is my one. Trickery is her technique, which she shines on a fragile man’s heart. A favor gifted to this world, if you do what is in my nature. I am strong enough to conquer but not to say no, making my nothingness also my weakness.

It stops, moisture hangs on a line from my bottom lip. I raise my right hand up above me and use the table as my support to bring myself back to my feet. She looks on in cower, should she help? Should she get help? Should she heed my words and run? These things troubled her as they dart into one another inside her final judgment.

I collapse in tire; my chin is bowed into my chest, closed eyes, my nose touching a rock dusted floor. My hands are covering my head as my spine jilts me forwards with spasms, every other second. Suddenly it stops; she kneels with watchfulness, a warm hand of hers takes a steep to my level. As if her hands can heal this hurt, I shoot up until her eternal tears reflecting in her eyes mirror the hell within mine. I run through the opened door, I run and run and I ran, through the branches and jagged stones that attack my feet’s bottom. I am brought down and down again by this inhumane famine pain, crashing me into plant life and rocks, that cut, spread blood and open me, I bleed on the elements. The clouds begin to brew in the sky with the dark colors of black, blues and purples; the ocean is the first to lose his temper throwing punches at the cliff side.

I lose ground as I come to an edge; I stare down, blackened razor-sharp fingers stick out from the water. If I end this now, I cannot have her. My world bypasses my eyes; it just sits in distortion, I know it’s still in motion but its gathering dust. My murderer’s breath is shared with the sea air.

“Life or death, neither would survive within me if only I had committed to my true nature.” I stand, giving guilt to the sky.

There is no one in sight, with a world so large and with so many born and walking, why do I live with this feeling of loneliness. My arms and eyelids seem heavy and my legs want to snap with my evil weight. I take a leap with no faith or effort; I fall towards the rocks, hoping for impalement. The clouds shift together and cover up the stars; this fall seems like forever to end.

I hit the rocks, no impalement, just immense pain, ripped and broken, half in the water and half not, unable to move. The water comes in and drags me with its waving hands, pulling me in with its shift then throwing me forward back into the rocks. Black…

I am awakened by screaming birds and a seething light that wheedles its way through an opening in the twig roofing. How did I get back home? It is peculiar, I feel normal as normal would give. I lift up my hands, clothed in dry blood. No, I couldn’t have, could I? Not Amyala. This is not possible; I was dying in the water. There is no way in this world’s hell I could have brought myself back from the brink of Hades. This maybe a dream or perhaps last night was a dream? Then whose blood is this. I thrash my hands all over my body to see if I was wounded, nothing. I sit up from my hay bed that has been bagged in cloth for a sleep. I climb off from the rustles, the floor was damp the house must have gained a leak as the roof wasn’t that able to hold off all the water because of the gaps. I peer around the corner in to the main room. Blood, red, insides, body parts, scarlet drips, Amyala was everywhere, nothing was recognizable. Her blood was in puddles on the floor and smears on the walls. The main wall to the hut had been reduced to rubble, only a demon from Hades could have done this diabolical act, It must have been me, I was that demon… Forgive me Amyala.

Chapter 8

I come back to the now. Still airborne from Verntros banquet, still with disgust for Verntro, to this day I ask for forgiveness from Amyala, she just never knew. A gust of wind slams against me, a cold fear was carried on it and it was coming from Kingston. My eyes fix and I shoot like a bolt towards the town, passing clouds and night birds, weaving through them. Once I reach the town, I slow just so I can either see the trouble or hear the screams.

“HELP!” A scream comes from a few narrow streets away. Chimneys are at full burn and make fake clouds; I land on a pubs roof, stepping on the edge, staring down at the street. I hear the hard breath of a woman; I run over to the other side and glance down, am I in time to do my job? A young woman has been cornered like a wild animal by two drunken poachers. They both are taunting her with their hands, trying to grab hold of her dress but she is strong and knows she must put up the fight.

“Get away from me, please, get….!” She fights with her words.

One man manages to get hold of her, he head butts her; she falls to the ground with a crack to the back of the head due to the cobbles, dazed eyes and blooded face. The two men circle and shadow her, staring at both of them, she knows their next move but which one will do the evil first? Both men look at each other with the idea of rape; one speedily kneels, already grunting to the idea of forced sex as holds the young woman’s arms down, while the other wriggles with his belt with one hand and with the other ripping and trying to pull up the woman’s dress.

She screams her hardest.

No more, I leap from the buildings top with opened arms with a somersault roll before I land a few yards from the culprits and the young woman. The man waiting his turn, picks his head up slowly to my direction, mouth opened with no teeth. He is kneeling, watching the war in my eye, the other man is still figuring out how to undo his belt buckle, so I am unnoticed by him. I run in for battle with so much rage in each footstep. The knelt man is shock-stunned to my advance, too bad he had no teeth as I kick him full pelt at the bottom part of his jaw, something’s broken, sending him flying from the ground like a paper ball, through a glass window of the pub. By this time I am seen by the other, he had finally gotten his trousers down to his ankles but after he had seen what I had done to his partner in crime, sex was off the menu for him.

He stands and about turns without lifting his feet, trying to gather his trousers up to his waist. I run after him, grabbing his jumper behind his neck and carrying him off in flight across the street, threw the opposite alleyway into the darkness, now he is the one who is screaming for help, I climb higher and higher and he cries harder. I am about half a mountain side up in the air when I let go, fear must have cut off his tongue as there was no scream going back down from him.

I stare back, is that woman in good health to make it home? I better check… I speed back to the alleyway where she laid and land on the street in front. She is still lying there, shaking. I stare closer as familiarity grips me. I know her, it is the street-walker from a few days ago, the one who propositioned me and I had told her this would happen. I will not gloat to her, she may remember my face and that is the last thing I need.

I pace up to her, she tries to shuffle away with the balls of her feet on the wet ground, through puddles.

“My dear, are you in health to make it back to your home by yourself?” I ask in a deepened voice.

She stops and looks at me queer, she nods, her lips quivers with the gash.

“Yes, I think so, yes… Are you going to kill me, like those men? Please, please don’t.” She says, with tears on her speech.

“You have nothing to fear, my dear, if I wanted you dead, I would have let the scum take you. Are you sure you’re okay?”

Another nod, I bow back, my service is done. I stare back up to the sky and leave the ground, my long coat trails behind me, flickering like a rouge flame and cracking at my feet.

Bethany, if she knew me, the true me, she would not want to know me. I shouldn’t even try, one day she will die and I would be left with the lost gap again. It would save a lot of hassle if I just made sure I never went near her, let her live her life without the pain. She doesn’t need any trouble like that. And what would happen if one month I could not control myself and take her, like I did Amyala? A woman like that is not meant for such a fulfillment. Beth, stay away, you will be far safer…

I fly home, back to my guilt; back with Verntro’s circulating words, back to my world, back in the black…

Chapter 9

Sitting at the table, I should eat myself. When will I put this knife down trying to put an end to this endless life? Drunk spits at my mirrors reflections. Pick up your whiskey and toast to death. Congratulations, you are now evil. You can now let your soul fall from your mouth and lock it in a jar with no air, shake it and threaten it with fire. I need a sharper knife. You have opened your armor, dumb wittingly within the moonlight, showing this world a beast, and also your love within the same mouth. Howl at the sun to make sure there is no night. Spiral your fingers around your throat like a suicide snake. Lash another wrist. What came first in my life? Time or death, time or death, can’t have one without the other. I guess they come from the same cut.

A pleasant knock comes from the door.

“Maze, are you here?” Arthur softly asks.

“Yes, for the time being, but not for long.” I chuck my words.

I put my feet on my table and take another mouthful.

“There is a young woman at the door for you. She said her name is Beth. Do you know her?” He comes in closer.

“Tell her I am not up for visitors at this time, too ill with this world to make host today.”

“You have been drinking?” He exclaims as I pour another drink and down it in one.

“Vey observant, it doesn’t stop this pain, but it makes me numb to its jab.”

He walks in closer to with a shame shot from his eyes.

“I am going to tell you this because you know I care, let it go, stop feeling sorry for yourself, it does not become you. You have had more chances than anyone to conquer what is inside. Grow up, sober up. You can tell her that you do not wish to have her in your company yourself, she will be waiting downstairs.”

Arthur storms out the room with a thud of the door. I didn’t even look at him once and I won’t be chasing his shadow, just take another drink and deal with the problem of emotions that is waiting downstairs for you.

I stand at the top of the staircase with intentions of battling love on its own battle field. But I am so drunk I have to hold on to the banister to make sure it does not look that obvious.

“Miss Beth! How is one of my most favorite persons today?” I cheerfully shout.

“I am good, all the better to see you actually, Maze.” She says with her hands cupped at her waist.

I have beaten the mountain of stairs and all I must conquer now is to keep Beth still in my sight.

“Why is it better? Has this day produced something that any other could not? Have all your hopes and dreams come to pass? Or perhaps all of your enemies have been slain and slaughtered by another’s blade.”

“No, I am just doing some shopping for the house.”

“Ah Verntro, he is such a prick, don’t you think? He just lacks that push, you know, a push-off a cliff.” I stumble to the right.

“What is the matter with you?” She asks.

“Nothing is the matter with me; it is this world full of bastards that’s the problem.”

“You’re drunk.”

“Of course I am, wouldn’t you be when you live in such a place like this one?”

“Well perhaps I can change your view of this world and carry on our conversation from the other night.”

“No need. I know. I know what has to be done.” I slur more saliva than words and rub my sleeve over my mouth.

“And that would be?”

“Terrific question, see you’re so smart, so so smart. And the answer is… I can’t see you anymore or talk. You see we are two different people living in the same world.”

Her facial expressions change so drastically from happy to what is happening?

“You mean you’re rich and I am poor and you are afraid of what people may think. I knew it was a mistake coming here.”

“No! It is nothing like that; I’m just not allowed to love you. That is all. Just scratch me from your memory, it would be safer.”

“What do you mean you are not allowed to love?” She comes in closer for a feel of my hand.

“They made me so I could not love anyone, not allowed. Eventually it’s taken from me.”

“What? Who are they, Maze? You are the richest and most powerful person to ever step foot on this world; you should not be intimidated by those who are not here now.”

I fall to my knees, this heap suits me good as I try to cry.

“You just don’t understand. You don’t, do you? Please just go. I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

“For now I will go, and when you have lost your drunkenness I will not be far, you hear me?” She let’s go of my hand and walks to and through the door. Please come back. I didn’t tell you I need you. Even for a wee while. Save me, save me, please. Black.

(The other chapters are below:)

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The Diary Of An Immortal – Chapter 5


“Catch…” Arthur calls out. I come back; he throws an apple into midair, it lands in my palms. “Looks like it is going to rain, do you want to take the carriage into town?”

I nod in please and bite into the fruit with a crunch like bone. I back kick from the wall with my heel that I was leaning against. I walk to towards the door and exit through the gigantic wooden arms and enter to the outside to wait for my carriage.

The slowly dying sun brushes my face; the clouds in the sky seem to be moving faster than they should, probably being chased by their replacement. Benjamin slows the two horses carrying the carriage.

“Morning sir, is it just into town today?” He notes.

Only Arthur knows my secret, I cannot risk it being exposed on a single newspaper or voice.

He jumps down from his perch shuffling the white granite stones that inhabit the ground and opens the carriage door.

“Yes, thank you.”

I take off on my voyage to the town’s center, in flight it would take seconds but on horse foot the journey would be little less than a full hour.

“Slow it, easy now boy.” Benjamin halts the horses that clog on the cobble floor, I heave forward as the carriage stops. A couple of unseen footstep later the doors fly open to let in the weak light and earsplitting haggles and gossip. I step down to the ground which is ridden with rodents decomposed food that has mixed with the rain and is washing the juices further down the street with a stench that haunts the nose, but no one is caring as this is everyday life. The wind hits me with its cold hand, I wrap around my overcoat to bring back the warmth that was stolen.

“I shall not be any longer than an hour, Ben.” I utter. He tips his hat. I step away from my carriage, looking around at the stalls, meat and jewelry is held high in the air to show off their appeal. Street children surround me holding their hands out for little money for sweeties; I let the pennies from my hand cascade to theirs.

“Now, go spend your money and find enjoyment!” I amusingly muster with a monster accent, the children run away into the crowd counting their money.

I walk over to a jewelry stall to browse their artifacts; I pick up a silver ring it holds a red cut stone. I stand in awe of this jewel and try to imagine where it came from in time. A feeling keeps me staring.

“Thirty pounds, that one” A raggedy female voice chants.

I look up there is an old woman with white long hair with the back of her head covered by a black hood. She trundles over pulling her wardrobe into her.

“That there is a lover’s ring, if you were to wear that you will fall in love with the most beautiful of women for as long as you wear it.” She snorts, wiping her nose.

“Love is not a commodity that I am aware of in these passed years.”

“I think you should fall in true love at least once in your life, how old are you?”

I look up at the old lady and think about twelve thousand years old.

“…I am twenty-five, Ma’am.”

“Well then, if you buy this, you should fall in love soon enough, son.”

I am awestricken by her bargaining speech that I reach into my pocket and pull three papers out and hand it over to the old woman; she has earned it with her words.

Suddenly a high pitch whistle drowns out a hundred voices at the same time. My fingers wrap around the ring with a cold grip while I pin-point the police constables alert, I scope through the crowds of shoppers with a sharp eye looking for a break in the horde to see what the emergence was. Contained horrified screams come from the other side of the markets court yard from mothers sheltering their playful children with their arms, shocked that a crime has just been committed and planted that unneeded vision on their seeds mind. Suddenly a ruffian sprints through the taken aback standers in an evasion; his facial appearance was dry muck so it made the identity to this culprit rather arduous. I shove the ring into my right pocket for safe keeping as the wanted flees closer. Another police constable takes his chance and flies at the young scruff, rumbling him to the floor. I walk on over to make my presence known as the punishment to the young man maybe less sever if someone of my stature was to take pity on him.

“What is his charge?” I say to one of the policemen.

“Lord Maze… His charge was stealing a loaf of bread, which he ate before we caught up to him.” The law speaks.

“May I speak to the accused, officer? Son, what is your name?” I ask the young man.

“It’s Byran, sir.” He is out of breath.

“Why are you stealing food, do you have financial problems at home?”

“No, sir, I gave my wages to my sister to pay the bills with yesterday and she had gone out to borrow some food money from my grandmother who owns a public house on the other side of town, but when I returned home last night, she had not returned and her bedroom window was opened wide, I was hungry that’s all, sir.”

At that precise moment I knew who he was, but the question had to be asked.

“And your sisters name?” I abhorred saying.

“Piper Morris is her name.”

I realize what I had done and it brings me back to the enormity of the shadows within me, now that she is only a name in a journal of murder. I stare at the young man; the feeling of sorrow settles snug in front of my empty hole a relentless feeling of guilt hits my hurt as I control the shakes in my knees and hands.

“Constable, how much was the bread? I would like to pay for it” I take out my wallet.

“Half a shilling, I believe” He proudly bleats.

I reach back into my wallet and pull out a ten pound note and hand it over to one of the policemen, he takes it with a look of peculiarity as it was more than what the bread has actually cost, it was the least I could do for the child.

“That should be enough; I believe this was just a complete unfortunate situation the young man has been thrown into. Hunger will make us all do unspeakable things. Have you learned your lesson, son?”

Byran nod in complete union to my words, the police constables stand him back on his feet. I take hold of the young man’s arm and lead him away from the law, he is shook up from almost being imprisoned and I see the why is this man helping me within his eye. I lead him through the despicable on looking people shying away from their ugly suggestions, his eyes and silent emotions have no place at that exact moment so he keeps nomadic within him.

“Now I want you to come see a friend of mine tomorrow, his name is Charles, he works in the compound within my castle and he will give you food and money and a new career with better pay, if you would like that?” I reveal to Byran.

“I really appreciate that, sir; I work as a chimney sweeper, the money I earn doesn’t even fill my mouth. Why would you want to help me?” He says with an up on his day.

“That is my job, to look out for the less opportune on this planet. Now head home fast and get a wash, I will inform Charles that you are to be expected.”

“Thank you, I will, I won’t let you down, sir.”

“Oh… And contact the police and make a statement in to your sister’s disappearance.”

“I will, Thank you, sir.” He waves goodbye.

He begins to run passed the deadened peepers who have lost curiosity in the crime; their attention has now been taken by the reason of my association. I look around at the people pretending not to see me, when a young woman catches my eye from in and out of the crowd’s movement, her skin was a light caster sugar color that melted my eye and I was addicted. Certain people in the mob dodged and slurred her with a single look, she sees everything they throw at her and ricochet it away with pride of which she is, head held high not to be brought down by the heaviness of others thoughts. I pull out a handkerchief and pat down my forehead as the moisture had started to build upon the drizzle. I shove the hanky into my left trouser pocket and hark back to the ring in the right; I stretch in and root around, my pocket was empty. Did Byran steal it? Was I pick-pocketed? I tow out my pocket out into the open, a small hole had formed in the stitching.

My eyes shoot to the floor scrutinizing everything resembling a burnished ring, street trekkers feet did not help my matters anything, moving or blocking views, I loathe the thought of paying for something and letting it be picked up by another who would not treat it with the same respect I would, I trundle back near to the old woman’s selling stand and notice an individual kneeling. I rotate to get a closer look on what the person is looking closely at. A fingerless glove pinches the ring for stares.

“Excuse me, I believe that is mine.” I utter confidently.

It was the young woman, the one I lost in the crowd.

“How can you tell? If it was yours it should be on your finger, not the floor.” She gasps with a smile, I mirror it back.

I show her the escape route that the ring had made from my pocket.

“It fell out through here.” I finger the hole.

“I’m still not convinced; you could have seen me pick it up and make out that you dropped it.”

“You want proof?” Still smiling, I grab the old stall-keepers attention.

“Excuse me… Hello… Old lady! Did I or did I not just buy this ring from you?”

The old lady squint’s her eyes to get a nearer look at the rings illustration. She wipes her running nose on her sleeve and shuffles over a little further. I glance at the young woman; she smiles in accuracy to her convictions.

“Well don’t stand so far away so I cannot see it, bring it closer.” The old woman grubs.

I step to her and hand her the ring, she takes it with an intent look searching for familiarity. She nods.

“Yes, I did sell it to you, it is a love ring.” She blurts out with coughs.

“Thank you, I know you did.”

The young woman looks like Napoleon must have moments before the end of The Battle of Waterloo. She holds it out. And I feel like a comic, where are my manners?

“Keep it, just promise me you will look after it, it’s a love ring, it’s supposed to make you fall in love. But that could be a ploy to buy it.” I insist; she balls it up in her hand.

“I will, I promise you.” She sniffs in the cold.

She turns with the smile for a free ring and walks into the wind, taking a few steps, when she turns and looks at me like she has forgotten something.

She trundles back over to me shooting her lips to the side of my face. Numbness massages my chest, she pulls away, I don’t know how to act, I begin combing back my hair and looking around at the crowd, not that I didn’t want to stare at her, I did.

“Thank you.” She gently pecks.

I open my mouth, I am meant to say my pleasure, but nothing comes out so I transform the hole into a smile, lucky my cheeks were already red with the chill. She slides her thumb over the saliva she has left, finishing it out pinching my chin.

“Perhaps I will see you around the town again?” She hopes. What should I say?

“Err… Yes hopefully.” She nods and heads back into the crowd, disappearing in their rush and looking for blame because she walks the same streets as them, she is not like the norm I have meet. I remember her eyes where as dark as night is black.

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The Diary Of An Immortal – Chapter 4 – Written By Alexander Kennedy


The fourth Installment from the Novel The Diary Of An Immortal. Enjoy! Like, Comment and Subscribe.

The Diary Of An Immortal

Chapter 4

After the tragic death of my last wife, I took on the roll of a vigilante liberator. Invasion wars polluted like wildfire so the criminals and outlaws crawled from the shadows as monsters in stories and pillaged and ransacked villages and towns against very vast few constables, their rationale was profiteering and reigning with fear and murder. The years were gunpowder plots and Shakespeare. Cavaliers had taken upon the social scale and I wasn’t branded as middle class in the midst of it all, I had a small patch of land that was owned to a wealthy Earl whom inherited it from the Monarchy. The land that I lived on was soundless to the country’s capital, surrounded by openness of the greenery that had flourished almost as a stilled oil painting that has captured true beauty of the woodland and field and mountain landscapes on its canvas, to forever be seen but never forgotten. I worked as a field hand a few miles up the road on The Daniels farm and with that payment I received I paid the Earl and ate for four nights a week, the rest I robbed from the unlawful that took from others. One night I was camped out on a wooden chair in front of the fireplace, there was an axed table by the side of me that I had used for firewood, from the floor to the ceiling was jacketed in black mould and when the wind blew the wooden roofing chattered like cold teeth. An endless droning knock comes from my wooden door, along with muffled whispers that were undertone by the down pouring rain. I hastily rise and walk to the door, I hear people shushing each other outside.

“Who is it?” I ask.

“It is… (a laugh) a priest, we have come to tell you about God.” A man’s drunken voice travels through the door.

“I am not entertaining guest tonight, could you please come back at a later date, I would be more than happy to let you enter.”

The door flings open to a boot and three swaying men enter, they are cloaked in hats with large animal feathers and capes.

“We have come to collect your payment, taxes have risen and money must be pocketed.”

“I do not have any money.” I fearfully say.

They begin to look at each other to let their premeditated plan come into action. One man charges at me and puts my head in a lock, harbouring my breath as he constricts like a devilish snake, another begins turning my home upside down looking for currency or items to be sold to the back streets. The main culprit chases out his blade, staring at the glaze and his stretched reflection, looking at the weapons real meaning and potential, he points the swords peak under my chin.

“Well if you do not have money, we will have to ensure that when we come back we will leave with something but now we will leave tonight with a blooded tip.”

He thrusts the tip into my shoulder with a smirk, twisting and turning the handle and slowly dragging out the blade along with my life-force little by little, the man imprisoning me lets me go.

“Does it hurt?” He asks throttling my shirt. He looks at his creation on me; the wound begins to merge with the skin around itself within a couple of seconds it is restored back to health. He lets me go and is taken aback.

“D..D..Demon…!” He stammers.

He let’s go of his steel and about turns and sprints out into the rogue weather in panic.

The man looking through my personal possessions reveals his rapier and lunges with a roar from the left of me; I grab the swords head causing it to come to a halt when it has reached bone, he stands in disbelief with and opened jaw, I snatch his help from his hands and jam it in the side of neck, he falls with a hard crash, I jump at the last man  and hang him as a painting on the wall with the nestled feeling of his friends sword jabbed in his belly, he tries to inhale but the pain is too ruthless and except from a last breath, exits a few drops of blood.

The sheer audacity of these sent hooligans inflames me to the point of no return, I stare up to the ceiling and take flight with a fist clenched and bared teeth, crashing through my roofing until I am above the trees, each impact of the rain drops were a warning and the wind was a friend trying to talk me out of my next step, pushing me back.

I’m seething, I scope in a rotation and in the distance heading for the nearest residence is the bastard who thinks he can enter my home and threaten me for more money. The more I thought of him the more angry I remained; it built and built within me like a diabolical idea. I began to finally warm up, my eyes lit up the dark and it was almost as though it was daytime aside from the sky still being used as battlefield for the weather, lightning strikes chard under the blanket of thick cloud like maddened shooting stars.

The usual profanities of the tongue become theatre shadow-puppets of the mind.

“How dare this malicious cretin believe he can march into my serenity covered life and try to take it away for his drunken amusement, does he have any idea of whom I am? …Does he? …Show him who you are, kill him, kill him now!” I scream.

Fury has consumed me inwards, worse than the feeling felt when hunger swallows me, but it has become my coat of armor that I must wear to deflect lives poisonous arrows. Too long I have been a forever walker living in the chased away shade of the light, I have been death gripped to protect. This night onwards shall be mine. I bear my true meaning to the world when an unusual feeling road’s over me, something; something I have never ridden upon before.

The wind and rain warns away from me as a taste to medicine. The brute is scattering his run over grass and small lumps of ground which stumbles him to the Earth, dragging himself across through the green with his fingers, always with his eyes coming back to the scene of his crime.

This was more than thirst for food, the retribution alone will fill me. I charge with the roar of war, the swine turns to locate where the beasts howl came from, he is caught in the stillness of that second of everlastingly. I hurtle and hurtle, closer and closer. I collide with the bully and he falls on his back.

“Forgive my ways, forgive my ways.” He tries to bargain in stutter.

“Never… For your wretched ways, I cannot allow that, I will eat the death from your skin so your talk could never be heard again.”

He lays there as a shivering chiseled stone; his eyes try to reach out to all the possibilities of what I am and what my next move may be. His forgiveness and admission of guilt have run out. He tilts his head back to gain help with a look, I grab his face and lunge my teeth into the side of the cheek, he screams in terror, most of which was shock induced, I tear away from him a hellish chunk and a gulp. The line in the sand that I had drawn, I have stepped a city over it. Am I in the wrong? Have my waters crashed against the world’s rock and made them bleed?

I lose grip of him, have I myself? I wipe the blood away with the forgiveness that this man had felt, spitting him out in my saliva. His heart rate almost blows through his chest to show me the white flag of afraid. I sit to my feast and stare at my hands with blotches of a crimson character.

The man rolls over to his front; his back blackened and blood coated teeth were on full bloom to the world, he puts his hand over the gaping hole that motions him in the direction of the pain, losing foot now and again.

If I let him live, I will be burned as a wizard or devil when his tongue tells all. If I kill him, my secret is safe from all the pointed fingers and eye stares that will never be seen. So it began.

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The Diary Of An Immortal – Chapter 3 – Written By Alexander Kennedy


The Third installment from the novel The Diary Of An Immortal. Enjoy! Like, Comment and Subscribe.

 

The Diary Of An Immortal

Chapter 3

The sun casts its spell of inferno upon me, its radiance is blinding to the eye. I raise my hand as a plead to dim but its determined approach escapes through my fingers. I thrash my head as a runaway from the whiteness.

Rolling over to the side of my chamber bed and sitting in a slump. I wipe the sleeping time from my face.

“I should buy a cave for a descent night sleep.” I say in a water wanting voice.

I arise and fall to the floor with a thud, needles and pins drape over my legs like pestilence through a continent. My hands become healers with rubbing; I drag myself up by my cradles sheets and limp over to the basin of water. I splash water on my face with cupped hands.

A double knock erupts from the barricaded door.

“It is open!” I shout.

The doors in no way want to open as they do not know what is lurking behind them. Arthur forces them open with might of Hercules.

“Maze, you are awake.” He says.

“Good observation, my old friend.”

He treks over to my clothing draws and pulls out my outfit for the day; they mimic what I usually have on whatever the weather. He lays them on the bed and turns to me.

“Quite a bad night last night, did you eat at all?”

“Yes, a beautiful woman whom was undeserving to the tooth.”

My mood shifts back to rain clouds.

Arthur sits on my bed as he caresses his facial hair thinking about his next wise words to speak. I flush water over my armpits and throw smelling powder over them; Piper entered the room and stopped this day’s new beginning.

“Alex, I may not be as old or as clever or as gifted as you, but these people who you have tasted are casualties of battle, they are the fuses to the cannon that is you and without them there will be no saviour. When we first met twenty-five years ago, you saved my life from those bandits and from that day forward I pledged my life and honour to you, stop attacking yourself for doing what is in your nature.”

His words are correct but no matter how much I am told them, the wounds are still opened to the elements. Alexander was the person I became in the middle of the last century gone, after a certain amount of time I knew certain people in society became wary of how old I looked so I left the country to start my new life and became Maze.

“How did my guests last night take my departure?” I ask.

“They were surprisingly behind my excuse of food poisoning and work overload; they left with the hope of you getting well soon.”

“Remind me to up your pay, and just to clarify you are smart and gifted in your own way of making excuses for me, to tell the bad money of my illnesses and don’t remind me of being old, it’s hard enough just living, I have to be old.”

I begin to get ready for the day, strap by strap to button with hole; Arthur walks over to my blockade and sets all of the chairs and items back in their original spots.

“Do you want your morning meal? I’ll get Catharine to make you something.” Arthur says.

“An apple will do, I will get one downstairs.”

I exit my chambers to the corridor in a stride, with a hand in my pocket, the broken history items have been cleaned up, I come back to the stairway, the whole room at the bottom of the stairs has illuminated in size and brings a secluded feel, there is a placid feeling when it blends with the colourful hanging antique paintings and freshly picked garden flowers, the first smile of the day. I pace down the stairs and sword my eyes through the window; the sky was clear but on the horizon sits the mustard up rage of a storm.

Arthur treads down the stairs.

“Remember you have that ceremony for charity tonight at Verntro’s home.” He says.

“You are supposed to be the barer of good news, Arthur. But Judas springs to mind, when you talk like that. I am not raising your  pay now.” I answer with a smile.

“Well you have to go; he told me last night that you will be receiving a medal or award for your charity.”

I turn and show him a look of wretchedness. The charity is not my duty to the people; I employ certain individuals who give amounts of money to the people who certainly need it.

“I don’t want to go, make up another excuse for me.” I ask of him.

“Listen to me. You found out what these people worldwide need and made sure that the relief gets to them, its hundred fold better than saving them separately when you were flying over countries to save the people who were helpless.”

Arthur cups his hands together after saying his piece and leaves the main hall.

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The Diary Of An Immortal – Chapter 2 – Written By Alexander Kennedy


Here is the second installement from the novel The Diary Of An Immortal. Enjoy! Like, Comment and Subscribe.

immortal

The Diary Of An Immortal

Chapter 2

So once again, I stand on my castle tower staring at my kingdom, the sun has just set and a glow from the horizon still sits waiting to sleep, my only friend and greatest foe. The wind catches my cape and begins to make it almost alive in movement. The year was cart and corset. Humans are heading to the public house beneath me. I can hear every stretch of each leg muscle, and smell every dinner from days before on their breaths travelling on the cold air of an English dusk. The stray dogs below run in packs, chasing prey through the floor of the forests. Beyond the forest sits as an expanding industrial town which is trying to forget the past by building the future. Howls, hoots and drunken shouts control the echoes on the background of the snow enchanted mountain-side that deathly shadows the valley. The path from my home to the town moves like a serpents influence before a strike. And I am waiting for a target to capture, my patience sits on top of this world.

Hours have passed when I zoom in on a young maiden walking alone on the streets, covering herself up with her shawl from the murderous chill in the air, her black hair is knotted and her clothes are tattered, but to me through these hunger filled eyes, she is the most beautiful of creatures to ever consume my sight. The thirst almost sexual begins to take over my calm nature, my heart and adrenaline start obsessing over this being. I must have her; I must get closer and taste the music that plays within her. This feeling is almost benevolence but the undercurrent of this feeling is animalistic and dangerous. I am not an evil that you know of but I do have similar traits of them all, even though all distasteful myths dawned with me.

I step forward towards the edge of the castle. Downwards is Red Speckle Lake, which roars like violent emotions at the peak of passion when their colours kiss one another. I leap from the bounds of gravity from the structure into the air, I let its solitude drag me towards the lake for one second then with no effort I speed on the body of the wind silently towards the town; the smell in my sinuses of her overpowers any last rational judgment of human within this shell.

I land on a small home rooftop, gently stepping into a better view as I watch her, within the confines of the shadows of the chimney and darkness rays, I dare not blink. She stops in her tracks, her heartbeat beings to rush with fearful thoughts from her mind until it engulfs the world to its rhythm, then becomes deafening, killing the silent environment with the pounding. I move like an African wildcat into position. I creep towards the buildings edge, in a prowling shape; the saliva appears from my bottom lip, ready to lunge for an attack – suddenly a window opens.

“Claudia, come home!” A voice.

I retreat back to the shadows embrace, my prey escaped in a watched upon run home by one of her family members.

“Damn, it was a love not to be, Claudia.” I sigh.

But all is not lost as I am in the centre of my foods breeding ground and any human will cure my curse of starvation. I look across the town’s skyline, another beauty with loneliness within her pavement steps, trying to keep her drunken mobility to herself as she has judged the world correctly, as a dangerous zoo where true evil has no sex and will strike quietly at the weak. Her face walks the pavement to make sure her eyes do not lead in the wrong impression to other unsociable eyes. A clever action is needed in this hunt, if my mouth will become filled. I come back to the throws of gravity and begin to trek through the filth and rat ridden streets, through the crowds of drunken farmers, industrial workers and street walkers.

“You look in need of a release, stranger” A street-walker jaws to me.

I stare at her; all of her facial features are outlined with black make-up highlights, her eyes, lips and imperfections. She fidgets with her blood coloured wavy red hair, wearing an old faded purple corset, she smells of her last sex victim.

“And you look like you will die by the hands of one of your drunken strangers, that will be your release, my sweet” I reply calmly.

There are too many eye witnesses to take her life; the screams would draw attention, even though the thought had passed my hunger threshold a few times. I proceed in my endeavour.

The stars have begun to dance in the sky to the sound of change in climate. Winter is closing in, meaning longer nights and lesser days, a predator’s playground and the game will set off earlier. My eyes scream to be fed as I look for my love, she is nowhere in sight, her footsteps do not escape, her pace has quickened as she is left the comfort of the mobs. Her footsteps are like war drums heading for an unwanted battle, I was her opponent that would be revealed afterwards in this ordeal as victorious. Through the invisible crowds I pass, with a human sensation of lust and want. Her face to me is still faceless, my steps equal her own and my cape begins snapping at the air as teeth to the inedible, her presence shifts around a buildings corner; she becomes missed until my eyes climb around also to see her kneeling, picking up her purse. Her eyes rise like the sun to me, at this time set like it was extinguished by the fear of being the only life alive on the street. I react quickly as her look made me desire death.

I cross the street; if I was to approach her at that instant her voice would become loud and attractive to others. She rises, our bodies mirror on both streets pavements as we walk, both sets of eyes wander and wonder, both sets of lives are about to collide, her eyes do not leave my side, disbelief in my walking here rages through her. Voices further on the road chatter to one another, I stop and look upon the passers, scruffy and drunk as they stumble towards my maiden, I throw her another look, Beauty has only one word, you, a perfect body structure she is blessed with, brains and looks were her way forward in life, men from a distance would bow to her also, she also stops, her eyes rip through my camouflage and manifest itself within her as an idea to scurry to her home.

She charges by her street protectors, I have taken too long on my preparation for food; her brown hair ravishes her face as she runs. I run down an alley and leap to the roofs head and crawl back in the shadows in search for her, She is located at her front door, entering and slamming away the world, She walks into her living area, she is projected through her window to me through the nettings, out of breath and second guessing her motives in running from only her uncomfortable actions out in the street.

I take a few back steps until I am pressed against a chimney breast, One step then two, then I am pushing by the winds fingertips, over the streets drunken hassles but hovering above her home then gently planting myself on her roof. I listen to her, trudging around her rooms as a spoilt child does when they have been found out for their trouble dealings. Her coat of warmth is removed and thrown on her bed, a deep breath and her hair is brushed behind her ears, she gradually toes towards the window to see if her uncertain follower was still on her street, the street lights were not that clear to reveal all, but the outline of any beings come from the passed out alcoholics, propped up against the wall trying to sleep or piss.

Her double windows split to let in the night, far above people’s bodies, safety has enclosed her doubt. But like a spider to the fly I climb down my web of brickwork until I am vertically above her, I watch how she moves, her head shifting from side to side staring into the dark corners of her familiar surroundings looking for unanswered questions of why and who. She rests with a smile of self embarrassment and sigh of relief. A gust of Gods breath tears through the valley, through the fields to the streets, my cape begins to flicker trying to escape from me on the winds back. I stand from the wall, gravity is calling but its human cursed design has no effect on me because I am no mere mortal or infinite watcher. Her heart then sinks as my cape droops beside her sight swaying; her eyes follow the black shadow of clothing up to the heavens. Until faces and worlds nudge, she tries to reach for breath for a scream but I snatch the breath before it exits by grabbing her by her mouth.

“Hush, Hush, Hush, if this was not you, then who?” I hungrily imply with some respect. I look left and right, up and down the street to see if a circus had gathered, nothingness had shown its body. My stomach begins gnawing at my ribs, trying to tear a hole to eat, I falter in my intentions for a split-second; my hands re-enters the big game, one around her mouth and the other supporting the back of her skull, I begin to back, back up the buildings costume.

As I drag her upwards with depression on my quakes and a sea of regret on a tear, her dress becomes entangled on guttering. My eyes become bloodshot, sorrow almost undresses from me but then I shoot at her one look of blood from my eyes and with an unearthly scream, I pull on this woman’s head, her body rips away from the bottom half of her dress, she acrobats into the air somersaulting above me until she lands with a thud on the roofs garden. I leap upwards and land, she is lying there with pain mesmerized on her face. I walk over, with her between my leg stems and stare downwards beyond the path that I am on, she glares pleases and no’s, I kneel to her.

“Please forgive me, if there was another way, even if triple the effort, I would be there.” I recite remorsefully.

I feel her heart then cores her face; I wipe away reasons for me not to hurt her, brushing her caught, stressed brown hair from her mouth.

“What is your name my sweet?” I ask.

She is hesitant in her words, the fear and whys control her vocal cords.

“My, my name is Piper. Please, why are you doing this?” She purrs me in saddened bubbles from her mouth.

“If you let me kiss you slightly first, I will explain all for you” I whisper.

She nods in agreement to my proposal as she has run out of crossroads to run down from me to chase, my head bends down in a slow fashion, her bottom jaw begins to shudder, to my close in. Our lips meet, every feeling she has ever felt circulates through me like a wild drug, her memories that are sent to me like an unsought plague that has the of essence of love, fear and pain flowing as rogue waves. The world from me falls away in this kiss, I hold her face in my hands as the sexual rush overpowers. We part, my head rises from hers with a smile that could light the night skies, my woman forgets for the time, why I am here and she delivers a real smile to me. I thrust my hands to the right in one quick action, with her head still placed in my possession, snap; I snatch the yelp from her neck. Death is now her gift to the world. Now with my eyes closed I hold up my hand and clench it and with one power punch, I drive my fist into her chest and take hold of her heart, I drag it out, the red shields my skin. I puncture into the hearts fundamental nature with a hundred years of famine within my drive; I am a shark eating a peach with its juices dodging the inevitable dinner bell.

A short wait before the reality sinks into my stomach, I am and have hurt, the hunger dies away finally. My head shakes in disgust to me; I sit in distraught for a short while wiping away the blood from my fingers, palms and mouth on the maidens dress. Not my crave for I am my own grave.

I pick her up in my arms and rock back and forth, my tears bleed from me.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I wish there was a hell for what I am compelled to do.” I rehearse to thin air.

I press my face against hers as she was all alone, when I took her from her peace and with that I let out a devilish roar to the stars that could tremor even the most fearless of higher functioning animals. I pick up my lady and shoot up into the opened sky with an army on my eye and criminal on my fogged breath, I am broken again. I glide through the air everything has merged to one; the rain has started to sprinkle down along with hail.

I come back to the castle in seconds and float downwards towards Red Speckle Lake, I enter the water still holding on to Piper, until I am half-submerged in its clutch. She lies in my arms, everything has stopped within her. I put her under and let the water take her the rest of the journey. She sinks further into the lagoon as its deepest of darkness clasps her. Her hair, arms and legs begin to waltz as she fades to memory. Now that the rain has slowed, I cry but one cries for her, the thunder is now the cover to the thrashing within my lung, I let out.

She has now been fed back to the world, out of sight but never out of mind. I leave the water with flight, mixed with a fleeing feeling; I gain height until I am perched back on my castles roof. I turn and look back out to the horizon, the sun has been dead for hours and replacing it is a red moon accompanied with clouds, I look back down to the town, not a pitch fork or lit torch in sight. The humans have no idea, still drinking their salaries away. My cape finally sleeps hunger filled and heavy to the rain. I go over my recollection of what had happened, if there was another door I could have gone through to have not murdered Piper, a cage or shackle spring to mind but guillotine or hanging that would be my true test. I kneel down and place my hand on the slate of my roofs side guard, eyes sheltered.

“May you now look after her; world as she is the only one we have.” I demand a small prayer.

I fall backwards until I am on my back, lying down; the rain beats off me as ball-bearings from one million pistols of the heavens.

I stand slowly, watching the clouds curdle, with a snap of my fingers towards the sky, the rain halts. The town streets have emptied and I enter my home through a huge wooden door.

I walk into a candle lit passage, the excess water falls on to the dust-covered concrete flooring. I then walk down a dark narrow spiral staircase as slow as possible; Piper still on my thoughts, her face fills the dark. I enter through another door into a luxurious varnished wood and antique collected hallway. Relics from time and old country sit for show. I walk down the hallway removing a piece of clothing every few steps and leaving them on the floor to rest, for my servants. I walk further down the hallway now in my underwear; I keep pacing to my chambers.

I push on two large double doors at the end of the corridor, they part. The room holds the biggest of beds, covered in head pillows and silk sheeting. Everything looks golden, shinning and expensive, above the bed is a window that takes up the full wall so at night before I sleep I can watch the stars tell a story and I can applaud with my eyelids.

I walk over to my bed and slide a board to a side on the base; I reach my hand inside and pull out an immense sized book, the surface of which is stretched old animal skin and precious stones secured on it. I stroll over to my desk, paperwork consumed the space; I place the book down with detestation, just being in its presence is stomach-turning. I let time lag for a brief period, building up the courage to read the hurt within its words that I had started writing centuries before.

I open the cover, the pages are set in to three columns at the top of each column are three titles, Name, Location and Date. My eye catches Clive, he was around the age of fifteen years, a small and vulnerable young man, his whole family was killed in the Black Death of the 16th century. That night was a overcastted sky; the trees were trying to dodge the harsh wind that had a taint of death and I was perched on a top branch watching. He must have been out in the field all day digging, three grave mouths were opened, ready to be stuffed and Clive was working in the fourth, taking his time. About ten yards away were four bodies wrapped in white sheeting, there were two adults and two younger siblings. I could not tell which one was which. After the holes were dug, he walked over to the bodies and replaced his tears with dirt in one wipe, he dragged them one by one until all four were in the grounds stomach, I waited for a reason, so he knew his family were taken care of and not just burnt in a mound of fiery corpses. I waited until he had finished his prayers and then he suffered the same fate as Piper. Afterwards I dug my own hole and laid him to rest beside his family.

I come back to reality as a knock comes from my door.

“Enter…” I give orders graciously.

An old man enters the door, wearing fancy burgundy attire, he walks a little in to the room and stands firm, his hands beside his waist then he bows his head and looks up.

“Maze, your guests have begun to arrive, they are all waiting in the main hall” Arthur informs.

“Have all the preparation been made, wine, food, seating?” I reply back.

“Yes, your grace…”

“Please, could you place my clothing for tonight on my bed? Then you may return to the banquet.”

“Yes, my old friend.”

I turn back to the desk, back to my torment while the old man prepares my clothes.

I reach for my quill and dab it in the ink, I flick to about half the book and write Piper, Gammbon Street, England, 18th September 1816

I slam the book shut and then I smash it through stacked paper on the desk until it collides with the wall, I fucking hate it with zeal but it is a reminder of what I am and what I could never become. I stand from the grief and walk over and get into my garments for tonight’s ball, the colours are mirrored to me, a vibrant grey coat and trousers but beneath is the darkness of a black shirt. I walk over to a reflector to see if Piper was around my mouth. I stare at the person who must be me, self-sophisticated with a hint of dashing, thin eyebrows, brown hair that I run my fingers through front to back, until it rests upon its self. Sleep deprivation is noticeable from my eyes but my smile will take people’s minds from that. I exit my chambers and begin to walk for the main hall, I open my door, a wind from a window pushed by me. All of the flames try to escape from the candle sticks. I compose myself while taking each echoing footstep. I show myself on top of the stairs opening, behind me is another window that holds the moons blood release. Down the stairs are my guest’s, Politicians, Barons, Bankers and Foreign Royalty. They along with their filled wine glasses and eyes rise to me. Both my hands find each other behind my back as I dip my head in the welcome. I set in motion my feet and come down to my guests level, at this point half a dozen servants quickly come from the kitchen door with plates filled with different cooked animal cuisines. I walk past my guests opened hands and invisible sighs of rejection and head to the head of the table. I am seated by Arthur.

The candles radiance around the room are trying their hardest to banish the dark in the ceilings corners. The Baroness Marie Corren stands with a smile, her hand situating in my direction and with her French accent.

“I would like to thank you and your family, for their generous contributions to my country, I would also like to say I am sorry about your father, Alexander, as he was a great man, you have his looks and his heart.”

I nod with a thought on mind, I am the Alexander that you knew and have dined with before.

I stand and raise my glass to Arthur’s attention as it needs to be replenished.

“Thank you. It is my greatest honour to finally meet the important people who my father kept such high opinions on, I may have never met you in person but I feel like I have known all of you for all my life and I am greatly appreciative that you could make it to my company tonight.” I avow to my guests.

Arthur fills my glass with red wine; I nod to him to let him know my drinking level has reached its peak within the crystal.

I take a big mouthful of the wine, losing the humans comes closer; I close my eyes in the swallowing. I open to see each of my guests chests sternum have been opened like  a  book  and sitting still alive on the plates in front of them are their own hearts, which all of them have began to fork and knife into small meaty slithers. They are not affected by this abnormality, still chattering and sniggering at one another. I rub the stress from my eyes, and the image is reverted back to the inhumanly sight of normality, shame.

As their dishes best served cold to poverty is ravaged by their tools of uncaring, my eyes are fixed onto each of them, trying to figure out whom is the more pathetic and untrustworthy after half a century. Sir Verntro, sits with his back straight never leaning towards the chairs support, always wearing his humanitarian medal from the King, but everyone higher on the social scale knows that he never caught the Kings attention through becoming a great person, but bought the kings attention through the payment of someone else. He has elongated sideburns that take nest upon his face along with a parrot shaped nose, he wears an eyeglass that is attached to a leather string fixed to his inside waistcoat. Next seat beside the Sir, sits Dame Elise of Hillsborough, She sits next to her unsocial husband who was once her servant, middle-aged, pale and withered through locked away years from her own sanity, money flows through her veins plated with murder and sex.

She looks my way with a smile full of chewed food between her teeth, but deception gleams reflect in her eyes. I place my glass down and reach for a cherry, that rests next to the platter of chicken as colouring, I tear the cherry from the stork and show her a one-sided smile. She turns back to her plate thinking that the right concentration was paid to her, far from her truth.

Across the table sits Princess Amelia from a black native cultured country. Covered in animal skins and beads from head to foot, I made love to her great-grandmother roughly a century ago as I was passing through their country while I was on a trek for a cure for human death, she saw me use my abilities, thinking I was a God coming to save the calamity of this turning ball, during the slave trades peak. I had made special arrangements for her to be here as black and brown people are not looked upon as guests but help, but after the second decade on this planet all the straight-backed, leg walkers became the same, yes, this world holds colour but if this world was born with none, it would be bland and all the same, but even if that was the case, they would still find something wrong with themselves, thus war is inevitable; all humans are very strange but rather entertaining on occasion.

“Maze, I believe your charity foundation helps a lot of the people, who deserve it, yes?” in slow accented of broken English, Princess Amelia beams.

“Yes, it’s for the best, in the worlds economics to have charities and people like myself to help the unfortunate when governments and laws are willing not to do so.”

“Here, here!” Sir Verntro speaks up.

I smile and continue talking.

“You could save a million people with your hands, pull them from fire ridden houses, stop them from an angry mobs ruling, but people in this day and age need money more than anything, it gives them hope in a world they have no control in, and if having a few shillings or pennies in their wallets, purses or pockets gives them that release from starvation or brings a smile of currency to their face, let them have it.”

They all nod in agreement, but loathing for the people I help tears through them as an act of worshiping the wrong God or belief. If I could read minds around about now, certain words would be flying over the table, weak or Bastard perhaps even Negro lover maybe One day when you least expect it, I will come to your place of sleep and cut your throat as you bed yourself, so that when you’re losing blood from your body, it awakens you from your trance of dream, and you will see my face and know that I was the who that overthrew you to the depth of which ever hell, so that I can stop your charities and have your wealth within my pockets, so that I would never hear the words of money problems again. Or even possibly I hate you. The demented aspects that these everyday’s live in is not for their true potential nor permanent victory but paranoia through profiteering and same regimes of crime and life walk-through, they would never declare this between them though as weakness is not looked upon as appropriate table talk.

“What was it your father used to say, Maze? It was a saying he stood by.” Baroness Corren confesses with no eye contact.

“It was, I fall by my will and one day I know I will fall. It means do not allow this life to control you in to becoming less than you are, be contempt that you, are you, but always be cautious of the things that might surface.”

“Amazing, utterly amazing, he wrote that himself?” Corren natters for attention.

“Yes, I live by my own philosophy, the end of my road is uncertain, but my sky will be forever. Meaning, I do not know where this road may take me in life, but I will always have the sky to follow, as it never changes.”

“Marvellous” She pushes from her mouth with detest.

The true meaning of my saying is, I am uncertain to the day that death will come to collect me, as I have been unable to be slain but with my mind I am able to imagine what it may be approximating, so that I will be prepared for it as long as I linger here.

These humans are now boring me; I look for a way to hastily escape from their company. I could always tell them that they do tire my interest, or I have a prior engagement with a woman, or in all probability they could understand if I tell them that I had already eaten tonight, telling them Piper courses through me, blood on blood. I could always murder them, grab one of the table knives and walk around the room one by one, and cut the life from them and watch them all float down in Red Speckle Lake.

“So what is your story for success, Maze?” Sir Verntro reveals.

“Whenever I think of my success in life, I always recall some more of my father’s words, it’s not what I need; it’s what I deserve. The choices and chances are all I have and I lay them down and put them in the correct order like cards, and take from the pack the cards I need to get ahead.”

I show a smile with an unnoticeable executioner behind the mask. My eyes catch a second glimpse of the meat blade on the table in every way it reveals the true potential of itself, with glimmers of hope in reflect of me. I look around; the corpses are still sitting, eating and gossiping, shovelling food in, but exhaling nothing in their speech. My hand lunges like an attack for the knife, but in its travel for it, my hand brushes my glass of wine, it tipples over in my stupidity and runs across my table towards my loins.

I shoot up from my seat in reflex to the split drink.

“DAMN IT, YOU CLUMSEY SON OF A…!” I mind my words in front of my guests. “Forgive me and excuse me”

My guests rise to my embarrassing retreat wiping their faces, Arthur is not far behind my motion in his quick miniature of steps. I sprint up the stairs bordering on an unstoppable locomotive. I turn on to the hallway to my chambers, ripping off my top garments and throwing them on my table full of relics, knocking them from their positions and destroying history in my raged moment.

“Get rid of them, get rid of them all. The night is over; I cannot sit with them anymore.” Out of breathe as I spit venom from behind my teeth.

“Sire, they have travelled…” Arthur almost finishes when I spin round and glare odium at him. He stops and his stare connects with the polished wooden flooring.

“Yes, my old friend.” His tongue submits to my will.

I barge through my doors and seal them off from my feelings, from this reoccurring night of feeding, from dining with lost souls, who care not for nothing.

I stand against my door, looking around this room for something to take the blame for my mortality. Nothing participates.

“I am so lost.” I rub my eyes.

I slide down my door until I am slumped in the misery. My eyes fix on my hands holding onto one another in parallel vibration. I yearn for someone to deposit the blame onto me; the adjustment would take my mind of myself.

Hours have passed and Arthur has tried to enter the room on multiple of occasions to carry out his duty, with concern and food bribing. The feeling of being forgotten through my entire existence finds its way back to me, there is no change in circumstances in this retched ball of same old, same old. People are born, people are not happy with what they have, they complain, they have children and enter them into that circle of self-loathing, then they die and their children have children and the cycle begins again.

Was I manufactured for the wrong intention? Generations have passed away to the dust as their ancestors. Eras have crept up, shown its self and deteriorate within the last moments of evolution. Perhaps I was sent to the wrong world to protect, abandonment is the feeling. I am here, I am still breathing, still walking, what more could I want? Just something.

I stand and drag my feet over to a ceramic bowl full of water; I submerge my face and scream under the water and resurface unchanged. I pat my face down with a crimson cloth, throwing it to aside as I trudge to my bed.

I lie under my sheets and face the window that take up the full wall of the room with the town and mountains terrain but most of the entire firmament. I become entranced once more before I rest myself, by the flickering of the skies map; certain bundles of them have disappeared to memory from millennia ago.

I know I am not from this world, so every night I stretch my stare to each individual small light, to see if one of them gives off a specific spark to where I am from, just for reassurance of my drive.

My eyes become hurried by sleep so I trail the heavens faster. Dark clouds relocation puts an end to my examining adventure and begins to spit out upon my window another rain storm.

“A new start… please.” I beg.

Water beads pour through my thought then Piper again, I restore confidence within myself by expressing through my inner voice, the hunt is never for pleasure you are not an animal, in repeat. In essence I do know the malicious effect I am bearing upon my conscious; I am replacing screams with screams. Black…

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