The Chronicles of Soullessness [1/29/2009]

I stand outside a bar with quiet verisimilitude. I’m probably the only one around with such thoughts on my mind and absolutely drenched in true reality. She waits outside making desperate phone calls to some special someone who has broken her heart. She is Puerto Rican and a Latin goddess at that.
The night air breezes by and I light up a cigarette waiting for the human response that is desperation to make one of them crack. The thick air and smoke clog my lungs but I take it all in with silent breath and exhale with the force of a god.
I am Menelaus waiting outside the gates of Troy for my Helen, meanwhile ready to fight the entire Trojan army alone if she will not come out. The street lamp above me goes out and I am now sitting there in darkness with a half-grin on my face. The light coming at me gives me dark half-circles under my eyes and all of a sudden, as if by magic, she sees me and becomes entranced. My gaze stairs straight into her eyes and it is not accompanied by emotion. It is selfless and true yet dark and foreboding.
She walks towards me without thought of the road she walks on.
I am her poison and she is my addiction.
I toss my cigarette away and stare into her eyes. I can see her pathetic passion arising as if she was about to hand me her heart through her chest and yet I do nothing but stare at her quizzically and lose my smile. I am not after her passion. When I was alive, I was corrupted by it but now I only seek for redemption of my addiction.
I wink with an evil smile and walk towards my car. She follows like I was an evil mother hen.
The ride back nothing is said by me. She talks at me and tells me the story of some lost romance and keeps on asking me who I am and why I'm not talking. She asks me what's on my mind and I stop and think to myself, "your soul"
We return to the house. The door is open and no one is home. They must have gone out for a minute but I notice there's no car so they must have gone further then I thought.


My hunger wells up in me as I remember home. The endless nightmare of life a thousand years and seeing those who I care about corrupted by the poisonous blood that runs through these veins. Visions of ships, in now New York harbor, docked and exporting hundreds a day to an alleyway where the stench is so strong not even a gas mask could protect you.
I can remember a small town in Ireland where a foreigner one day came to stay. Her beauty was poles apart from that of any local girl. I was enchanted by her essence and allure and before I knew it, She was in my room on top of the in.
She showed me her shoulder slipping out of the dress she was wearing and at the speed of light, she was hitting me with her body and kissing me with such force that reality its self disappeared. It was as if I was in another dimension and even my surroundings changed as she sunk her teeth into my neck. I felt the gentle tug and sharp pain of two syringes deep within my jugular vein. My head went weak and the poison of her saliva entered my neck.
Like a mosquito, she could have kept on drinking till she exploded but suddenly she pulled her teeth off my neck and I fell off of her; watching my illusionary existence melt away like an oil painting with turpentine thrown on it. It was beautiful and morbid and I felt my heart stopping. Love ending, passion dying, fear passing and consciousness its self evanescing. She drew a knife from her bag and I begged her to murder me but she slit her wrist and told me to drink.
I bit her with a hunger I had never felt before. Even if I had not eaten for weeks as my family had, I could not have feasted like I did now.


The door swung open to my house and I stepped inside. No one was home as I had expected and I pulled her close to me. The scent of her hair drove me wild. My teeth began to grow like that of a snake from its gums and I bit down with all my force. She had no desire to scream and pulled me closer. The fire in my soul burned again and I felt fulfilled. I drained her not only of her blood but also of her soul. The fire, the flames, the high. That feeling of the painting melting all over again. Images flashing of a girl sitting alone with her mascara running down her cheek and the wonderful warmth of her soul in my mouth.

The vampyr from the bar smiled and stroked the back of my head as I died. She looked out the window and smiled and said, "the sun is setting my child. Watch."
I watched the sun set for the last time and closed my eyes and felt nothing. We made love for the rest of the night and there were no regrets.
At four AM, we drained the bar and left it with corpses all around.
At one point I had been shot with a musket and yet, the bullet and the wound healed instantly.
As the sun came up, we rode off in a black carriage toward a castle in the West of Ireland. There we made our home before moving from place to place with the hunger of the Vampyr increasing. We had our fill till we moved to America.
It was 1959 and she had crashed into a fight between rival gangs in the Hell's Kitchen area of Manhattan, New York City. She was murdered and I dragged her out of the area before the police showed and found two others murdered.
My first, my hostess, my eternal was dead. The steak in the midst of the gang war was uncommon so I resolved to look for her murderer.


It had been 48 years and I had found this girl who had not aged. I would have to drain her worse than I had any other victim. She reached for her coat as I feared my life and threw her to a corner. Her face had changed. She was Dumpeil; I could taste it in her blood. A half breed who killed its own kind. My emotions still ranked none but I prepared to kill for my hostess.
She held a stake in her foreign hand and prepared to finish me off.
"I have waited for you murderer," she says. "My blood runs cold and hot, and I can see your soul as well as the ones you have taken from me and my country." "My family moved to New York to find you and your whore and it's a shame I couldn't have finished you both off in '59."
I said nothing but smiled at how quickly her mood changed. She was an impeccable liar. "You are weak young one. It is not wise to fight the elder."
"My mother murdered my father because of you. Do you remember her? 1868. The confusion and revolts must have made things easy for you. death was all around at that time and you raped and drained an innocent woman," she said.
"Your bleeding and you strength is low, I would not recommend fighting me now child," I said.
"I will die before you leave this house," she said.
I threw her with the force of Zeus at a wall that broke open and she stood. Once again I was on her with her stake across the room. I drained her till my eyes closed and something strange started to happen.
"You can't take Vampyr blood can you? It is that of your own kind and kills you like an overdose of drugs. You are dying you vapid creature," she said.
"I will not be killed by a pathetic half breed," I said.
"The night is not over yet subhuman, I have not had my fill of you, just yet," She said.
Her fangs sank into my neck and I shrieked as I was raped by this creature who I was about to murder.
We watched the moon outside and drained the tenement at 4:00 AM. From here, there was only destiny.

A New Hope

"To be a great writer, one must wake up every morning and write. There's no other way"

I sat in the alleyway of a busy street, just able to look out and view the mayhem. I had a few minutes yet but the time before midnight always seemed to last an eternity. Clutching the cold piece of metal in my pocket, I remembered a time when I had a wife and kids and a life where things were happy. Now, it seemed, there was nothing but the day in day out. 

The pay was good from the job but it came upon every man in it like a disease. After the first one, you felt a little rush but it was always about taking on more business so I could feel the same way I did from that first hit.

 
An addiction always seems to work that way, you know? With Heroin addicts, it's "I just need one more hit," then somebody finds them face down in a puddle of their own vomit. Drugs are disgusting. The quality of that life is never as high as I can get. Sex is an addiction too and sex addicts are also known to rave about the "hit" but sex is also a dirty thing where you can get disease and physical withdrawal. What I do...
He came around the corner looking back and moving fast. He knew what he was doing was dangerous and that somebody would want to get this "stuff" away from him. The men he deals with peddle it to kids. He's South American in origin and this stuff is probably gold to his home country but out here on the streets a lot of other people want to get to it first. This is the way in hell, the devil eats the demons and no one ever dies, they simply evanesce.

"it's a busy street, no one's going to touch me here," he thought. "I'm too well connected, no one would dare touch a made man," he thinks. "Wow! Look at that girl, she makes my wife look old and ugly. I'll come back around to take her to my room and..."

He's pulled into an alleyway next to a busy street. The silencer spits on him with disgust. An empty bottle of whiskey is shoved in his right hand and a sticky needle into his left arm.
The bullet hole is in such a place that the man will not be discovered for hours, but people will pass by and look. People will say nothing as they pass by. A few of them might look but it will be the same as passing by a bum on the streets. 

When a man dies of murder, everybody wants to know but when he does himself in, it's a whole other story. Truth is, in a city this large, who the hell cares about death without an adventure? People die every day from poverty or drug addiction. Some of them do it in the most public setting available but you ask yourself, "did I know him?" Most of the time those who didn't will say, "I'm glad it wasn't me," and walk on.

I'm a murderer. I kill people for money. My wife died from a drug overdose and my kids were killed by her next of kin for the debts she didn't pay. I killed him and have been doing hits for her family ever since. She died of her addictions. Now I get to see others die of theirs. Fear not my sheep, for the reaper brings you sweet death.

The Nature of Evil

Evil, in a human is something that is a rare find because human's have such capacity for good or too much anger and hatred for evil. Evil stems from not hating or letting emotions get involved and having enough good to trick people into thinking your a great person. Truly evil people will get a following and as if by osmosis, the other people also start to put on a fake smile and gather superficial people around them so the evil spreads and people are generally unhappy but little pleasures that are inherently evil make us think we are happy.

There are those of us who were born evil, and this type is the infection; Those of us who found evil, these are the infected; those of us who had no choice but evil, these are those struggling to survive in sinful business or who might be sick from a mental disease that makes them do evil things; and last but not least there is me. I am that who works very, very hard to become evil because my good is so immense that the path to destroying my own emotion and sword that I will use against those who fought with my emotion, is to embrace the evil within and truly start to destroy lives. I want to see humanity suffer as I have and take my deceptive passion to their hearts once I've had their loins. Human beings are pathetic creatures and like sheep, they deserve to be prayed on.

Here is my new vendetta, I will destroy all that they hold dear...

Morning Pains

I held her there in the dark, looking at the clock that read 5:56 AM. My heart was racing like an engine firing every piston at the same time. My mind kept saying to myself, 7:30 AM. I couldn't decide what made my heart race so fast and feel like it was about to collapse on its self. I was here with someone beautiful, someone fragile who had a special place in my heart but yet my heart ached, It seemed to say, in the most violent of ways, get out of here.

Perhaps it was sexual. Could I perhaps feel something sexual for the person I held in my arms, who not four hours earlier, I just wanted to hold and nothing more?

I had to go to the bathroom. That must have been it. My heart was pounding because of mistaken identity of a bladder problem disguised as sexual desire.

I told her I had to go. She turned to hug me. This is the way I would have liked to hold her rather than spooning. I wanted to kiss her lips. Could that be? I don't want that desire. Be gone you foul mouthed child who screams in my head like a cultist screams against the world!

In any case I had to go. I gave her a kiss on the cheek, pulled up her covers and made my way to the door.

The night outside was cold and bitter as I lit my cigarette. Burning passion in my heart still pulled at me even after my object had disappeared.

"You fool. You goddam fool. Wake the hell up child, you wanted to kiss her right on the lips"

"Shut the hell up you ruiner of dreams. little voice. little tiny voice that says nothing but controls everything."

My heart raced on the walk home; even with the fire I was putting in my lungs and stifling to exhale.

My heart seemed to say, "I love you, but I have no idea how to tell you." Sudden realizations in the night, or rather in the morning telling me how to use this heart.
"You can keep it! Tear it out of my chest I don't want it anymore. It only creates disaster for my already fucked up life. I hate you."

As I got home I went to the bathroom and even after this, the feeling was not gone. Even as I went to the computer to write, nothing left my soul.

My heart still ached, it could not rest, tearing apart its self like an engine firing every piston at the exact same time.

"Go to sleep you dibic! We went home, you've had your way! Fuck you!"

The Hitman [29 Jul 2006|11:01pm]

I saw the acid stained tears running down your cheek. The sick whimper that escaped your lips and rang in my skull and empty heart forever. That rank, disheveled, "just been fucked" smell all over your body and a smoking revolver in my hand. It wasn't because I loved you; I didn't do it for that: I did it for business. You were in the wrong place at the wrong time. I don't even fucking know you. Goddamn it. Why'd you have to be here?
"BANG! BANG BANG!"
Your body fell to the floor and swooned for a moment because you saw something beautiful for the first time in your life. You saw the real you, reflected in the blood streaming from your lifeless body and onto the floor as your spirit left and floated up to a better place.
Fuck. You were a beautiful girl. It's a shame to waste life on a fuck-off like him.
The sun was just rising in the sky too. There was a sent of roses and cut grass carried on the mist brought in by the evanescing morning dew.
It made me nostalgic for a better time when I didn't get involved in this life of self-deprecating redundancy. When you're in this business you either die or get sent to jail. The second might have been better but when a wheel spins with only two choices on it, I don't enjoy my odds.
I put my pistol away and lit a cigarette. In a scratch on a record of an old love song, I saw moments of sitting on a floor with a lilliputian model T in my hands and then nothing but the thick smell of burnt black powder and freshly laid bodies of Russian mafiosos.
A gun on the table...
Two shots into the lifeless day...
Nothing.
It was high time I disappeared.
I pushed over the can of gas I had brought with me from the car and tossed my cigarette into it. The place lit up like a dry day on a ranch in hell. I couldn't see how this day could get any better. Sometimes I think it never will.

A Scary Story

Many years of living has taught me the value of real life. The little things that human beings in their absent minded rat race, do not see, can mean so much more to he who has the time to see them. Especially if your own prey is the cancer that kills the little things you love.
The night I died, I will never forget, because that, was the day that I learned more about humans than I ever wanted to know...

The rain was beating the side of my cabin as I finished my trek through the woods. I was soaked but wore a cloak that kept me mostly dry. I must have sensed something wrong though because I heard each droplet of water hitting the ground and they actually sounded like water and not some allusion to something else.
A fire had been lit in the cabin and inside I saw a person's tall, dark, silhouette. From outside looking through a window, I saw him star into the fire and he seemed to make each individual ray of its light shine past him in an amorphous pattern.
There was a sense of wonder which I craved and I wanted to be near him and to touch his robes, as if I felt the power stemming from him. I turned my head to get a better look at him, shaded from the fire but as if he sensed my presence like a squirrel, he turned and then vanished.
Suddenly I felt scared as if I had upset the balance of this superficial, but also supernatural, being. I also felt saddened in a deep way and depressed that I had lost the wonder of this creature.
I moved away from the window sill and started my trek inside. I then got into my night clothes and went to bed.
The next day I woke up bright and early and went out to hunt, what was to me, the most dangerous game ... the Grizzly bear. I had a rifle the size of a large man's arm yet an inconspicuous as a fair woman's neck. I snuck up behind the grizzly and hid in a bush. Like the wolf or some skilled hunter, I stopped every time he made a move of caution.
I saw him beating the water like a child picks at his toes and his deceitful, friendly smile. I took aim and in my scope, he was there. The man with the cloak looked upon me with fluorescent green eyes and the world seemed to grow dark through the scope of my killing machine. I don't know why I kept on staring but I did.
Through a dark world he walked up to me and his face seemed almost surreal. My heart began to pound faster in my chest and every step he took closer seemed like the moment of judgment. He began to reach out and I could literally hear my pulse in my head. He leapt at me as I managed to pull my face away from the scope and scream.
I woke up to the grizzly walking away and my body aching from a dream.
That night I did not go home and look in the window. I was too busy and too sore to notice the roaring fire but as I opened the door, there he was. He did not look at me but rather his cloak swayed a little toward the door from the wind. And it seemed to sweep under his floating torso. He wore armor underneath and I knew because I saw his hands and his sword.
I screamed "what do you want from me devil!" And the body disappeared with a strong gust of wind. The fire went with him too; as if the door had opened and blown them both out. I stood there momentarily and seemed to float off to bed as the door shut.
I woke up the next morning and felt horrible so I spent the day in bed.
By night fall I could not get back to sleep so I simply went for a stroll. The clouds seemed to fall as mist descended on the night. It was like snow which hadn't froze but I felt it in the air.
The mist made it hard for me to find my way back to the cabin but my senses seemed incredibly strong tonight and I felt my way back through the mist.
Finally I found the door to my cabin and the light gray mist turned darker as I walked inside. A presence moved its way around me and seemed to quietly touch me with pokes and prods, like a child asking questions. Suddenly I felt my pulse rise as a cold hand touched my back. It seemed to not want to let go. It held onto me as my heart, uncontrollably beat faster and faster until it hurt and I could feel it everywhere.
As quick as it came, the mist was gone as I felt my heart stop beating. It began to beat again as I saw the man standing in the middle of the room and quietly I asked, who are you.
As he removed his cloak I saw her pointed ears and long hair. She was tall and wore rings and elvish looking jewelry. She looked me in the eye with her fluorescent green eyes and said, "now you're like me."
That was the day I died and 249 years later, I have felt her presence from time to time. I can feel the loneliness in her heart and I know things about the world most don't take the time to see.
That was the day I died.
Many years of living has taught me the value of real life. The little things that human beings in their absent minded rat race, do not see, can mean so much more to he who has the time to see them. Especially if your own prey is the cancer that kills the little things you love