"Morbid Wonderland"
The innocent, with her sunken eyes, emotionless, staring, her hand limply reaching out, grasping for the feather, for the soft touch. Her arm falling limply to her side as the ermine softness draws too far from her outstretched fingers.
One leg over the windowsill, her delicate gown billowing from the breeze. Bluish-black silk falls past her shoulders, tangling upwards, dancing, as her feet soaked in the dew. Taking steady strides, her precious stones on the pearl, never loosing it, never does the hawk take its eyes off the prey.
The feather at a desist, lingered in the air, it were as if the wind had relinquished, descending from the north, the only chill was from curiosity, and maybe fear. Beneath the obsidian, below the stagnant purity, a trajectory. The same genus that the innocent pursued, yet defiled. These feathers not from doves nor angels, but from raven or demon. The child proceeded as the taintlessness was carried further.
The pattern was crossed, a patchwork of softness tamed, sable, countless for miles. Intricate helixes and hybrids placed precisely, an equilibrium transpired here. Thousands of mathematicians must have arranged this labyrinth on the grid. But what pattern is this? The child reached down to trace, yet, as her frail hand touched the ebon path, the wild creatures flew. Untamed, entangling in a windstorm, intersecting and creating new patterns no one could ever trace. Melting into the trees, concealing themselves, becoming the very shadows that haunt dreams.
The child was taken aback, terrified, gasping for breath, her piercing emeralds breaking through the shadow, glowing with a strange luminescence from the light of the stars. Crawling on hands and knees, her gown wet and muddy, curiosity took control, as it does to all child minds. The virgin feather, shimmering in the child’s eyes, as she followed the white rabbit into a morbid wonderland.
The pure feather beckoned her to come, performing tricks in the wind. She walked at a slow pace, knowing very well it would wait for her. Her eyes rapidly sweeping the trees, the soft scent of pine, and crisp air filled her nostrils. The night was tranquil, no sounds reverberating, no insect’s music humming into the air... she couldn't even hear her own vibration on the dirt trail, nor the pulsation of her own heart. The soil was not typical, it was autumn, the time when the ground is parched and the air should smell of decay. But the earth was impressible, caring for her adolescent feet.
The feather knew her thoughts, or had realized this itself. At that moment the aroma of decaying leaves took place, once comforting, now terrified her. She quickened her pace, the ground no longer smooth, jagged rocks were penetrating her feet. In the trees, no pine cones hung from the branches, but white wings, no, crimson, angel wings ripped from their bodies, dangling profusely from the idle timber.
Scrambling to keep her sanity, she ran. There, a door! A heavy iron gateway ending the path. The feather ahead of her circling the door as if calling "Here, child, come, hurry!" Her tiny fists pounding the door, an echo was heard. The innocence could feel them coming, sense them. Crying hysterically, tears surging down her face, sobbing. Her tears were not prevalent, they too were taken by the baneful in this place. From the verdant, flowed rivers, as if reflecting the night sky. An ebony tear flows past her scarlet cheeks, drips off her chin and splashes to the earth, exploding upwards shattering into tiny droplets, as two flames grabbed hold, and seized her.
* * *
It was as silent as winter with the occasional breeze, impelling the clouds to pass like wildfire overhead. An omen to the trees and flowers to hide away and prepare for an oncoming storm. The leaves, a reminder of death as they were blown past like a tumble weed in a wasteland. If watched closely they were dancers in a ballet. The trees with their leafless branches reached down their skeleton hands to clutch at their flesh. It was too late, their souls were unrestrained, free from the hands from which they grew.
Few sounds were heard. The tapping of the dancers on the ground. The lamentation of the titans for their souls. The wind grew stronger, but the bodies of the leviathans never faltered, it was the graceful swaying of arms, like mortals did when they walked. One of the dancers pivoted and tangled in a weed from the subterrane, but this was no weed. It was a mere child, twisted among dancers and their audience. Her hair was set perfectly, as if it grew from the earth, and perhaps she did.
As the pale moon sprung from out the clouds, it threw the eclipse of the colossus around her, upon the dance floor. They must have believed she was apart of them, too. Her gown was soaked with dew and soiled. Her long dark roots clung to the land for more condensation. Yet, the radiance of the moon illuminated her ashen skin, and as the opacity reached to pull her back into the earth, her emeralds fluttered open and pierced the night.
The trees were amazed at this beauty, this was a flower, not an intruder. The youth raised from the ground, tearing her roots from the earth. The dancers and the shadows clung to her, not wanting this beauty to blossom. The giants whispered, she could hear. She walked along the path shivering in fear at the voices. They did not belong to nature, the belonged to the confalagrants that had placed her here. The goliaths whispered for them and this frightened her. These giants controlled by the fires: Their voices echoing in the deep.
"The time has arrived..." One hissed. Keep going, don't listen.
"My innocent one." Oh her voice was sickening, too beautiful.
"To whisper," a pause in his voice, "many things." This was stated stoically.
"Of death."
"And ruin."
"And... extinction." A trade of the flames voices, and the last in unison, this was surely said with a smirk upon their faces. The child spoke to herself, closing her eyes, repeating to herself it wasn't real. She ran faster tripping over the giant's legs, and her own.
"Your bloodied angel wings." The visions of the wings that hung so loosely from the trees haunted her. Bones dripping, snapped in two, or more. She froze in her step, she felt they were near. Their whispers were more hurried, their hunger was vibrating through the air with its own undertone.
"And why the bloods runs so slickly...."
"Of those our teeth will sting!" Daggers brilliantly sparkled in the shadows. The blazes leaning on the giants, showing their fangs to the world. Their mouths turned heavenward, laughing. The innocent's mouth and eyes opened to scream as the two infernos lunged at her once more. Ripping and tearing at her neck, pinning her to ground, watching her twist beneath them. Her heart pounding, her eyes raining, her mouth shaping consonants and vowels that they couldn't hear. At last she was still, staring into the eyes of the blazes, and their mouths opened wide coming in for the last strike, was the last vision of the innocent before her eyes closed.
Darkness; her eyes began to focus, desperately her feeble hands clutched at her neck. No dampness, nothing but the cold sweat that was covering her. Was she alive, or was she dead? Was she trapped in the middle realm between the mortal life, and immortal death, Limbo they had called it. Surely not, it had only been a dream, or surely she was mad.
* * *
The air was insignificantly warmer, still silent except the movement distilled by the cool breath of the earth. The innocent was still distraught by the images, that’s all they were, deceptions created in her own perturbed insanity. Two pairs of scarlet eyes, two sets flaming hair, vampire twins? What an imagination she had! She smiled at herself, more neurotic than amused.
The grin quickly faded, her eyes dimmed as a slight movement captured her curiosity. It was in the corner of her eyes, her body tensed as she took a step back, she clenched her fists. It was gone, lost in the time if took her to turn her head. She sighed and rotated back, there it was! The youth gasped and backed away, catching herself before loosing complete symmetry. The girl relaxed as her friend danced for her. The child’s excited laugh echoed throughout the night as, she too, danced. Twirling as the Clara in the Nutcracker. The purity stopped suddenly, just in front of the innocent’s eyes. She immediately halted and reached out to feel the softness of her soldier. Daggers appeared from out of the mists and darkness, ripping the child’s face and snatching the feather away.
She screamed in shock and in pain as she fell backwards into the arms of the calm twin.
“Good evening, child.” She whispered to her ear.
“Poor child.” The other leaned foreword, sighed, and looked into her eyes. “Just a child.”
“Are you frightened?”
“She’s terrified, she’s too curious.” “All children are curious.” The fire twins spoke, still grasping the shaking child, too mortified to speak.
A ring of fire encircled the concept of death, illuminating the child’s iridescent beholders of beauty. “The curiosity and innocence will soon be taken away from those breathtaking eyes.” A twin whispered and backed away from the innocent, who began crying in fright.
“Oh,” the other cried sympathetically, “how does the lullaby go? Hush, little darling, don’t say a word.” He sang quietly, his hushed voice quietly carrying through the air. “This won’t hurt at all, little darling.” He told her, their lips drew near to her eyelids as they unleashed the magnificent glowing gems to be taken. A milky light whisked from out of her eyes into the mouths of the fiery twins.
Her lids began to feel heavy, as if she was hypnotized. Her fragile body went limp in the arms of the sensitive twin, her innocence was stolen. Soon, the child lay lifeless on the ground, extremely pale, her head in the lap of the male twin. Their breath was blown into a small gold pocket watch, and into it’s holding place it went.
“Pool little girl.” Spoke the one who held her, stroking the raven hair that fell into her lap.”
“Not innocent anymore.” The other turned and watched how the child changed.
No longer did she have rosy, puffy cheeks and a child’s figure. Her body was now longer and had shape. Filled with slight curves in which a young woman possessed. Her face was well-formed with high cheek bones, a slender look, and a well formed mouth.
Her eyes opened, as bright and luminous as before, but a more comprehending, logical presence emanated from them. The curiosity was still there, a little.
“She’s not used to her body yet.” The fiery ones helped her to her feet.
“I know.”
"She's beautiful."
“I’m jealous.”
“The might like her more, we can’t have that.”
“What can we do?”
“Dispose of her.” She smiled, flashing her fangs.
"Must we?" The male twin turned his eyes away, knowing the answer.
The twins took the young woman deeper into the forest, to their resting grounds. The adolescent beauty melted to her knees and begged them to be quick, but was instead knocked to the dirt by the pale arm of the aggressive twin. Into the earth which she had grown to love as her maker. The twins carefully placed her body into one of their beds and set her friend with her. The male lingered a while before following his sister. He murmured lines from a famous Shakespearean play,releasing his beauty into oblivion.
“Goodnight, good night, parting is such sweet sorrow.” He spoke slowly, as the heavy stone lid sealed with an echoing presence of immorality.
* * *
Tension crushed her body, even in her nightmare she knew. She could feel the tightness. A prolonged howling screech, a smooth putter of the earth on her bed, reverberated in the box every few moments. Her eyes opened and her perception was unchanged. There was nothing but uninhabited, forlorn darkness. The comfort of the stars was gone; she was utterly alone.
Paralyzed by the stone, as well as her fear, she tried calmly to reason. Scape, putter, a continued echo. “No....” She closed her eyes as her body tensed and another twinge of panic rippled through her. A slow trickle eased down her spine, a salty condensation, followed by tiny mounds rising from beneath her flesh. She could not raise her fists to pound on the cover. Her wrists were handcuffed to her prison.
The scraping ceased. There was no sound, a deathly silence, for her to die a silent death.
Her breath raced, her chest heaving as her eyes darted, searching for any shape, light, any sound. A sound, what was that? A drum, a tribal beat, a steady rhythm. A beat to dance to, to twirl and match steps to the beat. It pulsed faster with every breath she inhaled and exhaled. The lid was close, she could feel her breath come back to her, warm against her frozen, yet, sweat covered, body.
Her thoughts begin to scamper. Flashes of the window, her friend drifting openly, the dark path that led her here to the twins. What does it mean? Why is she here? She lay here, the grown woman, who hours before was a mere child. The life that flaunts before her cannot be her own.
It’s too much pressure on her soul, it’s all closing in. The walls squeezing her air away, pressing into her. Her death bed will soon collapse, she’s breaking. The deceitful tears hide well in the utter obscurity as her body trembles. She struggles, trying to twist out, convulsing in rage and eagerness to see the dim light of the stars. Something lighter than darkness, even, the shadows would make her feel light again.
The drums are racing, loosing control of the rhythm. A plague that consumes her mind. Listen to the drums, beat with them. Break through! The drums are all she can hear. A light mist glazes her body, as the fog over her crystallized green eyes freeze in aggravation. The drums have stopped because she cannot listen.
“Listen.”
...Nothing.
“Listen closer....”
Beat.
It begins again, frustration overwhelms her. Stuck in Limbo, still. Her skin reddens as her legs kick, her fists break from the chains as she pounds to the rapid beatings of her heart. “Open! Open! Beat faster, harder! More energy! Too much tension, too much heat, Cannot take it anymore!” Her thoughts race until her mind breaks. “Stop beating!”
It did, just as she was un-tucked from the death bed. Her limp, drenched body was lifted from her cage. Blue markings around her limbs, scarlet dripping in some places. Her friend drifted past, unharmed. A whisper followed it through the air, one word. “Ironic.”
To be continued
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