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.