By Fleur De'La fay
She stands a silhouette under the canopy of leafy green trees, tears stain her face and the stark white fabric of her wrap top and the swirling white of her skirt soiled with mud and moss. Bits of bark grasp her elaborately strung up dark hair. She runs blindly, stepping in and out of the honey dappled sun rays that reach down to stroke the forest floor. The ornate jewelry still hanging off her slim frame. She throws her self to the brambles and thorns that threaten to tear her silken skin the shreds. Eyes welling with tears she howls her lamentation to the trees. Desperate to get away from the truth. But away was closer than she thought. With the intent to weep with her friend willow Aphrodite wills the energy into her body, drags herself up. With a soft swishing noise the beautiful golden arrow, one of 12 made by Hephaestus him self, screams toward her pale slender neck. Dazzling and shining in dieing rays of sun it hits its mark and sends the young goddess reeling back. Her arms pin wheeling desperately she stumbles and is pinned to the ebony white tree. The blood pools slowly and crimson droplets slip down her collar and spill onto her uniform.
"Give me your immortality to me!" Medusa screams as she approaches the tree where she’s pinned the Aphrodite with the golden arrow. The girl smiles sickly, sweet and raise’s her fingers to tear the bloody arrow out of her neck. Slowly she licks the blood off its gleaming shaft.
"I think it’s been 12 times that you've shot me with this arrow now." The girl murmurs, the scarlet fluid clinging to her lips. Blossoming like wild roses the blood leaks from her neck.
“You will never be beautiful again, nor will you ever be with your sisters! Whatever master you serve I spit on, but I can’t say I don’t welcome the escape, the innocence of childhood I will embrace with open arms.” She rasps.
Medusa watches silently, disappointed.
“I could have set you in the sky to blaze forever. Where your brilliance would shine forever, no such immortality would snuff you then, but instead you choose to live this lie, this fallacy that you are loved. You’re fading Aphrodite, soon your name will be nothing not even a foreign word in a dusty text book.”
“Your wrong” Aphrodite hisses.
“No, no I’m not.” Medusa angry and dejected screams.
A whip creaks and Medusa screams.
“No, no master, I meant not to kill her!”
“You wasted an opportunity to manipulate the girl!” The raspy sandpaper voice crackles and groans like old rusty hinges.
“You will not disobey me again….”
Wednesday, June 6, 2007
Friday, June 1, 2007
No emotion is safe
No emotion is safe
A short story by Fleur De'La Fay
I wasn't sure at first but I often doubt myself. Its how I am, how I was trained. But I was right, I'm always right I should have know. There standing on the street corner opposite me, H.. I mean the thing no longer him nor her just a dirty animal. A blemish on the face of our society. A unclean stained... feeling, thing. The fool, did it really think I wouldn't find it? Well peek a boo baby I see you. I unholster the gun. Nobody around me even flinches. They know, they know I must eliminate the hazardous wast that will cloud their minds with thoughts and emotions. Take away their perfect life. So they don't even stop. Not even it. I think it may not have seen the gun yet, but i see it so that's all that matters. It may have been the hesitation in its step or the look in its eyes. Whatever its mine. But pulling a trigger will get me no were on the slippery ladder of promotion. So I'll use it. The vile thing will be a new project. I call it in and my crafty plan is approved. That's what I'm trained for. And so it begins, project civil civilian.
Marella
I turn the corner. The standard black brief case clutched tightly in my sweaty palms. As the after work crowd rushes home anxious to be home before curfew I dawdle. I'm not so anxious to be home. But I can't let the unfeeling mask slip. I can't let it give me away, I can't let it give my life away. I sprint home, the dreary, dull sky and the lackadaisical buildings pushing in towering over me threatening to swallow me whole. I make it home. If you can call it home. A white picket fence and cookie cutter home. Technicolor and overly sweet. Sickening sweet. The bitter taste of bile floods my mouth stinging and choking me but I force it back. Not today, go watch TV or put on some patriotic muzak, anything to discourage the feeling pressing in from every side. I sink, silently, slowly into my EZ chair, to a wait the bells.
Tanner
My feet burning up the pavement fly me home. Just like the golden sandals of Hermes my standard back work shoes sprout wings and speed me home. Just before my gate I slow, remembering the cat-dog thing that glares at me with cold unfeeling eyes. My heart beat speeds and a chill runs down my spine. But I'm a shoe in for a promotion with this new project so I ignore the cat-dog beast. I'm tempted to jeer, inform it that's its neither a cat or dog. But I leave it watching me watch it watching me. I swing open the gate on my white picket fence, so pristine and so clean.
Marrella
Something calls me out of my chair. Something inside pulls me up the stairs, threw the living room and into the kitchen. I stand vigil there beside my window. Mourning the day, mourning the suns fading rays. And if I don't move soon some one will be mourning me. But I can't. Some one has come and riveted my feet in place. They've locked my eyes and my soul onto the sun. The grass. The sky. I yearn to go lay in the emerald Grass dappled with honeyed light, soak up some of those preaches golden rays. I know its after curfew but still. I long to watch as the sun paints the dead sky vibrant co0lours even if it will all wash way into black. A black that cuts into you like a knife and chills you to the bone.
Tanner
Later as I am finishing yet another super pf lumpy mash potatoes and cold eggs. I glance around. My home is clean. Everything tidy. I guess its rather a funny thing to do look over your shoulder in your own home but I still feel watched. Automatically I roam restlessly around my house. Its my way to burn my extra evening energy. I'd like to go out and stretch my legs but curfews in place. Passing my office room I feel the urge to sit at my desk. Pulling out a clean parchment I touch my pen to the white surface. Swiftly, silently I spread ink all over the page. It stains the surface and taints the pure white sheet. Words cramped and small leap out of my pen. Riding the wild river my pen becomes as Sharpe as a knife. The blue ocean of ink infecting the page like a deadly virus until no more word will come. The well is dried up and dead. I'm dead or I will be. The emotion the feeling pouring out of me is strange and awkward. A new found friend. But I have to take its life before it takes mine.
"Sorry dear friend" I say to my lovely words as the dancing flames consume them.
"But please you will visit again right?"
A short story by Fleur De'La Fay
I wasn't sure at first but I often doubt myself. Its how I am, how I was trained. But I was right, I'm always right I should have know. There standing on the street corner opposite me, H.. I mean the thing no longer him nor her just a dirty animal. A blemish on the face of our society. A unclean stained... feeling, thing. The fool, did it really think I wouldn't find it? Well peek a boo baby I see you. I unholster the gun. Nobody around me even flinches. They know, they know I must eliminate the hazardous wast that will cloud their minds with thoughts and emotions. Take away their perfect life. So they don't even stop. Not even it. I think it may not have seen the gun yet, but i see it so that's all that matters. It may have been the hesitation in its step or the look in its eyes. Whatever its mine. But pulling a trigger will get me no were on the slippery ladder of promotion. So I'll use it. The vile thing will be a new project. I call it in and my crafty plan is approved. That's what I'm trained for. And so it begins, project civil civilian.
Marella
I turn the corner. The standard black brief case clutched tightly in my sweaty palms. As the after work crowd rushes home anxious to be home before curfew I dawdle. I'm not so anxious to be home. But I can't let the unfeeling mask slip. I can't let it give me away, I can't let it give my life away. I sprint home, the dreary, dull sky and the lackadaisical buildings pushing in towering over me threatening to swallow me whole. I make it home. If you can call it home. A white picket fence and cookie cutter home. Technicolor and overly sweet. Sickening sweet. The bitter taste of bile floods my mouth stinging and choking me but I force it back. Not today, go watch TV or put on some patriotic muzak, anything to discourage the feeling pressing in from every side. I sink, silently, slowly into my EZ chair, to a wait the bells.
Tanner
My feet burning up the pavement fly me home. Just like the golden sandals of Hermes my standard back work shoes sprout wings and speed me home. Just before my gate I slow, remembering the cat-dog thing that glares at me with cold unfeeling eyes. My heart beat speeds and a chill runs down my spine. But I'm a shoe in for a promotion with this new project so I ignore the cat-dog beast. I'm tempted to jeer, inform it that's its neither a cat or dog. But I leave it watching me watch it watching me. I swing open the gate on my white picket fence, so pristine and so clean.
Marrella
Something calls me out of my chair. Something inside pulls me up the stairs, threw the living room and into the kitchen. I stand vigil there beside my window. Mourning the day, mourning the suns fading rays. And if I don't move soon some one will be mourning me. But I can't. Some one has come and riveted my feet in place. They've locked my eyes and my soul onto the sun. The grass. The sky. I yearn to go lay in the emerald Grass dappled with honeyed light, soak up some of those preaches golden rays. I know its after curfew but still. I long to watch as the sun paints the dead sky vibrant co0lours even if it will all wash way into black. A black that cuts into you like a knife and chills you to the bone.
Tanner
Later as I am finishing yet another super pf lumpy mash potatoes and cold eggs. I glance around. My home is clean. Everything tidy. I guess its rather a funny thing to do look over your shoulder in your own home but I still feel watched. Automatically I roam restlessly around my house. Its my way to burn my extra evening energy. I'd like to go out and stretch my legs but curfews in place. Passing my office room I feel the urge to sit at my desk. Pulling out a clean parchment I touch my pen to the white surface. Swiftly, silently I spread ink all over the page. It stains the surface and taints the pure white sheet. Words cramped and small leap out of my pen. Riding the wild river my pen becomes as Sharpe as a knife. The blue ocean of ink infecting the page like a deadly virus until no more word will come. The well is dried up and dead. I'm dead or I will be. The emotion the feeling pouring out of me is strange and awkward. A new found friend. But I have to take its life before it takes mine.
"Sorry dear friend" I say to my lovely words as the dancing flames consume them.
"But please you will visit again right?"
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