Fear

Do you know why people write about violence and brutality: because there are people who wants to read about the subject. Do they feel pleasure with the macabre and the obscure aspect of living?
People are not attracted to these subjects by pleasure alone. Some might feel pleasure over some else´s suffering, but they´re the minority. The majority are attracted to adrenaline caused by fear. Fear can be a soucer of pleasure as much as joy.

Bright Blue Eyes

Mary had a difficult pregnancy. She had o endure it on her own. It wasn´t a planned pregnancy but her boyfriend promised to marry her. She was a God-fearing modest woman. Her soon-to-be husband was a bum. When she first met him he was the perfect Dom Juan. He had gracious blue eyes, a small but full mouth drawn on his face, adorned with the most enchanting smile she had ever seen.

                But he was also a womanizer and a drunk.  As soon as they discovered she was pregnant, they rushed and arranged the marriage. Both of afraid of the consequences of this undesired circumstance – Mary´s father, although an old man, was feared for his short temper and his tendency of pulling a gun whenever he felt necessary.

                The marriage didn´t last long. Mary´s husband, in one of his night outs, got drunk and went on driving like a mad man just to find his death in one crossroads.

                Mary was just 17 when she found herself pregnant and widowed. There seemed to be nothing much left for her but to stay home and live with her parents. They lived in a bleak two rooms shabby house. The wooden floor creaked, the wallpaper were worn and torn in some places, one could hardly say whether the stains in it were once flowers or clouds. It had a musty smell that overwhelmed the place, every furniture was old and smelled of decay - all she wanted was to die.

                The pain of carrying a baby without a father, of living with a moody father and mother that felt nothing for her but disdain was unbearable. “What a waste of air you are! You have a child to take care and it doesn´t even has a father. And what a father it had! It didn´t have a father since the beginning, this poor bastard!” Mary couldn´t do anything but keep the pain for herself. She would cry silently at night. The tears would come vigorously; the sobbing made her chest hurt, but not a sound would be heard. She knew how to be discreet while suffering. It is a craft you learn with time, since you are a child. And she was no longer a child and a master in it.

                The baby girl was born by the end of the year. The little pinky and chubby thing was something to be beheld and admired. The sweet smell of new fresh skin, the soft and thin blond hair on the perfect round head, the big blue eyes that glinted at her. That small precious thing was nothing more than a gift. A gift from God, so she thought it. It could have been nothing of what she heard of it before it was born. Her mother called the baby a spawn of Satan, a leftover of a dead degenerate, an orphan without a father with no future but whoredom. But it was nothing like it she kept repeating to herself. Mary saw in those perfect limbs of her daughter that she – the baby-  was a gift. A gift from God!

                She was suddenly stricken by fear that her mother might kidnap her little diamond – as she called it – and give her away. To adoption, to a circus, to whoever passed by, to Satan himself.

                Her religious piety grew like weed after a storm. There in a world, where only fear and misery waited for her, only God was by her side.

                With the help of an aunt, she borrowed some money and moved away, as farther as she could from her parents. She didn´t even told anyone else her new address, except to her aunt that gave her clothes, food and support. She found a tiny one storey house in a friendly neighborhood where the grass looked greener, the sun shone brighter and people smiled at the mere sight of her. She never felt so happy inside.

                She got odd jobs that paid enough to pay the rent, feed herself and her daughter. She never saw her parents again, who died one after the other in the passing years as her darling little thing blossomed like a miracle.

                She named her daughter Mary, after herself and the Mother of Jesus. She would dress her little girl in an embroidered white gown. Her doll face adorned by curly blond hair that looked almost white under the sunlight and bring her to church every Sunday . The baby would be surrounded by people who couldn´t help but be attracted by the enchanting little thing she was, and every single face shined at the mere sight of the rosy cheeks and the yellowish curls and the bright big blue eyes.

                Mary grew well and fast and seemed in perfect health despite the restrictions that life bored on her and her mother. Momma, as little Mary would call her mother, could go through anything, any pain, any discomfort, as long as her little Mary was well dressed and well fed.

                Mary was almost fourteen when Momma received the news that her aunt, the only person who stood by her side when she needed most, had passed away. She left a son, also an orphan almost the same age as Mary and Momma was his only relative left. Momma felt a strong pain in the chest and desperation took over her soul. It was already an ordeal to raise her only daughter and the thought of having another mouth to feed overwhelmed her with despair. “What am I to do?” – “But his mother was the only person who gave me a hand and, besides, never asked anything in returned”. To tell the truth, Mary never paid back the first ten months her aunt gave her for the rent until she got a job. What kind of Christian would she be if she let the poor boy on his own fate? The helpless kid.

                She took him home as if her own. He was one year younger than Mary but bigger. A well-fed dark boy called Julian, who could actually be a helping hand in bringing some food home. He was strong and healthy enough to get a part-time job after school and she made it clear to him.

“Hear me well, young man, you´re orphan now, but you aren´t crippled.” He would live in the cellar, eat her food and share the bills.

                Little Mary rarely left the house. Her mother feared the outer world and its temptations. She had no business outside the garden around their house. She should do well in school and become what she didn´t have the chance to become herself.

                A year went by, and she realized that Little Mary was behaving differently. She seemed gloomy, quiet… she rarely left her room. She wasn´t nothing of the glowing light she used to be. Momma could hear her little daughter cry feebly behind the closed door. She would knock at her door and ask whether everything was all right. Most of the time she wouldn´t answer. She would simply say in a quiet voice. “I am trying to rest, Momma…” and after a deep distraught breath; she went completely silent. One day she told Momma, “Can I talk to you later?”
                Momma´s soul was filled with fear. What could her little Mary want to talk to her? She knew girls would go through some rough times at that age, but it happened to anyone… anyone… even to Momma.

                “Can we talk now?” Asked Momma, almost in a whisper. Her voice trembled a bit and she couldn´t hide her apprehension. The door tickled as the key turned and unlocked the door. Momma opened and found her daughter lying on her stomach, face hiding in the pillows and arms. Momma slowly kneeled beside the bed, caressed gently the golden curls and in a trembled voice asked “What happened, angel?”

                Mary started to sob wildly, with strong jerks that made her back bow. It took five minutes for her to come to a halt. She kept silent for a minute or so.

“Momma, I´ve sinned… sinned against God…”

Momma felt her knees go weak and she couldn´t keep the position anymore and sat on the floor. Warm tears fell from her eyes. Her whole body shook violently, but she kept herself away from the bed so Mary couldn´t acknowledge it.

“God… God forgives you… God forgives anything”. Momma repeated in long pauses that made it sound like an eternity. “How… how did you sin?”
                “I am pregnant, Momma”. She said and started to cry violently again.

                Momma didn´t say a word. She couldn´t say anything even if she wanted. She mustered some courage to ask what she already knew.

                “Who made you sin, my angel?”

                “Julian! Julian! I love him, Momma!”

                Momma stood up calmly. Her face pale as death. Her eyes showed no emotion, they stared fixed at the oblivion. They turned from red into white like magic. She fixed her kneaded clothes and left the room. She went to the kitchen and sat by the table quietly.

                It was still five o´clock and Julian wouldn´t come home before six.

                Everything was repeating itself. The wheel of fate was against her again. Her own sin… she had sinned and the very same sin befell on her precious angel. The little house she lived in for the last 14 years. The very same one that smelled of flowers and happiness, now stank of musty worn-out wall paper. All the furniture creaked and as she repeated to herself “I´d fallen, so she has” - She was struck by panic! The voice she heard wasn´t hers, it was her mother´s.

                Little Mary cried for ten minutes straight, but felt silent by fatigue. She wanted to sleep, but she couldn´t. Thoughts went through her head. She knew Momma was a good person and would accept Julian. They would marry and have the baby. Momma would be the greatest grand-Momma ever. She smiled at herself. What was there to fear? She has sinned, but she could have things right now. After all, Julian was a good boy and she knew he loved her. They´d have a baby together…

                But an abrupt noise was heard from the kitchen. Chairs screeched from their places, a voice cried “Stop!”  A stump was heard. Little Mary startled. “What in God´s name?”

                She left the room in a rush to reach the kitchen where the commotion came from.

                What she saw was nothing she could even dream of. Even in her worst nightmare.

                There was Momma, holding fast a cleaver in her bloody hands. Her face was colorless. She showed no emotion. But her clothes bathed in bloody said more than she wanted to hear. On the floor, lying lifeless was Julian. His brown eyes half open, staring at the emptiness, told everything: he was dead. His head was at least four inches away from his neck and a pound of very dark blood surrounded him.

                “Why, Momma, why?” She asked in a whisper. She limped toward her mother shaking all over. She stretched her arm in a unsure movent and touched Momma´s arm. Only then the woman, with thin drops of red blood realized her daughter was there standing a couple of feet away. With the same fixed eyes, resembling two ice cubes, turned to her slowly.

She paused. Touched gently her daughter´s face. The feeling of that soft sking sent shivers to her spine.
“Why you´ve sinned, my baby? Angels don´t sin…” spoke Momma softly.

                Little Mary felt the first struck. The warm blood started to cover her chest. The second one made her lean backwards. Only after the third blow, that hit her between her large and bright blue eyes, she lost her conscience.

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Kids

                “Hey, let´s just skip school and visit the old scrapyard.” Cried the kid in his high pitched voice. The other two looked at him vaguely. They didn´t share the enthusiasm and continued their way over the grass. They weren´t supposed to step on the grass. There were signs alerting them to avoid threading on the newly mown grass and using the pavement instead. But kids were kids and they felt thrilled with the idea of breaking rules. It was a way of life. A way of feeling in control of their own decisions. A way of thinking themselves as “grown up”.

                “You guys are such pussies” Said the stout kid who quickly climbed a wall that gave up to a private property and sat on it. They have done it before. Done it a hundred times. None of the other kids saw the prospect of a new adventure in the scrapyard as something exciting.

                “I don´t want to get myself dirty. Last time I came back home like that, my mom scolded me. Besides, what the hell is there to be done? The place is a dump. It smells of shit and piss!”
                It was a dump for sure. But you could find many unexpected things in there, as when they found a mechanical leg and a dildo – but nobody dared to touch that thing – it could have been already used and it was gross. Sometimes beggars would sleep there. The kids would sneak in unbeknown to the homeless person and throw things at them – rocks, toilet paper, waste, even feces – you name it.

                The scrapyard was a no man´s land where you were free to do all kind of evil and go unpunished.

                “I heard they dumped new waste there. We might find something interesting… like a gun, or a naked woman”.

                “Shuddup, dickhead! No one gets rid of naked women”. They laughed. “Besides, as I told you, I don´t want to get dirty”.
                “I am going anyway, whether you want it or not. You´re a bunch of chickens.”

                The older kid, who was sitting over the brick wall, jumped down raising his floppy pants up to his lower belly. He was a stout kid with redish hair and freckles on his face. His hair was messy and his face carried a sly smile on him that showed his yellow set of crooked teeth. He smelled of sweaty clothes and garlic.

                The other kids were somehow younger. Not that much younger. A couple of months to one year younger. But that was a huge gap when you´re barely in your early teens.
                Once the bigger kid headed to the scap yard the others followed. Kids just do like that. There is little to none need to reason with them. They will always followed the alpha kid and do what they think the older kid expect them to do.
                They crossed an abandoned terrain where the unkept grass had grown up to their knees. It was a wasteland that smelled of dry grass and rotten dead animals. Actually, the place was festered with dead animals and it was easy to come across dead dogs and cats. It was a clandestine cemetery to the poor, where they could discard their pets once they died or were too sick to be tended. It was a horrid place, but was a shortcut to the scrap yard.

                The scrap yard was and old abandoned manufacturing plant, surrounded by an old wrought-iron bar fence. A broken gate was the main passage inside the place. Parts of the building were crumbling over the cement pathway where weed grew freely. The smell of rusty and thick grass filled everybody noses.

                They followed through a familiar path that led to where the new waste was dumped. They laughed and told jokes to each other as they went. The day was bright and no clouds could be spotted in the sky. As soon as they arrived at the place, they saw an unexpected character. At first it seemed just a regular homeless person crouched by an old car. He held a long white beard and his hair was carefully parted to one side. His clothes were clean. He wore a spotless army jacket, grey pants adorned by a shining buckled belt. He wore thick shining boots that looked brand new. He was certainly in his 60ies and his wrinkles were so deep that looked like scars. Even though he presented himself in a dignified outfit one could say he was a homeless. He had a defeated attitude. Eyes downcast and a curved spine. He saw the kids approach immediately and made not a single movement. He wasn´t surprised or taken aback by the new arrival. He lifted his small sparkling eyes to the newcomers and greeted them without a word. His eyes spoke for himself.

                The kids stopped, hesitantly. They were used to homeless people idling about the place. But they usually avoid any contact whatsoever. That old man had a strange feeling to him. He smiled at the kids without moving himself from his place still crouched like an old frog. The fat kid, who was always wanting to impress the other ones, approached the old man defiantly.

                “What are you doin´ in ´ere, old fart? This place belong to us.” Said he putting his hands on his hips in a futile attempt to intimidate the old man. The kid was big enough to physically assault the old man. Though he was about fourteen, he was already 5´11 and was strong. The old man sneered at him waving his hand in disdain.

                “I didn´t mean to invade your property, young man.” Said the strange figure. “I heard from a very trustworthy source that there was a very special thing that was dumped here just the other day.”

                “Whatever is here it belong to us”. Went on the defiant kid.

                “It may be enough for us all. And, besides, I know where it is.”
                “Show us then!”
                The old man smiled. His teeth were missing and the ones visible were rotten. His gum was red with blood. It was a sight that scared the other kids. But the older one didn´t seem to care. The homeless stood up and made a sign with his hand. “Follow me, it is right there inside the building”.
                “Please, don´t go!” Said one of the younger kids. He was skinny and was shaken by the morbid character in front of them.

                “Don´t be afraid, pussy. I could beat this old man to the pup.” The old man was indeed small – about 5´5.

                They all got inside the building, following the old man who limped slightly from one of his legs. There was a rusty metal staircase that led them onto the first floor where old machines were left to rotten. The kids followed him silently. Once there were upstairs, the bigger kid asked. “Where is the stuff you said we´d find here?”

                The old man smiled gently, leering at the boys. He slowly reached to his pocket and pulled out a small knife.

“You´re my prize. Be nice to me and I shall be nice to you, kids”.
                One of the smaller kids panicked and tried to flee going down the staircase in a hurry where he lost his balanced tumbled over the steps and felt, hitting his head against the concrete floor, making a shallow noise. They all looked down at the boy lying on the floor. The red shining blood started to flow and encompass the perimeter where the young man lied motionlessly.

                “He´s dead! He´s dead” Cried one of the kids in panic.

                The homeless stood paralyzed. He certainly didn´t expect that to happen. And kept holding the knife dumbfounded trying to decide how to escape from there.

                The bigger boy, after the shock of seeing his friend fall and possibly die, was assaulted with anger. His faced went red. His muscles quivered and with his lips flattened he threw a punch on the old man´s face. At first the old man just stared with protruding eyes at the unexpected reaction. The second punch came even stronger and made the old man lose his balance and fall over his knees. He meant to use his knife, but the kid kicked it out off his hand with such strength that the man´s hand broke and fell limp. Taking advantage of the fact that the man kept on his knees with his face up to the kid´s leg, the boy kicked hard the old man´s face. His mouth exploded in a blood splash and with his rotten teeth being scattered all over the place. He tried to escape crawling to find refuge on the edge of the staircase, but a kick on his back took him by surprise and he felt, exactly the same way the boy fell over the staircase. His body rolled over the steps and he hit the concrete floor face first. The body laid almost over the kid´s while the blood spilled like from a broken tap.

                The kids looked at the scene with popped eyes. They were pale and shaken all over. Not a word was said as they stared aghast at the two bodies there bleeding profusely on the floor.

And silently they left the place. Not knowing whether they should call for help.

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The Hardships of the Craft.

The main problem of living among non-readers is having nobody to judge your work objectively.
I know the limits of my writing and that so much can still be done to improve it. But, as a creator (even of hideous creatures) I avoid seeing what is wrong with my creation like some parents avoid taking notice of their children handicaps.

I doubt parents realise the innumerable flaws their children have. Well, at least some don´t.
Reading what I have writen so far makes me blush with shame. There is still a long way to go and a lot of hard work to do.

Editing is possibly the most important thing to do when you write something you mean to be released to the public.

Only people who read and write are able to give you THAT helping hand you need to pave your way to mastery of your craft. Avoid as much as possible the opinion of relatives and preople who are known for not being fond of books (a huge percentage of humanity).

No matter how good is the plot, how you envisage your characters and so forth, if you still haven´t mastered the means (i.e. writing) the whole work you are going to be through will be doomed.

The Depraved Life.

I closed the liquor store door behind me and waited outside. The thin drops of gelid rain hit my face mercilessly. I couldn´t go back home without getting myself wet, so I decided to stay longer and search for shelter under a canopy.
                Other people were also trying to get shelter from the rain, and they gathered around under the same canopy I was. Among them I noticed a squalid figure that lingered next to me. It was a girl. Dressed in a dirty pink pull over with stains on the sleeves and worn at the seams. The soaked dirty blond hair fell heavily over her face. Her huge eyes looked somber as she gazed at the emptiness before her.

Time passed and people started to leave. They rushed to their cars or to the bus stop nearby. Soon there was nobody left but me and the melancholic figure. I had parked my car two blocks away from the liquor store and I would get wet before I could reach it. So I decided to stay a little longer.

Buses came and went by, but the girl next to me had no intention to take one of them or even leave the place on foot. Actually, she didn´t seem like someone who wanted to leave at all. She kept staring at the unknown as if her soul didn´t dwell in that slim rigid body of hers right next to me. I noticed her elbows shaking from the cold, but she didn´t seem to care.

“Are you waiting for someone?” I asked. Her faced kept calm and she looked at me out of the corner of her eyes. She fixed her inquisitive eyes on me for a short period of time that felt like an eternity. Those eyes were cold and piercing drilling through my soul.

“I might.” She replied after a while. The voiced sounded husky. “Why you care?” She continued in a lukewarm voice. She turned her eyes back at whatever was in front of her and took a deep breath. I had already decided not to keep the conversation going when she retorted. “I might be waiting for someone… but this someone might not be waiting for me… So, I guess I won´t wait any longer”. Said she cryptically.

“Where are you bound to? I could give you a ride if you are going in the same direction.” I didn´t expect her to accept such an invitation from a complete stranger, but, after a second or so, she turned her cold deep brown eyes at me. I wasn´t able to spot any sign of emotion in them. Her pale young face was the image of a wax figure. Her features were angular, the nose small. A thin-lipped mouth perfectly painted with a fragile brush garnished her young face. She parted her lips for a second before saying anything.

“Yes… you could. Where are you going to?”

“North.” Said I, pointing with my finger to wherever I thought North was. She finally blinked. It was the first time I saw her blinking.

“I might go North too.”

I made a sudden move to leave and she followed me without hesitation.
We hurried to my car so we didn´t get ourselves wetter than necessary. I unlocked it and she quickly jumped to the passage seat before I could even say anything.

I lived alone in a two storey bungalow since my parents passed away . The placed wasn´t well cared of and the slate air and the mild scent of decay prevailed all over the place. Nonetheless, I managed to keep everything in order. The tables were tidy and clean, so were the dishes. The musty air started to vanish gradually after I opened the windows to let some fresh air in. She sat quietly in the sofa even before I asked her to do so, and with those slow-motion movements that seemed to be her natural, she turned to me with flushed cheeks and bewildered eyes asked me, almost begging as if she were in pain. “Could you close the windows, please… it hurts me… I mean, the air, the sunlight”. I promptly did as I was told.

“My eyes are sensitive to sunlight, even in this weather in which you can´t see much of sunlight.” I nodded in agreement.

“Would you like a cup of tea”. She laid both hands over her thighs and fell into a pensive mode. It seemed that her mental process took longer for her than average. I started to think that she might suffer from some mental disorder but her constant change from pensive lost eyes to fixed scrutinizing ones made me believe otherwise. She probably went through some kind of trauma and I was most certainly not going to say a word about that.

                She finally whispered through her partially parted lips something that sounded like a “yes”. I went straight up to the kitchen to fix the tea. From there, I could see her from her back. She pulled her hair sideways and I could see her slim perfect neck. The skin looked smooth and colorless in its paleness. I couldn´t help watching my hands and mentally measuring it around that soft fleshless neck. It looked so beautiful, tasty and arousing. My mind started to wander as I gazed at her firm shoulders slight raised up to her ears. They were firm and bony. I started to imagined how soft the skin should be under the fabric that covered her elbows and back… as soft as the skin of her neck seemed to be.

I was awaked from my daydreaming by the shimmering sound of the boiling kettle. I poured the hot water on the tea and moved slowly towards her. I went to the back of the sofa, so I could kept my eyes on her slim neck and she couldn´t see my face. I approached silently, but not unnoticed. She clearly saw my coming, but didn´t move a single muscle to turn her head towards me. Every meaningful movement she made was with her eyes. I knew she saw me coming with a sidelong glance. I felt her shoulder shrugging and her whole body go stiff when I laid my left hand on her left should as I handed her out the cup of tea. I made no intend to take my hand off her should as she held the cup of tea and cautiously let my right hand lay on her neck. Her muscles were stiff as a corpse. She showed no sign of fear, surprise or even welcoming as she held firm the cup in her both hands. She embraced the hot warm cup with both palms wide open. It was as if she were unaware of the heat. Then, I place both hands on her shoulders and started to cares it gently, moving gradually towards her neck where I eagerly wanted to reach. To sound of the tick-tack of the old wall clock banged heavily over over my head and filled the room. Her breath, which was deep and irregular, simply came to a halt. Both my hands folded her fine neck while my fingers found rest under her jaws and while my fingers pressed her skin so tight I could feel the flicking of her veins pulsing in her neck.  I was shivering slightly and my breath was getting deeper when, with a sudden jerk, I felt the splash of warm water over my face. My eyes were wide open in ecstasy when they were hit unexpectedly.

                A mix of confusion and pain took over my soul. I stumbled back and fell over. My head hit the floor and my consciousness went black for a second. I tried to regain force to stand up again but a strong blow hit hard my forehead. With my eyes still burning from the hot tea and totally blind I was unable to tell with what I was being hit, but I was conscious enough to take all the strikes that followed through without fainting.

                The flow of warm blood covered my eyes and now the pain was unbearable. The strikes were controlled. I wasn´t being hit by someone who was moved by anger, but by someone with a cold intention to see me lose my will to resist little by little and give up completely. Whenever I stopped trying to stand, nothing happened. My eyes were still sore and swollen from the hot water and the blood over them. Whenever I tried to stand up to avoid chocking, another blow came out of nowhere sending me back headfirst to the floor. Each blow was stronger than the previous one. It was a sort of a game. There was no anger in it. Just a calculate mean of preventing me from leaving the place.

                “So, what you want from me?” Said I in a gasp, spitting the blood that filled my mouth. “Sorry if you thought I was going to hurt you…”

 I was still able to organize my ideas and tried to rationalize with the person who was attacking me, but another blow hit my nose shattering it completely. I wasn´t sure whether my nose was pulled off my face or it just tilted completely to one side obstructing the nasal cavities. I wasn´t able to breathe anymore and a the flow of blood that was pouring out of my nostrils found its way into my mouth . I choked. I could no longer breathe. Gasping for breath was impossible and I tried to cough it off. I tried not to move, so I wouldn´t by hit again. But the blood in my mouth and the broken nose made me raise my torso again to another furious and accurate blow. The lights went off.

                I waked up much later on to discovered myself completely naked lying on my kitchen table with both my hands and neck tied. The pale slim figure was sitting in front of me. She had changed her clothes. Dried and combed her hair. She presented herself very solemnly. Her eyes looked brighter. Her pale skin had some color in it and an almost imperceptible look of satisfaction adorned her eyes. She looked ten years younger.

I couldn´t believe what I saw. I was striped to the bone. The skin of my legs were torn off and pieces of my flesh were served on a white plate in front of her.

                When she realized I had waken up, she smiled for the first time. Her face was bright and full of joy.

“You´re one of a kind” She said. “Since I saw you I wanted to feel the taste of your flesh… roll over so I can feel your buttocks”.

I don´t remember how long did it take. But when the police finally showed up, I had lost so much blood that I was incapable of remembering anything else.

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