Gretchen's Journal

I just found this in my toolbox. I wrote it over a year ago, but I never read over it in case it was horrible, but then I did and now it's here. (It's rather lengthy)

1

Crows again, today. Seems that's all they've got left for me nowadays, remnants. Last week I saw a gray dove pecking at my little birdbath, but they couldn’t let that one go. Broke its neck and left it for me to pick up later. Kind of a warning, I suppose. Perhaps a threat? Not that there's really anything I could do to prevent whatever they=re plotting this time. God knows I've tried.
I prepared myself for today's rendezvous chez mon amour. Good thing I remembered to check my date book before I wandered off. Seems my darling's serving coffee this hour. Good for me, anyway, though I hate to see her in that horrid uniform. It does nothing to accent her bodily virtues.
Too late, I thought. She'd already be there, by now. I would have liked to see her leaving the house, just to make sure my angel hadn't had her wings cut off while I was sleeping, unawares. The parking lot was almost empty when I arrived. She was framed in the window, wiping up the mess of some inconsiderates, probably children, judging by the state of their doughnut remnants. No doubt they'd tried her patience. Oh my dear, I wish you weren=t forced into a life of cheap labour. I'd lift you if you'd let me, I pleaded.
I opened the doors and removed my gloves. Grimy floors, even at this time in the morning. The night woman wasn't apt to finish her duties, preferring rather to let my dear one take the fall when the boss arrived later on. You don't deserve to put up with these people, this labour. You've fallen here from a loftier place, I'm sure of it, you can't possibly belong in this world.
"Oh, it's you. I haven't seen you 'round here for awhile." Of course not, my darling. I've had to prepare.
"Well, I've been busy, you know."
"I didn't mean to pry...." and I didn't mean to respond rudely, but alas....
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to put forth the impression I did. I guess I'm just a little tired. I'll have a coffee, please."
"It's all right, mister, I'm a little tired myself."
What from, my dear, or who?
"Why don't you have a coffee with me, then?"
"Well, I'll pour me one too, but I'll have to stay behind the counter. Why don't you sit at the bar and tell me what you've been up to all this time?"
My dear, always trying to get ahead. The first time I managed to converse with her she told me she was an actress. I got the brilliant idea in my head that she should think I'm a famous playwright. Brilliant, indeed. I went home that very evening and tried to come up with a masterpiece that would portray the heavenly creature to the best of my advantage, and thus cause her to fall hopelessly in love with me. We settled into place.
"Well of course I've been writing. I presented myself with a little trip to get the ink flowing, though it seems lately I waste more than I keep."
"I'm sure you've thrown away work that's better than anything I've seen." Oh my dear, flattery does not suit you. I'd much prefer if you were to snub me, rather than this.
"Yes, well, I couldn't possibly judge myself based on other's work. How have you been occupying yourself?"
"Oh," she giggled at my interest. "Nothing much, really. I've been working here, just waiting for my break, you know? In more ways than one, I suppose." Giggle, giggle.
"Oh, come on now," I said. "You must get out now and then. For instance you said you were tired, you must have been doing something tiring last night, hm?" Casual enough, though I sounded somewhat sleazy with my little 'hm'. Hm.
She didn't notice, though. My darling assumes I'm innocent. She never seems to notice when I can't resist the urge to stare at her, always just smiles. My poor girl, you don't know I've deceived you into trusting me. I find myself rather vile at times.
"I was up late, but I didn't go out. There was a movie marathon on the TV. I just can't resist those things." Are you hiding something from me, angel? I really can't tell. Woman generally is quite able to hide her innermost thoughts, especially this particular one, being an actress, though I couldn't quite imagine her having much talent. She seems like the type who would overact. I imagined her butchering great plays with her fake southern lilt á la Scarlet O'Hara.
We sat in silence for a time.
I dreamed about you again, last night, darling. You lay beside me in my bed, but when I tried to touch you, you turned away from me and would not speak. What a power it is you have over me, my dear.
"Well, I guess I'll be on my way," I hate to leave you, my darling, but I couldn't possibly keep this farce up for much longer.
"So soon?" Yes, dear, I know I haven't said to you what you want to hear from me, but it is not time yet.
"I have some work to do. I'd return if you'd like me to perhaps in a few days."
"I'll be here, I'm on days all week," I know.
I tipped my hat and bowed, at which she giggled and I could stand her no longer.
"A good afternoon to you, fair lady," I dared say, and made my exit.
I returned to my automobile cautiously, as I was aware she was watching me through the plate glass, dreaming of fame, no doubt. My love, why not of me alone? I felt somewhat unrecognized as the bearer of true happiness.
Upon my return they were lined up on my front gate, no doubt aware of the fool I make of myself, the provocation of their mocking chatter, no doubt. They remained on the gate as it swung open, like little black bird gargoyles making sure no fortune snuck in while the gate opened for me. Of course I knew they were not capable of amusing themselves at my misfortune, they were simply a sign that somebody did, a higher power I'd started to doubt had infinite love and mercy, the attributes I'd found so appealing in choosing him.
As I entered the front door, they remained on the gate, keeping watch for me. I wonder if they are the same every day, or if they take shifts perhaps? I dismiss the silly idea of fetching a bird bander to band my pets. They don't seem to like the offerings I've set out to appease them. Expected, I suppose. No label (and I read them all, shopping for my little followers' sake) had even so much as mentioned my newfound friends as a variety of bird one would want to attract to their feeder, the blotch in my beautiful oak. Ah, well, perhaps the way to atone for one's unknown sins is not after all, by fattening the messengers.
The day's sun provided little useful light, but enough for me to get around by. I entered my sitting room, opening my drapes via pull cord, until the last in the line reveals to me the grotesque scene of my friendly neighbours holding some kind of gathering, family it seems, everybody laughing and chatting about menial accomplishments they feel they can lord over the others drowning in the same gene pool. A particular man was, indeed, painting awe struck expressions on the faces of a circle of little ones. I marvel at their ability to remain upright and conscious without resuming their previous play of 'how many times can I head butt my cousin before he or I should fall over'. I make a note to myself: hedge. How I do love suburbia.
This still in mind I settled myself in front of my computer. My 'window on the world', so to speak. How amazing technology is today, where any common individual may seek to find all of the activities partaken in by another individual for the low price of $29.95 per month, payable by credit card. My "Spy-ware" has been good to me. At times I think I should burn in hell for violating my darling's privacy, but always I remind myself that good intentions breed nothing but good, and my intentions are that of any god: simply to make sure my overseen are not committing acts I would not approve of, lest I should have to withhold my goodwill towards them. My dearest one seems innocent enough, today. As my trustworthy software reports, the subject logged on to her machine at 8pm, checked her email, of which there was none, and received a message from a character named Steven, to which she replied:
"I can't talk right now, there's a Garbo film on the TV. I'll see ya 'round."
Yes, quite innocent, unless of course she was deceiving this Steven using the same excuse she had with myself. It was a plausible explanation, she would have her story remain consistent. Perhaps she had even discovered my little bug that delivered these messages to me, maybe even using the same program I had. Of course I chastised myself for this thought. My dove would not think of looking in on me. My helpful 'Spykick' (a clever take on sidekick) offered me a profile of Steven should I allow them to rob me of another $4.95 on my credit statement. Yes, of course I will. They always go after the sickly and vulnerable.
Steven James, aged 59, lives in a house worth $256,000(mortgaged once, now paid off) in a town about 30 km from my sweetheart’s and mine with his wife, Adele, aged 54. Their child, William, lives within 5 km of their home with his girlfriend. Steven worked as a set designer at a theatre downtown until the age of 55 when he retired. Adele is a housewife. His parents are recently deceased, he has no siblings. Adele's relations are undisclosed. Learn more about Adele?
No, thank you. That will be quite enough. The attraction here is evident, no doubt my loved has targeted this man, assuming he will have some kind of relation with the current superiors within the theatre. What mischief will you get into?
Alas, it is not for me to know at this moment, and I resign myself to the unknown elements at work upon me. My dove owes five hours of service before her cage is opened.
I content myself to work on representing my love fictionally. 'Tis only a matter of days before I will be prepared to make my move. This is a game of strategy. I couldn't possibly allow Mr. James to gain an upper hand on my darling. It wouldn't be proper, her with a retired stage lackey, and married at that. What situations you do get yourself into. I'm afraid I must cut in. I apologize if this seems intrusive to you, darling, but we simply can't have you getting yourself into trouble, can we?
Surrealism, is a topic my dear one mentioned off hand one day in conversation with me. I myself doubted whether she knew much about the topic or not, but I rather enjoyed the brightness of her eyes when she spoke of something of which she felt she had some expertise. My darling deserves to be known as the angel that has shown herself to me, and so she shall. The angel, the devil, the drunk, the ignorant, the grotesque faces highlighting the background of the sinners' ball. Darling, what a cruel world it is for you here. I'm sorry, but you can't escape the inevitable, and besides, the masked host has already locked the doors.
2

The day of judgment has come. My lure is finely crafted, indeed, and the robin has cleared the crows off of my gate, the little cherub. I am free.
My carriage awaits to bring me to the gates of heaven, and so I shall lead the way. My dearest should be waiting for me, though unawares. I've always felt the dirt of the place rubbing off on me. I only hope my loved one would be blind to it. I lit a cigarette.
"Oh dear, were you just coming in? Me, I'm just getting off. I hope you didn't want me to keep you company. I've gotta be going, I've got a date." She raised her eyebrows at me, obviously dizzy with happiness. Seems she has forgotten about me. So soon? This could not be.
"Steven, I suppose." I said.
"How did you know?" She seemed somewhat frightened of me now, though I also registered an amount of repulsion in her eyes.
"I was speaking with him earlier. He told me all about you, though he was surprised to find that you were a mutual acquaintance." Yes, good one there, I told myself sarcastically. She, however, was more than willing to accept the explanation. The poor girl was flattered her Stevie should speak of her.
"Oh?" she said, dreamy eyed.
"Oh indeed. However, I feel it is my duty to inform you, if only for your protection, that the man you are going on a date with this evening, is spoken for, indefinitely. Mr. James is married."
"Oh, I know all that. We're just friends, Steve and me. He thinks he can help me get a part in the next show at his theatre."
I let the ownership of the theatre slide past in preference of a sharper angle.
"Is that so? By the way he was speaking of you earlier, I'd assumed you'd not been privy to that information. You'd always seemed more upstanding than that. But if I was mistaken, I'm sorry for my intrusion, Miss."
"What? Wait a minute, what was Steven saying about me?" Oh my dear, I hate to have you look so offended, but it is necessary. Soon it will all be over.
"Well, if you weren't aware of his intentions, it seems that Mr. James is not fully convinced of your chastity. Personally, I figured he was mistaken and so I travelled here to tell you of what he spoke. I’d known he was fond of disgracing his poor dear wife in the past, but to soil a soul like yourself I found despicable. I apologize for misinterpreting your ignorance of the situation.” I excuse myself to my conscience by denouncing that logically, he must have some kind of design on the girl.
“That’s all right. But what am I going to do? He’s supposed to be here any minute. We were going to dinner.”
“Well, why don’t you come along with me, and we’ll go out. I’m sure we won’t run into Stevie. He’ll most likely figure out that you’re on to him and return home to see if you’ve played informer to his wife.”
“Oh, somebody better, before that monster does it to somebody else.”
“I’m sure he’ll think twice after this. I, most definitely, will be canceling his contract for the sets to the show. It’s unfortunately the most I can do.”
“Sets for the show?”
“Yes, he was going to design the sets for my most recent play. That’s why I was talking to him earlier. He’s retired, but he was always very good, at least in the context of skill.”
Yes, my dear, I know he lied.
“Oh, I see.” But you won’t admit you’ve been duped, of course.
“Actually, that was the reason for which I had wanted to speak with you. You see, conversing with Mr. James reminded me that you’d once said you were an actress, isn’t that so, Angela?”
“It’s Paulette, and yes, I am. Haven’t had much luck lately, ‘cause I’ve got to work. Some of the others would just find some old man with money to take care of them while they’re out looking for parts, but I just couldn’t do that.” Good work, my dear, strike at my pity. But you are not Paulette, or any other silly name you’ve come up with. You are my angel.
“Yes, well, good thing you made my acquaintance then, hm? You’ll have to audition for me, of course. I retain complete control over the casting.” And I’ve paid good money to do so. A theatre, of course, is not just going to let me wander in and perform some tricks and la de da I can use their people and place despite my lack of notoriety. No, they’ve had faith taken from them, whereas mine is forced upon me. Again my darling little ‘hm’ has made me revolting to myself.
“Oh, sure I will, you bet. I could even do it later on tonight, unless you were planning on just pitying my naivety for awhile and dropping me off.” Pity again, also instilling a sense of control in me, a farce of course. Oh, my dear one, you are sly.
We dined, my darling making an attempt at keeping my attention, as though it were not enough that she should have prepared herself in such a way as to accentuate her beauty, though I do remind myself that the demon had done so in order to impress that old fraud I’ve come to hate so passionately this past hour, and it is so distracting, this, that I find myself regretting the efforts I’ve made to win this dearest vampire of mine. Seems she’s discovered the advantage I’ve given her, though she attributes her situation to chance, no doubt, the wretch.
After dinner, we walked, her faux-bashfully linking arms with me. The birds walked along the sides of our dirty path, jumping when they couldn’t keep up. They were so persistent that my beloved suggested that perhaps they were in want of autographs of mine. Oh, yes, darling, how right you are. No. They simply want to mock me, as I walk along, unable to harm a feather on their back, for they know how that would upset you dear, yes it would. They are little provocateurs flaunting the fact that I’ve deluded you, ever sure of my imminent punishment.
I attempted to leave her at her doorstep, but she dug her claws in my back suggesting that I should like to see her act. Haven’t I seen enough?
No, she took a glass of wine to prepare herself and one for myself as well, thus keeping me here until she had managed to pry an assurance of her part in my life out of my corpse. Of course there is no question as to who should play my Angel, no monologue will save me. Real tears and all.
We continued our scene, her managing to halt my attempts at a departure by revealing more personal details as the sedative took effect. Real tears once more, after which she sat coldly, staring downward, seemingly petrified as well as resigned, perspiration on her lovely face which made her look more animalistic than I could find attractive. This is my exit. I’m sorry.

3
Release, dear, this is all I ask of you. Remember, dear, the dream wherein I held you? My blood swelled my veins near to the point of suffocating me, salvation laid only in your decision to cut me, but dear, why did you take so much pleasure in it? You have no pity. Lately, though, you haven’t been frequenting my unconscious. Whose dreams are you visiting, darling?
That morning I awoke weeping, my ears filled with laughter streaming in from
outside, the joyous little torturers on the other side of the glass. As I departed one of the little bandits swooped close by my face, scaring the wits out of me and landed just about twenty feet from my front door, turned round so as to shriek its victory to the others waiting on the other side.

4
Knowledge, my darling, is a thing which the overwhelming majority are in devastating lack of, however, I personally would prefer to remain ignorant of your sins, for they shine such a horrible light on you.
My beloved acts on my stage as she has in my bed, ignorantly. Oh my dear, why are you unashamed of your misdeeds? Perhaps you are simply so disrespectful of me that you feel it unnecessary to act with discretion? The blame, my dear, rests entirely on your head, and you shalt be smited, even if I should have to act with God’s hand. He, however, can only be chastised for having been deceived by yourself. I suppose I should have prepared for the battle in advance, but alas, the optimist that I am, I chose not to believe. Well, my darling, faith has been restored. It is always the optimist who falls hardest.
There are grackles now, my darling. No longer am I alone with my crows, but they’ve developed armies of grackles. I suppose they should suit their purpose, there are more souls per volume, increasing the number of angles of attack, however, their purpose is to destroy, and therefore I simply cannot be in support of them. The little buggers; wandering around, their heads shine blue as if they bathe in holy water. There must be some kind of immunity. They line up in formation as I leave my dwelling, as I enter, as I vulnerably sink in to sleep.
You do of course realize, my dear, that there must be an end to this, be it may a bloody one, but an end, a return. Oh, I can’t help but know that you’ve ruined it. So soon, though, darling. I certainly wasn’t expecting you to lose interest so soon.
The sight of my darling acting so innocently, in fact, in the costume of an angel is revolting to me. She claims that she needs this makeshift costume in order to be in character, but my dear, you are making my angel to be something it is not. My newfound friend Laurence acts opposite.
I curse myself.
“Oh, just a minute, Laurence, I’d like to have a word with you.” My darling looks on, frightened it seems, but after a moment it transforms into an assured smile for me. No, dear, I’m not an informer. I am simply a man with a purpose, albeit malicious, but with an end which will put you in debt to me for the cost of your soul.
“Sure, boss, can do.” He’d taken to calling me ‘boss’ as a perverse kind of euphemism. He speaks in that tone of humbled superiority one can only find in the religious and those who are attempting to present themselves as modest while deliberately displaying an underlying tone of immodesty.
“I’d like to make some changes to your scenes. The reason I’m talking to you specifically is that they will directly affect your character above any else. Would you be able to stay after rehearsal?”
“Gee, boss, I can’t tonight. I’ve got a paper due in the morning; I’ll probably be up till two a.m. as it is. I could stay tomorrow night, though, if it’s all right with Paula, my neglecting her.” A loving smile, how naively sweet of you. Paula… more believable.
“That would be fine,” I say, deliberately sounding displeased with the boy. I find that if I don’t accentuate these things they go unnoticed, seemingly more so the younger the audience. How I loathe the disintegration of the attention span.
A particularly fine example this one is.
“Great. Well, I’ll see you then.”
Yes, great. And with that the boy turns, wanders away. I remark to myself the chosen colours of his dress, those of dirt. I await his return to the earth.
So with malice in mind I escape my dear one’s wrath and hide in my home. The clock ticks at me. Fearing a loss, I set to work on my script, for there shall be no more excuses for my love, no more. Never a sight that I see shall be excused as false again, and so I prepare the separation of my Angel and the Devil. The clock strikes at me, but I’ve not a moment to give it my regards, they can wait. There is time for them, but I shall never have enough even should the Lord make good on his promise of immortality of the soul, for the soul is weak yet witnessing.
I awake at the screaming of the clock. Oh dear, how you mock me. I shalt not tolerate your insolence in my dreaming, I will not. The restraints on my hands as you make a carnival of my torture. I teetered and towered above you yet on my one wheeled cycle I was forced to balance lest the noose round my neck carry out your duties. No, I preferred the slower, the death of a true heart, nails in my wrists holding a board cross my back as you pelted your gravel making indents in my flesh. How I cherish the attention you pay me, my dear, it is as an attentive lover, though you are not, but perhaps this is your atonement. Then out of boredom you set my chariot aflame, I left to fall these few inches toward my death, but careful so as not to reach you down below, darling. I am so chivalrous.
Weeping, I revolt and ready myself. The day is young and I feel like scarring myself afresh. To the death.
There she is, my Angel of plate glass and convenience food. And lonely.
Alas, I make my journey toward her slowly with a measured amount of self-absorption, as I feel her eyes boring into me.
“Coffee,” I say. How I wish to make friendly with you, but I seem incapable. Fear overtakes me. How to suffer a rebuke from my love now I would not know, indifference seems more insufferable.
“Now, now, hon, don’t be a stranger to me. I know all your secrets.”
“That you may, but most likely you do not. I am of the opinion that you are mistaken.”
“You’ve underestimated me yet again it seems. You seem to forget who’s in control here.”
“I know very well who’s in control here.” It’s you, I know that.
“I am of the opinion that you are mistaken.” If only you knew. She’s laughing at me again.
“You can’t harm Laurence, he’s too clever for that, besides I’ve already told him about you. You’re helpless.”
“My propensity to act in my own defence is unbounded by morality as I am completely justified in my actions. There shalt be consequences, there must be.”
“Leave that to the heavens,” she says. Oh, my angel, how I wish I were not forced to expose you to the horrors I wish upon you. But, as I said, there must be consequences; else I’ll not respect myself, though you have succeeded in instilling in me self-doubt. You do, however think too highly of Laurence’s character, and he certainly hasn’t been told anything of importance of me. You lie. I am comforted.
We carry on idly chitchatting, as she and I do enjoy each other’s company despite our differing intentions for the other. It crosses my mind that she always has time to talk when I come around, as if God’s angels were guarding the doors lest someone intrude upon us. I’ve quite lost my faith in the theory of coincidences. It is at this moment that I am once again humbled. My little pallbearers have sent a representative. He stands in the doorway and screams at me. I have had enough. It is time to go. I bid adieu to my darling, now fussing over the fact that I seem to be hearkening to the beckon call of a tiny little demon she says is cute. Yes, cute indeed. You were never one to be recognitive of evil, were you, dear?
I exit the building, troupes in step, for there are now two who walk along a few paces behind me, shrieking. They are silenced once I am within confines of my vehicle, and separate themselves each to a post on either side of the pathway onto the street.
I at least was able to drive home inconsequentially and I made it inside without event. However the inside, despite the time of day being sometime in the afternoon, when I’m really not sure of, I doubt I've checked the time since I've awoken, is eerily dark as I wander about turning on all possible sources of light until I find my way to my bedroom.
I shower to give my flesh a fresh start and prepare myself for tonight's rehearsal of my little play. Mercy be mine.

5
"Hello, my lord," Yes, Laurence. At the very least it's better than "boss".
"Ha ha, hello, Laurence. I trust you've remembered our rendezvous this evening."
My love darts me a smug look. But I will not be discouraged, no, like a small child I am selfish of the attentions of my pet and am prepared to destroy its new toy in hopes of a regression to myself. At times I find myself very hard to tolerate as I degrade myself more and more, but I say, it is a necessity, and one cannot be held accountable for what is done out of necessity.
"Where would you like to go?"
"I thought we were going to hang around here, boss."
"I'm afraid that is not a possibility, I promised to lock the doors half an hour ago, you see we've run a little late this evening. Do you live in the area?"
"Just down the street, actually, but it's not a good environment for meetings I must say, why don't we grab a coffee? You don't mind if Paula tags along, do you?"
"Oh, of course not." I see now, darling, I see. You want to watch over us. Perhaps this is your motherly instinct kicking in or perhaps an attempt at self-preservation. We'll soon find out, won't we, dear. Truth be told I have no idea of how I am going to go about my revenge on my fallen angel. She seems to think I've got my plans rather more complete than they are. Oh my dear, how I loathe to make you worry.
We set off, our happy threesome to my favourite neighbourhood cafe, conveniently located on the opposite end of town, with business in mind I quickly came up with some ideas to discuss with dear Laurence while he managed quite admirably to feign interest in what of I was speaking. Paula relaxed a little, and I managed to work in a few very revealing remarks, causing little Laurence's brow to furrow like an abandoned puppy who's just realized he's been left to die about a month after the fact. Alas, it was time to make the rounds home. I, of course, offering my chauffeurial services, insisted on bringing the lady home first of all. I know, dear, that you will panic as soon as you've entered the front door, but you've brought it upon yourself. If you'd only been a touch more cooperative, then I wouldn't have to go to such measures. I wish you sincerely a good night. I love you, my darling.
Laurence. My dear Laurence. You do not believe in sin, in punishment, in hell. I know hell, I live there, as all good souls must suffer to create one worthy of heaven. However, there are a few with more initiative who take it upon themselves to challenge their endurance in hopes of special treatment. This rarely seems to work, but I am not discouraged, especially when opportunity knocks. Such as little Laurence.
I wouldn't have believed it myself at first. I do think now that there must have been some kind of intervention from the wicked side. I have been blessed.
"Um, would you like to come in for a bit? I couldn't really say what I wanted to when Paula was around. I like her and all, but I don't know her all that well. We have fun together, though, she's great."
"Is that what you wanted to tell me?" I ask and smile teasingly, vainly hoping that creating a friendship with the boy will in the end work to my advantage. We are in his apartment.
"I just wanted to tell you that I really like your play, and I think it's really expressive, like I feel like I know you because of your play, you know? And well . . ." Victory. His lips, however revolting, have sealed my fate. The Lord have mercy on me, for I have sinned.
A faintly unpleasant odor hung in the air, completely dark as I insisted. I excused irresistible violence for enthusiasm, but a cry of the devil escaped the boy's mouth so I was certain I had performed an exorcism. Dreams but no sleep.
I was alone in the dark. Realizing I had a candle and match in my hand I lit one and then the other. Illuminated to my right was the shadow of one of my bird friends, followed by a flash of its beady eyes before it flew off where I could not see. I turned my attention directly in front of me, and there was my darling. She looked positively ill but still lovely. Her eyes pierced through my flesh but I could not take my attention away from them, feeling the blood run down my throat and chest. Her knives bulged as the flesh fell slowly graying, remained focused. I cried for my loved one's life, but her eyes only hardened and shed a tear which fell back into the empty cavity. I screamed.
I left before daybreak. My evil guardians seem to have abandoned me for the moment. Certainly it is not permanent, for they set a trap for me on my path. A small gray dove sat on the road, waiting. In a burst of fury at my own helplessness I aimed my vehicle toward it and sped, but at a moment in time I was not able to witness it was able to fly away to safety, whereas I was barely able to steer away from certain death due to a seemingly delayed response by my vehicle. Perhaps I should not assume I have any amount of control, but I am not submissive. The Lord may be teaching me to be humble.
I drive along panicked at what may happen to me next, now that I have exposed myself to the devil. It seems after dark he is the only one present. He tries to scare me and I can't help but think that the Lord is standing in the back of the balcony laughing quietly to himself. I see ghoulish characters, the kind that wander the streets at night, but in daylight disappear into a shadow. I've locked the doors to my vehicle, but I must travel ten metres from it to my front door, inside being only a small touch safer. Once inside I find no functioning light, but I find a candle in a holder on the dining room table and I am reminded of my waking dream. I have always kept matches near. Once lit I find the flickering of the flame more horrible than the dark. It creates shadows of horrible creatures on my walls. I have been left to die. My darling, I know you could save me. You are outside the range of Satan, it seems, you shall always be forgiven, but I shall be condemned, though my trespasses are far less. I cannot sleep. I hear knocking on my door every so often and a ringing in my ears sounds like two flutes a semitone apart. Close outside I hear voices and car doors opening and closing. Lord, help me.
Darling? Is that you? The rain has come. The drops hit the rooftop and echo inwards to me, coming from all angles. I'm starting to feel quite claustrophobic. Darling? Are you laughing? Or are you dreaming? We are together now. Then violently she is torn from me. A bad dream, dear? Is this what I am to you? Do you remember me with disgust, darling? Do you think of me at all? Outside my window they've lined up. They're waiting for me to surrender. I will not surrender. A knife falls from the wall. My choice of environment was clearly not wise. Avoiding the display I creep back against the wall and around to my left. I hold my candle in front of me, trying to position it to allow me to see into every corner. The shadows move faster than I can, coming to rest at my feet. I dance outside into the storm. My sitters have dispersed from their previous positions and are nowhere to be seen. I run to my vehicle and open the door. I hear a deafeningly loud swoop as they taunt me. Be merciful. I check the back seats quickly and jump in slamming my coat tails in the car door. But where to run? I have nothing.
I drive until I see light through the raindrops. Turning off my headlights I turn into the way leading to her dwelling. Pacing. My darling is pacing. A thin fog of cigarette smoke is forming above her. Angels live in her cigarette smoke. She's crying. She'll continue that way until morning. Oh my darling, how I long to comfort you. But in looking for one I always find the other, the worse, and so I am helpless. I stay until daybreak, not once does my darling look for me. I decide to knock. At this moment I have not idea what to say to her, as though I was talking to God. What can be said that isn't already understood? To try and touch her would frighten me.
As I shut the car door I can see my darling's attention turned toward me. She hurries to the doorway.
"Go away!" she screams. Oh my darling, what are you doing to me? I stand around dumbfounded for a minute, then I hang my head and walk back to my car. I have been led astray. Desire and denial, the cycle is excruciating. She waits until I've driven away before slowing closing the door. I see her burst into tears as she shuts the curtains and then she is out of sight.

6
Impotence breeds anxiety. I sit in the rear of the theater quietly tapping on the floor with my shoe, watching her. Oh, she is beautiful when she dances so. I loathe the devil. Though I’ve hired a lackey to complete my directorial obligations I’ve taken root in the balcony to watch her. She, unhappy with my presence, ignores me. I feel I must complete a period of probationary waiting before the event, come what may. When the elements are in their appropriate pattern I will be provided with the opportunity I await, I am certain, however at present my penance is to wait, and to watch. I also realize the possibility that this is all they’ve got left for me. To wait, to watch, to build intensity until a crisis at which point I will have still no outlet for the unrest you’ve caused me, darling. The cruelty exhibited by a vengeful God is far more severe than the torture of Satan and so I’m certain my soul has not yet changed hands.
She’s really quite ugly. I’ve always felt the human form to be quite grotesque in shape and function. I know dear, that if I were to be able to speak to you, that you would be in agreement, but my silence is necessary.
Darling, my heart is split and you have gauged your way into it. I can’t sleep without you filling me, my dreams an ecstatic torture but my waking days I remain unfulfilled while you tease and mock my attraction as it writhes within my belly, starving. My skin crawls as I watch you dance, with no regard for me, who am violated by every movement. I can feel you crawling over my skin, darling. You trample everything that is vital in me, laugh, and make another crossing while in orgasm I curse your childish play. Surely there is no one watching over me. She throws her head back in laughter and I can almost see the pincers on her pretty mouth but they have been carefully hidden. God manifests himself in mysterious ways. I wonder what sin I’ve committed to merit such a devious punishment, this epileptic infatuation. Perhaps I was forsaken long ago, left to the crows and vultures, which believe me dead. This morning I saw a man walking down the road with a gun in his hand and a bullet in his head, though the other pedestrians didn’t take notice of him. He knew me. At a single glance he beheld my fate and he laughed at my misfortune.
I’ve often thought that if only you knew me you would grant me redemption, darling, but in saying so I am proud. I am no longer proud, for I realize that I am prostrated before fate, which on a whim will have me burning in hell before an idol in your image. I can feel the fire within me, darling, little demons poking at me, deflating my lungs, stealing my breath from me as I become more and more exhausted, lacking the energy even to draw air. You may believe you’ve got me cornered, darling, but I’ll never admit it. You may believe I’ve been cruel to you, darling, and I have. I realize now I am the large black bird at your side, whispering the secrets of hell in your ear as you try to attain happiness, but I am also a victim and I have learned there is severe punishment for ignorance. You may never realize, darling, the favour you’ve been shown in my condemnation, for it is for your sake I will be contained for eternity far below the fiery centre of earth; your protection is a priority. Perhaps after death your guardian will let me rest, though without quiescence in life I doubt this. She’s looking at me now with disgust. Time is moving quickly as she, prancing now, claws at me. I can hear my own heartbeat slowing as I become increasingly aware of the sensation of sinking. I hear her say my name but I realize at once that this is not her calling to me, she whose voice is currently being used for less pure purposes, spewing at me my own lines. I came to you with pure intent, darling. It was you yourself who made sure I left scars on your cheeks.
You look both ways, darling, I see you. Yet in neither direction do you see the devil, though he shouts in the streets, he lifts his voice in the square, he gives well wishes and warnings to those who he’s chosen yet you do not hear him as I once did not. There is warning of you in proverbs, lying in wait at every corner, whose feet abideth not in your house. Yet you remain while I slowly disintegrate. The corner you peek around is mine and you do it playfully, though not without the intention of harm.
The time has come for me to go. As I rise from my seat the caricatures in front of me are startled by what they believe to be an outburst of anger, though the less than pleasant sound made by my movements in the creaking furniture was unintentional, as I’d been determined on sneaking out silently. Now my darling is looking at me again, I notice a momentary flash of terror in her eyes and I hate her. As they stand in expectation I stay in place for a few seconds before deciding to descend upon the party. Stepping on the stairs I make muffled sounds that resonate throughout the theater. They are silent. Once on stage I take my darling by the hand and lead her off, behind a dank red velvet-type curtain. She breaks into sobs that I muffle first by kissing her, then, feeling no warmth in her, I back away and look at her, now blotchy in the skin and crouching to hide her soft underbelly from my attack. Disgusted I walk backstage and exit. Such a finale certainly wasn’t expected. Not a soul nor anything else followed me through that door. Hearing a crow crying, I laugh aloud. I wander out into the street, realizing I have no place to make my destination, raising my hands to heaven I stand on the road. By a miracle of God I go unnoticed by the drivers of various vehicles speeding towards me, one throwing me into another, then into the path of oncoming traffic. I see bodies coming out of the theatre as I’m thrown up in the air. I believe that I am invisible to them, like my murderers. They stare dumbfounded at my hasty disappearance and I am separated from myself, tossed into the air a few times more. A cry of horror escapes my darling’s lips as she alone seems able to see my face dancing around as she danced a moment before. I attempt to mimic her movements as a final tribute, but find that I am unable. Ground to dust, I am able to fly to any height I desire, her eyes still resting on the road directly in front of her. I’m sorry, darling.