Thursday, March 31, 2011

A narrative...

What if I told you that this was all according to plan? What if I told you that I meant for this to happen all along? I suppose you would look at me and say I was insane. Oh, you might be condescending enough to look at my work, note my meticulous method and creative flair, and have a morbid appreciation for it. But probably not... No, you're likely the type of person who looks at the things that I have done and never consider why I do them, only that atrocities have been committed and that you are horrified by them. You'd call me a criminal, a psychopath. You'd call me evil. I cannot argue. I am all of those things. But that doesn't mean that I am not right in what I do.

I sit now, in this cell, awaiting my final punishment. They will murder me tonight, mostly to sate their own need for revenge. Killing me will bring none of those girls back, nor will it undo the work I have done.No, I will die, just another corpse to be thrown upon the pyre. I did not plead or vie for my life. I admitted what I had done and the pride that I took in it. I did not appeal when they found me guilty, nor when the sentenced me to death. I dared them to execute me, and now they will. They don't understand, but I thank them anyway. I have studied death in every possible way externally. I have watched it, nurtured it, extended it, and expedited it. 144 times, I have explored it. I have seen it in all of it's forms, but have never experienced it. Now I have the chance. My work will be complete, and I will finally be able to write my memoirs in Hell. They walk me down the long hall to my destiny, smiling as they lead me into the chamber. I lay myself down on the table and relax as they strap me in and swab both of my arms with alcohol, once for the main line and the other as a back up. Ever wonder why they do that? I mean, are they afraid that I might catch a disease before I die. From behind a wall of glass, I hear the Warden ask if I have any last words. I look over at the glass, smile at him and the family members of my subjects and smile."My work here is finished." I say and then turn to look up at the doctor who will record my doom and check for a pulse once I am done for.

I look up at her. She is plain looking, too plain, almost as if the face she wears is not her own, but what she would like me to see. She smiles at me and places her hand on my wrist. The man finishes hooking up the drip to the IV's and steps away. I thank him as he checks the lines, but he doesn't respond. I look up again at the plain face of the doctor, only this time it is not plain, but beautiful. A ghastly pallor and the smell of blood on her lips tell me at once what she is. She speaks to me with her mind. "Soon this life will be over and you will walk forever in glorious rapture." The man pushes the button and the first plunger sinks into the syringe. I feel a mild burning as the Sodium Thiopental enters by bloodstream, destined to put me to sleep before I can study my demise. I frown slightly.The voice speaks in my mind again. "No, my friend, I would not let you sleep. I know the work that you do, and my mistress would see that you complete it. Close your eyes now. When next you awake, you will become death and will revel in it."A single tear rolls down my cheek. Not a tear of pain or sadness, as I am sure the Warden and the others believe it to be, but a tear of joy as the second plunger drops, and the blessed poison enters my bloodstream. Pancuronium; this will paralyze my diaphragm and asphyxiate me. I pray I can live long enough to experience the last syringe. The next plunger drops and the glorious burning agony of Potassium Chloride rages through my veins. The pain is incredible. I am unable to move, as the Pancuronium has paralyzed me, or I would scream in ecstasy. I grow cold for a moment as I listen to the beating of my heart slow and the finally cease. Just before oblivion takes me, I feel another burning in my veins. Is there a fourth plunger, another drug?The voice fills my mind again. "Take my vitae, and be strengthened by it. When you taste it again, you will live forever in death." Darkness follows and I am dead.

A Dream then takes me. In it I see my friend, the doctor, as she is mean to be seen: a living corpse, cold and beautiful in her pallor. She wheels me into a van and all goes black. I awaken again and she is carrying me. I hear wind blowing and think I smell the scent of desert flowers. She brings me to a cave and places me down. She then leaves. For a moment I am afraid, as I am paralyzed still and cannot move or call out. Then I feel a cold hand on my forehead, stroking my hair assuringly. I look up and see only a face hidden by a veil. A whisper of a voice escapes from the veil.

"Be calm, little childe. Your work must be completed."

Her veiled face then comes closer, as if to kiss me. I feel an incredible ectasy which threatens to overcome my senses. I begin to slip into sleep again. Just before I succumb, I taste blood on my lips. I then fall into darkness once more.

I awaken to the smell of wet clay and earth, that unmistakable reek of excrement and rot. I lay in a rotted box in a shallow pit, unburied. I take a moment to inventory my sensations. I do not breathe, my heart is still, but my senses are sharp, and my body moves. My face itches and burns, though. It is cold, and almost pitch black, except for a faint yellow glow to my right. I look about, trying to see in the dark.Amazingly, my eyes respond and what little light there is in the cave illuminates it now as if it were day. I sit up from my grave and look about. I am in a cavern of limestone and shale. Outside I can hear the sound of the desert wind. As I shift further, a sound escapes the box. I am not alone. I turn my newly sharpened gaze to the figure beside me. She is no more than 15 years old, bronze skin, unspoiled. Her smell is that of wildflowers and sex. Her fear is palpable. She wriggles in spasms in a futile attempt to break free of the ropes that bind her hands and feet.Her mouth is covered and gagged, her screams muffled behind cloth and tape. I look her over for a moment and feel a new sensation: hunger. I take a moment to let it our over me. It is a ravenous sensation, the likes of which I have never felt. It is a glorious pain that begs to be sated. I look down at the creature beside me again and smile. I understand now. I lay back down with her and take her into my arms, trying to comfort her. I tell her that it will be all right and stroke her lovely back and legs. I then tilt her chin up to meet mine and then rip her throat from her lovely neck. Her precious life flows from the tear and I take it into myself in glorious rapture. It is over far too quickly, but my hunger abates.

I rise from the pit and climb out, trying to get my bearings. As I do, I notice the itch again. It rages across my face. I rub at my face to try to stop it, but it will not. I start toward the light in the cave and turn down a passage to a small chamber. An antique vanity of mahogany sits in the center of the room, lit by two torchieres on either side of it. At the vanity sits a creature. Her flesh is desiccated and has flaked from her skull, which is tinged a sickly pale green. Her eyes, which are but sockets, glow with a wan yellow light. She is beauty personified. At that moment, I worship her. She turns and studies me for a moment. She is dressed in ancient wisps of gossamer, once white and pure, now worn and rotted, barely clinging to her form. A large veil sits upon her head, pulled back from her beautiful face. She is the figure from my dreams.

She rises from the chair and motions to it for me to sit, which I do.She turns me to the mirror and I gaze upon my dead face, gray, clammy, and bloated with death. For a moment I am sad. My flesh has betrayed me. She puts her hand upon my shoulder and smiles. "Do not despair at your countenance" her words speak in my mind. "Right now, your true self burns to be released. Do that which it asks." She places in my hand an ancient straight edge razor, rusted and ragged with years. "All you must do is slough off the remnants of the flesh that binds you. Once it is gone, it will never return to plague you again." I open the razor and go to work on my face...

I sit here now, understanding who I am and why I am. I hear stories of empires once held and lost, of a learned and pious people, now scattered across the winds. I hear of a family of necromancers and how I must destroy them. And I hear of the tool that we will use to do so: a tool called the Sabbat.

No comments:

Post a Comment