The Unfulfilled [Pt. 1]

Light shone on the courtyard, blanketing the swaying green with shades of deep purple and soft pink. Patches of faded red could still be seen on the grass, accompanying the fresh crimson seeping into the soil. Shrill death cries pierced the air, silenced then by a series of savage growls. The only thing to hear then on was just the hunters gormandising their prey, low guttural hums complimenting the snapping, and ripping. It was a gruesome phenomenon, but it was a common phenomenon. Even then, it did not go unnoticed as on the steps linking the courtyard with the twisted castle sat a soul at the very top stair watching it all ever so blankly.

Her hazel, solemn, eyes gazed upon the courtyard of hellhounds feasting upon the condemned. Like her, the both of them were basked in the light of hellfire emanated from the other realms of Hell way above, like a set of suns in the nebula. It only scorched those who were not accustomed to the heat. She continued staring, but she was not looking. Lost in her thoughts, she remained still, making slight adjustments in her seat from time to time. Her large, dark, leathery wings covered her body whole, revealing little of the golden skin underneath. The motions of her long, slender tail moved slowly along the granite floor. She broke her gaze, turning her attention to the small, morbid object beside her. Her tail slithered over, hooking itself into the socket where someone’s eye used to be. With ease, she brought the skull to one of her fair palms. Magic had taught her naturally how to look into the past, so it was not surprising to find her travelling back momentarily to a distant memory.  To her dismay however, it was something she was all too familiar with: A man taken in by the temptation of lust-laced curiosity who paid his price with his soul claimed by one of her own. The girl’s brows narrowed in a frown. Though disappointed, it wasn’t long before she eased into her previous state of melancholy. This time she just remained staring at the two empty abysses before her. She chuckled, and was then forced to rip her attention away from the skull when a presence which had crept up beside her finally spoke.

“Greetings, Sister Qun’norah, Daughter of Lilith,” said the other formally. Her voice was high-pitched and clear, though formal, there was content in her tone. She stood beside Qun’norah, waiting for her response. Her hands were locked together at ease below her navel. The light of the realms added contrast to the fair skin of her slender, lean body. Her short, sunset orange hair too had a tint cast upon it by the light. Two small horns protruded from the surface of her hair, slightly curved.  

“Likewise,” Qun’norah returned the greeting with a lazy sigh, her eyes meeting the sapphire blue of her fellow sister.

The sister frowned, disapproving of Qun’norah’s levity towards formalities. She placed her hands on her hips, waiting for Qun’norah to return on the proper path of tradition. Her orange wings were spread open, appearing more stern and assertive.

“Ugh…” Qun’norah groaned in acquiesce. “Greetings, Sister Fel’roth, Daughter of Lilith,” she returned formally, her voice was whispery and fine like the soft silk of a spider’s web but it didn’t stop the dissatisfaction in her tone from being apparent. She set aside the bangs of her long, sleek, cherry-wood hair with a violent flick. Her vexation further piqued when it bounced off the base of one of her curved horns. Unlike Fel’roth, the curve of horns formed an arc covering almost the rest of her head, and unlike Fel’roth, hers were bigger albeit only slightly so.   

Fel’roth smiled contently then grinned over her small victory, she sat beside Qun’norah. Her wings remained open, and her tail wagged about, the arrowhead tip of it sometimes prodding Qun’norah’s tail. “Is it really that hard for you to follow tradition?” Fel’roth asked, there was a hint of a tease in her voice as two bubbly curls formed on both ends of her full lips.

“Yes,” Qun’norah replied flatly.

Fel’roth thought upon the reply, and, without missing a beat, she changed the topic, “did you hear what they say about Elder Calarath?”

“It was difficult not to,” Qun’norah grumbled, recalling earlier today how the echoes of the news rumbled through the halls and invaded her own room while she slept. “She’s been calling herself a…” Qun’norah trailed, staring blankly at Fel’roth for a moment before pinching her forehead in frustrated recollection.

“Succubus,” Fel’roth filled in the blank bitterly. She propped her arm erect on her thigh, resting her head on her open hand. There was something in her sister’s eyes Qun’norah noted as Fel’roth stared into the distance.

 “Well…” Qun’norah trailed, stretching her arms and wings. “It makes her the sixth,” she noted with a shrug just to break the silence. For a moment, she thought it failed as it persisted.

“Why?” Fel’roth at last cried, distressed, painfully bemused. It didn’t take her long to recover her condescending perkiness though. “I just don’t get it: Why bear a name given to you by your prey? I mean, fine, I understand why you would pick it up so that you can scare those humans all ‘Fear me, for I am a succubus!’ next time you see them so it’s alright calling yourself a succubus after all I guess but then… it just seems so wrong!” Fel’roth ranted, vehemently gesticulating her worries away.

This is why my horns are bigger, Qun’norah thought, hiding a smirk.

“Sister, your wings,” Fel’roth suddenly said, pointing at her wings covering her body.

Qun’norah’s folded one of her wings, allowing Fel’roth enough space to rest her head on her sister’s lap.

“Sometimes, I’m just worried… afraid even, that I might lose you too,” Fel’roth confided, after . She turned her head, staring at Qun’norah, “and I don’t think I need to tell you why, do I?”

Feeling just the slightest pang of guilt, “no, you don’t,” Qun’norah replied.

“Still, are you going to take up that name?”

“No, Sister Fel’roth, I will not. I see no reason to,” she replied, willing to reveal a little further: “it’s not me.”

“That’s because you’re a Daughter of Lilith, right?” Fel’roth jumped up, eyes aglow.

There was a flash of loss and pain across Qun’norah’s face, disguised all too well behind a wry smile.

“Yes, because I’m a Daughter of Lilith,” she lied.

Fel’roth finally stood up, stretching her arms, she spoke: “Shall I help you stoke the hunger now?” She inquired, casually keeping her arms at ease, “that is why I’m here, after all.”

…

Tear

Let me tell you about Tear,

A friend of mine since I was four.

She may be a little queer,

But I could not love her more.

How her long, auburn hair falls

Upon her fair, dainty skin

When I hear her voice call

The stir in my heart begins

We share gazes at sunsets,

And point at stars in the night.

And of what our love begets,

It turns on all the lights.

She laughs at all of my jokes

And watches me play my games

She stays with me when I smoke

And loves me all the same.

But I will always remember

The pain that will forever be.

How every photo with her

Shows no one else but me. 

Visit From A Mamba

A fire is always a welcomed friend on a cold night in the savannah. Sitting here was I outside my tent with the metallic mug I used earlier to brew my tea now warm in my hands. My ears remained wary throughout the night, picking up the occasional laugh of distant hyenas disrupting the ever-present, ever-tranquil, songs of the crickets that sang to the soughing winds that came about by the minute. Occasionally, I would stare off into the scenery filled with the silhouettes of bushes and trees all under a sea of stars that belonged to something much bigger. I permitted my mind to wander off while I stared into the flame. I had no reason to be here, yet strangely, that gave me all the reason to be here at the same time. It was the comfort of being in a home of a natural kind, the kind that made me feel I was meant to be here. Lost in thought, a sudden, meek voice calling for my attention drew me away from my musings.

"Excuse me, sir," the voice called, its owner nowhere to be found when I looked for him. "Excuse me," the voice parroted, this time letting itself be known that it was close to the Earth's bed.

I looked to the caller, the yellow ring of its black pupil catching me in its circle. Its grey scales glistening with the light of the fire reflecting off its long, slender body. I realised that my visitor was none other than a black mamba.

"Please, don't be frightened," the snake reassured after I had jumped from my spot in shock, somehow managing to keep my hand stable enough not to spill my tea. He lowered his head courteously and backed away from me to give me the comfort of space.

The display of docility calmed me down as I returned to where I sat. The mamba remained where he was, content with speaking from there.

"Thank you, I hope you don't mind me here," he said softly. It was because of the tone of his voice that I somehow knew that he meant me no harm.

"No, no, you just startled me," I replied accordingly, "what brings you here?"

The mamba's head slithered about, a little flustered to confess his purpose.

"I caught the scent of a brewing lavender while I was on my way with my journey North. With the warm fire and the lavender tea, I was wondering whether I could... rest here for a while." He requested as gently and sincerely as he could, "and I was hoping that you would be willing to... share your tea as well," he added shyly.

I didn't think of it too much before I smiled warmly and invited the mamba closer.

"Wait here," I instructed, "let me go get another mug just for you."

I stood and returned to my tent, keeping an eye on the mamba to see whether he would drink my tea. He stayed where he was with a content smile on his face, happily enjoying the fire's warmth. Getting another mug from my bag, I returned to his side and poured some tea from my own mug, and set his mug down in front of him.

"Thank you!" He excitedly said, resting his head at the rim of the mug and sipping the tea from there.

We enjoyed the taste of the tea and the warmth of the fire in silence until we were done drinking. Still in the comfort of the burning wood, we took this time to exchange a few kind words.

"Where are you from?" The mamba asked me, his black eyes set on the fire.

"I came from the city." I replied, trusting this new friend of mine further to open up, "I just felt that the time was right for me to move on to a new place. That place was eventually going to be the death of me." I chuckled, folding my legs and locking them with my arms as I rested my head on my knees. I was going to go off in a reverie again until I realised I should probably ask the same of the mamba. "Where did you come from?" I asked, "and you mentioned you were going North. What's going on there?"

He turned his head to me, "I've been around, moving from place to place. I've been doing that for a very long time," he replied, "this time, I just feel the need to go North. That's where life is at this time of year, so that's where I need to go." He explained further, "it's a long journey, and I have miles to go before I sleep."

I noticed a trace of melancholy in his tone when he voiced his last sentence.

"Are you going with anyone?" I inquired.

The mamba, after a few pensive thoughts, smiled wryly.

"No," he replied.

I thought about it for a while before coming to a decision.

"Why don't I go with you?" I offered, "I don't have plans on where I'm going, I don't mind tagging along with you."

The mamba was surprised by my offer, stammering at first, "A-Are you sure? It's a long way to go and with what you have with you now, I wouldn't want to trouble you." His voice cracked out of surprise over my sudden suggestion.

I laughed heartily into the night, greatly amused by his character.

"Yes, I'm sure," I nodded. "Did anyone ever tell you that you're a gentleman?"

The black mamba slithered his head away, embarrassed by the compliment. It wasn't long until he turned back to me, a look of slight urgency written on his face.

"Very well, but you won't be able to bring what you have now," he said.

"Why not?"

"It's a long journey and if you follow me, such things will only slow you down." He informed, "are you sure you want to give them up?" He said, looking at my tent.

Once more, I was put in the position where I had to think. But, remembering how this wonder of nature has been doing this for a long time, I was sure his experiences knew better than my thoughts ever would on this new journey that I was uncertain of. So, I nodded my head.

The mamba smiled warmly.

"We will leave shortly," he said, "and... thank you."

Upon leaning closer, the mamba raised his head and planted a soft kiss on top of my hand. It sent a small tingle through my body that came as soon as it went, it was probably his breath brushing through the hairs on my hand. The mamba returned back to my side and we stayed that way for as long as we could to enjoy the fire for one last time.

It wasn't long until we stood to embark on our journey. The mamba and I started walking after he had pointed to the North Star as indication to where we were going. With my new companion, I started on my journey North. Taking a brief moment to look back at my tent, my now dying fire, and my aged body, that I was leaving behind as a present to the Earth before I continued on with this new life of mine.

A Black Mamba (Click to Enlarge)

The Work of An Artist

The artist takes his brush and paints his scene,

Of a winding road down the forest green.

With a shaky hand dealt by old age,

A new life is breathed into the foliage.

He takes his time with the strokes of his brush,

Knowing that art is a life never rush'd.

For the wasted lives of hurried talents show,

That rushing a tree will never make it grow.

And the artist will rest when he tires.

Even an android needs to cool its wires.

As he gazes down his own winding road,

On the many nights in his warm abode.

Time passes and the painting now lies drawn.

The artist lowers his brush, his war now won.

Though it won't be long til' he fights his next one,

For the work of an artist is never done.

Music Box

I sat in my living room

With my tea on the rocks.

Staring at an heirloom

Of an old music box.

It was on my birthday,

When I had just turned nine.

The timeless instrument played

And entered this life of mine.

The melodic brass chimes

From the wooden trinket.

Sounding sweetly sublime,

It became a favourite. 

In time, decades soon passed

And the world came to know

Of a toy meant to last,

thus came the radio.

By then, I forgot my gift.

It was left all alone.

For my life took a shift,

what happened was I had grown.

And now, I have grown old.

I had a crude thought struck:

That the radio gone cold,

Never had songs that stuck.

Only then did I see,

Sitting there all aloof,

The friend who's been with me

Ever since my youth.

So I opened the old thing

And found after so long,

My music box still singing 

My one favourite song.

Chessboard

I was in the study

of a friend one day.

Admiring a chessboard,

dusty and alone it lay.

It gave the room life.

That small touch of flair.

How that odd pedestal,

brought a vintage air.

The owner came with drinks

he set upon the table.

"I don't play that game,"

"I'm just not that able."

So the chessboard sat there,

accompanied by neat books.

Serving forever just to

complete the room's looks.

I was called to the house

much later in time.

Something terrible happened,

that seemed almost a crime.

The study lost its feeling.

That flair no longer present.

For on the chessboard there

was one chess piece absent.

Though my friend was unchanged,

he expressed he was annoyed.

He knew very well that

a new piece won't fill the void.

I returned home that evening.

Realizing in that instance,

how one missing chess piece,

can make all the difference.

Twenty Days Without You: Day Nineteen

What do you do on your last day?

Get ready for the next day.

End of Day Nineteen.