What You Mean to Me
As I lay awake in my bed I feel sleep slipping through my fingertips. It’s still night, if the illuminated moon was anything to go by. Away is the foolhardy dream that my unconscious mind had conjured in the realms of sleep. My small body rests between the sheets, disarranged and warm, but not yet compelled to welcome my dream back again. It had been a strange one again tonight; I think my parents are beginning to worry about me. At first they just dismissed them as my active, creative mind at work, soon they began to go in detail and they now thought that there was indeed something strange about me. And I was alright with that. My dreams were filled with wonders and monsters that they apparently didn’t want to hear about – again, that was alright.
As long as they didn’t stop me from dreaming.
Aimlessly, my young eyes drift around my small room and take in the sight.
Posters attached to the walls, drawings masterpieces created by my professional hand in only the highest quality crayons, and stuffed animals skewed this way and that. A pale, baby blue is the dominating colour of my room and it reeks of childhood. My parent’s still didn’t seem to understand that within my 9 year old body lay a mature woman waiting to make herself known. One that preferred bunny rabbits to any other animal out there and still occasionally forgot how to tie her shoes, but I digress.
The light pitter patter of feet alerted me that my feline companion was restlessly making herself known to me. She jumped onto my excessively comfortable bed and crawled into my waiting lap, like it was her throne and me nothing more than a good piece of furniture. Clutching her to me tightly, ignoring the odd mix of a growl and choke that came from her fuzzy mouth, I began to speak.
“Sapphire, do you want a midnight snack?” The snarky, little cat meowed loudly in agreement and wriggled against my hold.
Giggling quietly, as my parents were just down the hall, I gathered my moody Siamese in my small arms and went to open my door. I didn’t notice it at first but there seemed to be a fresh scent spinning through the air around my room. Like the seawater I had smelled from that one family trip to the beach last year. I could also remember the taste of bitter sand on my tongue after I had tripped. Yes, my room was beginning to seem like that and there was a haze filling the enclosed space and was beginning to take my attention to my innocent door illuminated by a strange light from outside. Strange, peculiar, bizarre and extraordinary – I was compelled forwards and opened the door.
Jaw dropping and extremely picturesque my eyes filled to the brim with childish tears of happiness as once again I dived deeply into my imagination.
A world like no other entranced my line of vision. It was the mythical palace of dreams that I had been quietly and carefully weaving at night, alone in my bed. String upon, string fell into place so completely now creating a silken world a bright azure in shade. In the ‘air’ there were gatherings of tropical fish that came in sizes both significantly smaller and enormously bigger than I. A cluster swam past my dainty form and torpedoed their way upwards into a seemingly never ending glow of white that bled into the water air around me. They sparkled and swished their transparent tails with enthusiasm. There was strange rocks protruding from the ground and I could faintly remember my father once telling me that they were called coral. But they weren’t stationary; they were moving and swaying with the breeze. Dyed a peachy pink in colour, they glowed brightly in an already bright world.
There was only one thing that I was focussed on at the moment though. I had seen all of these things already in my dreams – I had created them. There was someone here; someone that helped me build it all and remained a friendly mentor in my creative journey.
A large coral formation entered my line of sight and I saw what looked to be a burgundy cape flapping in the gentle waft of warm air.
“Aalto!” I cried in delight and ran over as fast as my small legs could carry me. The figure on the rocks was in reality an old, withered man with a warm smile and twinkle in his eye. He turned on his perch and extended his tanned arms to me as I scrambled to get on the coral with him. The coral began to move and tickled at my bare feet as I was gently picked up and placed next to a man that had been more of a grandfather to me than my real one. Tugging me closer to him, he extended his cloak over my head and laid a heavy, but comforting hand on my head and ruffled my hair.
“You seem energetic tonight,” he said, not minding in the least. I smiled widely at his elderly face and could feel my heart get a bit lighter.
“Yup! I get to see you, right Aalto? I like the blue fish you made.” His grin still retained a youthful quality.
“Made them just for you, sweet-pea. I thought that your orange ones needed some company. Let’s see – how about tomorrow night we try to make some starfish? Big ones, reaaaallly big ones.” He chuckled heartily as I began to jump up and down with excitement.
We shared this world together. I wandered into this subconscious part of my mind by accident one day and have never found a reason to leave. It had been a barren, white canvas before Aalto had appeared one day and showed me how to imagine and express my thoughts to create what this paradise had become. He was the one that taught me how to create, how to dream in vivid colours that I hadn’t even imagined before. He showed me the way to mould my world and the most important lesson he gave me was that this was all okay.
He taught me to cherish my imagination, my thoughts and dreams. Never listen to what others say about you in a negative way – look at the positives in life and be content with them. Create as you breathe and live while you create.
The memories of Aalto may have begun to fade from my mind and as I look back to those days I begin to wonder if those were actual memories, or maybe something my productive mind had come up with on a whim. I’d like to believe that he was there and that he wasn’t just a figment of my imagination, but even as I wither in age as he once did I cannot explain or understand what had happened those days. Each day was passed frivolously and some days in my teenage years were spent in heated one-sided arguments about my future.
I had put my foot down and demanded that my imagination be given free rein to grow and flourish; turning to arts instead of athletics. Creative writing instead of baseball matches. Dreaming with my eyes open instead of tightly shut. As I will tell grandchildren in my growing age; never lose what makes you a child at heart and retain that special spark that makes you, you. You are creative, imaginative and original – take the world clasped tightly in your first and mold it into a place full of wonder.
Aalto you had taught me many lessons – It’s my turn to pass them on.
-Manpreet
The Incident
I was walking-in white sneakers-in the glorious hall of school. The walk was at a steady pace but I imagined myself in slow motion. I had spiked blond hair in the air, the shiny gel, made it look like a shrine. My blue eyes glittered like the eyes of anime characters do. The muscles of my arms were visible. Held by my left one, was a school binder. I continued walking but looked to my right. I saw a boy and girl; both, emo looking. The girl had long purple hair with crow black eyes and mascara to enhance their darkness. Her shirt, jacket and skirt were all black but in contrast, her skin was pale white. No doubt though, some of it was due to makeup. The emo boy that had his left hand wrapped around her, also had black mascara on. His hair though, was of the slick, long, and black type. His shirt was black and long sleeved but he had pushed the sleeves up to show his red wristband on his right hand that said “Screamo for the win”. Both looked at me intensively – so I turned my head away.
I turned my head forward again, and then turned left. There were three girls, gossiping. They talked in excited voices and laughed loudly as if they wanted everyone to hear. I heard them say things like “Oh my gosh!” and “…he threw a marble at my window!” The two words “totally” and “awesome” were also the most frequently used words that they uttered. As I continued to head to my locker, the last thing I heard from them was, “You stole my boyfriend!” Then, I heard a guy’s voice shout “Chick fight, chick fight, chick fight!”
I kept on walking only to come across another fight. There were two guys, a big buff guy and an athletic guy who was less big and less buff. The big buff guy was furious and used swear words more than he used normal words. In fact, he used them so much that his sentences were indecipherable. The athletic guy showed a slight bit of fear but stood his ground, quietly. I guess it made sense though, that he was a little scared because the guy who was yelling at him was twice his weight, and that being in terms of muscles. I decided not to pay to much attention to this and continued walking.
I looked back to my right instead and saw four, geeky looking people hanging out together. I think they were playing with Yu-Gi-Oh cards. They seemed pretty into the game; pretty intense into the game. I heard one of the scrawny looking one say “…and I play, Magical Space Typhoon to defect your Monster Reborn!” His opponent, with glasses and a little chubby looking, rebuked, “No, you can’t! You can only do it when it’s your turn!” Then the other two guys broke in and an intellectual argument over a card game began.
I continued, once more. This time, I ran into this girl. Immediately, time paused. I had seen no one like her before. She was created of only beauty. She had godly, smooth, blonde hair and her facial features were soft. I would have described more of her but then the incident happened…I fell down the stairs.
Frozen
The man wrapped his arms around himself as he braced against the cold. He tried to look up, but the wind tore at his eyes and face, tears began to stream down his cheeks. He had hoped the tears would be warm on his face, but they weren't. He tried to focus, one foot in front of the other. He looked down at his shoes, and the snow looming up around them. He breathed in the air; it made his lungs cry out in pain. Every breath was another sharp, cold stab. He tried to look around him again. Nobody was there, nobody to help him. The night sky was dark; all he could see was the snow and ice that fell. The sound of the howling wind filled his ears. He felt his nose starting to drip, but that was the least of his worries. He had lost feeling in his fingers over an hour ago. He tried shoving his hands in his armpits, but everywhere felt cold. All of his muscles ached, he felt like he was frozen, right down to the bone. He continued to trudge along, but his steps started to falter. His breaths became short and sharp, and he felt his body starting to curl up and lose control. Trying to look through the blackness was useless. He looked at his feet again and saw that they were stumbling and dragging in the snow. He tried to control them, but they would not obey. They tripped and gave out from underneath him. He began falling towards the ground; his hands reached out and stopped him. But as soon as they hit the snow he felt overwhelming pain shoot through them. He cried out, screamed, but he could not be heard over the sound of the wind. He clasped his hands trying to warm them up. But his thoughts began to fade, and he suddenly felt quite sleepy. Then he saw it, about 40 meters in front of him, his salvation. He clamoured to his feet and stumbled forward. He held his body tightly as he began to run for the light ahead. 35, 20, 15, he was getting closer, but it still felt like there were miles between him and the light. His skin felt like it was on fire from the cold, and his muscles begin to retract, but he pushed on. He was close now, and he stumbled up the steps. He raised his cold dead fist, and painfully banged on the door. He rested his face against the large door, the wind was still loud and he tried to block it out. The door opened and he stumbled. It was a woman, she looked him up and down. She saw his dirty raggedy clothes, skinny frame and unclean face, then she snapped her gum. In a monotone voice, she said, “Sorry, we're full. Try the one on West Street.” Then she closed the door in his face. The man stumbled back down the steps in a daze. He looked at the bright, neon sign that read Men's Shelter go out, and everything went black.
-Kirsten M.
The Old Guitarist
On the side of the road there is an old man playing an old guitar. You've seen him there many times through the months as you walk back and forth from work to home. You have always noticed the beauty of the sound that the guitar sings out. The man places his hat in front of him and strums on his old guitar, staring at the pavement. Not once have you ever seen him look up at somebody, he just sits and plays his mesmerizing melody. You start throwing money into his hat, but he never once looks up. He just keeps on strumming his haunting tune. He appears to be hypnotised, staring into space, while his fingers walk skilfully over the strings. In the morning you think about him, and want to hear him play something new. It's always the same haunting beautiful tune. You want to hear what else he could play, what other old sheet music he has stuffed into his brain just waiting to be listened to.
One day on your morning walk, after you throw in your change, you finally pipe up and say, “Can you play anything else, Sir?” But the man continues to strum his same old tune, staring into space, not even acknowledging you. You say, “Well, have a good day,” and continue to walk on your way to work. All day, you wonder why he wouldn't answer, and why he always plays the same beautiful tune, and why it sounds different from any other guitar you've ever heard before. On your way home he isn't there, and you continue to think about these things late into the night. The rest of the week goes the same way. It starts to become all that you think about. Your mind is consumed with the unbelievably gorgeous music that comes out of that guitar. One day, you can't take it any more. You go stalking out of your house and run to the spot where the guitarist always is. Of course he's there strumming the same magnificent notes, with his very old fingers. You stand in front of him and clear your throat. He continues to stare into space and strum at amazing melody.
“Excuse me sir, I need to know, how is it that your guitar sounds so beautiful?” The man looks up into your eyes. His eyes are cold blue, and you feel them piercing you in a chilling way. He stares at you for awhile, and then holds up the guitar to you.
“If you like it so much. You can buy it.”
You protest, but the old guitarist insists, “It is the best guitar that there has ever been and my fingers have grown too old to play it, but you have very nice guitarist fingers. Please take it.” Not knowing what to do you take the guitar and you pay the man $50 for it. All the way home you’re feeling the wood grain and the strong neck of the guitar. When you get home you strum a couple notes, and the music is so sweet, but so hunting. You inspect the guitar again, one of the strings is gone and you can see inside the hole in the center of the guitar. Something catches the light, and you look closer. You squeeze your fingers inside the guitar and feel some cold, soft things. You pull one out and hold it up in the light. To your horror, you see that you are holding a severed finger. Then you hear a tapping noise, you look past the finger to your window and see the old guitarist. He is tapping on your window with old rusty hedge clippers, his eyes now burning red.
-Kirsten M
Blank, Nowhere, Nothing
Joseph woke in a daze. Groaning, he opened his eyes painfully. He was lying on his back and above him swam a sky of dark smoke. He slowly sat up and winced as a sharp pain shot through his head and chest. As quickly as it had come, the pain ebbed away leaving a numb, cold feeling flowing through him. He’d take that over pain any day.
His vision was still a little blurry so he blinked a few times to clear it. He looked around and found himself sitting in a dark and foreboding place. He was surrounded by an endless plain of black stone and dirt. Jagged rocks erupted from the ground here an there as if some blood-thirsty beast lurked just below the surface. The sky swirled horribly like a malignant mist, coating the horizon in a thin blanket of dust.
There was no sound. The air was stagnant with a dead silence. No sound of birds, cars or even other people. There was no wind. Not even a simple breeze. The air was an un-moving cloud around Joseph and it frightened him. Loneliness fell upon him.
“What is this place?” he asked himself aloud.
He stood up and ran a nervous hand through his red hair. He couldn’t remember how he got to that place and why. The rest of the day didn’t exist in his memory and he decided to assume he had woken up there. It still didn’t explain why though. Had someone brought him here from his dorm room? Was this his friend’s idea of a joke? But the place he was in didn’t seem real. It had an ethereal feeling like a place not of his world. In any case, he needed to get out of there. He had a class to get to.
He looked down at his feet to find he was standing on a path. It was obsidian in colour and snaked over the plain. It appeared to disappear into the foggy horizon. Looking behind him, Joseph saw that the path seemed to start right where he stood. It cut off a few inches behind him into a wall of pure blackness.
“Can’t go back,” Joseph said “I guess this is the only way,”
With that, Joseph pulled his black hood around his head, shoved his hands into his pockets and began slowly down the unknown path.
~*~
Joseph had been walking for hours. Well, he assumed hours. He couldn’t tell what time it was because his watch had stopped working. It was permanently stuck at 4:17 PM and had a small crack in the glass. He wondered how that had happened.
He checked his cell phone for the umpteenth time - still no signal. He sighed, exasperated.
He looked up and was surprised to see a child standing in the middle of the path. She had dark hair and was clothed in a tattered black dress. She wore nothing on her small, dirty feet. She just stood and stared wide-eyed at him.
Joseph approached her cautiously and knelt down to be at eye-level with her.
“Hey, kid. Do you know where we are?”
She simply smiled at him and said, “Blank.”
“What?”
The girl smiled wider “Blank,” she repeated
Joseph shook his head in frustration “Okay,” he said in a no-nonsense tone “Where are your parents, kid? I need to talk to them.”
“Blank,”
Thoroughly frustrated, Joseph stood up and walked past the strange girl.
“What are you doing here?” he heard her ask.
Joseph turned around and jumped. The girl had turned around…well, her head had anyway. The rest of her body was still facing forward. Joseph took a step back.
“W-what the Hell is wrong with you?”
The girl stumbled towards him in a jerky, un-natural way. Joseph found himself unable to move, locked in her gaze. She walked until she was about three feet away from him.
“What are you doing here?” she asked again sharply.
“I don’t know, you creep.” Joseph responded, fearfully.
Suddenly, the girl’s legs began stretching the rest of her body upwards until she looked like she stood upon stilts that were grafted to her skin. She swiftly leaned forwards until she was face-to-face with him. Her eyes were gone from their sockets, leaving holes of ashen black in her face. She opened her mouth to reveal two rows of sharp teeth.
“WHY ARE YOU HERE?” she shouted at him.
“I don’t know!” Joseph said, his voice choked with fear “I woke up here. I don’t know!”
“GO BACK. YOU DON’T BELONG HERE! RETURN TO THE BEGINNING!”
Joseph’s limbs were suddenly unlocked. He fell backwards and quickly scrambled to his feet. He took the chance to turn and sprint down the path.
“I can’t go back. This is the only way. There isn’t anything where I woke up! It’s nothing. It goes nowhere!” Joseph shouted to nobody in particular. He looked over his shoulder to see that the creepy girl was gone. She had vanished into thin air. He shivered slightly.
“What was that all about?” he asked himself. He didn’t have much time to contemplate because the pain returned, tearing through him like a dagger. He cried out and fell to the ground in pain. He tried to will the pain away with deep breaths but each breath came short and rattled in his lungs. After a few moments, the pain disappeared. Joseph slowly sat up and breathed a sigh of relief.
Suddenly, a cough erupted from his parched throat. He brought his hand up to his mouth to stifle it. When he drew it away, he was terrified to see his fingers dyed dark red. Blood.
“What’s this place doing to me?” he groaned. He lay back down on the dark ground. He began wondering if the air in this place was poisoned or that this was the site of some sort of weird toxic waste dump. That could explain that freaky kid…sort of.
Joseph lay in silence until the sound of sobbing broke it. He sat up and saw a broad-shouldered man sitting a few feet ahead on the side of the path. He hadn’t been there a moment ago.
The man was shirtless and had long, bleeding claw marks running across his back. His hair was thin, wiry and was stuck upon his head in a matted clump. He was hunched over and was sobbing bitterly into his knees. Joseph stood up and approached him.
“Hey, dude.” He said “You okay?”
The man didn’t look up at him “Nowhere,” he said.
“Excuse me?” Joseph asked.
“This place goes nowhere,” the man responded, continuing to sob “We should go back. Back to the beginning,”
“Uh, maybe you can but I need to get out of here. Going back won’t do anything,” said Joseph.
“No. Must go back. The path goes nowhere.” Said the man.
“ Look, man. You don’t understand. Back at the ‘beginning’ is nowhere. The only way is forward.”
“The path goes nowhere,” said the man, lifting his head slightly from his knees.
“I don’t have time for another of you guys. See you around, Freakshow.” Joseph said, frustrated “Good luck with whatever you want to accomplish, I guess,”
Joseph turned away from the man but he was suddenly grasped roughly by the arm. He swiftly turned back and finally saw the man’s face. The left side was that of a mangy wolf, the other of a human that was so deformed to fit the shape of the wolf’s snout that it was almost un-recognizable as a human.
“You’re going nowhere!” the man shouted, gruffly.
Joseph tried to pull away from him but it was no use. The man’s grip was like an iron claw. He looked up when he heard the sound of growling. Before him was a pack of rabid wolves, teeth bared in frothing mouths.
Gasping in fear, Joseph tried harder to escape the man’s grip. He was suddenly released. The man had disappeared, leaving Joseph alone with the wolves. He turned and ran down the path, the wolves snarling at his heels.
In the most inopportune moment, the pain struck again. It was twice as worse as before, enough for Joseph to feel like he had taken a gunshot to the head. Stars swam before his eyes as he fell, losing consciousness before hitting the ground.
~*~
Joseph awoke and immediately rose to his feet to defend himself. Bad idea. He was hit with a wave of dizziness which brought him back to his knees. He took a deep breath and forced his vision to focus. The wolves were gone. Joseph checked himself over. They hadn’t hurt him at all. Looking around, he found himself in the same location.
He punched the ground in frustration. Would he ever be able to get back?
“Finally awake are you?” said a voice in a bored tone. “Not that I was worried. You do not matter. Nothing matters,”
Joseph looked behind him to see a large, black doorway. Maybe he had moved...somehow.
Beside the door was a strange creature. Joseph couldn’t distinguish the gender because the thing consisted of a flabby pile of skin. It was propped up on various sticks that held it aloft in the air. Its head rested on a stone column so it’s drooping eyes could see. It looked like something out of a Salvador Dali painting. Joseph was intrigued by the look of the creature instead of being afraid. Besides, anything in this place seemed normal to him now.
“Uh, hey. How did I get here?” Joseph said, groggily
“The wolves brought you here. They tend to do that to people who stray from the path. I know they may seem crude but they wouldn’t hurt a human. But that does not matter. Nothing matters” replied the blob.
“What exactly are you?” Joseph asked, fascinated
The blob sighed “It does not matter. Nothing matters. All I know is pain,”
“Oh,” said Joseph “I’m trying to get out of here. Can you tell me which way to go?”
“It does not matter. Nothing matters. Not even the way. There are two.” Said the blob.
“Two ways?” Joseph asked “Which one is fastest?”
“It does not matter. Nothing matters. Both will lead you home. One way or another,” said the blob.
Joseph stood up. “Is one way through that door?” he asked, gesturing to the black door.
“Yes but the way you need is the beginning. But it really does not matter. Nothing matters.”
“But it would take hours to go back. I don’t have that kind of time,” explained Joseph, getting tired of telling people this.
“It is your choice I suppose. It does not matter. Nothing matters”
Joseph moved towards the door and reached for the doorknob.
“Nothing matters. Nothing. Nothing. You will be nothing. It does not matter. Nothing matters,” said the blob.
Joseph set his hand upon the doorknob, ignoring the repetitive words of the blob creature.
“Stop! Joseph, wait!” shouted a voice.
The sudden booming voice caused Joseph to release the doorknob and jump back. Looking behind him, he saw a man standing in the middle of the path. His skin was as black as night and his hair was dark red, topped with a silver crown inlayed with red gems. He carried a lantern on the end of a staff in his left hand.
“Who are you? What do you want from me?” said Joseph
“My name is Efherek, child. I will not harm you. But I have come to bring you home.”
“Uh, no need, dude. Can’t I just go through this door?” asked Joseph
“No. You are not ready for the place beyond that door yet.” answered Efherek “Come now. We must get you to the beginning.”
Efherek snapped his fingers and a black, swirling mist surrounded them. When it cleared, Joseph saw that they were back where he had woken up. The wall of darkness still towered above him, un-yielding.
“There’s nothing here. How do I get home?” asked Joseph
“Step forward, child. Towards the mist.” said Efherek
Joseph did as he was instructed. The moment he stepped into the mist, it cleared away to reveal a shimmering white doorway. Joseph looked at it in awe. Efherek placed a hand on his shoulder.
“You see. If you had taken the time to explore the beginning. You would have found your proper way,” he said
“So, this is definitely the way home?” asked Joseph
He walked towards the door and opened it. He cautiously walked through and as his vision faded to black he heard Efherek say “Yes, child. It’s time to wake up now.”
~*~
Joseph awoke in pain. Not the pain he had been previously experiencing. His limbs were stiff and he could barely move without hurting himself. His vision was blurry once again. He made out a white ceiling and alabaster walls. There were a few dark, circular shapes above him which he decided were light fixtures.
He inhaled a strange medicinal smell. His ribs hurt him to breathe. He tried to shift his head to the side and his neck cracked loudly. He hissed in pain just as he heard a nearby door open.
“What the Hell?...Joseph?”
Joseph turned his head as his eyes focused. He saw his friend, Sam, standing at the door. A look of shock plastered across his face. Sam leaned out the door and shouted to an unseen person.
“Guys, get in here! Someone get a nurse! Joseph’s alive!”
Joseph heard the familiar voices of his friends as they entered the room.
“Oh my God, Jo...you’re back, man,” said Kyle, his voice catching slightly.
Joseph stared at him groggily “Back? What do you mean ‘back’? Where did I go?”
Owen stepped up to his hospital bed and sat in a nearby chair. He took a deep breath and said “Jo...you were dead, man”
Joseph’s eyes widened “W-what?”
“I guess you don’t remember. We were walking home from class...you were hit by a car.” Said Kyle
“You were in a coma for months...the doctors lost you an hour ago,” Sam elaborated.
Joseph’s glanced at the clock. 5:17. Exactly an hour past where his watch had stopped. He couldn’t believe it. He’d been dead all along. Where was that place then. Some sort of afterlife where time stands still? Or maybe it was a place between the living world and the afterlife. If he had gone through the black door, would he have stayed dead? Why did that Efherek guy save him? His words came to Joseph’s mind. You are not ready for the place beyond that door yet. Joseph’s smiled as he understood them. It just hadn’t been his time to die. That’s what those creatures were trying to tell him too. With that thought in mind, Joseph fell into a deep, natural, healing sleep.
- Maureen
Monstrosity
(Part 1)
By: Karlene
I’m sitting in a chair, writhing in agony. A demon has me pinned. Toying with my head.
“Menoetius.” He growls, poking the blade into my chest, not forcefully enough to cut, but enough to direct the scene, enough to hurt. He drags the tip of the dagger straight up, over my chest and collar bone, over each ring of cartilage in my neck until the tip is pressed under my chin, forcing me to tilt my head back. He leans over me and practically snorts like a horse, he smiles at me one-sidedly with his crooked teeth and he says,
I drag my empty doll eyes along the floor, as if searching my mind for the answer. I just shrug and say,
“You’re a demon.’’ And I match his smirk, “A minor demon.’’
Menoetius’ eyes widen, huge, almost cartoonish. They practically burst out of his head and burn up with fury. Menoetius: god of violent anger and rash action. He pushes the blade in, almost enough to puncture.
Every blood vessel in his eye has burst open so they’re flooded red, every vein in his neck and forehead is pulsating and dying to pop out of his skin. My eyes follow a bead of sweat as it carves its path across his skin, dragging from his temple all the way down to his neck where I lose it in his tattoos. Black, almost tribal, the tendril design winds its way along his jugular like vines wrapped around a tree.
“What did you just say?’’ he asks in his most offended voice. He leans in so close our noses are almost touching, and I feel my jaw twinge and I repeat my point.
“You’re a deity. Not a God.’’ I lean back in the chair more so that he has to lean himself forward. “Not the top of the pyramid, just another brick.’’ I say in metaphors and I swear I can hear his blood boiling.
I see his knuckles go white; he’s squeezing the dagger so tight. Menoetius’ hand is practically shaking, his face is pulled together tight and beet red, he’s doing his best to hold in his rage, but he didn’t get his title for nothing.
Suddenly we’re both broken out of our locked gaze by the sound of glass breaking, we both jerk in shock and the dagger pierces into my skin, my hand flies up to the pain instinctively and holds my jaw.
Menoetius’ hand drops down by his side and cautiously I lean forward again with the squeak of the chair, we stay motionless to listen.
We inch our way out of the overgrown shed of my studio, eek our way across the patio until we see my sliding glass door, or at least what’s left of it.
As I inch closer I hear a noise, almost a dull moan, a cry of agony. When finally I’m standing in front of my broken open door I see her, face in a puddle of blood and broken glass, and when I’m in mid-sigh Menoetius groans beside me.
“For Christ sakes…’’
The figure on my kitchen floor is Oizys. Goddess of pain, suffering and misery.
“Shut up!’’ she screams, looking over her shoulder from the ground at Menoetius. “Just shut up!’’
I feel my stomach churn when I notice the shards of glass lodged in her forearms, hands, bare feet and face. She starts pushing herself up with her palms, digging the glass into her skin deeper as she does and I wince.
I hear the grass crunching and my eyes follow the sound, and unsurprisingly another figure emerges from behind my countertop.
This guy leans against my fridge, tall and slender he folds his arms over his chest. His neck and head are permanently tilted down in a hunch. He slips his hand out of the crook of his elbow and snaps his fingers out in front of him. I’m watching him closely, mesmerized. A cigarette literally poofs into existence between his first two fingers, already lit. He brings it up to his lips and takes a deep drag for the duration it takes Oizys to get on her feet.
She steadies herself and stares at the man, who just smiles crookedly with jagged yellow teeth and exhales in a puff of smoke into her bloodied face, sending her into a coughing fit.
I must be 10 feet away, but this guy’s stench is over powering. A combination of skunk and rotting skin is the best way to describe him. So I just blurt out what comes to mind.
“Hades.’’ I utter. His eyes flicker over to mine in a flashing shine, and we stare for a long moment before he finally just rolls them. He flicks the cigarette across the room and I watch it hit the linoleum.
He makes his way over to me, saunters even, gently pushing Oizys out of his way with the back of his hand. The glass crunches under his feet until he finally reaches me, I have to look straight up to be direct with his downward face.
His eyes are pentagrams instead of pupils. The whites are shimmering, almost like he’s welled up with tears. He smiles right down at me, his mouth twisting into a crooked black line and he just shakes his head.
“No, my dear.’’ He says in a hiss of a voice. He brings his hands up to my shoulders and I feel his ice cold skin even through my shirt.
“People are always getting us mixed up.’’ He tells me, exasperated. I breathe through my mouth just to tolerate the stench. I see Menoetius out of the corner of my eye shuffle back a few steps and swallow hard. Now I get it.
“God of Death.’’ I say just loud enough to be audible and his smile stretches even thinner.
“But you can call me Thanatos.’’
We stare at each other for a long slow motion moment before he blinks; his right index finger comes up to my chin, tilting my head a little backwards so he can look at the bottom of my jaw.
“You’re neck…’’ his eyes narrow, he sees the little prick of a wound left on me and his eyes widen back open, “What happened?’’ he asks with genuine concern. I open my mouth to speak but with the chill of his hand under my jaw nothing comes out but a crackle. Thanatos sigh through his nose, his head slowly turns away from me, in Menoetius’ direction. I can practically feel the deity’s hot blood start running cold against Thanatos’ gaze.
I follow the little pentagrams and turn my head. Thanatos’ eyes are fixated on the little dagger Menoetius’ fingers are curled tight around. He releases his hold on my jaw and steps over towards his cohort, bit of glass crumbling under his feet.
He stands right in front of him, towering over him, icy air shooting out of his nostrils. He pushes his head forward like a turtle popping out of its shell, forcing Menoetius to shrivel back down into his collar. Thanatos doesn’t even blink as he stares wide eyed.
“You.” He grumbles into the deity’s face.
I hear the cracklings of more glass being crunched into the floor and I turn to see Oizys, gingerly making her way over to us.
“Please…’’ she pleads with teary eyes. I move towards her, whether it was out of pity or just wanting to get away from the stench of death, I’m not sure.
My hands hover over her, unable to grab any part of her without sending glass into my own skin. I choke out the only words that come to mind.
“Do you want me to call an ambulance?’’
A bellowing laugh answers for her, and naturally another entity appears. Sitting on the island in the middle of my kitchen. A woman with dirty blonde hair, wavy and hanging just past her shoulders. She’s plucking grapes out of the little basket and plopping them into her mouth, giggling with her head tilted slightly and her legs swinging back and forth.
“You caaaaaan’t call for helpppppppp!’’ she chimes, holding the red grape between her top and bottom teeth in a smile. I see Oizys hang her head, I look over at the men to see Thanatos rubbing his forehead like he’s fighting off a headache, and Menoetius is just staring with raised eyebrows.
The woman sighs, sinking her teeth into the grape. She tucks it into one of her cheeks before speaking again.
“Y’see, Oizys here…’’ she pushes herself off the island, jumping onto the floor in another resounding crunch of glass. “Oizys needs to do these things. She needs to get hurt, to have people feel sorry for her.’’ She laughs again, this time putting her forefinger to her teeth as she saunters over to us.
“Ananke…’’ I hear in an annoyed sigh from Thanatos as he pinches the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger.
I grasp the shirt over the small of Oizys’ back and tug her away. Ananke stares at me with her hands on her hips, irritated at my actions.
“Look…’’ she huffs out in a burst of hot air, “Oizys, she like…gets off on this kind of thing.” Her elbow pivots off her hip now and her palm turns skyward in exasperation. “I’m serious, it’s a sick goddamn compulsion of hers.’’
“I get it now.’’ I say, “That’s you. Goddess of compulsion.’’
“And necessity, and inevitability.’’ Her lips curl up in a smirk, “But I don’t wanna nitpick.’’
I finally blurt out my burning question. I ask what in the hell brought all these demons and deities and gods to my humble abode. And immediately I’m greeted by an echoing chuckle from Thanatos.
“Well, you invited us.’’
“No, I didn’t’’ I utter, doing my best to stare sternly at him. He smirks, his mouth a crooked line and he chuckles, taking a step towards me. His smile grows, showing me his disgusting teeth. I catch a whiff of him and feel my stomach acids clawing their way back up.
“Don’t lie.’’ He tells me, arms folding over his chest. I shake my head.
“I’m not a liar.’’ I say, swallowing the lump in my throat.
My response is met by round of laughter from the entire troupe, even Oizys. Thanatos tents his fingers, stepping so close we’re almost touching. He sticks his head out again at me. His words come out in a chilling breath. So cold I can see it hanging in the air even though it’s July. He sticks his one bony forefinger out at me, pointing right into my face and he says,
“Now that, that was a lie.’’
