"Free me!"

His cry echoes in the marble and golden halls of his hated prison. The warm light rushing into the room through intricate stained glass panels is burning him, the reflection of the shimmering floor is blinding him and the lavish velvet tapestries and woolen rugs are smothering him.

He curses the one who imprisoned him, but can’t remember who it was. Before his despair, he was free, happy, unburdened. Who could be so sick, so perverted, cruel and evil, as to do such a thing to any man?  Who prefers cries over laughter and sorrow over joy?

Stumbling, then crawling, covering his eyes and scraping off his skin, he finally reaches his captor’s portrait. Its frame, beautifully engraved, is perfect, like everything about this room. Such perfection only adds to his anguish, yet he succeeds in raising red and swollen eyes to meet his Tyrant’s painted frozen gaze.

Instead, he sees only himself.

~ To H. ~

Cherry

I know I’m in a small room. I walked in here from the hall, which was no further than five steps from the door. The smell of cat food is dominant. I wonder, if her cat eats in her bedroom does it sleep on her bed as well?

She’s in the bathroom to freshen up. I take the opportunity to examine the room for the little details. The cat is on my left, breathing softly. It is not scared, just alarmed. Things will not go well for it if it stays in the room in the next few minutes. To the right of the cat, her desk. Oak. Not very expensive, several years old. Must have been her first desk as a student and she kept it through the years. I feel the warmth of her open PC. Around it, a picture or two, notebooks, pens. Random stuff I don’t have the time to go over.

A small draft of air and noise from the city outside let me know there’s a window on the wall opposite the entrance, between her desk and her bed. It is slightly open. I walk up to it and close it, locking it as well. The last thing I need is more noise distracting my senses.

I hear her footsteps down the hall. When she walks inside, she finds me sitting on the edge of her bed. I can smell her wet hair, washed with coconut shampoo. She brushed her teeth too; her breath is fresh and smells of cherries. I touch her lips softly. She’s smiling.

“You are magnificent, Anna” I whisper in her ear. She wraps her arms around my neck and sits on my lap. All she’s wearing is her towel.

“I know” she says jokingly and I feel a light jolt as she forces me to lean back, lying on her bed. She throws the towel away and guides my hands over her body. There are still some wet spots on her, some of which she definitely omitted to wipe on purpose. Soon her breathing starts to accelerate and I can practically smell the pheromones raging. And soon, she will realize I’m as cold as when I entered her apartment.

I lean forward, grab her firmly by the waist with one hand, bringing her face closer to mine, and stroke her hair with the other. “You are as beautiful as you are naïve, but cannot be blamed. You are the sweet victim of something that is beyond your comprehension” I say and sink my teeth in her neck before she has the time to react.

I welcome the sudden rush of blood with great pleasure. I lose myself in the moment, letting the torrent of her scarlet nectar flow through my esophagus, down to my chest and heart and then all over my cold limbs. I feel like a god and a pauper all at once. I succumb to my most basic of instincts, and through this humbling surrender I ascend, I break through my limitations, my curses and my disciplines; I just feel. For this precious moment, which is all I look forward to in my wretched existence, I am alive.

When I finish, I am spent. It takes a few seconds for the energy to kick in. Dizzy, as if enchanted by my feast, I feel her pulse. I was too hungry and dug deeper than I intended. She is gone.

         

I lay her carefully on her bed, legs together and hands crossed on her chest. She must look even more beautiful now, pale and calm. I want to believe her long, soft hair is red. The thought somehow makes me just a bit more remorseful. I bend over her and kiss her lightly on her lips, which have remained parted in surprise. She still smells of cherries.

         

As I walk over the dead cat and reach for the door, I turn around and say to her: “Farewell, Anna. I will remember you”. I know I mean it. A red drop of blood added to a whirlpool of tormenting memories won’t burden me much more.

         

When I walk outside, I hear the early morning birds singing. I must find shelter before dawn. As I tighten my coat around me, I retrace the steps back home, counting slowly.

I never saw the dawn while I lived and never will. But when I decide to put an end to my pitiful existence, I will walk outside in the sun and let the bright light bathe me, purge me. And just before I disappear, I won’t see it, but I will feel it. And I’m sure it will be warm and forgiving and will smell of cherries.

Jewel

You will understand one day, they say. You will feel it too and it will be the most wonderful thing in the whole wide world and you will know it is love.

I am sitting next to my window, my bottle of scotch lazily resting half-empty in my hand, my favorite white shirt somehow, somewhere stained and my Ferragamos lying dangerously close to the fireplace.

My eyelashes feel heavy. My breath comes out in short puffs, as if something was weighing down upon my chest. I can’t seem to concentrate on any thought for a few seconds before my mind rushes back to embrace every single memory of her. Every time I tasted her inimitable fragrance, caressed her flawless skin or heard the torrent of bliss that is her laugh.

At first I thought it was my heart I felt sinking. But a surgeon should know better. That’s not where the heart is. What I feel losing in a void ocean of bitter emotions is my very soul. Nothing physical about it, nothing natural or scientifically explained. My entire existence bows down to this powerful tyrant, this sneaky usurper who took control over me tonight and shows no intention of backing out.

I finish my scotch and look outside. The world had always looked beautiful from up here. Tonight it seems dreary, monotonous, bleak. At least I know that somewhere out there, amidst the lifeless chaos, one might find a single sparkling jewel of light. Only for one last night.

I find myself wondering whether this is some form of divine punishment, if some superior being decided for this to be my cruel penance. I never believed in God, but if he’s out there, only he can save me now.

In a fit of helplessness, I fall on my knees and pray, tear-filled and broken. I don’t ask to understand, I don’t request forgiveness. I only beg, disregarding my petty self-esteem, my pitiful pride and my disillusioned concept of reason.

I hit the lowest point of my life just as the first rays of dawn shine through the window and illuminate my surroundings. A needless dawn.

I stay on the ground for a while, not for any particular purpose other than to postpone the inevitable just a moment longer. Then I get up, take a shower and clumsily dress up.

As I walk out into the street, I hear a preacher beseeching me to save my soul. Do I still have one, I wonder? The pain is still there, so it must be still clinging on to my body.

In the surgery room, my jewel, a part of my existence, is waiting for me. She made me promise, the last time she looked into my eyes. She didn’t have to speak, even if she could. She stared into me and lightly gripped my arm, a gesture that taxed her visibly. A tear rolled down her cheek and it was all I needed to understand. It was time.

Life begins and ends in a hospital, they say. This is certainly true for me. My life is about to end by my hand, only my crushed soul remaining behind. And I know the only sentiment left in me will be my love for her.

This is not farewell, Jewel. I’ll always be with you. I love you.

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