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Saved By An Angel – Fiction Story – Part 1


I’m going to jump; throw myself from this bridge into its ripple grim grave. I am done with it all, school life, family life; overall life in general. I haven’t got anyone to fall back on and that is the biggest of killers to me. This is no cry for help because there will be none, no opened hand because I have  never been given one. I know if I do this now my stance as unknown will stay the same on this planet, nothingness nobody because no one is there.

Standing on the concrete guard of the bridge looking down, I came to Harper Leap, not only because of the name but also because no cars use this road, now that the new freeway around our town has diverted traffic. The rain hazes the atmosphere with a hush-hand to cover whatever noise I make when I finally figure out this is a bad idea. Only one street lamp above the bridge will be my spotlight to the fame of the obituary column.

Angel

“What are you doing?” A voice from the side of me sasses.

I jerk my neck in fright to the right.

“I’m going to jump. Don’t stop me!” I snarl at the young man’s direction as he holds up his hands in interference.

“Just trying to do my job before it is too late, that’s all.” He protests to the waters wall.

I take another glance at him; he is a young guy, around eighteen-nineteen, black t-shirt and jeans and black dock martin boots; really raggedy brown hair that curls over his face. He is rather beautiful, even with the huge tribal tattoo down his right arm.

“Who are you? …What do you want?” Instantly he shakes his head.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I am Jack.” He jumps up on the wall, walks over with his hand out to shake; I back away, he may want to drags me away from the edge.

“Jack? Jack who?” I insist.

He wipes the drizzle from his clothes, lifts up his head and with a smile.

“Jack. Your guardian angel, Jack.” He introduces himself with a subtle bow.

“Haha! My guardian angel?  There is nothing you can say that will take me from this plummet.” I look again at my grave.

“Your name is Natalie Wallace; seventeen years, four months and six days old. Every time your mom or dad left you when you were a child you would cry, until you gained self-worth and stopped the tears. Your first crush was on a boy Adam Summers in the third grade but he was interested in your friend Grace Atkins, they are expecting their first child out of wed-lock, neither has finance to look after themselves let alone a newborn; your thoughts not mine. When you watched Jurassic Park you wanted to become a palaeontologist like Sam Neil but when you found out there was little or no money involved you backed away from the idea.”

“Wait… How do you….” He jumps my words. “There is plenty more I can tell you about yourself, I am practically your walking talking invisible diary that only you can see. Neat, huh? Where was I?”

“Enough…“ I finish in shock.

Jack takes one step on to thin air, a few steps out he turns and glides back to me, until we are face to face, land and air.

“Give me a week. One week to show you that suicide is not the answer, one week to show you the real reasons for living.” He picks up one of my tears on his finger that flee down my face; he flicks it from his finger into the sky to make a new star, our star. “There are things that you will want to live for, all you have to do is take my hand and agree to it all.”

I am reluctant, but his eyes melt every inch of sin.

“Am I going crazy?” I puzzle everything with my eyes and hands.

“You would ask that when something supernatural happens and now I am in the position to try to convince you of your own sanity and if I don’t have a good enough answer you will kill yourself and then I have to go back up top and tell them that you thought you were crazy because of everything you’ve seen. And I will be really pissed off because I tried…” He stresses his face in his palms. “How about you trust me even if that means trusting you instincts once? I know you don’t do it often but I know, you know, you should do it more. How about that for a speech? I am awesome and pretty to look at, what’s the worst thing that happens? You get eye strain from staring at me too long and you will become amazed by amazement, sweetie.” He cockily puts it with a smirk.

“Okay, one week. I agree to everything.” With the ending of my words the world pushes a furious wind all around. Jack stands with his arms out wide until he is only a silhouette within the huge moon.

I can only make out. “Your first task is to take a risk and have faith in something more than yourself. I want you to …..”

My hair gets swept into my eyes, leafs newspapers and birds spiral around this tornado speeded wind. “What!” I shoot out.

“Jump to me! I will catch you, Natalie.” He fires back.

“Are you out your friggin’ mind?” I fear over to him. He tipple tails backwards with laughter. “Do you really want to go back ten minutes in our conversation?” I grip on to the concrete guard with my fingers. “It looks like you’re going to need some incentive, ain’t-cha’! Just jump!” He point up into the sky, from the dark pit if the grey clouds a trailer is sent downwards.

“You better jump, missy!” He chuckles.

I lunge for him in fear but also in hope, as if I needed him. His arms open wide along with my mouth in a scream. It all turns black.

My eyes open gradually to this farfetched feeling of dreams and reality and how they betrayal me every single time I wake. I fling the blanket over my head.

“So you talk and snore whilst you sleep, that’s a weird trick to have.” A familiar voice peals through.

I chuck the blanket away from me. Jack is perched on his boots tiptoes on the end of my bed frame, arms folded.

“You’re real?” I chide him.

“Naturally I am, well, unnaturally. It’s a school day today isn’t it? I’m coming with.”

I am about to get out when something doesn’t feel right. I reach my hand under my covers and feel around.

“Why am I naked, Jack?” I grumble. “I couldn’t find any clean pyjamas, Natalie.” He grumbles back as he floats around my room, touching everything from photos to panties. So embarrassing. I quickly wrap and ball up my covers around me and rush into my bedroom bathroom, I shut and lock the door and turn to my bathtub. AAAHHHHHHH! “What are you doing here? Get out!” Jack is sitting on the sink with his nose in my diary. “Nothing I haven’t seen before and besides I am reading, go about your business, don’t mind me, pretend I am not even here.”

“Please get out, I would like to have a shower in peace, wait in my room.” Within an eye-blink he has disappeared from the bathroom. “I’ll just wait right out here!” Jack yelps from my room.

“Okay, don’t go anywhere, I won’t be long.” I tug on the shower cord and jump in and place a hand over my heart, it has never burst with so much excitement ever, for anything.

“I have got you some breakfast and something you can wear for school today.” He reports in his deep accent.

My I-pod-radio begins playing. Two princes – Spin doctors.

“I love this track; it’s been a long time.” What is he doing now? I leap back out the shower and envelop myself within two towels. I open the door and from out of nowhere I am dried and fully dressed in a red dress, a new luxurious hair style, make-up and shoes.

“What’s this?” I retort.

“I thought it would be nice for you to wear this today. Before you say anything, I know you don’t wear these types of clothes but you subconsciously and universally agreed, remember. We can always go back in time so you can relive that moment.”

My bed is full of food from the furthest reaches of the world. Snails, lobster, croissants, berries, squid, rare fruits and slabs of steak.

“Wasn’t really sure what you wanted to eat, so I just grabbed a shopping bag from everywhere and brought it back. If you don’t eat the gooey stuff I would recommend on throwing it away before it kicks up a pong.” He chuckles.

“I have a guardian angel. Why you?” Before I even finished my words he responds. “Punishment, I beat up an archangel cause he was talking smack about someone I care about, so I head-butted him and been doing this ever since as a quote-unquote Fallen Angel. It has its up and downs. You meet some really cool people.”

“Well how long have you been doing this?” I enquire as I sit on my beds edge and nibble on some cake.

“About ten thousand years ago, I was Michelangelo’s guardian angel, as soon as I was finished with him he painted the Popes ceiling. But you can’t save everyone; Kurt Cobain, so close, dude.”

“Why me?” I wonder. “Jack floats over on his belly and pokes me on the nose. “In time all will be revealed, I promise. Hurry up and eat, we’re going to be late for you brand new day at school.”

In the space of ten hours my life has gone from tediously painful at time to the exciting marvel from my mischievous guardian angel. Today at school is going to full of surprises. Here goes nothing.

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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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