Fly On The Wall: Fairy Tales From A Misanthropic Universe, Vol. I Read online

  And so he cut, and cut, and cut again. When half her wings became half his, half the night had passed and it was time for him to pause once more. He flew to the drop again and looked. He was magnificent, unlike anything ever seen before. Mottled, mixed, contrasting bright green and brown cream filled in his wings. The moth realized he could stop now and that all would think him beautiful, heck even the butterfly would likely have accepted such a result even if she would have been mad at first. But no, it was insufficient. He needed the rush of pure unbridled power, he needed that great green, that beautiful beloved green. He flew back to end his work.

  When the butterfly awoke she did not know what had happened, all she knew was that flight then felt quite hard. Her wings seemed strangely heavy. She hobbled over to a glistening dew drop, and immediately she knew. She was sad, not because of the green, for though she loved it she knew it was but pigment, but because of the moth and his cruel misdeeds. She would not have given him her green, twas true, but why ought she have to at all. From that day on the butterfly never saw the moth again. The moth then flew in the nighttimes only, having returned to his predestined task. He hid from her, and from his own shame, and so they did not meet. The moth was happy though, he now ruled the night not only with criminal finesse but with arresting beauty too.

  The butterfly took betrayal badly, she could not find joy again, nor trust either. No plant, no flower, no bewildered bug could make her smile or fly as she once had. To make things that much worse, the garden's rules were strict on the matter, so she left. Forever. The magical orchard did not permit sadness, and she knew that she could not overcome it, not this time, and certainly not with the moth about. She was only a butterfly, she could not change, not forever. So long as the moth was alive in that place she could not be.

  At least the moth had indeed become the most beautiful moth ever to have been seen. He stayed awake for days and days, showing off his green color, always doting upon what was now his, as publicly as he could. By all accounts, he was stunning; a flying fragment of jade. He would never be the joyful sparkling emerald that the butterfly had resembled, but that had never mattered. His new found bright color, sadly, made him a most visible moth. As chance would have it, one late evening, just as he set out to pollinate the night plants an owl flew by, and at that same moment, thinking to itself how hungry it was, and how it envied the parrot's beauty, the fat owl spotted the moth, and within moments had gained a nutritious crunchy snack.

  The butterfly fluttered about, gaining more happiness each day, meeting many in her travels. It was a shame she could never learn of the moth’s inglorious demise. Some years on, butterfly years, of course, the butterfly was quite happy, she was quite content but dared not go back, for she knew she'd lose what joy she'd gained were she to see that awful moth again. Even so she remained loved by all, not because of her color but rather her personality and friendly nature. It was a shame that on a balmy afternoon, on her way to meet a newfound friend, one whom she planned to tell about the magic garden, the dull, but happy, brown butterfly learned, rather violently, of the existence of a 2005 CTS, bright sky blue, owned by a Ms. Apphrodite, a local horticulturist.

  21 – The Light Under The Stairs

  The air felt eerie even though they'd lived there for three months. Maybe it was the intense silence, of the sort that makes one whisper, just to make sure one still hears. It was to be expected in a dwelling of this age - the walls were very thick indeed.

  She hadn't been quite as accepting. She knew there had to be some paranormal explanation, but then that was typical. “How could a house this old NOT have some proverbial or even literal skeletons in‽” She knew that such thoughts were silly, so she deferred to him, and they got on with their lives, ignoring the strange feeling.

  That night after an exciting session, post-coital hunger hit them both hard. She wanted him pressed up against her, but she needed the leftover slices from the fridge more. He was happy to oblige, on both counts. He rose and walked off, pretending to be a ghost. On the way, he contemplated how much she meant to him, how she had made him a better person, and how perfect they were together. He made his way farther and farther down the unlit stone corridor to his kitchen. He felt the warm afterglow of sex spread through his body, his extremities tingled. He wondered why they fucked nocturnally, and why most did the same. It didn't make much sense to him, but such was life. He paused. What was that‽ A slight glow slowly grew greater. It shone in a triangle from the riser of one of the stone steps. A frightening color, an impossible one at that for no light resided there. It was a strange sky blue, which pearlesced yellow from time to time. The man craned his neck to look at the triangle, trying to decipher its origin. He wasn't sure what to do. It was a reflection surely, or perhaps his mind playing a nasty trick. But what if it wasn't just a shape cast by the moon or some streetlight? What if it wasn't just some solemn bulb's whose rays had been sent streaming through a scantily dressed vaulted window? What if it was more? He was just being silly. Right? The only way to dispel his fear was to touch that stone step. That would prove nothing was there. Once and for all. He reached down, extending his index finger and thought “here goes nothing”. As he touched it he seemed to vanish in a flash. What a pity none were there to see that bright man stealing light.

  On waking he saw the most beautiful creature to have ever graced creation. She occupied the whole of his vision with her alluring aura. It resembled a woman, but it clearly could not be. Every flick of each ginger strand of hair licked the air with errant violet flames. She, or rather it, was really quite unreal. He looked at her face and realized immediately that what would follow would hurt. The cream colored walls behind her were really quite plain, but for some suspicious brown splatter. A dastardly look beset her deep purple eyes; in their violet darkness was an endless pit which pulled one in, ever closer. She grinned and walked away, leaving a trail of mauve will-o-wisps in her wake.

  He just sat there, staring at the stainèd walls. Many moments seemed to pass before she came back, but when she returned she did so with his lover in tow, shackled. The old ball and chain seemed to have developed a rather more literal ball and chain. He'd been scared before, but how he was terrified. He didn't know how they had gotten there. It must have been that dread isosceles, but still; how? More importantly, how had his beloved been brought into that awful dungeon. He did not know what the redhead planned to do to them, and he did not know why his lover was in shackles. All he knew was fear. He trembled in trepidation.

  Her eyes pleaded for mercy. She couldn't understand why he hadn't just agreed to move elsewhere like she'd asked. She told him, not just once, no, but rather a great many times. She told him she hated their home, she told him that she felt something, she'd begged him to move. But did he ever listen? No, of course not. She always knew there was something funny about that house, and now it really wasn’t very funny at all. She didn't know how she knew what she knew, but one thing was sure, she was being marched to see her lover by a creature, one the likes of which she'd never been before. It resembled a man in shape, but could clearly not be. Shadows of flame traced his movements, his limbs left trails of scorching heat and shimmering disfigured air. His, or rather its, perfect black hair glowed with an iridescent yellow fire. He was chiseled beyond what any human could be and wore a chalk stripe lilac suit. He towered above her, a giant of a man. His branch like arms yanked her forwards, and his handsomeness arrested her. She did not know what this creature was, but she was scared. Thick shackles appeared around her legs and arms as if by magick. She hadn't even realized that she could move, now she could do so no more but by its will. Her slender body followed the monstrous creature's rough exhortations. The man-creature beckoned her, and so she went, forced on by her legs and his arms. Her lover's eyes pleaded with the creature for clemency, for her, if not for him. Her lover was not small, so his visible terror frightened her even more. The creature looked at them, each in turn and smiled.

  The creatur
e did not speak, yet they somehow understood its meaning, a screaming growl resonated in their minds and cried words with the lament of a thousand thousand lost souls. They had, the creature let it be known, entered its realm. This, it clarified, was unwise, and they would face some minor torment at the very least. They would face a choice, and the option they did not pick would be forced upon the other.

  Communicating only with the man, the creature revealed a choice; two types of torture, either physical or mental. Either for eternity or until the creature got bored; whichever came first. The stunning creature showed him a vision of its last guest. He had chosen the mental torment. He'd stayed for a mere 8 years before his release, a pittance in cosmic terms. That guest had been a boring, sour man, so the creature had almost been glad to see him go.

  The man pondered his choice for a while. The decision was a difficult one to make. Soon he knew what he would do though, he was the man, so he would bear the physical pain. She could deal with the mental part, he on the other hand, did not think he could bear to see such maddening sights. No, that was not possible. He looked at the creature and worldlessly made his choice. His sultry gaolor gave him a grin and turned again to face his lover.

  The creature then secretly revealed the same choice to her. It showed to her mind the same images it had shown him – those of its last pained guest. She too decided to bear the physical torment, she was neither big nor strong, but she knew that women could endure much greater pain than men. Besides, she couldn't bear to see such maddening sights. It was his fault. She had been minding her business in bed, and then just woken up here. She'd told him about the damnèd house. She had. All she had done was wait for pizza. She made her choice, just as he had made his.

  In that moment, the creature cackled with a devilish grin. In a manner suggestive of a great invisible orchestra the creature swung its arms through the air with vigor. The two prisoners stared horrified at the air which shimmered ever faster. The pair felt the creature's inner inferno grow, warming their surroundings. The woman's shackles disappeared, and she tried to run to her beloved. No luck. With a flick of the wrist, the creature made her sit. A seat appeared to catch her rear just before it hit the ground. With another flick of the wrist, the creature materialized another chair for the man too and also made him sit. Carved out channels ran the length of the seats. With a third, final, flick of the wrist, the creature made spikes pop up from each chair's falsely flat face. The spikes first pressed into their skin. The blunt tips did not penetrate, they just pressed uncomfortably. The creature smiled, and the pressure grew, creating thousands of pain points all over their bodies. The pair were too pained even to scream. The creature laughed hatefully at their contorted faces.

  The beast raised its arms, the spikes rose, and this time sharpened, finally penetrating them. The spikes punctured their tensed skin, and so their blood began to flow. Deep red juices trickled through the canals, and down into bowls at their feet. Neither one of them welcomed this warm foot bath. Both of them tried to yell at the top of their lungs, hoping, more than they had ever hoped for anything, that they'd be heard, that they'd be saved, but only a pitiful, minute, stifled yelp escaped. A grave mistake. Each sound made the little lances rise further, resulting only in more agony and blood, so they stopped trying to shout. Their hearts beat rapidly, so rapidly that like a hummingbird hearts they buzzed.

  Confusion set in and their clothes began to darken with sweat. The creature winked at the man, and then at the woman. Two transparent tubes rose from the ground, from betwixt the blood filled bowls. The pair were now lightheaded, as a result of having lost much life force. The tubes hovered above their heads. They dared not look up, but even so they sensed the conduits' presence. The creature laughed and walked over briskly, it put a hand on each of their heads and closed its eyes. One pointed claw upon each hand glowed, red hot. Bald circles formed where the hairs were singed away. The air filled with the putrid scent of burnt keratin. With one of its claws, the creature traced circles upon each scalp, the extreme heat of cut through the bone with ease, simultaneously carving and cauterizing. The creature removed the bone plugs from each trepanned lover. It grabbed the hovering tubes and shoved them into the pulsing exposed pink matter. The tubes squelched into place. The two had begun to fade from life, they both panted rapidly, as though unable to gain enough air; their hearts fluttered even faster than before. Neither one was sufficiently awake to do much, but the violent cerebral intrusions brought them both back to life with haste. They sat more upright than they ever had before, hopeless eyes telegraphed horror. Blood began to mystically be pumped from the ever fuller bowls back into their wretched bodies. The creature giggled, elated at its vile creation. Though stuck to spiked seats the lovers exchanged glances, now that they had sufficient sentience to move once more. Great anger showed on their faces as they realized the creature's cruel trick, and the choice the other'd made. The gleeful monster snapped its fingers, and great silver screens materialized before their eyes. They played each fight, each lie, each regretted action and inaction endlessly. From harmless white lies to sordid affairs, like Vine loops the images played out for them again, and again, and again. Endless past deceits droned upon the screen, dispensing pure despair. Each replayed flirtatious thought sent pangs of pain through each lover. The creature was elated, everything had worked out marvelously well.

  Unbeknownst to the pair, the creature's bowls collected chemicals too, storing them in perfect crystal towers. CB1 & 2, GABA, Dopamine, Oxytocin, and Endorphins; all formed colorful and crooked spikes within the deep red liquid. Even serotonin and adrenaline collected, slowly but surely. The two could not feel it, not at the speed at which their blood was depleted. But they would as time went on, joy literally leeched from their life-force. They would little be able to resist the creatures cruel contraption. The attractive antediluvian monster bade its time, waiting, that it might sample, might smoke and partake of their bodily delights once more, as it had with so many vulgar guests before.

  22 – Dig Dig Dig

  I need it out. It has to go. I can't live like this anymore. It needs to be gone, now and forevermore. I cannot be alone nor can I be with others. My very thoughts are a danger, at least that's what they say.

  I want to kill. I want to maim. I want torture; I want fame.

  There's nothing quite like the destruction of innocence. My fun hobby and my most favored friend. I long to watch souls shatter by my will alone. I long for it now, just as I longed for it then. I long for that pained cry, the cracking of bone, the youthful, bright, red drops of blood! Oh, how I need it. How I lust! I crave to curate their curiosity. I want to see their stupid writhing, when through their skin I slice. I want to feel the sheer wrongness of my most righteous acts once more. But I can't. I have to dig deep within myself to stop, that's what they said, so that's what I'll do. I can bear this cell no more.

  The sharp steel edge caressing my temple is cold. At least this is happening on my terms, not those of yet another quack. I can't even bear the very thought of more medics interfering with me. The cut is painless, I sharpened the blade well; you can still see where I stropped it on the well polished concrete floor. I guess the lack of pain is no surprise, not after five Percs anyway. Even though I write this painlessly, I can still feel hot liquid stream down my face. It splatters below me, on the floor, an abstract expressionist mess, it drips & drops. Good. I feel dizzy, but this will fix me. I don't want it, but I need it, so I must. My teeth grind like millstones against my will, exemplars of my disheartened disposition, as I peel back the flap of skin on my temple. I feel the tugging of skin trying to grip the bone beneath, trying not to leave, it's quite disconcerting. At least I'll be better, not that I'm not good, oh I am, I am perfect, but then I will be like the others. They tell me if I am they'll let me go, they'll even let me take my kids to a show.

  In front of me, I've laid out misshapen makeshift chisels and small hammers. This is the part I dread the most. This is the part wh
ich makes me write this letter, made just for you, for your delight, it is here in case something goes amiss, in case my head dares, in case it resists. I wish my bones popped gladly like other people's, instead, they just snap like stale bread.

  The man relinquished his pen and cast his gaze upon his chisels and hammers. He grabbed a punch and placed its sharp tip against his temple. He began tapping it with his small plastic hammer. Tap. Tap. Tap. With each tap he hit harder, his skull was one tough motherfucker.

  I write this not but think it still. I feel each tap reverberate through my head. I feel the vibrations rattle my grill, I feel my eyes swim in their sockets. I have to hit harder.

  TAP. TAP. TAP.

  TAP. TAP. TAP.

  TAP. TAP. TAP.

  CRACK.

  Thank goodness, I'm through. No more of this wretched life. I cannot help but sway a little. Though I have not lost life, dizziness pervades me still. The hot stream on my face trickles faster now, I feel the bottom, there where a brown crust had briefly formed, now new fluid flows, refilling dried red riverbed. The custodian won't be happy, but fuck him he's a cunt. I pry the bones off my temple with the sharp corner of a chisel. I can feel a chill pass between my ears. My brain finally sees the light, after so long so lonely, just hidden away in the dark, finally, it gets out to play. I can feel it now; my finger's going in.

  The folds are soft, they're moist, they're warm. There it is. Now I know where it must go. The cold air makes my finger feel as though I've just pulled it from a glass of water, and yet the gelatinous brain goo dares not evaporate off it, instead it oozes onto the concrete table and the floor. My practice is paying off. My procedures on others were mere perfected preparations for this final crucial operation. Now it is time, time for the chisel, now it is time for the fix. It's cold. Colder than my finger. I can feel the steel traverse each fold, each micrometer of my monstrous thinking machine.