I watched myself in the mirror. The auburn colour of my hair and the smudged shades of bisque reflected the life I had. As I ran my fingers through the auburn cascades, I found strands of hair falling down. I would see the room clearly through the half cracked mirror. I bit my lip when I saw him lying on the floor. The piquant scarlet of my lips had fooled him. I wasn’t smiling. Just a few moments ago, he had admired my lips and its hues. As the bead of sweat rolled over the perfect slope of my nose, I felt a smirk run through my face. As water always finds the smoothest way to flow, my passion always found the easiest way to flow. We had played with our noses, my long, slender and sharp seduction piercing through his veils of manhood. With his every grasp of my face, I cut through him easily.
As I moved my hair, another strand fell, levitating, seductively, undisturbed and rested on a pool of his debonair crimson.
Elizabeth McAllister, popularly known as the Queen worked as a waitress at a motel. Waitressing tables wasn’t a tough task for as it required guile, seduction and the intermediate look of the eye. Elizabeth was a dancer by birth and had a huge following.
I made her dance. She tiptoed over the cold, flat and shining ice floor. The tip of foot carrying the heavy burden of her miserable life. I could see the redness in her toe, I could feel the strain in her eyes and the pale tone her voluptuous body had acquired. Shivering and crying, she begged for warmth. I could hear the sound of a bone breaking as my cudgel struck her. An ice frozen by time doesn’t break by the bludgeoning forces, but a tinge of impurity melts it. The toe which was so full of life a moment ago, turned cold and numb. I had broken her.
Aspirin. Analgesic. Pain-relieving drug. The slow, fizzing dispersion into water. As it touches the first layer of water, the tablet starts to dissolve. Every second in the turbulent waters, cripples the façade surrounding the very kernel of truth. Pain had taken over me, especially my arm. With a quick gulp of that water, I lied on the floor. Every cell of my body releasing a brigade of prostaglandins causing enough pain to make me placid. The pain was fought bravely by the slow onrushing aspirin running through my veins. Flashes of blood, broken bones and him. The slow piercing knife, the deep gashes and lacerations and him. His incisive jaw, intoxicating eyes and a bottle of acrimony. He had brought roses. With each step of his, my heartbeat increased. He had a certain candour about himself. I saw him walking across to the room. His every step seemed to stomp his authority over the surroundings. Have you ever plucked each petal of a rose one by one? He did. With his callous fingers, he plucked each petal and put on my lips. He was a master of deception. The roses were the decoy for his diabolical wishes. The fire within me was aggravated by his subtle touch. Picking up an ice cube with his teeth, he went down on me. Circling the cold, ignoble cube on my navel, he pushed me to the limit. The ice moved slowly over my titillating skin and I clutched his back. He made slow, longer circles and I could feel my carnality rising. I woke up clutching my legs.
I met John at a ballet. He was already a champion of piano at the age of 17. After a formal prelude, I John lulled me in his apartment. Was I ever fooled by someone? John simply followed the breadcrumbs I had left for him. I blindfolded him and sat beside him. His fingers ran through the black and white keys of the piano. With every press of the note, I could see his body loosen. He had the frivolity of a teenage guy and the skill of a maestro. I could see myself dancing in his symphony. As a child, I used to run from my house into the tall farms. I could feel the pain that the perfectly shaped pebbles caused to my feet while he pressed the keys with the same perfection. I could see he was in pain of his symphony. I took out my knife sharp sharpened against deceit and severed his long fingers. Killing him wasn’t an easy job with his teenage body screaming. The black and white seemed a perfect tombstone for his severed fingers.
What is the most primary desire you have? What do you covet the most? The desire to see someone. That day, I sat across him in the confession room. It was 24th December and I hadn’t seen him for a month. I could hear the choir singing while he chanted verses to me. “Suck my unfulfilled wishes. Conceal me with your arms and break my bones. My body is a masquerade of unfulfilled desires. Smoke, fire. Smoke, fire. Smoke, fire. There will be pain but burn me. Eviscerate my banal self. I can’t breathe anymore. No more, no more. Listen to the tense breath, let it boil.” Luke’s arcane voice had put a cast on me. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t blink. He was a sorcerer of enchantments. Taking out a small blade, he pierced through my skin. “You are mine. You will be the pain I want you to be. You will be the helplessness. Chase the light, create an illusion and devour.” I couldn’t feel anything after he stopped saying. What did I want that day? I wanted to see him.
Hope. When a person loses hope in the moment of excruciating pain, hope becomes her nemesis. What remains of her is a shadow, a faint silhouette that she saw of him in that room. The church bells and Christmas lights. Hope and vitality. Instinct and fear. She had broken her chrysalis. A quiescent pupa to a severine countess.
karanvankani 