Revisiting old bits of writing and journaling entries from my past life has been something that I've been doing a lot of recently. I'm not sure why, if it's to regain some of the passion for writing and creating that I had in my younger years, or if it's a way for me to try to connect with myself and my interests. Who I was before the world changed me in so many ways. Ideas that I had, both good and bad, some quite naive in nature, as one would expect.
I used to have a friend that I was very close with. We have since had a falling out and we are no longer on speaking terms (to put it simply). I came upon a short story that I had written in 2014 and felt compelled to finish it. It was interesting to me because I didn't remember writing it at all. There were other stories and poems written about the same time that I remembered, but not this one.
When I found it, I was prompted to remember a trip that we had taken. In our early 20s, we did quite a bit of what I refer to as "haphazard traveling". We wanted to travel and have adventures but were not really in a financial position to be able to take larger trips. I was a young mother, and I had chosen to have my children at a relatively early age (20), so my early 20s experience was somewhat atypical. This limited options as well, and strained finances. So, what we would typically do is decide a particular direction to drive within an allotted time frame. We would look at road signs and defend things and then stop when the mood should strike us, or we saw something interesting that we wanted to check out further. This made for a lot of very memorable experiences in places that probably hadn't seen life in years.
It was on one of these trips that we actually came across a peculiar sign for a landmark called "Snake Alley" in Burlington, Iowa. Neither of us had been and we thought, might as well check it out. So, we went there, and I remember thinking it was aesthetically pleasing. The cobblestone and the wear were quaint and told the story of something very old and historic, while the updated grounds and landscaping showed signs of trying to modernize. We drove down the street. That was it, nothing more or less. Nothing to extravagant but for some reason the location has always stayed with me. It felt like a place that could have been more than just an old street with some pretty flowers.
I remember that street served as the inspiration for this story, but for whatever reason, I could not remember this particular story. As I read, memories came back to me such as where certain inspirations came from or what bit of research that I did to build out the various layers. Reading it was quite the experience, because I felt like I was the reader, rediscovering parts of myself through the words on the page. It was a cathectic experience and I think that I'll continue to revisit my old notes in the coming months and maybe take a crack at getting some of the words translated into text so that I can share it.
So, here it is for your enjoyment. Originally written July 23, 2014; inspired from the trip that had been taken in early spring of that year.
The Angel and the Serpent
It was perfect, simply put.
The street, I mean. It sat on a
steep slope with over seven tight curves moving back and forth, as if
slithering like a basilisk hunting for pretty.
Serpent street is what they call it.
A small-town landmark, tourist attraction, whatever you call it. But I digress, let me introduce myself. I am the one they call the landmark desiccator. Though that is not really my purpose. They are just fools who simply do not
appreciate fine art. I’ve created
several works already, but this, I’m sure is to be a masterpiece. A crowing jewel in my portfolio, if you will.
I reached the street of the serpent well after the witching
hour, as I had every night for almost a week.
It was early January and the weather had been well below freezing for
several weeks. I turned my lights off
and pulled over near the crest of the serpent; my vehicle would remain there
until the deed was done. For a moment I
sat to admire it. The way the moonlight struck it was phenomenal. The adrenaline coursed through my body, and I
felt bold and powerful as I drew closer to my purpose.
The street was closed to the public due to the icy
conditions, which was a very good thing.
I didn’t need any “public” coming along and destroying my creation. I pulled a bucket of water from the back of
my SUV and silently poured the liquid onto the street followed by several
more. I listened as the liquid splashed
against the curbs as it had every night for the past few weeks. I smiled at the sound of the crackling and
freezing; creating the perfect canvas from which the serpent would feed. I smiled to myself as I checked the
street. I had shoved the snow back carefully
weeks ago revealing the serpent and of course, pleasing the caretaker as he was
thankful for the extra help. Poor fool,
if only he knew my true purpose.
As I slipped back into my black SUV, I smiled to
myself. Tomorrow, all my work would
finally bear fruit and my masterpiece would be revealed.
Please understand something about art before you
continue. Art is an expression of
creativity that is designed to inspire an audience and give them a special
message they can think about. That
message can be anything that the artist wishes to convey, but also requires a
bit of interpretation from the audience for it to really be effective. Sometimes, this message can be simple or lighthearted
like joy, hope or love. Other times it
could be a mix of emotions. Sometimes it
can convey some deeper inner workings of society itself. What is my message you ask? You will have to look upon my masterpiece and
therein- find it. Art can take on so many
different forms. Many people fail to
realize this. So many difficult forms
and styles. Though my canvas is not a
traditional one, you can hardly consider it invalid. Like graffiti, it still has immense
value.
The stage was set so that I could finally begin my task. I walked six blocks from Serpent Street to
her apartment. She had been carefully
selected for the project for several reasons.
I will list them here: 1) because of the proximity of her home to the
serpent (I can be quite practical when the saturation calls for it) and 2)
because of her astounding natural beauty.
She looked like, simply put, an angel should look. Her hair was long and just the right shade of
natural blonde- accented by her striking blue eyes and her pale white
skin. Her lips were luscious and white,
pale in comparison to the rest of her complexion. Her appearance was like a symphony of hymns
playing all at once, quite simply, for this project, she was perfection.
I walked up the stairs and knocked softly on the door. She answered it promptly and smiled warmly
when she saw me. She was glowing with
material desire. She invited me in,
“Have you eaten?” She prompted, “Are you warm, where did you sleep?” She continued. The way that she moved and doted over me made
my heart rise into my throat. It took a
moment for me to regain my composure enough to respond. “I ate at the mission,” I told her. “I slept there last night,” playing the part
of the destitute that was required for my purpose.
As she moved around the room, I felt a sense of
urgency. “What is the matter?” I asked
her as this behavior was not her normal pattern. My eyes conveyed the sense of longing and
admiration that my heart could never feel.
“Aren’t you perceptive,” she told me with a gentle smile. “I don’t mean to rush you out, but I was called
to work tonight. The late shift,” she
turned and handed me a cup of ramen noodles and a can of soda. “What time did they ask you for?” I asked,
slightly annoyed as this was not part of my plans, and I was feeling a ping of
urgency for myself. Tonight, was THE
night. It had to be; everything was in
place. Everything had aligned for MY
purpose.
“Well, they had a couple people call out, so they need me
for the overnight. I think from whenever
I get there until about 10am is what they said, it’s an overnight shift,” she
continued to talk and explain her ordeal, but I did not care. That time frame was not in line with my
purpose. I reached my hand into my
tattered jacket pocket and put my hand around the syringe. I smile and nod as she says something about
staying there and helping myself to her food.
She really was an angel after all.
I step towards her and put my hand on her shoulder. She stops and locks eyes with me. I reach up with my other hand and plunge the
needle into her arm and quickly inject the sedative. She looks shocked and begins to back away and
say something. I stay close, as I know she will be feeling the effects soon,
and she cannot become physically injured.
It would not suit my purpose. I
see her begin to slump and I step in to catch her as she falls. In her last moments of consciousness, I put
my mouth near her ear, and I whisper, “You know, Kelly, that just won’t
do. I have much bigger plans for your
future.” With that, I felt her body go
limp in my arms and watched as she closed her angelic blue eyes.
This is the point at which I considered that logistics may
become a problem for the following reasons: 1) I am not strong enough to carry
the remaining distance between the apartment and the serpent. Even if I were to get the car, getting her
out of the apartment unblemished may prove difficult, 2) the sedative I gave
her could wear off before the hour of the witches and a second dose could be fatal
if not done expertly, and I am not a medical expert.
It was not my intention for the angel not to participate in
the glory that she was about to become.
I sat down at the counter to enjoy the very prestigious meal that she
provided me with. First thing was first,
I would need to inform her coworkers that she would not be able to make it in. They may try to check on her if she doesn’t
show up, especially when they are in dire need of staffing. Pft- as if my angel could every just be “the
staff”. I picked up her cell phone from
the coffee table and I sent a general text message to her supervisor and 2
close coworkers that may potentially come by.
I went around the apartment and turned off all the lights. The angel never drove, only flew. Unless she was exceptionally desperate, then
she took the city bus.
I looked down at her as she slept. So peaceful and serene. Yes, she would be the perfect gift for the
serpent and an even better immortal example of my artwork. My masterpiece. My angel.
I think I’ll call it “The Angel and The Serpent”. I approached her body and crouched down
beside it. She smelled the way that I
imagine that angels would smell. I
pulled my necklace from under my shirt and pull hard, breaking the chain,
producing a small vial charm. I bet
you’re wondering what I put in my very special vials. That is all a part of a very sacred ritual
that I utilize in the creation of my projects.
At any rate, I know as soon as the components were listed
and analyzed, it would be leaked to the press and the general public. I am not naive as many would like to
believe. I understand that what I do is,
illegal and some say immoral. Frowned
upon by societal norms and regulations.
However, this is the price that I pay to create the fine works of art
that I share upon the world. I cultivate
deep and meaningful messages that invoke and hopefully inspire others. There are more like me, we just have not met
yet.
I sprinkle the contents of the vial over the angel from head
to toe. Eventually, I will complete the piece but now it was far too
early. I approach the window in the
living room and can glimpse the serpent from here in the morning sun. I can feel it stirring with anticipation, and
need for what it is about to receive. It
will have her in due time.
“Kelly,” I say out loud, “Do you by chance know where I can
find a wheelchair?” As soon as the words
leave my lips, I begin to laugh to myself.
Of course, she did, she was a nurse.
Lucky for me, I’ve been watching her long enough to know that she kept a
spare in the hallway closet in case of a health emergency. This qualified.
All the conditions were perfect, and everything was all
right. Nothing could get in the way of
the sacrificial serpent’s wishes. As the
time draws near, I hear the serpent calling out orders. He knows that we are coming, and he is ready
for company.
But I digress, the time slips from my reality there is a
nagging in my mind, and I am aware, that there is much to prepare for, and
style is key. I walk over to the angel
and realize that she must be prepared for peace. I go to the couch and retrieves the garments
from my bag. I made it myself and I was
quite proud of the attention to detail that I had put into the costume. I laid it out on the couch to admire. To any onlooker it was simple, a long white
cotton dress. Upon closer inspection
there was a neat and careful design embroidered in white with lace overly and a
pearly white ribbon upon each cuff. It
was simply put, perfection. As it should
be.
The angel lay still on the floor, and I inspected the
time. Due to the early hour of sedation,
she would be stirring soon. Another dose
of sedative would be in order and hopefully she would wake in time to be part of
something ancient and artistic. If not,
it was not ruined. It would just be disappointing
if she missed out on her true purpose in life.
I approached the angel and carefully undressed her, folding
her scrubs carefully and placing them into a stack on the table. While the nude form is beautiful and raw, it
is real and unhindered by the common place enhancers that are used by women to
appear more attractive. Make up,
concealer, jewelry, corsets; all of these are stripped away, and the nude form
reveals the most vulnerable version of oneself.
For this reason, many artists have used it over the centuries. That vulnerability
and humanness that encompasses it. Which
is exactly why I am choosing not to.
Sure, I’ve dabbled in it in the past, however, this piece will represent
not humanity but divinity, incomprehensible by human understanding. I carefully dressed her in the costume that I
prepared. As I did so, I could feel her
stirring beneath me as I struggled to move and shift her weight from side to
side. It was time for another dose, and
it made me very nervous to give the second.
The last time the subject did not wake up properly. I could not have that with this piece. Starting over was not an option.
As I pulled a second syringe from my bag, I thought I should
re-adjust and lessen the dosage. That
sounded reasonable. I only wanted her to
sleep for a few hours longer anyway. I
recalculated the dosage in my head and turned to administer it. I could see that her eyes were open at this
point, her pale blue eyes. They once
cared for me and showed me such kindness and motherly affection. They were now expressionless and vulnerable. I heard the serpent begin shouting his
commands, and I quickly plunged the syringe into her arm. We locked eyes, I hoped she didn’t
speak. Allowing me to remember her as
the beautiful and benevolent angel she had always been. She didn’t try to speak and softly she fell
back to sleep. She didn’t look afraid,
like many others had been. I hoped the
reduced dosage would be effective.
I had gotten the dosage wrong many times in the past. It proved lethal for my Princess of New
Orleans. I sighed at the thought. If only she’d known how truly spectacular,
she had become. She no longer was stuck
in the same routine with no hope for the future. No longer was she sleeping on the streets in
the French Quarter while vermin and insects climbed on her body, ransacking her
and giving her cuts, bruises, and disease.
She and I were kindred spirits, really.
I enjoyed her perspective very much.
Despite all her negative situations, she saw hope and beauty in life
where I could only see tragedy and despair.
I thought that we could be the best of friends, until the queen of the
city claimed her. She came to me in my
dreams at first, just whispering her demands.
Putting her ideas of the expectations for my future into my head. Then I would hear her while I was awake. After a while, her voice changed. She no longer sounded like the Queen of the
City. The sound is not easily describable. This is about the time that I started my
research at the local library on Charels Street. This would be when I came to realize my destiny.
The Princess became upset with me. She wanted to provide me with comfort, get me
some help, saying that I needed to be saved.
She tried to save me, but I knew that it was futile for me to run from
what I was. I already knew that my
destiny had been written in the stars. I
knew what needed to be done and what I had to do. She transcended the bounds of humanity. The Princess of New Orleans became
immortal.
It pained my heart that I had lost her and at the same time,
I was filled with joy because she had become something more splendid that even
she could have ever dreamed was possible.
I signed and looked down at the angel.
Once again, her eyes were closed, and she was peaceful.
The serpent’s cries became louder, “Corpus, Cruor, Damnatio!”
He demanded. And so, he shall have it.
I walked over to the closet and removed the wheelchair. It was a descent chair with Velcro straps
used for strapping people with disabilities.
The Angel had told me this before when an elderly person had fallen, and
she had used it to help get them to their apartment while she completed her
good Samaritan duty. That was her way,
she worked tirelessly and often double shift for days in a row. Even when she returned home to her meager
apartment she could barely afford on her income, she would still find time to
help those around her.
I struggled to get her into the chair. I have no idea how much she weighed but it
was more than I could handle. But to be
fair, a 50lb lift is difficult for me.
Note to self- get bigger muscles.
When I finished, I strapped her in tightly. I couldn’t have the angel falling out of the
chair. I would blemish the
masterpiece. I tucked a blanket in
tightly around her to keep her warm while we ventured out into the cold.
As I wheeled the chair down the dimly lit corridor, the
serpent’s beckoning became increasingly loud.
It was much louder than it had been before. I put my hands over my ears to drown out the
sound to no avail. “Shut up,” I hissed,
“We are coming.” “Corpus, cruor, damnatio!”
He demanded. I swallowed hard and
resumed pushing the chair. I had to be
quick. The witching hour was drawing
near. “Corpus, Cruor, Damnitto,” he
demanded again and corpus, cruor, damnatio is what he shall have.
The Angel and I managed to make it out of the building
without any issues, except maybe my throbbing headache. But it cannot be helped, no artist is without
their Achillies heel. We walked six
blocks from her apartment to the serpent.
Much of it was very difficult as it was uphill most of the way. I managed to get there despite the icy
conditions while the serpent continued to call to us. I reached the crest of the serpent, and I
knew it was time to begin my work.
I looked down at the serpent and saw the white ice
glistening to us, looking perfect as per usual.
A light dusting of snow had begun to fall and made the scene
surreal. The lighting in the crest of
the full moon was everything that I hoped that it would be. It was majestic, like we stepped out of the
present and into truly ancient times.
When my masters ruled, no one questioned their authority. Nothing was sacred, yet everything was holy.
I undid the Velcro straps on the wheelchair and carefully
positioned the Angel at the top of the hill with her upper body on the slope
and her lower half upon the crest atop the serpent. At this moment, the serpent became still and
silent. I folded up the chair and placed
it into the back of my SUV along with the blanket, it was not a part of this
masterpiece and could be quickly discarded.
With this, I turned my attention to the Angel. I straightened out her dress and crossed her
legs- right over left. I positioned her
arms out to her sides and then paid attention to her hair. I wanted it to show the illusion of
flowing. I pulled out my bag, no great
artist should ever be without the tools of my trade. I took out my pallet and carefully chose
colors from my tubes of oil paints. I
had found that oil paints worked perfectly for my canvas of choice. I carefully painted the designs and letters
for my masters onto her arms and legs in very small print; they needed to be present,
but the Angel needed to be the focus of this painting.
I pulled out the last of the pieces that I would need- a carefully
sculpted wire for her halo and the stable gun I had crafted with one attachment
site. I laid down on the ground so as
not to slip on my icy canvas and carful prompted up her head. I cringed as I used the staple gun to secure
the halo in its appropriate place. She
didn’t immediately wake but she did begin to stir. I moved quickly and put my supplies away and
got into place. If everything went
according to plan, I would need to move quickly.
Five seconds.
Four seconds.
Three seconds.
Cruor
Two Seconds
Cruor
One second
Nothing happened. I
took the staple gun back out of the bag and positioned myself near her
feet. I pulled the trigger on the staple
gun quickly into the soft spot in the center of her left foot, and that is when
she started screaming. I positioned my
body on top of Her’s as quickly as possible and used my hand to cover her
mouth. I gave her a small smile. I could tell she was scared and confused.
“Kelly, it’s going to be fine. You are going to be immortal.” Kelly slowed her struggle for a moment,
trying to process what I had said, I’m sure.
I reached into my boot and pulled out the knife given to me years ago by
my Queen. Kelly’s eyes grew wide,
showing the most magnificent shade of blue.
If only they would stay just like that.
“Cruor!” The serpent demanded. I moved my hand away from her mouth and she
resumed screaming. At this time, I
plunged the knife into her trachea and twisted.
She struggled to breathe at this time, and I carefully severed her
carotid artery. For only a few moments,
she struggled and then I felt her life leave her body underneath me. I stood up and took a deep breath and wiped
the blade off my dark colored handkerchief.
I watched her blood flow from her down the serpent. I moved to her and put the finishing touches
on her body for aesthetics. Positioning
correct, hair perfect. Everything in its
place. As it should be.
“Vindica,” the serpent whispered to me before going
silent. Finally sated.
I took a step back and looked down at my canvas. Blue, red, and white. The Angel and The Serpent was complete. My message was clear. The serpent was pleased and could finally
rest again. I appreciate that she had
been there to start her immortal journey with the ancients. I appreciated that in death, her eyes did, in
fact, remain open revealing the beautiful blue.
I smiled at my work. It really
was my best yet. My pride, my purpose,
my destiny.
I gathered up the last of my supplies and placed them into
the back of my SUV. I opened the back
hatch and placed all my items inside.
With this I left town and drove to the nearest rest stop. I was very tired and needed to rest. I climbed into the back seat and fell into a
deep and dreamless sleep. Until next
time.
No comments:
Post a Comment