Wearied by zer lifetime quest, ze stares into the embers of a dying fire, and weeps. Zer tears float weightless through the twilight, evaporate into tiny sparkling jewels, then fall to earth—cold grains of sorrow, their magic spent. The last and finest of zer kind, ze attempts a summoning but zer power is almost gone. Zer magic freezes into crystal runes that crack, then splinter into dust. Disheartened Ze does not notice the approach of The Pale Man. As the wrack and ruin of zer physical form commences, ze retreats into the comfort of zer mantra, zer lips moving softly with the exultation within. Ze feels the pain caress the fabric of zer soul, but chooses to find no suffering in it, instead allowing zer love to flow toward the dark grey mist hanging like a shroud over zer tormentor. "Who now would wish to be," asks The Pale Man, his voice brittle, "holier than thou, Eriol, or as holy as thee?…" The mirror-meaning shatters into word-shards of irony. His eyes glitter like stars. Trails of tears glisten on his cheeks. "Though you tear the flesh," zer reply barely audible, "the light still gleams softly in the garden of forever…" The Pale Man shrugs disparagingly. "My dear, your receptors are ardent and swollen with longing, soon they shall know culmination…" He wriggles his long bony fingers menacingly. Suddenly, his anger rising at zer lack of response, he rips the wounds wider, gripping harder, gritting his teeth, zer blood streaming… Still no reaction, at the physical level. Etherically, ze continues emanating divine energy, bathing him in a warm and golden light. The pleasure is so sweet, he looses his bowels, the turds slither over her belly leaving wet trails -- like blood-bloated slugs they slide on her, hissing like serpents. Almost immediately, the richness begins to go out of it, evaporating into memory---the lechery of it burning his mind. "Oh you’re good," says The Pale Man, "you're very good…" his legs shaking, his torso swaying as the full force of the rapture takes hold. "But I see through your illusions, though your taint besmirches my innermost treasure, I deny your truth always. "Prepare now to die, Eriol, and with thee, thy glamours and visions." Raising the blade above his head, he pauses briefly then plunges it into zer eye socket. But death is not appointed to meet with zer in that particular timeslice. Stab though he might, (and mighty was his stabbing), life will not leave the beast, battered and bloody though ze is. After a while The Pale Man tires of this gruesome sport, and stands back, weary and ashamed. In the morning, they both are turned to stone. © Copyright S R Schwarz 2007. All rights reserved.
last of the snow-elves
Labels: body fluids, cruel and savage, faerie, potty training, sad-ish
