There has been a lot of talk going on in society and in my more religious family circle about how, "Evil" is taking over and morality has become more diluted than a $20 beer at a county fair. I must admit, I don't really understand the worry. Oh, there is no doubt that there is a lot of bad shit going down. With humanity at the helm, there's always bad shit going down. Granted, at times it seems worse than others. However, I am a bit skeptical that all of humanity is on the precipice of adopting a level of malice and evil that would laugh at starving puppies and make everyone become Green Bay Packers or Dallas Cowboys fans. Why? Evil is never sustainable. By its very nature, it undermines its own victories and eventually devours itself. Come frolic with me as we look at how evil will not ever be able to achieve a status of the norm.

Thinking about my more religious family members, let's talk about the devil. According to most Christian dogma the devil is responsible for all the evil we mortals do. IF the devil exists, I have a feeling that he's been demoted from his position as lord of all that's evil. Why? Because humanity kicked off the training wheels of entry level malice old Lucifer was teaching us on a long time ago and graduated to riding the fucking 2122 cc Harley Davidson hog of evil doing (without helmet of course). Ironically, old Satan signed his own pink slip the moment he taught certain humans that they could control large groups of people and easily manipulate them into doing horrific things. When the fires of the first ignorant fueled genocide were sparked, the student became the master. My guess is that Satan is probably pushing a broom at the bottom of the Stairway to Heaven to make ends meet now. So, let's take Lucifer and the supernatural out of the equation.

Okay, so we know that humanity is more than capable of perpetrating horrific evil on its own. In fact, such evil doers typically enjoy early, but unsustainable success. Hitler's methods were successful in convincing a lot of German citizens to take a vacation from basic human decency and morality. From there, the Nazis were able to win control of most of mainland Europe with minimal resistance. Of course, the French followed their original, military manual titled, "How to Engage in War with Germany" and surrendered pretty fast. Sadly, I don't think the French ever learned because to this day if you want to close a French restaurant in less than a week all you have to do is open a German bakery across the street. The French restaurant will quickly close down to be replaced by a Jamba Juice. Now, here is where evil falters. When the Luftwaffe started to bomb Great Britain by the numbers, they should've won quickly. Britain's supply chain was virtually cut off and the little island nation didn't get a lot of help from allies (GEE THANKS FRANCE). Still, Britain held its own where it was at a HUGE statistical disadvantage. Nazi Germany never won control of Great Britain although the numbers said they should have. Is this isolated? No, look at the current Ukraine against Russia situation. By rights Ukraine should have fallen to Putin and his army a long time ago, but they haven't. In fact, Russia's more than a little desperate at this point. Is this coincidence? No. The evil of both Nazi Germany and Putin's Russia has burned itself out. One can be assured that the evil foundation will continue to crumble as evil men begin to plot against their own trying to steal whatever scraps of power may be left over.

More examples? Okay. How about Harriet Tubman, the most famous conductor of the Underground Railroad in the Civil War era? The number of slaves she rescued is up for debate, but it is certain that she delivered no fewer than seventy slaves to freedom without losing a single one. Now, let's be clear here. Ms. Harriet had abolitionist supporters, but she did what she did mostly alone and almost entirely in enemy territory. Keep in mind, that unlike the resistance fighters that fought against the Nazi regime throughout Europe in the second world war, Harriet couldn't just blend in. There was virtually no way to hide in plain sight. In a white South, a lone African American woman on the road would be seen as BEYOND suspicious. Still, with all the odds all against her, Harriet was successful and A REAL BAD ASS. As far as I'm concerned she makes Rambo, The Terminator, and every other movie hero look like, well the French military leadership right before Nazi Germany decided to embarrass them AGAIN.

One could also point out the Colonists during the Revolutionary War, the women of the Suffrage Movement, the US hockey team during the Miracle on Ice in the 1980 Winter Olympics, the Road Runner versus Wile E Coyote, Bugs Bunny versus Yosemite Sam, the Detroit Lions beating the Green Bay Packers twice in 2022 to take them out of the playoffs, and countless other victories where evil found itself losing where it should have won easily.

In short, humanity has a history of engaging in one night stands with evil, but eventually the beer goggles wear off and good prevails. Of course, good, being good, will still call evil an Uber so it can get home.

My favorite mythical creature is the responsible 'adult'. I first heard about this amazing creature when I was a small child. Everyone spoke of the powers adults held. They could chew gum whenever and where ever they pleased, could drink soda with anything, could drive, make decisions for others... adults had super powers and were able to access anything they wanted and had answers.

As a kid I learned adults could make humans. I learned they could decide what happens to humans, they made and enforced laws, and no one told them what to wear.

As a teenager, I realized that my childhood ideas of the adult were, actually, quiet skewed. I had to relook at the decision to think if they still existed... I was having my own job now that magically gave ME money. I was able to buy my own gum, I found out I did not even like soda, I not only learned how to drive but I could do so and people who WERE a form of adults would ask ME to drive them places! Still.... these 'adults' did not have to raise their hands to go to the bathroom Monday through Friday, they did not get detention for not using crayons on dittos, and still had ruling authority over others.

I always loved the idea of adults because when I was small I learned they for the most part loved kids, did cool things, had neat things, owned animals, and said amazing and smart things. I wanted one of my own to know... or I wanted to learn to become one because that is what everyone said could happen, that I would be able to grow up and become a responsible adult.

I didn’t know my Grandma was an adult... she was a gram. She also didn’t have everything she wanted and she never had any desire to drive a vehicle. She also, to be fair would flip her dentures out at children in the market to watch their facial expressions and she laughed at anything to do with farts... even I was not that childlike. My dad was not an adult because he was a criminal, adults were never criminals. My mom, not much older than me was not an adult because I was taught that adults never lied. My mom was a liar. So maybe a responsible adult was a real adult.

Finally- I exchanged 'adolescence' by being handed a piece of paper called a diploma coupled with turning 18 with being a 'young adult'; and told when I was 21 I was FINALLY going to morph into this mythical creature I have been searching for my whole life! However, before I was old enough to go to war, but not drink or purchase a few certain things or go a few certain places in my own country- I made humans. When I looked at the first human I made, I realized perhaps a real adult did not fully form if they did not follow proper timelines of leveling up??? I waited it out and continued to look for the adult that for half my life, my entire prospective identity was based upon being measured against.

Eventually I turned 21. I had made humans. I was able to do all the things I was told were reserved for adults... but there was no excitement in it- basically I already had owned my own dogs for years and there was nothing outside of the new humans I found more exhilarating and empowered by having as part of 'my capacity' to do.

When I was 25 I clearly remember realizing that adults were not a real thing- they were a mythical creature designed to be either something promised, something pretended, or something established as an ideal- but did not exist. Society was showing me the whole time that this was true, I just kept seeking this thing I wanted to know or be like until I was so busy not being the thing I was enamored with finding my whole life I forgot about them.

Seeing this writing prompt was such perfect timing, I must say- because recently my curiosity and admiration of the allure of the ever illusive 'adult' reemerged. I realized what the adult really was and it really WAS all of the things I was told about my whole life- the adult was free, and could do whatever they wanted, when they wanted. The adult participates in commerce of the world around them with ease having earned it with just the title, the adult can consume anything they want- and they DON'T have to be responsible if they chose not to; being part of the freedom. They could be criminals, and they could laugh at farts- I was wrong about what the adult really was all about because I was told the wrong things.

Having said that, dear reader, should you still be here with me... slip around this fourth wall a second, if you please.

You see, a few years ago when I was actually writing a piece here on 'The Prose', most likely at that time 3 gummies in, I wrote a store about Bob Vila.

While I was writing that for my own (honestly our The Prose community entertainment) it occurred to me- adults really are things of fiction. THEY ARE FICTIONAL CHARACTERS that WE ... ME and YOU and all the other writers create. WE create adults in our writing. Sure, we flaw them- purposely so as to make them more like US, humans. I was so interested in adults because my whole life, since I was able to read because like you, I was reading their lives... we all have been about 'adults' but have you ever really met one? I haven’t and I have been working with and around humans a long time.

Sherlock Holmes, Atticus Finch, Jay Gatsby ... adults! and for the people who told us- no matter what generation you are from, they were all introduced to what an 'adult' was by Charlotte Bronte, Jane Austen, Leo Tolstoy, Alexandre Dumas, C.S Lewis and their generation's ideas of adults going back to a time when Murasaki Shikibu wrote The Tale of Genji. Before that, older humans learned of adults through (and still today) from the likes of poetry by Homer and Shakespeare. Should you know who some, any, or none of those named above they are all the humans that shaped the definition of 'adult' being something more than a 'human who is done growing'.

We were only acting as adults when we were reading about them, as we lived their 'lives' and experiances with them. I believe that is why we also love so deeply the non-adults of The Outsiders and Hogwarts. I'd near guarantee almost all of us spent those 'two days' in the life of Holden Caulfield after he was expelled and then himself became aware of the 'adults' being mythical.

Perhaps adults at one time did exist in our history- but perhaps if they did, so then did dragons; we know giants existed, or at least what humans perceived as such by naming them so. And with having said that, even though I ebbed and flowed on it, and even though I looooooooove dragons.... my whole life my favorite mythical creature in the entire human world, has been the 'adult'.

btw: the banner pic, I asked AI to make Bob Belcher a human in a field of tulips.

I'm 45, sometimes I still wish I could be an adult.

love you guys

Kudzu is a problem.

It's everywhere. The only respite from the stuff is the wintertime, when the emerald leaves wither and the vines fade into a dark topaz landscape. Originally brought into the new world by settlers looking to prevent erosion, it is now as ubiquitous as it is annoying.

Get deep enough into the mountains, though, and the kudzu fades away. Eventually, it will reach up from the edges of town and claim its place in the old Appalachia that thrives just out of street lights' glow.

The creeping sprawl of a few towns in the last several decades has brought with it modern conveniences such as cable television, running water, and reliable electricity. Trailing along, though, is that goddamned kudzu.

My city has spread a little each year, until it finally swallowed up a mountain that used to be deep woods. Paved roads and subdivisions soon claimed what once was wilderness; poor mountainfolk got bought out for small fortunes that let them relocate closer to the National Forest, or, in some cases, inside it. Others took the money and ran, reinventing themselves down in Atlanta or Athens or Macon.

On this particular mountain, though, there is a lone holdout. An old, weathered clapboard house stands sentinel against the changes of time and modernization. An outhouse is still in use, and all the water is hand pumped from a deep well that's existed since the civil war. The surrounding six acres are thickly wooded but bordered by a six-foot privacy fence. It was installed by the developers after the lady who lived there asked nicely. Rumor has it, it was installed about a month after she asked nicely and was ignored; after the lead developer's wife came down with a mysterious fever and boils, somebody local did the math and didn't make the lady in the woods ask twice. After the fence was built, that guy's wife was nearly instantly fine with only minimal scarring from the boils.

Kudzu covers the outside of that fence, but doesn't climb over it. It stops, seemingly in uniform, an inch from the top.

Not a vine of the stuff grows within those six acres.

There's a single opening in the fence that allows a rutted dirt road to snake in through old oaks and walnut trees up to the front door of the cabin. It was on that winding drive that I found myself driving one Saturday. I was desperate. I hadn't grown up in those mountains, but I'd moved into them about ten years prior. I'd been around town long enough to hear rumors and see firsthand the weirdness of the kudzu. Hell, my oldest kid on a dare his sophomore year in high school, livestreamed on his Facegram running up, grabbing the fence, and lifting himself up to peer over into the woods beyond. He doesn't know I was watching, and the people watching didn't know he peed himself. His mom told me when she did his laundry. Teens in the Halloween season get up to some dumb shit sometimes, and messing with that lady who lives in the woods counts as seriously dumb stuff.

So what was I doing driving right up to her doorstep?

I needed help. The job I'd had for twenty years had given me a severance package and my last day was coming up. I was too old to start over and too young to retire. I figured, fuck it, why not try some old southern hoodoo?

She wasn't at all what I expected. I guess too many Disney movies and Hollywood productions had steeled me to expect some bent old crag with giant warts and a hunchback.

She was gorgeous. I mean, really. Determining her age was impossible. She could have been 40, she could have been seventy. She was a white lady, but a dark complexion. Like maybe somewhere in the line there were Cherokees, which wouldn't be surprising given the area. Long, straight hair with a few streaks of white. The brightest, sharpest, iciest blue eyes I've ever seen. She greeted me with a smile on her front doorstep, and invited me to sit in an old rocking chair her grandfather made by hand. She didn't even ask me why I was there until we'd chatted for twenty minutes and shared a cup of coffee brewed on a wooden cookstove.

"I heard you help people," I said, not really knowing how to begin when she finally looked at me questioningly after discussions of town and the weather wrapped into an almost comfortable silence.

"Sometimes, sugar," she said in her thick Appalachian accent that added "r" to "wash" and pronounced "creek" as "crick."

I explained my problems in a rush, vomiting words as fast as I could and feeling foolish for sitting in this heavily forested piece of land out of time.

"I can help you, baby, don't you worry none," she smiled, and her teeth were surprisingly bright and white. I guess I expected dark, jagged yellow crags.

I think I did expect them to be sharp, though, and I wasn't surprised when they were.

She continued. "There is always a price. Mine is easy. One day, I'll need a favor, and you'll do it."

I went for levity. "I've seen this movie before. You'll want my firstborn, or something, right?" I laughed, but it was a hollow sound that she met with silence.

"No, Mike. I know you already have Amber and Jimmy. Jimmy has quite a following on the social media, and he's so good at baseball! I know you and Lucy must be proud, y'all done a real good job with them kids."

My blood turned cold and she just grinned wider. I have no idea how she knew the names of my family.

After a pause where she held her grin, she spoke again. "No, sweetie, this aint like the movies or them fairy tales. Well, I reckon it is more like a fairy tale. The real ones. With fairies, not dancin mice or beauties sleepin in the woods. Naw, this here is older than that mess y'all grew up on. I'll do a thing for ya, and come a time, you'll do a thing for me."

I agreed, and we shook on it. When I pulled my hand away, I noticed a little well of blood on the meaty part of my hand, like when somebody checks their sugar. I never even felt whatever stuck me, but I damned sure noticed when she licked her hand clean.

She just gave me another wolf smile and my blood went a little cold. I made excuses and went home.

Two days later, the company offered to rescind the layoff and slide me into a promotional position over in another division. I didn't know until I'd settled into the new gig that the last guy died in an armed robbery later the same day I'd visited the old woman.

I told myself for years it was just coincidence.

I never visited the lady's house again.

I tried not to think about her, and that teeny tiny wound that left a scar on the palm of my hand.

It was hard to ignore that little spot, just a freckle, really, when it began to itch like mad when I opened a plain brown box that was addressed to me. It wasn't delivered by the post office, but was dropped on my front porch by a guy who moved too quickly for the Ring camera to make out his details.

Inside were two things that made my heart stop. One was a shiny stainless steel revolver, a little snub nose. It was loaded. The other was a note with a name and address circled. Scrawled in a handwriting older than electric typewriters were the words "Payment due by" and a date two weeks into the future.

I've seen the man whose name is on that paper. I've driven by the address several times. Tomorrow is the date on the note. The itching on my palm has gotten so bad that I've hardly slept the last two nights. I'm about to kill the headlights and coast into that man's driveway.

It looks like somewhere, somebody else is about to get a promotion at work. When I'm done, I'll throw the gun into a patch of kudzu way out near Sylva.

Kudzu is a problem, but I trust it to keep my secrets.

(~7000 words, Fantasy) - Bio at the end

Living the life of an adventurer had been good for him. The pumping of adrenaline, the thrill of victory and the ecstasy offered by the places all over the world enticed him. As he lay there staring at her eyes, he saw his death. Yet in her eyes, he also saw love. He had heard people say that when you are about to die, your whole life flashes in front of your eyes. That was not true. He saw only her. She was his one true love and his last vision on earth.

He walked into the pub with his hood covering his head. He was a tall man with a broad frame but it was his crossbow and sword that attracted quite a few eyes. He looked at the barman and raised two fingers. The man nodded. He knew who was under the hood. He smiled knowing that the man under the hood was a generous tipper. The adventurer lowered his hood as his blond mane fell forward gracefully to cover his eyes. Immediately, a lot of the womenfolk turned to stare at him. He simply smiled. The stares did not bother him. He was used to awes and the stares and had had his fair share of women. Several men stared at him with contempt. The man looked untidy and weary but he had a charm that diverted the attention of the women they wanted to impress.

He sipped his drink slowly enjoying every drop touching his tongue. He loved the whisky served at that pub. He closed his eyes and enjoyed feeling the drink all over his mouth. After the warmness was lost, he swallowed. As he did that, he slowly pushed the other mug to the young brunette who walked forward to talk to him. She had been the first woman to pick up the courage to walk up to him. Taking the mug, she stared speechlessly at his perfect face slowly reaching forward to touch him. She leaned closer to him and ran her fingers over his beard. As he offered no resistance, she began to feel his sculpted body within his coat. After a sip of the drink, she loosened up and settled herself on his lap and moved her lips close to his cheek. He paid no attention to her as she planted a wet kiss on his cheek. He had a second drink which he finished much faster. Gently brushing aside the woman who was now nibbling his ear, he pushed a gold coin at the barman and muttered, ‘Keep the change’

Women at bars were not his type. Even if they were, he had no time for them now. This was a boost for his ego. He was comforted by knowing that he was still attractive and he had given the woman a free drink to make him feel that way. He had to meet his employer and mentor, to present him with the prize of his latest adventure. He moved majestically towards the door, pulling his hood back on. People stared at him in silence. He walked to his horse. He stroked its mane gently. This was not the horse that he rode on usually. He looked at the object that he kept in his pocket.

It was the prize of his latest adventure. He looked at it as the memory of the entire journey came into his mind. He had waded through an ocean, crossed a dangerous desert and reached an oasis halfway across the world for that prize. He had lost his beloved horse, Snowmane in the pursuit of the object. He was closer to Snowmane than he was to most humans. A twelve-year bond had ended and he was still getting used to riding a different horse. The adventurer had raided the tomb of King Cryseus of the Outland to find the healing crystal that he held in his hand. It was now time to deliver the treasure.

He walked with his steed towards his employer’s place. He was known to all in this place. Within moments, he had passed the sentries of the palace and was in front of King Arden. He did not kneel but bent down to look at the floor intending to bow. The solitary room, the king’s private chamber, had the familiar smell of incense and flowers. It was something that had never changed in all the years that the adventurer had known King Arden. A lot of work went into creating such a setup. The king had a dedicated area in his garden where he grew a special flower. It was harvested daily and boiled in a chamber within the palace. The vapour passed through a system of pipes where the vapours were mixed with incense which was burned throughout the day. The vapour combined with the smoke and passed through a filter which kept the particles away. The fragrance was calming and was diverted to several areas of the palace by the same system of tubes. A fortune was spent in maintaining this setup but the King was fond of it. A King could have whatever he wanted.

‘You are early’, said the king looking surprised to see the adventurer.

The adventurer nodded, now looking the king in the eye. He quickly caught a glimpse of the north-east corner of the room. His sharply trained senses would not miss anything. The king’s only son lay huddled on a bench. His face was void of any colour. It was gaunt and the man was shivering. The last time the adventurer remembered seeing him, the prince was about to set on a journey to establish trade with the nearby island of Oryza. It was the prince’s first mission so there was a lot of attention to the departure. King Arden had ensured that it was a grand celebration. It was the same day that the adventurer had set out to find the healing crystal. Unlike the prince, his departure was quiet. He preferred it that way.

The prince looked quite the opposite of what he was now. He looked confident and could not stop smiling on that day. He walked with pride and arrogance. Now, the adventurer could see the shadow of the man who was destined to rule the land. The prince now lay curled in fright.

‘Have you?’, began the king.

‘Yes’ , said the adventurer presenting the crystal to the king.

The king gasped in relief and rushed from the throne towards the adventurer. He snatched the amber crystal from the adventurer and looked at it fondly. The crystal was a few inches away from the adventurer’s eyes. It was yellow in colour but the material was semi-transparent. Within the amber crystal, he could see several tiny gold spots. For a moment, King Arden looked at the crystal like it was his new-born. After a very long silence he spoke, ’Stay in the palace for a while young man. We shall meet a little while later. As for your reward......’. Kind Arden looked around for attendants but nobody was nearby. He walked towards the door but the adventurer shook his head. King Arden was like a father to him. He had been living on the streets when the King came across him. The adventurer had saved the Queen from an accident in the marketplace. The King had taken him in and treated him well. He was never treated like a son but he was loved. The adventurer was grateful. He never sought anything from the King. King Arden was not perfect but the adventurer continued to serve him loyally. He had no trouble finding gold and Arden was generous. ‘What happened to the prince, my King?’, asked the adventurer.

‘That can wait till the evening’, said the king raising his hand to dismiss the adventurer. Over the years, the adventurer realised that he had mistaken the king’s gratitude for love. Over the years, the King used the adventurer to gain more treasure but the adventurer did not mind. He could not forget that the king took him in that he had nothing. Despite not seeing eye-to-eye with the king on many things, he continued to be loyal to him. He always had a place to stay in the palace.

He was escorted to the guest tower in the palace. A warm bath had been made for him with fragrant oils and bath salts. He bathed himself and found a delicious feast awaiting him. After eating sumptuously he was made to rest with soothing music. He slept like he hadn’t in days. He had dreams that made him smile in his sleep. He was sleeping in a soft bed after more than two months.

As he relaxed, his weapons were taken to be polished and sharpened. He slept the entire day and when he woke up, he realised that it was almost evening. The sun began to set as he slowly opened his eyes. A palace maid stood beside him. In her hand she held a platter with ale and snacks. In her eyes, she feasted herself on the adventurer as he stretched and yawned. Taking notice of her, he accepted the platter and showed her out of his chamber. When he had enough refreshments, he dressed up to meet the king.

It was a long time since he last walked without weapons. He felt exposed and vulnerable. He walked briskly towards the king’s chamber. He was allowed into the chamber by the sentry who closed behind him.

The king had brought a table to the centre of the room. The prince lay on the table covered with a blanket and his eyes cold. There were dark circles around his eyes and his skin was pale. There was pain in face as he twitched from time to time. The king had a goblet in his hand and nodded as the adventurer stepped into the room. He took a deep breath and stared at the prince.

‘When you last came to visit me, my son was leaving to establish trade with Oryza. It was a good journey. Oryza is not far from here. I had sent him on an easy mission to give him a taste of success. He exceeded my expectations. The mission was successful. My boy signed his first trade agreement. When I received the news, I was proud beyond anything in the world. To the north-west of Oryza lies Kraghon, the island of the Venom women’, said the king and choked. The adventurer tried to talk but the King raised his hand to stop him. Clearly, King Arden wanted to talk.

The adventurer had heard rumours about Kraghon but he waited for the king to continue.

‘The island was once a beautiful kingdom. My grandfather’s father had flourishing trade with the people of the island nation. It was ruled by the young Queen Electra, the prettiest woman the world has ever seen. She was so beautiful that she could tempt the Gods yet she was so just and humble. As she reached the age for marriage, many sought to marry her but she refused all proposals. Kings, warriors, merchants and holy men tried in vain to convince her to marry them. The entire island was blessed with beautiful women. You must have heard this mentioned in many poems in even faraway lands. Following their Queen, the young women of the island rejected marriage too. Their beauty was so enticing that most men could not comprehend this. The women were irresistible. Enraged and driven by lust, several men attacked the island to kidnap women. After protecting their women initially, the men who were natives of the island also joined the invaders. It was one of the most brutal invasions in history. What was done there was so bestial that all written records were erased to save people the shame of their descendants learning about this. Those poor women were hunted like animals for sport and ravaged. This continued until only the queen and a handful of her fraternity remained. She was valiant but she knew that she could not overpower the invaders. Seeking no alternative, the queen and her fraternity prayed to God to save them. God appeared in front of them and offered to drive the men away but the Queen wanted him to destroy every man on earth. God would not grant this request and told them that man and woman were parts of nature’s balance. God would not let the sins of a few affect all men in the world. The Queen even offered herself to convince God but she was denied. Cursing him, the Queen turned to the devil. The devil was cunning. She asked if the queen would like to destroy the men herself for what they had done. God implored them not to accept the devil’s offer but in vain. The Queen was filled with so much grief that she could not see reason. The devil offered them agelessness and multiplied their beauty so that they could seduce anyone. She gave them the power to confuse minds. It is rumoured that anyone who saw the Queen would instantly become her slave. Finally, she gave them poison in their lips. Their ultimate weapon came to be known as the kiss of death. God begged the queen to think one last time. But vengeance had clouded her soul. From then on, there was no turning back. The Queen watched from the top of her castle as her army of seductresses destroyed the army that attacked the land. Very soon, they paid the price for siding with the devil. They began to lose their minds and soon, they existed only to kill men’

The king took a deep breath and had a goblet of wine to drink. He did not offer the adventurer a glass. The adventurer looked on as the king calmed himself to continue. He had heard the story once before but he had not believed it. The king took a deep breath and continued.

‘Every man who stepped on the island met a brutal death. A hundred years passed beyond which people could not tolerate the plight of men. Kraghon is at the centre of many trade and travel routes. Any man who stopped there was killed. People from various parts attacked the island over the years and cut and burnt whomever they caught. This was very difficult as most men were seduced and turned against their comrades before they could attack. To seduce a man, all the Queen had to do was look him in the eye. Tens of men died for every woman that was killed. Very soon, only the queen remained. Combined with her natural beauty, she was even more powerful. After all, all she had to do to hypnotise a person was to look into their eyes. Fifteen years of trying to hunt and the men of the world decided to avoid the island. The island is the only place in the world that contains a special fruit called Red Berry. It is said to be sweeter than any fruit on the planet. In many kingdoms, the island has been the main topic of talk in bars. Men dare each other for a test of courage and skill to go into the island and return with a Red Berry. Not many have been fruitful. My child tried to do it so stupidly. He went in with a group of men to try and slay the queen’, said the Kind sadly. He stared blankly at the adventurer. This time, the wine did him no favour. He took a deep breath and lifted the blanket that covered the prince. His left leg was severed at the ankle and it looked nauseating.

‘What happened?’, asked the adventurer in shock.

‘He was tempted by people at a bar in Oryza to find the Red Berry. Foolishly, he accepted the challenge. He and his crew of fifteen others went into the island. There …’, the King broke off for a moment, unable to continue. He took a deep breath and finally spoke in a sombre tone. ’She turned his men against him. He fought bravely but it was fifteen men against my little boy. She came to him and mocked him. He fought as hard as he could but he had to run away to save himself. He was found on the shores by the remainder of the crew from the ship. My ancestors were one of the few people responsible for the first attack on the island. She recognised him for whom he was from his crest. She mocked him and left him as his men killed themselves.

The king stroked the prince’s hair and spoke, ‘I have understood this much from his muttering. I pray that nobody has to go through what my son went through. Hearing him was painful. I can only imagine his pain. I sent you to find this crystal for a different purpose but I now have use for it’, said the King gravely.

He brought a huge goblet to the table. From inside the goblet, he took the crystal. The usually amber crystal now had a bright yellowish glow, dripping with the liquid from the goblet. The king placed the crystal in a box and poured a little amount of the glowing yellow fluid in the goblet into a smaller vessel. He poured the liquid drop by drop on the severed foot. Each drop fizzed as it touched the wound. The prince groaned, too weak to scream from pain. Slowly skin started to grow back as the king made his son drink from the goblet. His body relaxed and his face calmed. He slowly fell asleep as the king stroked his hair.

‘I want you to kill her’, said the king abruptly.

‘What?’, croaked the adventurer in disbelief.

‘No more ruthless killing. No more lost lives. No more lost sons. No more. Take one life to save many’, said the king. The man looked at the adventurer. For the first time, his eyes sought obedience.

‘Your majesty’, began the adventurer nervously, ‘I am an adventurer. I am not an assassin. Besides, she did this only to save herself. I see no reason to kill the woman.’

‘No reason?’, asked the king in disbelief. ‘No reason?’, he asked again, except that this was an anguished cry. ‘Is this not enough?’ screamed the king furiously pointing at the prince. His foot was growing back slowly as the king spoke. ‘Fifteen people have lost their lives. You always tell me that you will do anything for me. You said that you owed me. Were those mere words?’, asked the king tearfully.

The adventurer looked the king in the eye. The man had lost his sanity on seeing his son’s plight. The life that the adventurer had was the one that the king had given him. Everything that he had was due to the grace of King Arden. He had enjoyed the favour of the king for quite a long while. The man had been the father that he never had. The adventurer had been uneasy about their relationship for quite a while. It was clear now. The King saw him as someone he could command, nothing more. He could not wait to see his love for the man fade away. He would do as he was commanded but he had to move on for the sake of their relationship.

The adventurer looked straight into the eyes of the king and spoke, ‘I have always looked at you as the father I never had. I will do this for you. I will do all that I can to stop her. I do not know if I will succeed but I will make an attempt. I do not know if I will succeed but I give you my word that I will make an attempt in which I will end her menace. I do not want to kill her but I will make an attempt because you asked me to. That is unfair by my conscience but I will either stop her or die at her hands. I shall leave in a while but I will never return to this kingdom.’

‘My boy!’, exclaimed the king in shock.

The adventurer raised his hand to silence him and spoke, ‘I shall leave tomorrow by dusk on foot. I will meet you in the morning. I have made up my mind. Wish me a good adventure, my King’. The adventurer bowed to the king and left for his chamber.

He refused to see anyone for the remainder of the day. He gathered his weapons and lay in his bed staring at the ceiling. He knew that he would never see the palace again regardless of the result of his adventure. When it was almost midnight, he went to the place that gave him the spirit of adventure as a kid. The dimly lit library offered pleasant warmth as he entered it. He looked for books on the destination he had to reach. He found a handful of books and began to read. It was almost dawn when he returned to his chamber to rest.

He was woken up sometime before noon by a chill breeze. He saw Arden sitting opposite him with a gaunt look. He seemed to have been there for a while. The king had never been to the adventurer’s chamber before.

‘Look here, my lad’, he began as the adventurer rubbed his eyes and wished the king. He held the adventurer’s hand and spoke, ‘Forgive me, my lad. Perhaps I was a bit emotional yesterday. I don’t want you to do this. I would never impose anything on you. I want you to stay here with me. Forgive this old man for asking you such a thing. Please stay with me.’

‘I really want to do this. It will be my best adventure. I want to see this woman who can seduce even the Gods. I want to visit this island. I have always seen you as my father. You had every right to ask me anything you wanted. You have but to name what you want from me, my king.’

Sensing finality in his tone, the king embraced the adventurer and said, ‘This palace will always be open to you’

He got ready to leave when the king thrust a glass vial into his palm. The adventurer looked at the king questioningly. The king spoke, ‘This is some of the potion made from the healing crystal. It will heal any wound. Take care of yourself, my dear lad.’

He bowed one last time to the king and set off on his journey. Three days later the adventurer was nearing the island of Kraghon. The ship he sailed in stopped a mile away from the island. He believed that a boat would be detected and refused to take one. He dived into the ocean and swam like a shark. He swam towards the shore to a point where the trees were dense. He reached the shore and stood awed at the scenery. The island was lush green and trees grew as they pleased, uninhibited by mankind. About a mile from the city stood the walls of the city. It was the fortress of Queen Electra. Plants had grown all over the wall and almost concealed the entire wall. The only visible structure was a tower from the palace on the farthest corner. It was probably the Queen’s tower that he had read about. It was the tower from which she watched her army prey on the invaders. He moved cautiously to avoid detection. In a matter of minutes, he had scaled the wall of the city. He was ready to shut his eyes at the slightest movement. He knew that as long as he did not look into her eyes, he would not fall under her spell.

A forest stood beyond the wall. The books in the library had no information about this. The walls of the castle enclosed a huge city that would have rivalled King Arden’s. There was a river running through it. The reflection of the blue sky on the clear water and the reflection of the trees on the banks offered it grandeur. The adventurer stood mesmerized on seeing the spectacle. This view alone was enough to incapacitate a man. He found a tree whose branches were well concealed and mounted it to rest for the night. The tree gave him a good view of the waterfall from which the river flowed. For seven days he waited with not even a glimpse of the queen. He set a camp cautiously over the One the eighth day, he was shaving his beard when he heard the fluttering of wings. He mounted the tree and took out his scope. Then he saw her. She truly was the prettiest woman in the world. She had stopped ageing at either her late teens or her early twenties. The birds and animals of the island were now her subjects. They moved

with her like escorts. The whole scene was spellbinding.

He watched her closely as she disrobed and stepped into the water. She stepped into the water gracefully. She smiled with childish delight as she waded the water and swam like a majestic swan. Her body was slim and her fingers were slender. The diamond rings on her finger glittered. She was used to being alone and she had no reason to expect threats. Her eyes shone brightly and made him realise why she could seduce people by just looking eye to eye. Her hair extended to her waist and was as black as the night. He knew then that he could never kill her. She looked so very beautiful and smiled an elegant smile that could be paralleled by none.

He wanted to go to her. He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to caress her. It was silly to try to kill this woman. She was to be worshipped and cherished. His arm felt heavy and he dropped his telescope. Only then did his senses come back to him. He realised that she knew that he was watching her. He had not been spying on her. She had carefully laid out a trap and he had now lost his cover. He was no longer a secret visitor to the island. He mounted the cliff that was nearby and did the only thing that could defend him from the queen. He stood there awaiting her. He did not want to attack.

After seeing her, he was not sure if he could.

He waited for hours but she did not come. He walked down the cliff cautiously at dawn the next day. He went back to the tree from which he had spied on her. He looked around for signs of any movement when a hand touched his shoulder. His heart began to beat so hard that he felt that his ribs would break. He wanted to do nothing but to turn and look at her face even if it meant instant death. He shut his eyes as tightly as he could as she turned him around.

‘I am not here to kill you’, said the adventurer.

‘I am not sure you can do that, love’, she said in a beautiful voice and a haughty tone.

‘Open your eyes and look at me’, she said.

He shut his eyes tightly and asked, ‘Why do you want to kill every man on this island?’

‘Why talk of all that?’, she asked. He could sense that she was walking around him. She placed her hands on his shoulder as she moved around. She was confident. She knew that she had caught him. This time, there was no haughtiness in her voice. She hissed, ‘Men deserve to die. You do too’.

He did the only thing that struck his mind. When he felt her move behind him, he ran. He ran as fast as his legs could carry him. From the corner of his eye he saw that she was beginning pursuit. He ascended the cliff with lightning pace. He stubbed his toe on a rock and stumbled forward. She was gaining on him. She gave a yelp of delight when the ground below her gave way. It happened so fast. The look of delight had not left her face as she began to fall. The hunter was now the hunted. The adventurer dived forward to catch her before she fell into the pit that he dug for her. He managed to catch her by the hand but realised that he was looking at her in the eye.

For a moment, he waited to lose his senses but nothing happened. Her eyes widened in shock. His eyes slowly moved downwards. Protruding from beneath her chest was a huge wooden spike. That was when the adventurer realised that he had become a murderer. ‘No!’, he screamed. Mustering all his strength he pulled her off the spike and put her on the ground. The woman panted heavily and he knew that her breathing would stop at any second when he realised a bulge in his pocket. He felt his pocket and took out the object. It was the vial containing the potion made from the healing crystal. Quick as a flash, he poured half of it on the wound and the remainder into her mouth. She looked at him in fear as he poured the potion into her mouth and winced for a second. She brought her hand upward and clutched his collar and then, her body became limp. Just before she passed out, she saw tears in the man’s eyes and then it all went black.

***

Seventeen days passed. The adventurer looked worn out and had not bothered to shave or sleep. Thanks to the potion, her breathing had not stopped. However, she had not opened her eyes. He laid her on the bed he made for her with grass and leaves. He had nursed her wounds and covered her body with a blanket. He was next to her, night and day. For every cough, every sniffle and every deep breath, he checked for any sign of consciousness. He waited for a long time and finally without being able to go on, he passed out from exhaustion.

When he woke up, she was sitting with the blanket covering her on the other corner of the tent he had made for her. He stared at her and she at him for what seemed to be hours. Finally he spoke, ‘I am sorry.........’

She raised her hand to stop him and spoke. It seemed as though she had not spoken in a long while. ‘My name is Electra’, she said.

‘I know’, he nodded. He was terrified that he was looking at her eyes but he did not turn away. He knew that it was pointless.

‘You remind me of men who used to live here, the good ones. They were the kind of men who did not see women as objects of lust. That was until my father was alive. After that, they changed. We drove them out and became what I am today. Men have wanted us for our bodies and have hunted us to satisfy their lust. But .... ’, she said and stopped to look at the wound inside the blanket. The wound had healed completely. She covered herself and spoke solemnly, ‘I thank you for saving my life. You were not obligated to but I am grateful’

‘I am sorry for the type of men whom you have seen but not all men are like that. You have killed many innocent people due to your thirst for vengeance’, said the adventurer.

She looked at him with surprise. The adventurer was nervous as he spoke but he was not nervous about speaking his mind. He was honest and that was refreshing. Reluctantly, the Queen and the adventure began a conversation. Very soon, they became comfortable.

They spoke from then on for hours. Neither of them had ever laughed so much in a long time. It was a new experience for both of them. Finally, she walked up to him and held up to his hand.

‘What are you doing?’, he asked, looking dazed.

‘I am the Queen of this land. You have saved my life. I owe a tour of my palace to my saviour at the least’, she said gratefully and kissed the man on his cheek. It was one of those moments when you know that it is right. The adventurer was surprised that she kissed him. She was so beautiful. He could not believe that she was the one who had killed so many people. He moved forward to her lips but she stopped him with a terrified look. He wondered if he had misunderstood her when she quickly kissed his other cheek. ‘My lips are poisoned, love. You will die the moment my lips touch yours. That is the price of my agelessness. I don’t want to kill you. I want to be with you’, she said as she embraced him.

‘You haven’t seduced me have you?’, asked the adventurer still looking dazed.

‘If I had, you’d be dead love’, she said calmly.

‘You truly are beautiful’, he said as she blushed crimson red turning even more pretty. She took him on foot towards her palace. The walled citadel consisted of four marble buildings, one of which was her private palace. It must once have been a properly planned city. There was a place for everything. Water from the river was diverted to reach the dwellings. There was also a system of drains that emptied into the river just outside the citadel. The adventurer was amazed by the architecture. Even King Arden’s kingdom did not have such planning. Just like the rest of the island, the palace too had plants grown all over it but somehow, that increased the beauty of the palace. They reached the highest tower and looked out the window as they embraced. The queen of Kraghon had found her mate.

Three days later, they lay on the bed as he held her palm and stroked her fingers. He kissed her fingers and spoke, ‘How are we going to do this, love? You are ageless and may live forever unless someone kills you and I am a mere mortal. How are we going to make this work?’

‘I will live as long as you do, love. We shall have many children each with my beauty and your heart and valour. When you die’, she said looking directly into his eye, ‘I will too’

They had not told the words ‘I love you’ to each other and the adventurer felt that they did not need to. Some things were better left unsaid. She placed her head on his chest and closed her eyes. He glanced downwards at her flawless face and stroked her hair as she smiled, enjoying his touch. He glanced downwards at her flawless face and stroked her body. He had found another person who loved him for who he was and she had found someone who loved her for something more than her looks. Life was perfect on the island that had no other people. Electra was the treasure the adventurer had been searching for his whole life. They fell asleep locked in embrace but were rudely woken up by the chirping of birds. The adventurer opened his eyes lazily as the queen rushed to the window pulling on a robe as she went. She returned with fury.

‘People’, she said splashing water from the bedside table onto her face. ‘People with weapons’, she said as the adventurer rushed to the window and looked at the shore with his telescope.

‘Wait here for a while. I will finish them in minutes’, she said moving towards the door.

‘Wait’, said the adventurer holding her hand and continued, ’The ship bears the crest of my homeland’. It was King Arden’s crest. ‘I will talk to them’, said the adventurer.

Convincing her that he could reason with the invaders, the adventurer dressed up and left to meet the people giving her his telescope. He ran towards the people. On seeing him, they lowered their weapons. Heading the group of eleven men was the prince. He looked weary but his eyes shone brightly. He reminded the adventurer of the arrogant boy he used to be.

‘Your majesty’, he called as he moved forward, ‘The king wouldn’t want you here’

‘I am the king now’, said the prince gravely. He paused for a moment. ‘Have you found her?’, he asked hopefully.

‘Killing her will give you nothing’, said the adventurer, understanding that the prince was there for revenge. It had only been a few days but he knew how much regret Electra had due to her vengeance. She was ridden with guilt despite her powers. He did not wish King Arden’s son to go through that.

‘My father said the same. He asked me to leave the woman alone’, barked the prince.

‘Yes your majesty. I am sure that he would have. Your father was wise’, said the adventurer.

‘That is why I killed him’, said the prince angrily, ‘Now tell me if you have found her’

The adventurer looked at the prince in shock. The prince had killed a man he considered as a father. He had killed the man who was both a teacher and a mentor to the adventurer. His heart now fumed with rage. ‘Not until I am dead, you heartless brute!’, he screamed, unsheathing his sword and holding it with his right and his crossbow in his left.

‘Fool. Don’t die for that whore. I shall forgive you for your insolence and spare you if you tell me where she is’, said the prince, taking out his own sword.

He needed no time to make up his mind. The adventurer kicked the prince hard on the chest and swung his sword at the prince’s companions. Three heads separated from bodies in the first few swings and the adventurer had shot an arrow into the eye of a fourth man. He sprinted towards a nearby tree as seven men pursued him closely. He kicked hard on the tree and swung his sword as he rose up in the air killing two more men. He landed awkwardly and turned to face the five men when he heard a movement behind him. He moved instinctively but the prince’s sword grazed his thigh making a deep cut. The adventurer flung his crossbow at the prince as he fell to the ground. The five men surrounded him with raised swords as the prince fell to the ground with a grunt.

As they moved in for the kill, he swung his sword at the knee of the nearest man putting him in the way of the other four swords. He rose to his knees as he pushed his sword into the heart of the man in front of him. Moving his head away from the next man’s sword, he plunged his sword into his neck. As he let down all his defence in that move, he waited for a sword to strike him from behind but nothing happened. He turned to see the men drive their swords into each other’s necks. Standing behind them was Electra clad in a warrior’s attire. He saw her eyes and lost track of everything. Her power was intense. She shook him roughly to bring him back to his senses. He turned to look at the prince. The prince aimed his crossbow at Electra and got ready to fire a poisoned arrow. His heart almost stopped in fear as he flung his sword at the prince instinctively. Almost at the same time, the prince fired his weapon. He dived at Electra and pushed her out of the way. When he lifted his head off her, he was pleased to see that she was safe. He turned to look at the prince who had been impaled by the sword thrown at him.

He attempted to get up but he could not. He looked down. The poisoned arrow had struck him right below the knee. Then the pain hit him. He wanted to scream but no sound came out. Then he heard a scream. Her scream hurt him more than the poisoned arrow. She hugged him tightly and cried her heart out.

‘It’s alright’, he said with a smile. ‘You’re alright’

‘You .... Look ’, she tried to speak but she choked.

He would die soon as the poison was spreading. He was losing feeling below his hip. They did not have the healing potion anymore. He spoke to her despite the pain in a calm whisper, ‘I’ve been with women before but there has been no one like you. The three days that we have been together was like being in heaven. I have no regrets. I have someone who loves me’, he said and he kissed her full on the mouth. They kissed with passion for a few wonderful seconds. When they broke apart, he said ‘I love you’ and seeing love in her mystifying eyes, he dropped dead. The adventurer, who grew up an orphan, died as the king of Kraghon.

Days later, the search party from Arden’s kingdom arrived on the island only to find the Queen of Kraghon dead. She clasped hands with a man they could not recognise. People soon inhabited Kraghon. To this day, in the tallest tower of the palace, one can hear the sound of a man and a woman laughing and chatting.

This is the story of how the Devil’s pact with the women of Kraghon ended. It ended with the only thing that he feared. Love.

*********************************************************

Author Bio : I am a banker by profession and a writer by passion. I am an aspiring novelist, currently building my writing profile by submitting my short stories to reputed publications and podcasts. I've recently signed up with a literary agent and am looking to get published next year. I am available on Instagram @VVRamanWrites

Though a skeptic regarding paranormal events, a haunting at some derelict looking building (long since razed to the ground) captured my overactive imagination birthing the following flash fiction, which summons into the supernatural realm most pronounced about five weeks hence with the onset of Halloween 2023.

While shuffling off to Buffalo (another name I use to call the bedroom here at 2 Highland Manor Drive), an impulsive whim found me rifling thru notebooks of very early writings from yours truly.

Back some decades (perhaps an amount of time approximately equal to the half life of element named Ghost Buster), typed document unexpected spilled forth from a heavy duty three ring notebook binder.

Upon rummaging among zany typed efforts of literary amateurism, these myopic eyes stopped short when espying a stapled composition about four pages long. The material in question refers to the title of this piece de la resistance.

There appeared to be a beginning, middle and end, which degree of completion would absolve me to ponder a theme for self subscribed daily assignment, which discipline forced refinement of a verbose harried style, and not always swiftly tailored.

Hence the brief preface now allows, enables and provides this wordsmith to segue-way into the core firmly identifying lodestone of material (making alterations to hone clarity, favorability, and integrity) before releasing completed fictional story into cyberspace.

A primal fear coursed through my body, and haunted every fiber of my slight (slip of a young man) corporeal essence every time I passed the burned out hulk of what used to be the discount lighting and fixture store located at 3714 Germantown Pike, Fairview Village, Pennsylvania.

An emotion of fright gripped my psyche most prominently when I drove past the dilapidated, hollowed out scorched structure after the bewitching hour of duck. This palpable quotidian uneasiness best characterized as an eerily foreboding, ghostly sensation. Phantasmagoric phenomena purportedly populated these premises prior to the pyromaniacal torched act of Mongolian Vandalism.

Twas at twilight nocturnal sweeps of the clock, that the heavily damaged wing of the building stirred like some dormant, huge monster. The charred ruins of unsold merchandise, collapsed rubble heap, crumpled corrugated roof material, and twisted (sister like) beams of steel appeared to lumber silently and stealthily along the ground analogous to sinister beast in search of prey.

Braggadocio got the better part of this ordinarily overly cautious young man (asper fools rush in where angels fear to tread apothegm).

Abe Zion (my best friend since kindergarten) double dared ourselves to test our comfort zones, and apply exposure therapy under apropos weather conditions.

Thus, when came a ferocious, dark and stormy night (nsync with thee refrain "It was a dark and stormy night" is an often-mocked and parodied phrase written by English novelist Edward Bulwer-Lytton in the opening sentence of his 1830 novel Paul Clifford. The phrase is considered to represent "the archetypal example of a florid, melodramatic style of fiction writing", also known as purple prose.

Actually, we struck up this mutual pact on a recent pitch perfect, gloriously sunny spring day to prove paranormal phenomena a confabulation, where nature played trick or treat with vulnerably susceptible rudimentary precinct of individual human mind.

We agreed on this deal (after watching an episode of Let's Make A Deal on television based on similar context). While brimming with testosterone roaring swagger, both of us sought to accomplish a twofold objective. We wanted to put to rest this unfounded rumor, that evil spirits inhabited the abandoned , abysmal site, to test fledgling manhood by carrying out this adventure of daring-do.

When the rush hour traffic diminished on this most tempestuous, torturous, tumultuous evening, and no oncoming vehicles could be seen approaching from within our severely restrained minimal visual range, and the last traces of fearful silhouettes from passing headlights dissolved, we parked the car (a 1970 VolksWagon Beetle – that would be worth a mint today) within a secluded area of brush.

Each of us dressed appropriately in sturdy rainwear then walked the short distance to the forbidding, dismal, decrepit shell of a burnt offering with portable phones, and other paraphernalia in hand. Naturally, we conveniently ignored the NO TRESPASSING sign. Just a little bit of the heebie jeebies gave goosebumps as four light as a feather legs gingerly stepped over yellow plastic construction stripping cordoning and marking off perimeter of danger regard this condemned property.

Upon approaching what used to be the doorway to the store, we found the entrance blocked. Long (and fostered) animal nests, cobwebs, and thick vegetation impeded further progress. This dense brush needed to be cleared. Both of us unclasped the scythes and created (NIKE) swishing motions in an effort to minimize upsetting the resident flora and fauna ecosystem, who rightfully owned provenance to this territory.

Once a passage got cleared wide enough for slender framed teenage boys to slink through, the mission resumed. As told, donned cladding bolstered top of the line waterproof gear. Also lugged thru this morass comprised backpacks filled with ample food and drink. Entrance made into the inky black ominous void, whereby every sensory nerve cocked, primed in case an ill fate triggered necessity to escape.

When suitably acclimated to the pitch black environment did attention turn toward the raging tempest (that would no way fit inside a teacup), and ferocious roar outside indicative of horrible creatures, (where the wild things lurked) evident via cacophony of sounds.

Amidst this earsplitting maelstrom, a faint yet sharp noise (similar when people toast and clink wine glasses together) punctuated infinitesimal brief silences between the bagging and rattling din.

I am

the consequences—

the collection

of rotting fleshes

laying mangled

and neglected

by the wayside,

desecrated

withered

and aged

from your hate,

then needle-poked

and sewn

by your string of insults

laced with prejudice.

Born

from your selfish labours,

and malevolence,

I am

the leftovers,

the discarded scraps,

scar tissue,

stapled, bolted,

and hacked

hardly held together enough

to contain

an ordinary man

much less

an eight-foot-monstrosity—

You sought perfection

based on nothing

but insecurities

driving yourself mad enough

to inject the blood

of a thousand toxic souls

into a single empty cavity—

An unhinged obsession

ending in bioelectric rage

creating a paraspinal pulse

and legitimizing

an impossible science.

A necromancy

disproving everyone

including yourself

because

the moment you exclaimed

that I was in fact “alive”

beneath that melancholy sky

you were convinced

I was neither dead

or alive,

or worthy of either

so, you rejected me,

left me alone

and confused

on that frigid trestle bed

without a name

my heart palpitating

and eyes filled

with the fresh glaze

of newborn sweat.

Congratulations

Mrs. Societal Shelly,

You

created life from death

only to kill it again

with abandonment

then buried it

under a pile

of despair

that is my body

and sealed it

within my hollowed core

just before

tossing me into a heartless world

to fend off mankind

alone.

I rose

unbeknown to my fate

eager to find love

while wearing ignorance as a smile

and holding hope in an open palm

wishing it to be filled by another.

But an adolescent mind,

only needs the clock hands

to revolve the sun

a few times

to grasp how cruel,

“Out there” will treat you.

I’ve been spit on

shot at

and chewed out,

then chased off,

beat up,

and knocked down

too many times to count.

I’ve been ripped at the seams,

bruised beyond repair,

and my patience is stretched

as thin as my skin,

and I blame you

for making me see the world

for what it is,

and never being there to warn me how ugly

they thought I’d be.

Never once,

had I considered beauty

an attribute to measure character

nor had I stood by a mirror

weeping relentlessly,

but here I stand.

After constant beratement

and never meeting

a single soul with good intentions,

I’ve started to believe.

For the first time

in the mirror

I see what they’re afraid of.

I’m a walking graveyard

contorted by cruelty and pain

suffering from

social arthritis

deforming my limbs

and swelling my joints into mountains.

I’m a hideous mistake,

a horrible life

of your creation

worthy

to the flames of condemnation

but only after

your misery is complete.

Ashamed of who I am

I turn out the lights

I dry my sunken eyes

until I realize

I’ve acquired night vision.

I must have adapted to the dark

After all these years

becoming accustomed to

the absence of light

thanks to the ones

with pitchforks and spears,

the ones with guns

and knives,

and the ones holding fire

with hateful tongues,

but mostly

thanks to you,

Mrs. Shelly,

Thanks to you,

I see clearly in the dark.

I see what I am now.

and I see what I must do!

My eyes sink deeper,

and grimmer

becoming soulless ebony circles

fully dilated

with one clear purpose.

“I was benevolent and good;

misery made me a fiend

and if I cannot inspire love,

I will cause fear.”

I am your Adam,

but also, the fallen angel

warning you

that I’m unafraid

because

I am what

nightmare’s fear

and I’ll be the whispers

that follow you

through the streets

while bystander’s gossip

as to what keeps them awake

and there won’t be

one mention of the name they dread

because when you left me deserted

on that grim November night,

I was born nameless

and that’s

how you’ll know it's me.

-Your Monster

There's a moment when your parents stop being superheroes and just two old people, whom you look and realize, "Damn, I'm old."

For the first time in my life, I saw my mother getting sick, and stood helpless in front of her. As I wait for the second doctor's appointment, I realize how harsh the truth of my mother growing older is.

When you have a special bond with a parent, and you haven't started a family of your own, things fall into a strange place, you become both a parent and a lone wolf, with no strings attached, no extension of that bloodline. It's both a freeing and a cathartic feeling, but also strange. It alienates you from the real world where half of your schoolfriends and cousins are either married or divorced. All of them probably had kids, except the ones who were incapable of. Even the ones who really never wanted kids had them. So your circle starts getting smaller and much more sophisticated. You try to surround yourself with people who wouldn't make you feel like an eggplant in a field of rye.

And then your parents get old, and they start developing health conditions, or one of them falls ill to a mystery virus like what's going on with your mother currently. And you realize how fragile you are, how silent, how introspective and small. You realize that not having attachments is a delusion, maybe you imagined you haven't had it because you never truly fell in love. You were lucky, all of the people you've dabbled with in love and sex were just passersby in your life journey. None of them really mattered in the grander scheme of events. But despite all your emotional struggles, life implanted some people in your tapestry. You feel responsible for them, and seeing them in pain hurts you beyond repair, especially if you are standing helpless in the face of the cosmos, unable to help them, or aid them.

My mother has always been a sort of mythical creature in me and my sister's lives. She gave us unconditional love but also poetry, imagination, creativity, and the freedom to be ourselves, even though we both turned out completely different from her. She is more reserved and conservative, we are wild and liberated, but the three of us share a certain bond that was built from when we were little. "The Three Musketeers" if you may say. We had this journey of vivid, unruly imagination, and we were allowed as kids to create and express ourselves the way we wanted. She brought us everything, from small (toy) musical instruments to hundreds of crayons and water colors, books of every color and language, toys...not just Barbies, but actual toys to build a family of stuffed and plastic creatures. Our childhood was rich and vivid, colorful despite some of the harder times. And it's something that strangely I was never interested in passing on to a kid.

Life is strange. Some of my friends who have had the shittiest mothers were desperate to get a kid of their own. And me, with a mother that all my friends throughout the years loved, never wanted to become like her. I never felt that maternal instinct, the need to have someone by extended genetics on this ground to pass my wisdom and my colorful creativity to. My mother herself wasn't big on kids, and she wasn't the kind of woman who liked spending time with them or caring for them pre-marriage. She told me before that she never expected she would be that great of a mother. But she was. Still is. It's just that our childhoods would have been a completely different ordeal if it weren't for her, this particular woman.

As you grow up, you realize that you were lucky at some point, but you didn't realize it at the time. Having parents who raised you well, provided food and shelter, clothing and means of entertainment was a big deal. Being surrounded by familial love and spoiling was a gift. And having a mother with whom you truly bonded and connected on deeper, artsy levels was a blessing that not many experienced. Even when you saw some of your childhood friends living more lavish, extravagant lifestyles, you were still very lucky. Not everybody gets to bond with their mother the way you do. And for everyday she is on this Earth you have to be grateful for having her, for seeing her smile, hearing her du'aa (the religious way of sending blessings your way), and embarking on crazy adventures with her. So capture this moment, hold on to it so tight, and revel in the beauty of it.

As my heart wells up with worry over my mother, I realize that for the first time in my life, I don't have a partner whom I consider the love of my life. And that in the past, when shit hit the fan, and I would always run crying to my beau at the time, and return feeling that a sour taste was in my mouth, it always felt like dying. With every disappointment, every fork in the road, there was a partner with whom forever seemed almost like a possibility, a tangible thing to touch. And every partner resulted in another disappointment, the failure of the delusion of "monogamy", a relationship that lasts, built on both trust and mutual understanding; something that a lot of people never experience, and thus get stuck in half-made promises, and manufactured, polished lives where they make do with what they can, keep up the image for the expectant society. But now, as the world seems stretched and mysterious, beautiful in its complexity, but also heartbreaking, disappointing and scary, and as I count the hours till my mother's doctor's appointment, where time as relative as Einstein seemed to explain it in the past lags and pains in the redundancy of the hours and minutes...

I feel free.

I think someone in the long ago remarked how the secret of all comparison is contrast. Can it be that your fascination deepens because you’re so different, so distinct from any form or self-shape of me I comprehend? When you sit beside a student, first listening, then cajoling or commiserating, when you empathize in any of these ways then let your full-voiced laughter register, I have to listen in, not spying, eavesdropping, or monitoring, just feeling, savoring your sine-wave cadences, hearing that contralto-vibrant you, the half-conscious allurement in the voice—we who’ve ever sung refer to “the voice,” not “my voice” or “your voice”—that pattern, that rhythm you impart, just the occasional soft slide downgrade into a husk of vocal fry then up again in pure throbs of note-head: if only you knew this magic is yours, as I know it and heed it—then you’d know why I believe scansion, the strong emphasis in it, the chief stress, rides on melodic pitch, not how soft or loud, boomed, murmured or huffed; not volume, not reliant on impact-loudness. You’d know then, my contralto, how precisely song rules, even in your most tutelary phrases, your most prosodic zephyrs of advice…

I remember it like "it" was yesterday. I was 17, sitting half-lotus in the Himalayan foothills, middle of the jungle. As "green" Magic-the-Gathering -wise as it gets. And I got to thinking. And thought led me to my dear friend Descartes. Who thought and therefore...was? Something seemed off. A splinter or two in that mind. And no disrespect to the brilliance, since it was brilliant as it got. But we're all human at the end of the day. Anyway, I got to thinking, and the caboose of this thought train led to a thought experiment. And it went something like this.

Imagine you operate the central control panel of your experience. Some of that Inside Out shit. Levers and buttons galore. Take a look around. See the button that controls your sense of hearing. Yeah. Turn that off. Cool. So now you're deaf. You just pressed the button, light's off, so sound is gone. Keep perusing. You see that button next to it, which controls your sense of taste? I dare you to keep sipping on that fucking pumpkin spice latte after pressing it. And pressed it you did. So now you can't hear or taste. Riddle me this, in case you can't catch this drift, keep pressing those buttons.

One by one. Turn off your sense of smell. So now all you can do is see and feel. Now turn off feeling. How light you ironically feel now! No haptic sensation. No friction, no pressure, no warmth, none of that. All you have now is your mind and your eyesight. Now put your thumb and forefinger on the thought cadence lever while your other hand's forefinger rests upon the sight button. Press the sight button. Now you are just a mind. No five senses. You are in Descartes territory now - the realm of pure thought and pure thought experiment.

If you can still keep up, then you understand all that constitutes your experience now is "thought." So you're essentially meditating now. Every few seconds and you experience a new thought. Maybe it's your mind's eye, or mind's ear, or mind's tongue, etc., but it's all just your mind. Now will yourself (despite not feeling or seeing your fingers on the lever) to move that lever the other direction and effectively slow the cadence of your thoughts. Instead of experiencing a new thought every second, now it's every 10 seconds.

Now every 60 seconds.

Now every...

See where I'm going.

What is going on?

In the "space" and "time" "between" thoughts, "you" were "nothing." But WERE you nothing, truly? Descartes would say yes, since you are fundamentally a thinking thing. But ARE you fundamentally a thinking thing? This thought experiment says nah.

Buddha says fuck no.

As did I then - and now.

You simply are. You are pure, boundless, infinite, awareness. The blank canvas upon which all experience is painted. And with this realization, comes infinite freedom and bliss.

it will start with the fog, the same as it always does. you'll wake up in the morning, but you won't really be awake, you'll be floating, drifting through the motions of getting ready, packing lunch, driving to work. you'll zone out at the red lights except it won't be zoning out, it'll be frozen, unable to speak or move but fully aware of the world and the danger and *if you don't snap out of it, you'll crash the car*.

eventually, sometimes after driving in that same mood, you'll get to the office. and your day will be fine, good, even, until the afternoon comes and that first little movement sets off alarm bells in your head. you'll get tired, and looking at a new email or a passing comment from your coworker will seem like déjà-vu. That's because it is. You know how this goes. The pattern is hard to ignore, but you're going to try your best.

so you do. you ignore the tugging of your chin to your shoulder, shaking it off as exhaustion. even when it picks up pace you'll pretend it's not there, but the ache in your neck from constant and uncontrollable jerking to the side will persist nonetheless. can't be a problem, though - it's all in your head.

when you get home, the headache will be in full force, and you'll realize the space between your eyebrows, the bridge of your nose, your lips - they're all numb. but you're just tired. you'll crash on sheets that haven't been washed in two months and you'll sleep for hours. and when you wake up, you won't feel any better, and it won't be because you're rested.

no, when you wake up it'll be because something is hurting. you'll slowly become aware of the fact that you've bitten your tongue in your sleep. your knee is pulled up to your chest and even as you look down you can feel the ache in your neck getting worse. and then it'll really start. (but don't worry, it's all in your head.)

your arm is going to curl in on itself like it wants to snap in half. that's because it does. in fact, it might be less painful if it did. your leg will follow, and then all of a sudden you're even more bent over and you can't make it stop, you wonder if it's really all in your head, or you would, but instead all you can think of is elmo, and the fed, and something about lollipops as a cover for invasion of the mind. it's a conversation you'll have in your mind with a person who doesn't exist, who stands over you asking if you are okay, what's wrong, and in return those are the only words you can deliver, 'elmo', 'fed', 'lollipop', 'invasion'. except you're not actually delivering them. that part, really, is all in your mind.

and then all of a sudden the person will stop. it's because they're not there anymore. but you're still being plagued by the painful spasms, they won't go away. how long has it been? two minutes? ten minutes? you can't tell. but you have more important things to worry about because all of a sudden you'll realize that you cannot breathe. you're inhaling in gasps one after another that your lungs do seem to know how to let go of. you're drowning on air and electrical impulses. your left side is in agreement. your right tries its best to hold on to the sheets.

but don't worry. becaue it'll calm down, eventually, after fifteen minutes or twenty, and the jerks that wrack your body will slow and ease away and you'll lie there not knowing what's real or a dream and knowing only that you are in your bed still and everything hurts and you are somehow breathing again. you bit your tongue again, too.

it only takes twenty or thirty minutes to recover. the headache is back, the neck jerking too. but maybe you're safe for the rest of the night. maybe not, but who knows - you can't do anything about it, anyway. they'll just tell you what you already have accepted, and years of knowing how doctors work supports the fact that you have convinced yourself of now, too - so don't worry. get up and get back to work and go back to pretending that you're okay. push back the line that floats to your mind from a chart back in 2018 that never got shared. if it were a concern, they would've said something. they would have referred you, they wouldn't have sat on something so big. right? don't worry. it's all in your head.