Dog carcass in the alley, tire tread on burst stomach. This city is afraid of me. I have seen its true face… The streets are extended gutters and the gutters are full of blood and finally when the drains scab over, all the vermin will drown…The accumulated filth of all their sex and murder will foam up about their waste and all the whores and politicians will look up and shout “Save Us!”… And I’ll look down and whisper “No.”
I can’t seem to remember from where I have read or heard that. I could not even explain why those lines popped out of my head as I drove away. They just did, even if the semblance of what had just occurred could be very well explained by the first two words alone. Yet even those two are in want of the adjective “fat” preceding it.
I wish I could say that I felt a pang of guilt gnaw me from the inside, until it had wormed its way out as a grunt punctuated by the bang of fist against the steering wheel. Or maybe a sob resulting from the choking back of self-revulsion after having just slain someone who had the same fucked up physiology as I. I had none of those. Not even the numbness you would have expected for me to have felt, owing to the scores of killing I had made the past decade. There is no joy either, nor a blood lust to satisfy.
Instead, for the very first time, I left with a question racing in my head… No, what Fat Johann said about us did not get me thinking as to how close to an automaton I have become for you. Even so, I could have easily shrugged it off, having come to terms as being labeled your pet far too long ago- for a price, of course.
It seemed to me then, that this whole sordid affair was concocted by Fat Johann all along. I don’t know how he got you or the coven convinced that he was being held against his will by the Seventh Seal Fellowship (or why them of all assholes), and thus it was necessary to have me go after them and try to bring him home. Then he would have me believe that he had suddenly acquired Stockholm Syndrome; making it mandatory to kill him before he could kill me- when he knew for a fact that hell would have a better chance of freezing over than he besting me.
I think it was the death wish he had which my instincts responded to. It was something beyond my power or right to deny him of. I might have not identified it at once, but I more than made up for it by not hesitating or giving it a thought. Fat Johann has always been regarded as one of the elders of our kind. Loved and respected and revered, no… but an elder nonetheless. He had the right to demand for this boon.
My head began to pound as I struggled not to drift into incoherent thoughts which bordered on sex, music, mayhem or any philosophical bullshit we try to glean from being around far too longer than what mankind could actually tolerate. I tried my best to keep one and only one question in the fore: why did Fat Johann want to die by my hand? (Or teeth, if you want me to be more apt).
Sabado, Abril 30, 2011
Huwebes, Abril 21, 2011
After Stasis #7
He sat beside me on the concrete steps, flopping in such ungainly manner as one who carried such bulk could only have done. With meaty legs splayed before him, he dug into his pants’ pocket and pulled out a battered pack of Winstons and mockingly offered me a stick. This was the closest he could get to make a jest.
“Suite yourself.” he grunted. “Sometimes I honestly wonder what it would’ve been like if Lu the Fallen never got thrown out of the Pearly Gates and in turn threw us out. Would we still enjoy nicotine the way we do now when there’s plenty of brimstone to go around? Maybe this is part of the Creator’s so called greater scheme of things- for us to go skulking around this world where the dreams and fears of its inhabitants shaped us through the centuries to be the corporeal entities we have become- just to find the simple joy of smoking.”
I hunched down beside him. I saw no point of doing anything else. I was sent to rescue a kin, only to find him wandering about where he was allegedly being held, alone and apparently unharmed. I was not one to question my luck. Still, I had questions that nagged. It overpowered my desire to turn away both from his stench and his annoying prattle that fortified his belief in himself as a great undead philosopher of some sort.
“You’re fidgeting,” he continued. “I hear what you’re not saying. You want an explanation in order to plan your next move… My guess is Selene wants Arya’s head in a platter. She won’t mind if a score or two of the Seventh Seal’s members makes their acquaintance with Buddy Death on an earlier date, as long as the job’s made clean. But can you guess why Selene wants Arya bad enough to send her pet?
“Sure she might have offended both Catholic and Protestant and even Muslim sensibilities with her sermons and pamphlets. Sure she speaks and prays as though she is the Messiah reborn. But what threat can she possibly pose to any of the established churches, criminal organizations, the government and the coven when her followers number below two hundred and she can’t even afford airtime on the cheapest network?
“But it was never your place to question why, right? As long as the pay’s good and you accumulate enough points to one day gain access to that pussy she guards tightly as if she’s keeping all the treasures of the race in there.”
I would have rebuked him. Told him my only vested interest in you was because of the former, never the latter, that whatever we have between us is nothing more that platonic. Only I didn’t. For two reason: the first of which is I have no gift for mindspeak. The second was perhaps yes I did subconsciously fancy you, but in a more respectful way of course. But I’m not going to blab about just whatever it is I do feel for you, as I have not given it much thought, save for the rare fleeting moments when the mind drifts to daydreams.
Fat Johann lit another cigarette before he continued.”I’d walk away from this job, If I were you, Ned. As I’m not one for I-told-you-so speeches, I regret I might not even live long enough to even try one if I just let you go tonight. Let me just finish this stick. Then we can see just how much of a predator you are”.
I did not wait for him. Instead I buried my fangs deep into his throat with such speed and ferocity that befits our kind, then shook like mad. His skin tasted of briny, old leather not even mongrels would enjoy chewing. His blood that flew in every direction as I continued to rend and tear was just as vile. Seconds later, Fat Johann convulsed on the steps. His unnaturally long life ebbed away from him to congeal as thick, syrupy blood beneath his four hundred pound remains. His glazed eyes turned to me before he breathed his last and whispered “Thanks…”
“Suite yourself.” he grunted. “Sometimes I honestly wonder what it would’ve been like if Lu the Fallen never got thrown out of the Pearly Gates and in turn threw us out. Would we still enjoy nicotine the way we do now when there’s plenty of brimstone to go around? Maybe this is part of the Creator’s so called greater scheme of things- for us to go skulking around this world where the dreams and fears of its inhabitants shaped us through the centuries to be the corporeal entities we have become- just to find the simple joy of smoking.”
I hunched down beside him. I saw no point of doing anything else. I was sent to rescue a kin, only to find him wandering about where he was allegedly being held, alone and apparently unharmed. I was not one to question my luck. Still, I had questions that nagged. It overpowered my desire to turn away both from his stench and his annoying prattle that fortified his belief in himself as a great undead philosopher of some sort.
“You’re fidgeting,” he continued. “I hear what you’re not saying. You want an explanation in order to plan your next move… My guess is Selene wants Arya’s head in a platter. She won’t mind if a score or two of the Seventh Seal’s members makes their acquaintance with Buddy Death on an earlier date, as long as the job’s made clean. But can you guess why Selene wants Arya bad enough to send her pet?
“Sure she might have offended both Catholic and Protestant and even Muslim sensibilities with her sermons and pamphlets. Sure she speaks and prays as though she is the Messiah reborn. But what threat can she possibly pose to any of the established churches, criminal organizations, the government and the coven when her followers number below two hundred and she can’t even afford airtime on the cheapest network?
“But it was never your place to question why, right? As long as the pay’s good and you accumulate enough points to one day gain access to that pussy she guards tightly as if she’s keeping all the treasures of the race in there.”
I would have rebuked him. Told him my only vested interest in you was because of the former, never the latter, that whatever we have between us is nothing more that platonic. Only I didn’t. For two reason: the first of which is I have no gift for mindspeak. The second was perhaps yes I did subconsciously fancy you, but in a more respectful way of course. But I’m not going to blab about just whatever it is I do feel for you, as I have not given it much thought, save for the rare fleeting moments when the mind drifts to daydreams.
Fat Johann lit another cigarette before he continued.”I’d walk away from this job, If I were you, Ned. As I’m not one for I-told-you-so speeches, I regret I might not even live long enough to even try one if I just let you go tonight. Let me just finish this stick. Then we can see just how much of a predator you are”.
I did not wait for him. Instead I buried my fangs deep into his throat with such speed and ferocity that befits our kind, then shook like mad. His skin tasted of briny, old leather not even mongrels would enjoy chewing. His blood that flew in every direction as I continued to rend and tear was just as vile. Seconds later, Fat Johann convulsed on the steps. His unnaturally long life ebbed away from him to congeal as thick, syrupy blood beneath his four hundred pound remains. His glazed eyes turned to me before he breathed his last and whispered “Thanks…”
Biyernes, Abril 15, 2011
After Stasis #6
“You don’t have to break the door, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
He crossed the unkempt lawn with the slow easy steps of the weary, the swagger of those who had seen too much yet had understood too little, the drudge of ancients drunk with disdain for having lived thru what they perceive as eternity but is a mere blink for older gods. The muffled clump and thump of a heavy foot placed in front of the other that crushed the grass underneath said it all as Fat Johann approached.
His hands and mouth were clean of blood. The remains of his captors swarming with fat, electric-blue flies were nowhere in sight.I would have been surprised to find him in such manner with which he suddenly manifested that night, had I known him to be cast from the same mold as Old Vincent, Marcus or you. But Fat Johann had long given up the old ways for reasons none of us bothered to know, though I doubt he would bother to answer when asked. What stuck me odd was the way he regarded me, as if he had been expecting my violation; that his disappearance was a hoax, a cheap ruse to lure me somewhere isolated...Then on cue, like on any B Movie, his minions- Arya’s faithful- would reveal themselves; armed to the teeth and would surround me, eyes burning with malice. Then Fat Johann would disclose just how much he hated life in general so everybody else must die before he and his underlings commits seppuku and that the only ones standing in his way would be the coven. And then Arya herself would step out from behind me and say that after tonight the coven would be no more and that she has long been looking forward to feed your intestines on a stick. Then since I am not in man shape, I could not reply with some sort of witty, heroic retort that borders along fuck-you-and-the-cunt-you-popped-out-of without having to offend the MTRCB. So instead I will just growl defiantly (camera zooms in to my curled lips to reveal the fangs of fury), then with a howl that will echo across the night, pounce on the closet extra paid to take the first fall.
Of course, reality can be more languid than what passes for entertainment to the masses, if it has the mind to do so.
Lowering my head between shoulder blades, I readied for anything unexpected. I could almost hear you at the back of my head reminding me that ours was trade where you live by your decisions and die by your mistakes. Instinctively, my nostrils flared and my ears flattened. Fat Johann was but two or three paces from me without breaking stride.
“We are alone here, Ned.” he said with the same deadpan expression his face had hardened to as far as memory could take me. “You can stay as you are, if you find it more comfortable… Come to think of it, it’s better that way,since I've never known you to be much of a conversationalist.”
He crossed the unkempt lawn with the slow easy steps of the weary, the swagger of those who had seen too much yet had understood too little, the drudge of ancients drunk with disdain for having lived thru what they perceive as eternity but is a mere blink for older gods. The muffled clump and thump of a heavy foot placed in front of the other that crushed the grass underneath said it all as Fat Johann approached.
His hands and mouth were clean of blood. The remains of his captors swarming with fat, electric-blue flies were nowhere in sight.I would have been surprised to find him in such manner with which he suddenly manifested that night, had I known him to be cast from the same mold as Old Vincent, Marcus or you. But Fat Johann had long given up the old ways for reasons none of us bothered to know, though I doubt he would bother to answer when asked. What stuck me odd was the way he regarded me, as if he had been expecting my violation; that his disappearance was a hoax, a cheap ruse to lure me somewhere isolated...Then on cue, like on any B Movie, his minions- Arya’s faithful- would reveal themselves; armed to the teeth and would surround me, eyes burning with malice. Then Fat Johann would disclose just how much he hated life in general so everybody else must die before he and his underlings commits seppuku and that the only ones standing in his way would be the coven. And then Arya herself would step out from behind me and say that after tonight the coven would be no more and that she has long been looking forward to feed your intestines on a stick. Then since I am not in man shape, I could not reply with some sort of witty, heroic retort that borders along fuck-you-and-the-cunt-you-popped-out-of without having to offend the MTRCB. So instead I will just growl defiantly (camera zooms in to my curled lips to reveal the fangs of fury), then with a howl that will echo across the night, pounce on the closet extra paid to take the first fall.
Of course, reality can be more languid than what passes for entertainment to the masses, if it has the mind to do so.
Lowering my head between shoulder blades, I readied for anything unexpected. I could almost hear you at the back of my head reminding me that ours was trade where you live by your decisions and die by your mistakes. Instinctively, my nostrils flared and my ears flattened. Fat Johann was but two or three paces from me without breaking stride.
“We are alone here, Ned.” he said with the same deadpan expression his face had hardened to as far as memory could take me. “You can stay as you are, if you find it more comfortable… Come to think of it, it’s better that way,since I've never known you to be much of a conversationalist.”
Huwebes, Abril 7, 2011
After Stasis # 5
The closed Ridgeview Resort, sans the sign board, was easy to find without having to stop and ask for directions or rely on following Fat Johann’s scent trail (which is no great feat itself, as you know, he does not believe in personal hygiene). The long stretch of cemented fence was a dead giveaway. The pitch black spread it seemed to keep in was an open invitation to the daring and for the less daring to unleash their idle hands to spray paint the names of their street gangs which they laughably think of as fraternities, not-so-original nicknames derived from the hip-hop/rap genre and adolescent dogmas such as Emo Is Gay, Mabuhay CPP-NPA!! and the ever famous Punks Not Dead.
I chose the darkest, most vegetated area off road for parking. Once outside my vehicle, I stripped and tossed my clothes through the open car window. A gentle breeze uncorrupted by the city’s smog dappled my bare skin; waking every single sleeping pore until they rose as goose bumps to dot every inch of me. I breathed in a lungful, not exhaling, rather holding in until I felt every chest muscle stiffen and my gut draw up. I shut my eyes tighter, more by force of habit than the necessity to obliterate any possible visual distractions. Find the echoing void swirling inside. Then… You know the drill Selene, though I doubt you remember the feeling, if rumors were to be believed that you no longer need the change in order to tap into the gnawing force within us all.
Hopping to the hood then to the car’s roof, my ears twitched, straining for any sound that would betray the presence of any that could be alerted by my intrusion; the faint rustle of leaves, the sigh of boughs sprained in its own weight, the chirping of insect legs rubbing against each other, huff and bloated puff of frogs and the almost silent slither of a small serpent in the gutter a few paces from me. All these contrasted against the distant backdrop of the metropolis’ cacophony kilometers away.
Satisfied, I leapt and cleared the tall fence in a single bound and landed on the grass with a soft thud.
Random scents of moist earth, rotting leaves, dried twigs and fallen half-rotted fruits mingled with those of flaking paint, corroded tin and time-flayed lumber. It was the scent of abandon that assailed my nostrils the strongest. I also found it hard at first to distinguish the scattered unlit cottages from the stunted trees and shrubbery. I needed to refocus before my preternatural eyes adjusted itself to the gloom. Here is where you’d say darkness becomes its own presence.
I padded silently forward, sniffing the hard-packed ground beneath the untended grass. Beyond the empty pool where the acrid stench of disinfectants still unbelievably lingered came the mixed whiff of sweat, urine, blood and carrion. I traced it and it led me to what perhaps was once a swanky convention hall, circular and topped with conical roofing and a spire, but had now been rendered into nothing but just another boarded up structure in a cluster of yet other boarded up structures.
The cobbled walkway had grass sprouting from the cracks. It brought me to a concrete steps inlaid with rough hewn stones and flecked with patches of healthy moss. The wide narrow double doors before me was not bolted or padlocked from the outside. The scent was stronger here, sashaying from gaps between the doorframe, jamb and floor. And the wide windows of wood and capiz promised more darkness within.
I chose the darkest, most vegetated area off road for parking. Once outside my vehicle, I stripped and tossed my clothes through the open car window. A gentle breeze uncorrupted by the city’s smog dappled my bare skin; waking every single sleeping pore until they rose as goose bumps to dot every inch of me. I breathed in a lungful, not exhaling, rather holding in until I felt every chest muscle stiffen and my gut draw up. I shut my eyes tighter, more by force of habit than the necessity to obliterate any possible visual distractions. Find the echoing void swirling inside. Then… You know the drill Selene, though I doubt you remember the feeling, if rumors were to be believed that you no longer need the change in order to tap into the gnawing force within us all.
Hopping to the hood then to the car’s roof, my ears twitched, straining for any sound that would betray the presence of any that could be alerted by my intrusion; the faint rustle of leaves, the sigh of boughs sprained in its own weight, the chirping of insect legs rubbing against each other, huff and bloated puff of frogs and the almost silent slither of a small serpent in the gutter a few paces from me. All these contrasted against the distant backdrop of the metropolis’ cacophony kilometers away.
Satisfied, I leapt and cleared the tall fence in a single bound and landed on the grass with a soft thud.
Random scents of moist earth, rotting leaves, dried twigs and fallen half-rotted fruits mingled with those of flaking paint, corroded tin and time-flayed lumber. It was the scent of abandon that assailed my nostrils the strongest. I also found it hard at first to distinguish the scattered unlit cottages from the stunted trees and shrubbery. I needed to refocus before my preternatural eyes adjusted itself to the gloom. Here is where you’d say darkness becomes its own presence.
I padded silently forward, sniffing the hard-packed ground beneath the untended grass. Beyond the empty pool where the acrid stench of disinfectants still unbelievably lingered came the mixed whiff of sweat, urine, blood and carrion. I traced it and it led me to what perhaps was once a swanky convention hall, circular and topped with conical roofing and a spire, but had now been rendered into nothing but just another boarded up structure in a cluster of yet other boarded up structures.
The cobbled walkway had grass sprouting from the cracks. It brought me to a concrete steps inlaid with rough hewn stones and flecked with patches of healthy moss. The wide narrow double doors before me was not bolted or padlocked from the outside. The scent was stronger here, sashaying from gaps between the doorframe, jamb and floor. And the wide windows of wood and capiz promised more darkness within.
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