Archive for the ‘Writing’ Category

The loved get more lovable; the unloved get more unlovable.

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Here, is the 26th chapter from my fantasy novel The Land Without Footprints: Shadows Amongst Shadows (Sweatshoppe Publications, 2013). You can find the first 25 chapters as a free excerpt on the above page marked: The Land Without Footprints: Shadows Amongst Shadows (A 25 Chapter Novel Preview)

26 – Bann

“I want this dildo banned.” Arkin walked the halls as if he were a storm. A few paper lanterns blew out as he passed them.

“But we don’t prohibit anything, Your Grace.” Father Tillicum jammed the sex toy into his cassock’s pocket.

Arkin knocked over a woman carrying a pewter tray. Only Bann helped the servant back to her feet. Then he hurried to catch back up with the Mystic and priest.

“Ban it everywhere, you nitwit, even where it would be allowed illegally. Already I have to fight other men for virginity. I will not fight a toy, as well.”

At the end of the hall, they turned the corner.

“Bans will lead to further bans,” Father Tillicum said. “And riots.”

Arkin stopped, poked the priest in the forehead. “I’ll put down the riot with a riot of my own.”

A frown grew on the priest’s face and he rubbed his head. “You intend to bring back laws?”

“One law.” Down the hall Arkin walked again.

“One law will lead to more laws,” Father Tillicum said, nearly out of breath.

“No one will make laws but me, you nitwit. Now ban the dildo.” A loud gulp sounded in the priest’s throat.

“I’ll ban it,” Bann said.

Father Tillicum raised his voice: “But only the priesthood can make laws.”

“Then I’ll be a priest.” It was the only decision to make. He knew his old self had to be sent to the grave.

“What is this silliness?” Father Tillicum sounded like he’d swallowed a nest of wasps.

Magicians

Posted: December 22, 2013 in Poetry, Writing
Tags: , , , ,

We were never

Lovers

 

We levitated beyond

Those crumbling promises of stone

Like magicians            dancing under the cherry moon

To the howls of some beasts trapped inside a fairy tale

 

No stars fell into our eyes

No arrows or teeth pierced our skin

No clocks were stopped

 

We climbed into

An hourglass

To find our hearts

Before misplacing them

Amongst a dune

Sediments composed of

Walls, lines, masks, shrouds

Objects that could never be blown into glass

 

And yet we blew each other onto

The sands of matrimony

Distancing ourselves from the brewed nebulas of time

So as to swim through the primordial concoctions of intent

 

Whatever ocean wishes to feast upon our shores

Better not be of this Earth.

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25 – Cassandra

Front-handed and backhanded Father Tillicum struck her face. “What did you do to her?” A third time he used his hand. “What did you do to her?”

“Death closed her eyes.” Her lie sounded like truth. Another blow would only strengthen her resolve. Tears wouldn’t fall. “I am not death.” Father Tillicum pushed her down. “She must’ve done something to her, Mystic. This situation has the smell of deception.” He threw the covers aside of the dead woman. “Death is not this quiet of an assassin.”

With the help of a table Cassandra restored her stance, curtsied. “I weep for your loss, Arkin.” She acted the part, placed sadness in her voice. “I wish your mother had died some other way. During sleep nobody has a chance to even fight.”

Arkin acknowledged her condolences in a nod. Though his eyes held more anger than grief. Clenched was his jaw. Fisted were his hands, knuckles whiter than his uncolored skin.

“Witchcraft,” Father Tillicum said, rechecking the extinct pulse. “Poison. A poisoning, of course.”

The priest reached into his deep pocket, withdrew some sort of augmented phallus. It had the look of a penis but it certainly wasn’t a penis. Never before had she seen anything similar. Certainly God hadn’t attached them to men. Damyn’s didn’t look so big, so unrealistic.

“Stand back, Mystic. This tool causes uncontrollable regurgitation.” The priest forced the item inside the deceased, plunged.

As frightened as she was, the Mystic appeared doubly frightened. One would’ve thought he’d taken a blade to his lifeline if they could only see his face and nothing else.

“She’ll come back to life in a flurry of retching, Your Grace.” The plunging continued. “I’ve witnessed the brilliance of this tool firsthand.” When sweat soaked the priest’s brow, he discontinued his thrusting.

Still the woman was dead.

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24 – Cassandra

Cassandra poured the rest of the blood down the sick woman’s throat. She spit most of it back up like a baby.

“I don’t need the blood, girl.” Violently violent, the woman coughed. “Drag me to the church before the sun goes down.”

“You’re too weak to leave your bed.” Cassandra never wanted to get that old, hoped she’d die before she aged so long.

The woman lifted her head as to stand up, but she didn’t go anywhere. “I’m a mother, girl. I’m a mother. My son is shit. He’s shitty shit. He should be here fucking his mother until I’m fucked.”

“You’re not a mother anymore,” Cassandra said. It was the tenth time she’d told the woman in the last hour. “When you married your son he became your husband. You no longer have any children. You’re not a mother.”

“My son is shit, girl. He’s shitty shit.” The woman coughed. Green goo popped out of her mouth. Cassandra did her best to clean it up.

“You’re not a mother anymore,” Cassandra said again.

“A mother deserves to be fucked, girl. For what I pushed out, my son should push in. On MILF’s Day every mother should be fucking until they’re fucked.”

Cassandra pulled the sheets up to the woman’s chin. “You’re not a mother.”

“I know it’s MILF’s Day, girl. I created the day. I should know it. I can smell it.” She sniffed. “I smell fucking. My son is shit. He’s shitty shit. Never be a mother, girl.”

Cassandra crossed the room, closed the curtains, remembered when that priest had unraveled himself from them and molested her. Somehow she still felt his finger between her legs now. She could feel the tears dressing her eyes. She blinked them away as she walked back toward the sickbed.

“Is the sun going down, girl?”

Forcing a smile, Cassandra said, “The sun has gone down for today. But it’ll rise tomorrow.”

“Oh, my son is shit. He’s shitty shit. Never be a mother, girl. I hope you’re never a mother.”

From behind the sick woman’s head, Cassandra pulled a pillow. “Never be a mother,” the woman continued. “I hope you’re never a mother. I hope you’re never a mother, girl.”

“I’m not a girl.” Quickly quick, Cassandra placed the pillow over the woman’s face. Slowly slow, the woman died.

 

 

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Bann – 23

Bann kissed each of his sons on the cheek. “My sons are magicians without magic. You owe them a thousand wishes for this. Twice, they have saved your life.”

“Nobody saves my life.” Arkin frogged off the throne. “I have the power to save myself and the knowledge to never need to. I am God with a human face.”

Bann touched his sword handle. He’d kill the Mystic and his priest now. But then what would come of his children? “I’m sorry, Arkin. I’ve overstepped myself.”

“No, you’ve stepped over us.” Father Tillicum tightened his cassock, shifted the yarmulke on his head. “Your words will not always be forgiven. God doesn’t always have to forgive.”

What would happen in the future, though, Bann hoped God would forgive.

The priest circled them, stared at the woman that had been brought from the brothels. Lipstick sat around her eyes. “What is your name, woman?”

The harlot held out her hand. “Coin.”

Father Tillicum fished into his pocket, placed a gold coin in the woman’s palm. “What is your name?”

An ugly smile bloomed on the harlot’s face. She closed her hand around the money. “You can pick my name,” she said.

The Mystic tugged on his beard, then came down the steps to smell the nameless woman. “She is no virgin,” he said, as if he could tell that by just a sniff. “And she is repulsive. I’d more readily fuck a cow.”

“Ugliness produces beauty just as often as beauty does,” Bann said, and he took his hand from the hilt of his sword, tucked them under his armpits. “And a cow cannot reproduce human offspring.”

The people to the south had only recently found that out. Last week a few wives had slaughtered and burned fifty cows because they thought the animals were stealing their husbands’ semen. Bestiality had become much more accepted in recent years. It was good that animals hadn’t yet evolved to bear human children.

Again Arkin sniffed the woman. “How many times will I have to fuck this disgusting creature for her to grow?”

The sun waned in the sky. Bann wondered how much more time his daughter needed to complete her task. Time didn’t enjoy being slowed by the hands of men. Only in men’s minds did time change tempo.

“If you keep turning back the hands of a clock,” Damyn said, “it’ll be like you only swam inside of her once.”

Hard, Bann hit his son over the head. The bastard had spoken out of turn.

Nevertheless, the Mystic cackled. “Your son has his testicles in his throat, Bann. I love men who make thoughts move.”

Then Bann hoped the Mystic would love the next move.

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22 – Jordan

“Why’d you let them kill that child back there?” Damyn asked, as they climbed the stairs of the largest brothel in the city. Today, it was the quietest brothel in the world.

“They killed a child?” Jordan only remembered the death of the woman. It was harder to watch a murder than to read about it. First his stomach had felt sick, but now the sickness in his stomach felt ill. His head didn’t feel right either.

“Yeah.” Damyn tapped him on the chest. “They killed that boy.” “At least it wasn’t a girl,” Jordan said.

His father had always told him it was worse to kill a girl. Boys deserved to die in war; men expected to. Girls and women were only expected to pray and get raped. Those were the war laws, when war laws existed. These days everyone expected a knife to the throat. Nobody liked anybody. They didn’t even just pretend.

Quicker, Damyn climbed the stairs. Jordan lagged behind, wondered what it would feel like to kill a person, not just watch a person die. Worse, his stomach told him. Much worse.

“We’re looking for a girl.” Damyn’s voice came from above, echoed off the walls. “She doesn’t need to have a pretty face or a fit body. She just needs to look a certain way.”

At the top of the stairwell a door was open. Jordan walked through it. The bastard was spanking the Madam’s ass.

“Do you want another girl or me?” the woman asked.

Jordan stopped any further spanking. “We need a specific woman,” he said. “Dark hair on the lighter side. Eyes the color of grass or leaves or emeralds.”

The Madam straightened off the table. She had the face out of a nightmare, pale and wide-eyed. And none of her teeth had a tooth beside it. “I have one slut like that,” she said, licking her lips. “But you’ll have to spank it out of me.”

Damyn grinned. Jordan moved aside.

*  *  *

“I don’t really know what her name is today,” the Madam said, once they entered the stables. “Whatever it is, I’m sure it was something different yesterday.”

Horse and manure became the air.

The woman rubbed her backside. Perhaps Damyn had spanked her too hard. “My best worker,” she said, as a horse neighed. “You wouldn’t believe how many women come in here wanting a real stallion inside of them.”

Jordan could believe that, actually. As many people were married to animals as they were to humans in the city. Last year, marriages between humans and animals outnumbered those between human beings. Many came to the brothels for their first encounter with another species. These animals were well trained for sexual encounters with humans, if such a training were possible.

Bestiality had become so widespread that husbands slaughtered dogs for just looking at their wives. Supposedly, the Dancers of Paradise could somehow copulate with their pet snakes. And rich lords and ladies paid good money to see such sights, Jordan knew. These days, everyone bored so easily that they needed something new to stay entertained. Intercourse between humans and animals was that new entertainment.

Once they walked past more horses and dogs and goats, Jordan started to wonder if the slut were, in fact, a slut and not an animal. Relief entered him  as soon as he saw a woman, even though she did have a face reminiscent of a wild mammal.