Grigor Lust

Part One: Sense

 

I

Tilting

 

         

 

          He cleared the dust from his throat and watched the sun go down over the hill. Soon he and his tan mare would be forced to retire as well- fore the night brought on strange things and he was not sure that he would be able to fight them off this time.

          His last encounter had left him with a nice wound, a jagged cut that lay just a hair shy of his heart-place. The skin around it was bruised and swollen, he suspected a few broken ribs were involved in this lovely drama he called his body.  He was not much of a doctor, but he knew that the white-yellow substance that had oozed out of it this morn was a sign of impending danger.

          He clucked softly to his horse and urged it to move faster, losing his vision shortly as pain jarred up his left side. Now in the twilight, he looked behind him, a mixture of pain and fear making his eyes dance wildly. Already he could feel the faint whispers of them, crawling after him and his mare.

          It seemed that he only blinked but when he reasserted himself; it was pitch black, which meant that he had been asleep in the saddle.  His sense of direction was skewered as he could barely see the coarse mane in front of him.

          An insane-like howl came from behind him, a mangled sound of a baby’s scream and a dying man’s last breath.

          “Gods help me…”

          He rode faster in the night.

 

 

Azel had finished marking off his door with the yellow X,

                          (To keep them away)

 And pushed in the two latches to make it lock. Rubbing the cold from his face, he turned back to the small fire he had going. One of the good things of having a small house, it heated nicely.

          Across from the fire-pit was a chair he had made himself, along with a small chest of drawers that held different fabrics and needles for sewing. On any other day, he would sew his wares until his eyes refused to stay open any longer.

          Not tonight.

No, he had a feeling of old dread he could not shake, and for his own mental health, he decided to go to bed early.  He ran his hands through his albino blonde hair (something he did often when nervous) and went into the small room in the back.

 Staring at the small straw mat and tossed about blankets, reminded him of the afternoon, and Luke. Immediately, his hand went to the tender bruise on his cheek

          (Hurts like that)

And the place above his brow that throbbed now

          (When he hits me so hard)

“Maybe, something’s can’t change…” Azel heard him self whisper and tossed the stained blankets off the mat with wet eyes.

          BANGABANGABANGABANG!

          Azel jumped at the harsh pounding on his door, and slowly turned to the front door.

          BANGABANGABANGABANG BANG!

          The door jumped with each sound and he heard the high pitched scream of them as he felt himself backing up to the far wall.

          “In the name of the God’s, help me!” A man’s voice screamed from the other side of the door, “God’s abound, they have my legs! They have my fucking legs!” As if on cue, a harsh sound of ripping flesh came from the other side of the door, and Azel watched in dawning horror as blood seeped into his house from the small crack under the door. His heart jumped in his chest as the banging and screaming reached such a crescendo he could not hear the sound of his footfalls as he reached the door.

          Then it stopped.

          Shaking now, his fingers reached the clasp of the first lock, then the other. He was on auto drive now; as he cracked open the door.

          A shell of a man almost fell on him, and Azel dragged him inside- slamming the door shut.

          He turned, looked down, and screamed.

The man’s face was a pile of meat and blood, the openings for his mouth and eyes no longer distinguishable. Azel watched this man, no, this thing, shake as nerve endings tried to grasp for the bottom half that was no longer there.

          “Take…take…key…to….world’s end…” the thing’s half-eaten hand held up a circular object.

          “They…come.”

 

II

Under Layers

 

          Ophelia paused outside of Azel’s worn door and knocked. He had not shown up to help her at the village’s shop today; she hoped that the screams she had heard the night before were not from him.

          She knocked again and smoothed out her blue dress, straightened the basket of wildflowers she held in her arm; and waited.

          “Whose there?” she heard his soft voice whisper from inside.

          “It’s Ophelia, I was wondering where you were today…”

          “I’m not well, you should go home…”

          “Azel. You know very well that I won’t be turned away. If you’re not well, believe me when I say that I have seen worse.”

          Inside the house Azel sighed, he hated lying to anyone really, but especially Ophelia who had always shown him nothing but kindness. He certainly could pass as sick, he had spent the night cleaning the gore that littered his floor and in the hours of the morn, he had buried the man out back. He left the circular thing under his mattress, too tired for anything. Yeah, he looked the part.

          Slowly, he opened the door and saw Ophelia’s blue eyes smile at him. She tossed back her auburn hair and put a hand to his face.

          “You don’t feel warm…have you slept at all?”

          “I’ve tried.” She took him by the arm and shut the door behind them.

         

          Ophelia hummed a bit as she pulled water from the town well, it sloshed over the side and wet her to the knees, but she didn’t mind much. A mother of five children cannot mind a little wet or she would be overcome. Thankfully, her eldest son had agreed to watch over the little ones for the day.

          Starting up the hill, she spied Luke sitting under a small tree. She waved to him, smile on her face but anger in her heart. Luke, with his golden hair and pale complexion looked the part of a prince, but in fact, he was the town’s largest bully. For the last few months, he had taken a liking to Azel’s light coffee hide, leaving him with bruises, limps and many scars. Everyone in town knew, but the sad fact was that no one was brave enough to stand up to Luke. They were all cowards at heart, something that sickened her to no end.

          She set the pot over the fire and checked to see if Azel had fallen asleep. He lay motionless on his bed and again her heart cried for him.

 

          A few hours later she watched him sip the hot eucalyptus tea        and make a face at its taste. She laughed, “Guess I really can’t cook anything.”

          “Nope.” His amethyst eyes smiled at her, but he frowned slightly as she looked at the bruise on his cheek.

          “Don’t worry about it.”

          “Azel…”

          “Really, I can handle him.” Ophelia touched his hand, “I wish you would move in with me and the boys.”

          “I don’t think Rayon would be very happy with me.”

          “Pish, he’s hardly home!” Her sky eyes pleaded with him silently.

          “I couldn’t do that to you, I-”

          A knock on the door interrupted his thought, and Ophelia got up.

          “It’s probably one of my young ones; you stay here.” She opened the door and got knocked back as Luke stepped through.

          “Azel! Where be you?”

          “Leave him alone, Luke!” Ophelia jumped in front of him arms out like a combatant. He grasped her by the throat and squeezed lightly as she struggled against him.

          “Stand in my way again and I’ll have you too, woman.”

          “Let her go. I’m right here.” Azel leaned against the entryway to his bedroom.

          Of all the bad timing…

          “Answer quicker.” He dropped Ophelia to the floor and left her gasping as he took Azel’s bony shoulder into his hand.

          “You look like shit.”

          “Thank yourself for that.”

          SLAP!

          “Are you talking back now, whore?” Luke chuckled and pushed Azel back onto the bed. He began to remove his shirt when Ophelia attacked him from behind, clawing at his neck.

          “No!” Azel yelled as Luke threw her onto the ground and stomped on her ribs, hard.

          “Let her go! Do what you will with me, but let her go!” His voice sounded wild and Luke grinned in his direction. Ophelia uttered a low moan from the floor as Azel closed his eyes against Luke and felt his shirt tear from his back. He was knocked to the floor feeling Luke’s thin fingers roam his extremities and inner parts. He focused his eyes on the ceiling, held in the tears and cried out when his “partner” penetrated him deeply without prepare.

          (The same rhyming rhythm can’t be stopped)

          His fingers clawed the arms that held him as Luke forced his liars’ tongue into his mouth, suckled on him, and then bit down savagely. Bitter copper filed Azel’s mouth and ran out of his lips, he hoped

          (Rhyming rhythm can’t be stopped)

That Ophelia had run, didn’t want her to see

          (Rhythm can’t be stopped)

His very soul being taken again; he felt Luke tense with coming climax and cursed him.  Hot fluid ran down his thighs, and the tears could be held back no longer, he cried

          (Can’t be)

Not for the violation, but for his own weakness.

          (Stopped)

 

III

 

Fracture

          “I wonder…if things will ever change…” Azel said aloud as he examined the object that had been left to him.

          “Take…take…key…to….world’s end…”

          The world’s end? Maybe that wasn’t so bad. Or perhaps, in his dying mind, the man had simply hallucinated.

          Azel shuddered at the memory; but he was rather entranced by the object.

          It shone a dull copper and was only a bit bigger than his thumb. If he held it sideways it almost disappeared, but if he tried to bend it, it would not yield. It had a smaller circle straight through the center of it, perhaps it was a necklace once, or part of something bigger.

          Then his eyes caught something. A small sort of script…he could barely make it out.

          That wasn’t there before though.

 Wait…he thought he could read it, though the words didn’t make any sense.

          “A’encor…tro su manthie’rn…a’encor…isp al trodisia…” the words seemed to hang in the air for a moment, than disappeared as spoken words do.

          Azel has heard of magic before, but never knew someone who actually practiced it. In fact in some places, magic was either the way of life, or forbidden. Not that he knew much of the world either.

          “What if this is magic?”

 

 

          Now we step away from the quiet and melancholy world of Azel and Ophelia and transverse to another world. Another existence, occurring at the exact same time.

          In fact, when Luke had stepped through Azel’s door, someone else had stepped through a very different door; in a very different place.

 

         

          The audience cheered as Niko thrummed his guitar, playing out the first chords of a new song. Behind him the nameless drummer beat steadily along with the bass line. Ambrose raised his left hand methodically to the crowd and began the last tune of the day. Many had often said that had had that voice of a fallen angel, but he didn’t believe in such remarks. The small crowd cheered for him, their cries verified his existence. He gave Niko and nod, and let music flow from between his lips like a sweet wine of winters past.

 

          After the show, Ambrose walked into the dingy bathroom and slid off his faux-leather trench-coat. He fingered the small raised portion of skin on his neck, that underneath held the microchip that identified who he was.

          He tore off his shirt.

          On his left breast was the symbol of the government, adopted from the late Nazi swastika, a mark that stood for the three R’s.

          Respect.

          Retain.

          Rejoice.

          “They own us…just like pigs on a farm.” Funny that he used that analogy as a real pig hadn’t been seen in the last four years. Everything was synthetic, processed and fake.

          Ambrose wiped the grime from the mirror and placed his hands on either side of it. His left eye, once a simple brown color had now turned a sickly orange- yellow.

          “So…it’s affecting me here too.” His voice was deep, collected, cool, but inside he was screaming and tearing at mental barriers.

          Everyone knew what came next with the “I-Disease”. It was as his father

          (That ole drunken bastard)

Had told him as they sat by the fire on their last night together. The old man took a shot of gin from a paper bag and stared into the flames.

          “Tomorrow you become a man, another tool of our government.  And someday, it will be you who is old and drinking from a bag- smelling of sweat and obedience.”

          “I’ll die young.”  Ambrose said a then boy of thirteen with only life left to live. His father cast a bulging eye on him, wiped his mouth and stated the only words that ever made sense to Ambrose.

          “Then, my boy, if you become one of the lucky ones to fall under the sickness take it upon yourself and put a bullet in your brain. Then you can truly call yourself ‘happy’.”

          “Yes, happy…” The now twenty-one Ambrose said into the mirror.  The only thing that stopped him now…was a love-sick heart.

 

          “Ambrose? What are you still doing in here?” Niko stepped inside and quietly shut the door when he saw Ambrose’s face.

          “You know we can get caught if we stay here long.”

          “I know.” Ambrose didn’t move an inch, slowly touched his cream complexion and stared into the mirror like a man possessed.

          “There’s never any sun anymore.”

          “You know we have domes over the city, the sun would kill us in less than ten minutes.” Niko slid his thin arms around Ambrose’s waist, and looked at his reflection. He stood tall with gold hair, a sun next to Ambrose’s dark exterior. His thin fingers touched the putrid colored orb that was now Ambrose’s left eye.

          “It’s advanced.”

          “I know this!” Ambrose jerked himself loose and bent to pick up his jacket.

          “You don’t have to get mad.”

          “Don’t I? You know what comes next, my bones begin to fall apart and I rot from the inside out. I’m going to die, Niko. I’m going to die!”

          Niko closed his eyes and slipped a hand inside his jacket, “I was hoping that our last moments could have been peaceful.” he murmured.

          Ambrose, who had been affixing the last button on his sleeve, jerked as if slapped, “What do you mean?” he asked slowly, emotion tinting his voice.

          “I mean that I can’t be with you any more. I can’t watch you fade away into nothing, so I….I…”

          “Just say it! Say it so the whole world will hear you, damn it!” Anger spilled from Ambrose’s eyes, although he did not face Niko

          (Angel)

He longed to look him in the face when the inevitable happened. He heard the click of a foreign metal behind him, and felt Niko slip something heavy into his pocket.

          “Goodbye, my love.” Niko reached to move Ambrose’s long hair when Ambrose slapped him across the face.

          “Get out.” He saw Niko’s green eyes waver and then he turned and walked from the room.

 

          Out on the dilapidated street, Ambrose reached into his pocket felt the cold steel of a handgun in his pocket.

          “So, I’m going to be happy tonight.”