Majesty – The End of Times

No man or woman born, coward or brave, can shun his destiny.

The wrath of the Gods, perhaps the end of times, raged outside the window, each clap of thunder rattled the glass panes in their sturdy frames.  Unbearably, the air is full of electricity, it freezes my spine and steals my breath.  Was this the answer to my prayers, or the precursor of something to come? Intuition says to be wary, watchful.  The shadow in the darkness makes my internal alarm system begin its braying. It ventures no closer, simply stands, illuminated and shadow, watching me.
 ∴

The muffled weeping drags me from my little world back to reality, and reality is cold and bloody. My mind is too full of shadows, some thrown from the flashes of lightning, the storm in my mind, the storm in the sky.  I wonder, vaguely, what Devils await my death to torture me in my eternity, as I kill the fire on the blowtorch.   The woman lays with her face turned from me, making wet snuffling sounds that turn my stomach, frankly.  She’s alive, though I suppose I understand. Cauterizing is hardly an exact science, I imagine it must have hurt, on the fresh wound. Still. She’s alive, and she could at least be thankful for that.

I’m drenched in her blood, and in need of a shower, the scent of copper becoming distasteful.  The meat for dinner should be ready by now.  She keeps staring at my arms. The marks stand out.  I can name each one, starting with this one, near my elbow. It’s name is naïveté, and she was. She was so innocent, pure and fresh, an unbroken vessel of wholesomeness that I had to have her. I did too. I broke her spirit, and then her hymen. I may be a woman, but I’m not immune to a pretty face and tremendous heaving breasts, and she had both.
 ∴
She was the first, Naïveté.  She tasted like Spring when I kissed her on her 18th birthday, with my hand on her breast in that bar down on Fitter Street.  It didn’t take much effort to convince her to abandon her friends and come with me, a few drinks and some clitoral stimulation under the table, she would have followed me anywhere. And did.  She left her nail imbedded in my arm, in that moment between orgasm and death.   I left her naked body nailed to the pole outside the bar.
 ∴
This one.  It’s name is Desire.  He was full of himself and possessed an ego bigger than I’d seen in ages. Except for maybe mine. I played stupid, simpering and stroking his fragile male insecurities.  The fool thought I was blind. It was he who was blind, blind to my calculating ways. I let him have his fun, then I cut off that thing he was so proud of, and made him eat it. Raw. He choked. I laughed. He died.
 ∴
So many others. This last died alone and afraid not so long ago.  My best work to date, even if I say so myself.
the_twisted_path_majesty
“Hello Majesty”
 ∴
“I should have known. I expected Grim.  What brings you, Fallen? I thought I was clear this was MY space.”
 ∴
“Brother Grim will be here soon. I, however, go where I please. And I heard that you were actually going to be domestic. I wanted to see it.”
 ∴
This individual, cigarette in hand, blows toxic fumes into the face of the moaning and unconscious form, the smoke making designs in the air as she shifts, before curling sinuous as a snake around her head.  He places a finger on her forehead and she shrieks, tears leaking from the corners of her closed eyelids.
“Oh dear.  This child has suffered terribly.  You should put that on ice.”  He nods to the still weeping meat that lies in the stainless steel sink. I despise pushy people, and he was beginning to irritate.
 ∴
“Why not make yourself useful and take that to up at the house. I have to butcher the meat for dinner.”  He stands staring at the livestock still trapped on the table, now making its annoying pain sounds. I should end its misery. But the meals to be had would be wasted, and meat this exotic is hardly at a premium. It’s always better fresh.
 ∴
“What are you going to do about your husband?”  Nosey fucker.  He wanders here and there, dragging his fingernails across my metal implements, creating a squeal and a smile as he catches my eye.  I see a shadow, fluttering quickly past me in my peripheral vision. Reaper has arrived and is lurking, his worn and battered Scythe in hand, lingering over the face of my food, a fingertip slowly reaching out to steal her breath.
 ∴
“I don’t think so Reaper.  Why are you still carrying that ugly ass thing?  As for you, Fallen,” I snap, pointing my finger, “I find your presence unsettling. WHY are you here? And stop breathing down my neck GrimmyPoo.”
No response.  From either. How typical.  With a sigh I reach for the roll of heavy plastic wrap that sits on the counter beside the sink, and begin to wrap the stew meat.  It’s still seeping and my hands are stained. Outside the wind howls, accompanying the song of the lone wolf that had ventured close, undoubtedly smelling a meal, and was close enough to make Greg shout along with the next wolf song.
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“Here.  Hold this.”
 ∴
I drop the wrapped meat into the unsuspecting arms of my visitor, fixing my Deathly Brother with a malicious glare and open the door,  stepping into the unwanted arms of Greg, and his anger. “You don’t listen do you? Why the secrecy Jes! Jesus, you always make such a mess.” Grim glowers and hovers closer, and this time I don’t halt his finger, not until it is bare inches away.
 ∴
Crimson petals drip on the floor from my freshly painted fingertips and they sparkle like rubies in the firelight. “Greg.”  His eyes are fixated on the bony tip of Reaper’s digit, and I place my hand on his cheek, the other on his chest, and turn his head so that he sees me. “Come outside.  I’ll explain.” I drag my fingers across his lips, feeling his teeth nip at my skin, and sense Death fading back some.
 ∴
**”Majesty. Are you sure this is…”**
 ∴
“Do not presume to question my actions Casper.  I know exactly what I am doing.  Come, Greg, let’s talk.”  The air is sizzling, redolent of ozone and greenery, in the trees, glowing orbs dot the darkness.
 ∴
The sky is alive with thunder and lightning, flashing and crashing above us in some predestined cataclysm  it was the perfect storm to accompany a perfect meal. When we were a safe distance from the shed, standing just inside the treeline, i leaned close, pressing my toned body to his, and rubbing the blood from my hands over his back.  Naturally, he assumed I was amorous. “I should have killed you when I met you,” he said, and I shove him hard into the trees.
 ∴
“You do not get to tell me what to do Greg. You said you wanted to eat my soul? Do you recall that I said I had none?”  A low growl, close enough to be audible, but for Zeus’s Rage, teeth glistening with hunger, first one, then many and I backed away slowly, smiling, as the beasts crept closer. “Goodbye Greg,  consider this a divorce.”  I turned away as the first kept from the undergrowth, claws and teeth sinking deeply into his back and the tender flesh of his nape. His scream was music to my ears.
 ∴
In the doorway an unlikely trio stands,  one amused, one disgruntled, and one afraid. “Don’t cross me.” My voice carries in the lull between thunder crashes, the agonised screams of my late husband serving to punctuate my statement. “Now if you’re here to help, I appreciate it. If not, leave.”
the_twisted_path_majesty
She recommences her tiresome bleating the moment I pass through the door, the once tough exterior shattered.  Now she lies on her back, bolted to the table by metal cuffs around her extremities, the wide steel band across her forehead tearing her skin as she struggles.  “We will need to burn it down later,” I mutter under my breath, tuning out her incessant whining and focusing on the harvest ahead.
“I can help with that.” I nodded assent, tuning him out too.
 ∴
A couple stand, arms wrapped around each other, with identical expressions of fear.  They could have been twins, if not for the familiar way he caresses her back in an effort to calm her. He needn’t bother. She’s right to be afraid. Casper clears his throat, and I hear the click of his recorder. Apparently Reaper has remembered and reminded his minion of his job.
**”How did you get them here?”**
 ∴
I glance over my shoulder at him, raising an eyebrow in surprise.  At this stage in the game what did it matter how they got here?
 ∴
“What matters is that they are here. If you must know, I found them walking along the highway, heavily intoxicated.  Being the kind individual that I am, I offered them a ride. And voila!”
 ∴
The man pushes the women behind him, as though his slight frame would be a suitable barrier, his eyes flicking from my face to the Fallen’s and beyond with a tremor.  I unlock the door, slide it open with a clang, before stepping over the threshold. “Please. Why are you doing this?”
 ∴
His eyes widen, too far, too wide as they watch my hand rise level with my shoulder.   “Because I can,” I reply as the top of his head explodes.
Majesty Photo_edited-1Melanie McCurdie
the_twisted_path_group_matt_horwich
The Orphan Killer 2 Bound x Blood Created by Matt Farnsworth ©™ Full Fathom 5 Productions LLC
The Orphan Killer 2
Bound x Blood
Created by Matt Farnsworth
©™ Full Fathom 5 Productions LLC
“The characters Marcus Miller, and Babysister are owned by  Matt Farnsworth”
©™ Full Fathom 5 Productions LLC
Full Fathom 5 Productions LLC All Rights Reserved
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