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thedollarstoresatan · 4 years

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The Truth Betold

Chapter 4, ???, ???, 1883, May 27th, 9:16 P.M.

Animals surrounding her, the woman floating above the earth. The cape hanging off a tree by her fluttered in the wind. The cold shiver of the forest did nothing to help her burning body. One of the rabbits came under her, sniffing the air around her before backing away again. A tiger stalked its way around her, herding off the other animals behind the nearby treeline.

It’s teeth gripping onto the cape, the tiger swiftly pulled it down in time for her to descend back into the earth. Lowering herself from her toes up, she let the tiger drop the cape back into her hand. A tattoo, of a moon with a shuriken standing upside in the middle, air-like movements behind them decorated her shoulder.

Turtleneck not covering her arms, with white pants with a holster holding a rod-shape, two black gems decorating the top and bottom, with a singular one in the middle. Her shoes were black with a corresponding design in the middle, flaps coming down on the sides, leading to a slim heel. Silver eyes looking at the now herded animals, her long black hair cascaded down her back.

“You do have a trick for scaring away other animals, Leona.” Petting the tigers head she smiled fondly. Hooking the tip of the hood under her finger and slinging it on her shoulder, she walked deeper into the forest.

Coming across a clearing, she smiled at the ‘empty’ space. Leona once again stalked up to her. “Enquêter.” Turning her back on the space, leaving the tiger to proll around, she walked back towards the shallower part of the forest.

“Ash! Sortir!” The woman looked at the man emerging from the brush beside her.

“Bonjour, Mademoiselle.”

“Where’s Zen?”

“East side of the Red Territory, towards the Bright family home.”

“Most likely trying to find Ezra, then.”

A strangled yell came from the opposite direction. Not towards where Leona was, not towards the central quarter, not towards anywhere besides the lake of tears. Soon following the Magic Tower. “Do you think they already know of us here?”

“Yes. Leo made it impossible to miss. So did Louis.” Sighing while pinching the bridge of her nose, the hushed tone of her voice didn't go unnoticed by Ash. “We’ll be lucky if they dont get one of us. They still have plenty of magic left from others I assure you.”

“Leo is the most important.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Stealing a glance at the tattoo, she threw the cape over her shoulders, covering down to her wrists. “Let's go investigate that.” A fire emerged from her hand.

“Elizabeth, don't catch the forest on fire.”

“Unlike some of you, I know how to control my powers.”

The blue haired man scoffed at her, brown eyes narrowing. Stealing a glance at the distant lights, he continued after Elizabeth’s stead.

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Disguising themself farther into the darkness, the raven haired person stuck to the walls of the building, dodging the windows and prying eyes from anyone inside the estate.

Coming across the Library windows, they stole a glance inside. A middle-aged man sat on an armchair, pendulum ball hanging from his pointer finger as a woman looked at nearby books.

The man looked at the window, emerald meeting jade, before putting the pendulum ball down.

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“Your friends here.” Claudius’s voice rang through the room. Turning her head in the direction Claudius was looking at, she saw them.

“Zen.”

Ezra held up her hand, making a gesture to come in, and turned back to the book section. A quick flash of light brought another person in the room. “Never met him before.” Glancing back at Ezra’s discarded coat and walking stick, Zen looked back at the titles surrounding them. “Nor have I ever seen you take that coat off.”

“Saddening.”

Plucking out a book from the shelf, Ezra promptly walked and sat leg-crossed on the couch opposite of the man. “You’re a mess right now, where have you been, hell?”

“I wish.”

Hair standing up in loose strands, dirt spread across their uniform, Zen looked like they had been dragged through a mud pit. Sitting down cautiously on the couch, Zen looked over Ezra’s shoulder, only to find scripted characters they couldn't even begin to understand. Symbols and pictures surrounded the pages.

“You won’t be able to understand it.” A chime of a clock came from the hall. “It's in an old demon scripter.”

“Well… Isn't that a lovely thing to keep in your house.” Responding to Claudius’s statement with the most gracious voice he could muster, Zen cleared their throat before sitting up.

“Do you know what this might mean?”

Holding the pendulum ball up once again, Claudius looked Zen dead in the eyes. Averting their gaze from the ball and back up into jade irises, Zen only cleared their throat again. “I can only roll out the possibility it's an old Eltrius scroll. They often resembled a ball. Most of them, if you used a certain combination of spells would unlock. Meaning it most likely came from Scarlet, if i'm right.”

“You are.”

Holding out her hand, Claudius dropped the small ball into her palm. “Do you know the combination to unlock it, then?”

“Sadly enough, no, but Emila or Leo might. They’re the closest to her.”

“Leo’s currently trying to avoid cradle, and Emila wouldn't dare to make any decisions leading to her exposure. I wouldn't be able to track them without magic, and considering how many people are currently around this area? Not a good idea.”

“Right, somebody with enough magical power could feel it. Got it.”

“Go take a bath. I’ll try and find clothes for you.”

“Right, thanks.”

Once Zen left, Claudius turned back to Ezra. “I'm not sure I like him.”

Closing the rather demonic book, Ezra stood up and strided towards the door. “You haven’t ever liked any of my friends, and he’s non-binary, so its ‘them’.”

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“Oh what a mess!” The pout that was put on Ash’s face didn’t meet his eyes. Hand on his hip, and the other pressed to his lips. Ash’s body was covered in blood. Bloodied hands, bloodied clothes. Not like it's Elizabeth’s first time seeing him like this.

“I have to erase her memory due to you killing them.” The scoff sounded Ash’s way didn't affect him.

Something was running towards them, at a rather fast pace, they could both feel it. Though, it was great at hiding its presence. “Leona.” Next thing Ash knew, Elizabeth’s Martilel was in her hand, spinning a few times before stopping and extending. The tiger came sprinting out of the forest, white coat shining in the moonlight, golden eyes reflecting off of it. A man soon after. Silver eyes bore into his, holding the Martilel out.

“Now, now, girlie’s. I'm not here to hurt you. Hand over the tiger and we’ll leave you alone.”

It was only then that Elizabeth noticed the bodies were gone. Most likely buried deep in the ground by now due to Ash’s power.

“Excuse me? “Girllie’s?” I am a man through and through you toddler!” The blue haired man’s eyes shone a dangerous light, brown eyes lighting up and iris’s slimming into a diamond.

The male only scoffed. “Yeah right, you got all the curves in all the right places! Now give me the tiger!” The man growled, only making it a step before the ground caved in under him.

Nearly breaking his legs, the earth was unforgiving. Squeezing up to his waist.

“I'm a man.”

“Help me you fool!” The man’s angered voice only made Ash’s cheshire smile widen.

Crouching down in front of the man, Ash put his elbows on his legs, hands on the side of his head,

“I-m a m-a-n. Say it with me now! I'm a man!”

“Help me!”

The ground only tightened around him.

Getting up, Ash skipped in circle’s around the man, chanting ‘I'm a man’ over and over again, watching in delight as the man screamed towards Elizabeth’s direction, whose attention was brought back to the boy sitting unconscious against a tree.

The man, now neck-deep in the ground, shot daggers at ash.

“You crazy ass bitch! Let me go!”

“What am I! I'm a man!”

“And you sir.”

Stopping in front of him, crouching again, coming up close to his face, Ash’s smile widened at his obvious struggle.

“Are a man, with an idiotic mind."

Before another word could be exchanged, the man let out a blood-curdling scream before getting engulfed by the ground completely. Bones audible cracked under the surface.

“The worms appreciate it.”

Smile not leaving his face, Ash turned around and sat by Elizabeth, who had the child sleeping on one shoulder, Leona on her lap, and was staring into the oblivion. “Now i'm happy I never got that surgery! Afterall, it means more people to kill!”

His irises changing back to normal, and the soft glow of his brown eyes subsided, he clapped his hands out of sheer delight. “I wonder how an organ would taste?” Curiosity crossing his face, Ash put his finger on his mouth again, dried blood making its way into his mouth.

“If you find out, please to god don't tell me.” Delighted laughter erupted from Ash’s throat, as he looked at Elizabeth, happiness relevant in his eyes. Cheshire smile now gone and replaced with a real smile of genuine happiness.

“Thats a rare occurrence.”

“Awe! Don't say that! I smile plenty!”

“Ouais, Ouais. Sure ya do.”

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chimchimssenpai-blog · 4 years

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Alexandra Wallace Smith's Idea of Privacy

My sister is striking. All the ladies in our own family are. My Aunt Magdalene was notably stunning too. They have spitfire personalities. Daddy, you know, you of all understand my moved quickly notes, the journals that I even have kept from youth continued to beyond, the magazine, the rejected novel, the reckoning, the poems that I've scribbled, misplaced, that point and electricity and ego forgot. Then there are the black Croxley notebooks. I am decided to keep that away from you, and from the relaxation of the world for good.

Muirhead wounded me Loose Diamonds. I consider all his ladies inside the workplace area in Johannesburg earlier than I got here home to my formative years home in Port Elizabeth anxious to death of falling pregnant. Having a child out of wedlock. Becoming a unmarried parent and raising a child on my own with little or no cash. I rarely made any money or had an income to aid a child. How they included him, laughed at his jokes, how they positioned him on a pedestal, how they worshiped him, how they sat opposite him in fancy Johannesburg restaurants ingesting their cabernet or merlot. Thinking ladies, stunning ladies, women with youngsters, naivety and sexual inexperience (although the sexual impulse, the sexual power become there) on their aspect. How he winded hem up as if they may be electric powered dolls. I heated up the livers, mushrooms and bacon, the leftovers, scrambled the eggs and listened to the morning information on the radio. The bus coming in from Port Elizabeth to Johannesburg had flipped into the air off the highway. There have been no fatalities. The plums have been juicy and sweet. I might store them for lunch. I sat at the kitchen desk, buttered my toast, drank my lukewarm coffee, crossed my legs, scratched my knee absentmindedly and stared out of the window. The breakfast's grease turned into stuck to the pan. I should forget about about it. And the extra aware I became of the sky, the environment, the internal, the more conscious I have become of who created the invention, vision, dream, aim, and stop of this line of sky, of blue, of this author, this tortured poet, this fowl?

I felt his hand intimately as if it become a dream and then not anything. I felt ashamed.

The dream girl after leaving Johannesburg turned into a lady. She again to the coast, to her father's house, her mother's kitchen, her mom's expertise and the thrones of her early life persevered, to the artwork of a coronary heart undone. She again to the coast in which water may be discovered in wild places, where tides had been difficulty to trade, to the location where she spent magnificent blue hours staring up on the sky. She had her books. Her index finger could linger on the backbone in her father's grand observe, his library, and his 'London enjoy'. The residence changed into dilapidated. It changed into in a awful way. The tiles had been falling off the wall in the kitchen. The partitions needed a lick of paint. The interiors had been in need of restore. The whole house needed to be renovated. The dream woman had back. The dream female become also decided to alternate. She also desired to be heroic, angelic and magical.

Writing approximately grief is one of the maximum hard matters I have ever needed to do. Nerves I could fathom as I stood in front of them however what I without a doubt desired to do became break out. Everybody constantly speaks approximately the miracle of existence at a funeral. When death can pay a visit there's no apprehension about discussing what track to play while the coffin is decreased, what hymns might be played, what verse will be examine out of the bible, and who will make the potato salad.

Ocean of beads. Not intended to last long on this lifetime or the next. The people of South Africa are like that. My city is a dignified town filled with church human beings. In Central you'll locate the fine women within the international. They will detach themselves from feminism, and the tigers that come at night time, their competitors in a finite time and location. They are moneyed. Drugs have destroyed the very art in their soul. Every gram in their spirits have wasted away. Muirhead. Flesh have come earlier than you and after. The most exquisite elements of you portioned off like cubicles in an office space. Tell me the whole lot you need me to be I could have stated in my twenties. This doesn't need to be the give up of it however it's far. It is. And still I say allow it not be so. So comic. So tragic. I stand on this ice residence. In this residence from hell. Pale. The origins of smoke and mirrors, the cosmic bloodlines of my creativeness, may be seen thru the embodiment and timeline of my flesh.

Paper thin skating on ice is what I've yearned for my complete existence. Not to fail, no longer to discriminate, but to create art within the landscape of suicidal depression and contamination. All poetry and poetic justice seems to ask of us is to have a decided lust for lifestyles. I nonetheless need to familiarise myself with rituals that I found so comforting in childhood. Norma Jean where are you, where do you discover yourself now, who are you and what's that golden mirrored image staring lower back at you? Is there whatever more seductive than insanity, than being blonde and being favored via the world at big, to be quiet approximately your philosophy on existence, your starving targets to be a author and a poet? To triumph like you've got triumphed Norma Jean is to chortle within the face of men and women, of presidents, of feminists, to snigger in the face of the adversity that they have got confronted. No remember how quick, how solitary ecstasy is one can't get away its urgency, its survival manual, that stain of love no matter how powerful and sparkling it is probably, how dwindled it'd make you experience in the long run, you may discover that that revel in turned into worth it. I left the insanity and the heat of the city in the back of me in my early twenties. It will go away you superbly grown now.

The universe is sweeter, purer, greater honourable and I am less haunted, less ghostlike, much less transparent, baffled via denial. I cannot erase the treasured of life anymore and the fragility of it. How crushed and petrified my spirit once changed into. Am I, become I ever simply loved? The women round me in life, in the place of business, within the sphere of immediate own family were introspective cohorts. I am exhausted of writing about preference and that is the reality of the problem due to the fact in some manner it is invincible like scrapbooking on whatever at the inked tattooed patchwork planet that you stay in. I've end up a primitive girl in green spaces, inexperienced feasts of them, and foundations of iciness timber of them. I've grow to be an invention of a modern lady. The invention of the width of the thread of the other girl in a land that time forgot. What are the lyrics once more to that music? What are the lines that point forgot in that journal on the ones cold, harsh blue, blue traces? I am bored with feeding the beasts galore but should not angels usually be defended? Who or what in essence defines an angel? An angel is the unseen, the invisible correct and no person can hardwire your mind like God can.

And what's choice truly? Smoke and honey within the dance of anger, intimacy, duplicity and deception and the everlasting obsession of all those matters. It is meant for the gamine, the airy, and the otherworldly, the mystical woman. The adolescent. Children are intended for women and what takes place when you want writing about loss of life. For me I value feedback on dying, on eternity, at the paradise of heaven, the recognition-thinking in wishful questioning, the curious creatures that volcano human beings are and the many faces of saints. I've usually believed in angels. The dwelling keep on living whilst the dead turn to dirt. There's a dark aching, a canvas on which to play on, the haunting ache in my brother's soul is the identical ache which I actually have in my very own. There's a ghost state in my head. The faculties, the rooms, and all the white walled interiors of my imagination. And if I near my eyes I can consider all of our contours and the blue sharp mild poured into the cages of the heavenly sky. The lover and the mother and the drowning blossom that become me. Dirt swimming-swimming in a watery spool gene pool of garbage. The dying of a pet and a poet portray this elusive world with lucid thought styles.

Does decay, blood and the darkish each get lonely and the groom with the unspoken ardour he has for his bride? The bride in her wedded bliss. In her impossible high-heeled footwear. So I turned into there in spirit. If fish kissed oxygen they might surely die. Their pomegranate gills snuffed out of lifestyles. What are the grains of poverty? Where do they lay? Are they sequestered? Their souls lie in South Africa, perhaps even take root there. Roots tapping into the lifestyles of the soil, the subculture of the earth, tapping into the burden of water, or squalor (whichever it reaches first beneath the situations), keeping the fragility of phones as existence buoys, unspecified social media is the new sexy, tapping into religious poverty, the cemeteries of poverty, of the bone-tired. What sweetness! The unknown comes with anticipation. The anticipation of the attention of marvel and the prying eyes of society. Where does my soul lie? It lay with you for a while I bet. Sated bride, uninvolved girl, splendor meeting the stunning middle of a masculine identification, and the physical frame of a mysterious wellspring of the intelligence of the alternative of sexuality.

Alone, given way to non secular abandonment, inhibitory nostalgia and the holiest of holies privacy, and with the solitude status that includes intimacy I consider you. You burnt via. You not anything however a burnt and melted fragment yet still dispelling radiance. You like the crested burnt cease of a matchstick. Sooty cinders within the fire. Cinders from the coal. Cinders and smoke from your freshly lit cigarette. Give me mouth to mouth resuscitation so I can be brought back to life, your existence. I assume that the only aspect that genuinely mattered in the long run, and that was product of a substance that might be harvested from the cells of a everyday fact turned into inside the steps of Jean Rhys's haunting vulnerability. The haunting vulnerability of all ladies. I can see it in their eyes, their manner they keep themselves responsible to shielding themselves from being put on show if it is not on their phrases, the lengthy street in their guarded pilgrimage into humanity, spirituality. Gods to be made from their reflections interior of the looking glass. I marvel the way to prevent stammering. How to break out into letter-writing. If I cannot get away into love, its poetic grace, mercy and use.

Into wincing at its threshold of pain and but comprehending it at the equal time. Comprehending the sun, moon and big name fabric, the summer season's son and his empire. And so begins the letter to a brother in rehabilitation. Brother and anchor. The 'filthy special' ceramic little Buddha pottering around. You had been the anchor that cemented me, my symphony, my tool, my common aim, my oracle, my ardour. You had been my one direction to comply with homeward sure. What is living in the coronary heart is this. The walls of a garden manufactured from brick and mortar, stone and the whole thing this is recuperation. Winter timber and Whitman. It is time for the display, finding Isaiah within the gritty switch of the loophole. Why did not you come back once? Why did not you write as soon as healthy specimen of ownership, what's the tragedy of all of it however are you satisfied, refreshed by way of all the seeds, roots, vegetation and stems? I stared and stared at the photograph of him and questioned on the tragedy of all of it. Speechless earlier than the photo evaporates completely something takes location and soon the whole lot unearths its area on impartial ground, in gravity, in the world or in soil. There is no promise in the dying of the solar handiest the angelic, the whispers underfoot.

There is new life in vegetation, in love, in empathy and the ardour that humanity has for empathy. Everything frail earlier than it's far misplaced. Lost to the dark. What is black and what is darkish? Is it one and the same? The smell of cinnamon and bark. Salt and light. The colour of the day, dawn breaking into fragments. The stillness of the air. What are you manufactured from Mr. Muirhead? Skin and bone, flesh and tissue, a succession of the physical melting away around you to your immediate surroundings? The noise to your head, in that rush, are you able to feel it on your blood, that instance of possession. Where to from right here from following a street map into the complex intrigue of a sheltered formative years endured, and there I observed love. In the behaviour of an artist at paintings, the supply of verbal exchange, the self-portrait of human capital, the entirety heightened whilst it's illuminated as an instance visions of the cosmos disintegrating, collapsing below meteors on film. Drawings of earth's destruction, the bride of technological improvements, the use of the psychological framework of what got here before the humanity as we knew it as youngsters and as we get older, end up human beings with our very own thoughts to returned up our values we alternate, and we alternate the sector around us. We have Sci-fi to thank for that, Kubrick and Spielberg.

'Do no longer lecture me. You do not know anything about my scars.' My brother tells me. He says it together with his eyes too and I see a wild blue sky. Its journey is electrical in which its routes have become as important as the destinations of a diamond in the tough. Through the looking glass's façade comes the first harm, the poetry of my early twenties. Every family is dysfunctional of their personal manner. We live in a stressful society. I seem to have been born with this intuition to be considerate and touchy, knowledge and caring to others who appear to be in a less privileged role than I am but it has include a rate. My brother along with his cigarettes, stale smoke and moustache and the younger woman on his arm who herself is a fragile beauty. They are both stuck up in contemplative noise. They have discovered themselves only to fall amongst the stars. So I am left in mourning for what has been misplaced for each of them. A formative years.

'But I love you. Please don't do that.' I say in return and I see a revolution taking location inside him, the insufferable heaviness, and the uncivilised not anything of an echo vibrating like a shell casing. Something is let loose and communicated to me. Something bittersweet and sour.

And so I go back to love, loss and the elated appreciate I actually have of both of them. There is something inside each the innerness of the equipment for eternity (there is no bodily frame required for eternity, handiest the spirit, the soul, and kindred). There's an equilibrium inside the territory of the vacancy every so often determined in a human vessel after the sexual transaction and a symphony. Rhys's transactions and now I even have turn out to be really like her. I think that I have misplaced myself inside the very last analysis the preference to emerge as desirable. What would Moses do? I wouldn't be able to pick up the smartphone and speak to him up. He might pray in the desert history he found himself in. There become not anything else he may want to do inside the occasions he found himself in. He had a flame within himself that burned bright. Romance well what can I say except what a harsh experience that was. It become hellish. Love is a posed interlude, a pause among acts, oh the way it modifications the entirety approximately a bleak international enjoy, materialism, values, poverty, and that high commodity of spirituality. You could be as lovely to me now as you'll be in old age. I will do not forget you, wish for you, and that this romance will move ahead and go on and on however my soul lies in South Africa in which the ache of the mind may be greater devastating, felt greater acutely than the pain of the body. What taints the ache of a toddler feeling that another sibling has taken her region, overshadowed her. Let me now look at that distillate.

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