Part II - The Apple of my Eye

Fiction, experimental

The night is darkest just before the dawn.

Since the beginning of my journey, I ever wanted to know where it was I should turn. Though now, forsaken from all hope, forsaken from the life I once created, I found myself turned at last.

Now I’ve crawled through the wake of darkness. No more riddled, I thought to find answers deep inside of me. Not blinded by my light, that forgets the darkness it vanished, here in the shadows of my soul, I started to listen.

There was the mad man, his tongue covered in mystery, his words followed by blasphemy.

And too I found ancient ones, and angels of old. Scholars and Warriors, children of murderers, kindred of the dragon and devils of stranger gods. Here, in the darkest hour, I found, what Michael and his brethren could never see, for too high for truth they were seated. Here, before the dawn of time, where I embraced the utter indifference of life and death, I now knew the ones, that reached the peak and then fell for it all.

But first, where God's blind eyes never dared to spot, I met her.

Now I knew a night as dark as she alone could have promised. 

She, the incarnation of desire, bitter seduction made flesh. Sweet temptation, you forbidden apple of my eye, I should resist not. Her dark eyes promised everything and nothing. What shall I call a creature so beautiful and pure? She threw herself into my grasp, hurled herself onto me like a whirlwind and pressed her full lips onto mine, it hurt my every muscle. As she leaned back--and never should I forget the grin on her face--my eyes laid rest on her body and her silhouette burned itself forever into my sight. Maybe I looked too deep into the chaos of her soul, and as I gave in, so did she. With the night breathing over our bare skin, with the starless skies above and the foul earth below, we became more than mortal lovers. We became a unity of desire, of promise, a single minded beast clawing and biting for more. The heat of her breath, the promising whisper of nightmares to come, broke this old man from every chain.

Then, in the midst of panting and bucking, I believed hearing her name hissing between the dissonance in our breathing. More than ever, something in my mind shattered once and for all.

She, the apple of my eye, she came with visions.  Images now forced themselves in fever and fire through my mind, like foul worms crawling through the dried veins of eden. Visions of a cradle hidden in paradise, fouled by the seed of corruption, unrelenting and without any leash to ever break her scorn. Suddenly, she drew me back to the day before known time, to the carcass of my broken heart.

Born from filth, not dust, it was her, this self-righteous owl of night. Her journey was that of dread, of deceiving and death. She withstood the will of divine, the gnawing teeth of time, the rust between one eternity to another, to now dig her malicious claws deep into my flesh and my very soul. How blind must a Creator have been to force free will upon a creature so corrupted, so spiteful for everything she was meant to be? For everything she loathed, I now loathed the same. With that I now questioned myself, how blind have I now become?

We spiraled with chaos and for what now seems as an eternity in damnation. She was the principle of evil made flesh, and for the lust I felt between her thighs, forever I shall pay with but a shard of my sanity. Precious night owl, my bride of old, beautiful thorn of eden, my eyes were opened.

Lo and behold, for her name promised pleasure, yet bore nothing but the misery of truth.

And suddenly, I felt nothing. Left only with a broken heart, and dread hanging over us naked lovers, we clung tightly within the chilling breath of night.

I feared so deeply for dawn never to come.

And she; her name was Sin.

Part I - [Hope] comes before the fall

Fiction, experimental

Every of our lives is but a selfish creation, out of control, driven by entropy and decay.

My life in this ocean of chaos was riddling. Nowhere to go, anywhere to turn. Neither of purpose, nor of reason, fate or destiny, promises, hope. I was a self-created lie, something lesser, anything else. Not worth a prayer, not worth the pride.

I looked up to the sun, up to the moon and wondered and wandered mindlessly, without a goal. And all I asked was, why and why and why?

So much I've longed for something I could only pretend never to find. I wanted more. There must have been a greater answer, a bigger truth or at least--and anything was better than nothing--a deeper lie. For heaven or hell, God or Creator, for the sake of my sanity; this life could not be just that.

Thenceforth I reached for the stars. I was determined to find, devoted to seek. I created hope where none dwelled before, for nothing could stop me from finding an answer. Such young and innocent hope, naive in its honesty, but relentless in its drive. My heart was filled and beating so strong, it was deafening. Though I resisted not, I needed to know.

Mine was the starving march through the ruins of history, the stranglehold of a choking hourglass and the unforgiving search through the sands of time. The ages of mankind behind me, I then climbed the highest mountains, battled the hissing storms and the never ending winters. I breathed the bitterness of frostbitten time itself, and stood before the gates of heaven. I devoted and gave my life to find them welded shut with ice, forsaken and forgotten, and now frozen over with lost dreams and times undone.

Then all I had left was to look down. Down to a world ready to share the same destiny, the same promise and lie.

Suddenly, though not surprisingly, I felt betrayed. Was it not hope, that now brought me to the end of hope itself? And before these ancient gates, sealed with the jealousy of a blinded war, I fell on my knees and I screamed and I cried. Here, where the Morning Sun once turned away, I found doubt where childish hope once dwelled. It was here, that rebellion became recreation. But too was it here, where hope became madness, became guilt, which now I felt with every beat of an aging heart. And a part deep within me wanted for the world to feel this very guilt, too. I was but a broken man at the end of a lost journey. Driven once by hope, filled with pride and ready now to fall.

Here, on top of it all, on the edge of the biggest abyss ever created by divine, I started to riddle once again.

What God would create a world, in which reaching the highest of any point can only mean a certain fall?

For no answer, nor good shall ever come from where the heavens died, I had to go deeper.

So I turned to the fallen, to the twisted and wicked, all the creatures I only ever knew as wrong and misjudged. I embraced the fear, the rage, and I laughed. Laughed, until my eyes bled tears of fright, laughed with the mad and all the beautiful bleak. There we celebrated the art of agony, the moment every man, even the most hopeless, will cherish his life at last.

And like a hissing crack through an ornate mirror, the answer came so clear.