Angels of Hell– Iris

Part 1 here

Part 2 here

There has been a glitch in time, for the very simple reason that what should have been, isn’t.

Bit by bit, I’ve carried whatever was left of me. This is as far as we’re going to go. I’ve left behind a part of my soul, so I was made to believe. Since then, I’ve following the other on his way to Iris. I knew where he was headed. But I’ve watched him become fainter, translucent, in the last moments of his being, from a distance, seen him disappear. And suddenly everything changes, transforms into another world altogether.

I’m now walking in a city full of people, kind of like a small medieval town. I try to find a place to hide, figure out my next move, but there are no walls here. Roofs, floors, yes! But no walls! I’m not left with enough on my mind for I can see someone walking towards me. Not yet, not Iris, she’s and old acquaintance. But what sort of game is this? This is supposed to be happening in my world, my imagination, my revelation. What is she doing here?

Her name was one thing I knew best about her, but right now I can’t remember that either. I try to remember where I saw her last, but soon realize that I can’t. She stops at a distance and attempts at making a conversation, but I can barely hear her.

“Did I see you say something?” I ask, unthinkingly.

She takes a step closer to me. “For every time you speak, I’ll take a step closer to you. Alright?”

I nod, carefully not to have said anything. She smiles back at me. She seems to be aware of my methods, of what I just did.

“What is your purpose here? You look exhausted.”

“I’m on my way back home, to my castle.”

“You don’t really want to go there, do you?” As she speaks, like she said, takes one step closer to me.

What do you care, and how are you supposed to know of what I do and do not want. What I would have normally said is taken over by a careful observation and I end up saying nothing. But she still steps closer to me.

“Look, we don’t have a lot of time. Have you noticed any changes in the city since you got here?”

“Yes, the people, there aren’t many left.”

“You know what that means. Don’t you? It’s her, Iris, she’s around.”

“How do you know her and what do you want from me?” She keeps on stepping closer, like she said.

“No, you’re going about it the wrong way. It’s not a question of what I want. The question is whether you really want to head back home? Careful what you say, dreamer, we’re close enough.”

Ah! I know what she means by that. I knew it, the moment she called me ‘dreamer’.

“I’m not strong enough, you know that. What is it of your interest?”

“I told you to be careful. And yet you underestimate my power, my influence over them. I can take get you out of here.” She steps closer, continues, “You see, I can hand over to you, the very last image you hold in your dreams, realized. All you’ve got to do is ask for it. I can hear you think, all I want of you is to say it.”  She must now be just a step away from me.

There is no question of whether she’s capable of doing it. I myself am unable to voice it. Innumerable questions run interminably through every inch of my mind. But I can’t, in the end, dare to dream, leave alone narrating them.

“Oh dear lord, what have they done to you! Forget not, mate in any state of mind attributed with certainty, one emotion shall prevail and one alone. And thus, there remains no appealing space for mistrust or disbelief for that matter. Now you need to choose what that one emotion might be for you – despair, fear, anger or love?”

And as she speaks she stands right in front of me, and continues to say and move, “Remember, doubt and skepticism may very well be a characteristic of the wise, but the fools are always the happier. You’ve had your chance. I’m going to leave you to her now.”

“Argue all that you want. But I do not stand here to be persuaded to go back. I will not become a victim of repetitive compulsion. I see only one way out of this, out, through all of them, forward!”

But she doesn’t argue, doesn’t say a word, instead keeps moving and walks right through me. Face through face, hand through hand, thought through thought, and I felt what she felt! Before I can contemplate on what kind of trickery could it have been, it strikes me! Why her? What was the purpose of this, assuming, of course, that there was one?

Down on my knees, not for too long through, I stayed. Another firefly, revealed from dawn to the twilight, and dead on my feet, not for too long though. Uncountable emotions, and yet a feeling of hopeless nothingness, I felt that she felt, not for too long though. I saw what shined through the window of time, a glimpse, a world of mine, not for too long though. The constant essence flown, of all that remained unspoken, I breath in, not for too long though. Not for too long, until the agitation of powerlessness imprisoned the powerlessness itself. I stood again, watching the walls in the city emerge, not for too long though, until the voice from the behind.

“We haven’t really met before. I’m Iris.”

I turn back to find her. Everyone has a purpose in your life. I’m going to ask her now, what was hers?

“Right! And I am…” What? Who am I?

“I know who you are. You are in point of fact one of the most magnificently flawed dreamers I’ve ever met. I understand your reason for it. You took a flight on with wings of wind, and when the wind passed, you fell. And thereafter, you’ve made it up to here, which I truly am impressed by, but where would you go from here?”

“Back home, I told you. I’m headed to my castle.”

“And then what? You’re gonna hide there for the rest of your life?”

“No. No, definitely not! Leave me be!”

“I will. I seek nothing from you, but to help. But before I do, I’ll let you in on a secret. Despite of whatever we do in this realm, we never lie. No one does  - Tristan, Fiona, or me for that matter.”

“You mean what just happened wasn’t a lie?”

“Look, I have no intention to harm you; neither do I wish to keep you from reaching wherever you want to be. I just want to make sure that you know where. Understand that they all wanted to help you, of course in their own ways. Your suffering is solely a result of struggle. Why would you fight us?”

“All I know is that I created you all, you are all sums and products of my memories, my imagination, my creation. I cannot and will not let you take control, singlehandedly or collectively. I’ll fight you all till I’m alive.”

“Huh! I advise you not to. We are already in control. Still, let me ask you something, from my constant observation of you demeanor, I’ve found you the strongest at two contradictory phases of life, yet both were same in one aspect that you had one and only one purpose. And nothing else and no one else mattered. Now correct me if I’m wrong.”

“Go on.”

“Have you ever tried to figure out what changed?”

“Yes, the complete presence or complete deprivation of love, either of them worked. But all that remains now is uncertainty of its existence. Doubt, perpetual indetermination, you! It’s all because of you.”

“And so, unsure of what you feel, you have effortlessly decided not to feel anything to isolate yourself from the very idea of emotion. As safe as it sounds, it doesn’t sound like you.”

“I know it doesn’t. It would never make sense to not see at all, if you could watch the world go by in black and white. But then again, what’s the point?”

“Go back. What changed, not existentially, but emotionally? What is it that you felt, and you don’t anymore? What changed?”

She knows my methods, the ones I’d forgotten. She’s trying to remind me of my own questions of force against change – what changed and what follows?

The presence, in the same world as mine, the essence, in all corners of mind! How do I articulate the absence? But I try.

“Control, an effortless influence over the minutest thought, in the back of my head, a constant reminder that everything was going to be alright, that everything was working out just fine, that if I would continue on my current path, I’d reach a point of eternal bliss.”

“A belief, in short, something I earnestly urge you to rebuild. For whatever existed, in the so addressed window of time, needs to be recreated with whatever effort necessary. Believe that you can dream and you shall dream, speak of them coming true and they shall realize.”

“What if I refuse?”

“Isn’t that what you’ve done until? Look where that got you.” She walks away from me as she speaks, turns back to me and continues, “What do you think is going to happen here? There exist no easy choices that are right. You cannot and will not escape us, we’ll always be here, unless of course, you suppress us by means of belief.

“I don’t understand, you’re actually suggesting me ways to wheal out your influence over me. Why?”

“We are not hungry for anyone’s flesh and blood. The time is not right for a Q and A. I shall stand here to give you all the answers you need, and in return I urge you not to recede, but to stand your ground and fight, not us, but yourself, all that you’ve become.”

“Draw away the part of me that incepted you, and thus draw away you.”

“Precisely. You have done well, very well indeed. You’ve paid your price, it’s time to heal. You’ve served your internment in despair, your surrender to fear, your labyrinthine quest against doubt. It is time for you to return to content, magnificence and confidence.”

“But how?”

She doesn’t seem to acknowledge and continues, “We’ve always been here, in your world, but you never gave up control, until now. I return to you the power, the control, and I burden you with the choice to execute that power.

“Everything and everyone has a purpose in your life. What was yours?”

“You know it. All souls serve in afterlife, most for redemption for their sins, and some, like yourself, for salvation, and thus for the spirit to commit new sins.”

“You mean I was made to suffer for the pleasures I’m yet to receive.”

“That is all I have to say for now. I take your leave, creator. I wish to not see you again, ever. Farewell, dreamer.”

She disappears without letting me say goodbye, leaving behind nothing but pure black and untainted white, a vast world of day and night. I smile, and by just that, I paint them each, the night in deep purple and the day in light peach!

I have a heaven to create; anything and anyone who cares of anything lesser could go to hell. I have a world to build; anything or anyone who ain’t helping me or taking a leave, would be shot down. I have dreams to realize… No, I don’t. It’s time to dream.

End of the end - A vague confession

The end must end.

Whosoever said that stories have an ending? I have personally experienced something quite the opposite – I’ve witnessed that it is usually the endings that have a story. Most do not even exist until they’re ended. So what would happen if I were to walk back to the middle of the tunnel, knowing where and how it would end? What if I took a path earlier inexistent, and let my aggression punch a universe through the walls that aren’t up yet? What if the world were to see the invisible, the truth, the complete truth?

Okay, then. We’ll begin on the story next time. For starters, I’ll tell you something, something no one else knows. Can you keep a secret? Or am I gonna have to kill you?

I did something, extremely right (well given the damn state of affairs) and equally hard. Hardships do not end, ever! But I would never ask for an easier life. Well, that said, I did something.  I killed a bird, I burnt a bridge, I tore apart a torn apart world. What for? Why did I do that? I had my reasons. A reason I’d very much like to kill, or probably die trying to change.

The question is not what I did. It is the pride of doing the right thing at the wrong time that can make up for not doing the right thing at the right time. But is that all there is to life? Making mistakes, and making amendments? Can we not for once, just for once, forget that we’re humans? Or better still, can we not for once, realize that maybe yes, maybe this is all we’ll ever have. Maybe it’s true, this is what your standard of living has come down to. And then go back to the idea, that we’re mere humans, trying too hard to live, only to die.

What do I want, they ask me. Pathetic! Retarded homosapiens! Can you not for once, see that I do not know what I want, and for all that matters, I do not care that I don’t know. It is far beyond my comprehension, or mere apprehension for that matter, that why won’t they just gp to hell! Just let me be! Everyone! Go! GO! If only knew here hell was, I’d walk with every single human on this humanistic planet until the end of it, just to leave them there.

I know the way out. I know how to reach where you are. I just don’t want to! I’ve fallen in love with the sweet smelling despair. It has always been all or none. It has never been, and will never be of human calibre to give all. Take it then. Of what purpose is a life without purpose. ParadoX!

I seem to incapable of effort now. But of what purpose would be a life, if it were to require effort not just at every step, but even at the thought of every step? Isn’t a sweet death superior to a venomous life?  Who’s to decide? Stop troubling me, I can’t.

So the secret! I can’t tell you. Can’t even think about telling you. All I know is that the end has ended. The story is made. It’s complete. It’s beautiful, heartbreakingly beautiful!

And like I’ve said before, every end must rise in itself to be a new beginning. So what next, I ask. Where do we go from here, from nowhere that we are? Why don’t you start by telling me a story?

Ode to the last night in my world

It is no land that I yearn, not in my world anymore.
I stand on the ragged edge, the brink of everything
At once, and in spite of all. Nothing! No more!
Listen to the harps, and dwelled within the ring
Of the melodious words, to the quack,
The worthless, meaningless cry!
Of worthy and purposeful shot in the back

Then well wonder and mock, in very self amusing way
This interminable, preposterous creation of thee.
But I shall not bow to the creator, leave man alone,
‘Coz I, yearning to die, should one fine day, see
Him tyrannous in his kill, and yet, subtle in his sin!
In-existential in his will, placid in war! I shall see
To have lived through, what he could only imagine.

He, however kind should be in the next lie,
Shall not surpass the usefulness of a partial truth.
And you, my love, shall know only
A face obliged for victory and a voice unafraid,
Not the one sunk in despair or drunk on fear.
While you sing of me, and of the summer sun,
Know me, on the brink of everything. Now, here!

For I did not once walk ahead of de riguer
O for now, with all existent aggression until
And with an unthinkable ardor,
From the door to an infinite abyss, unchanged, unstill,
The same, from where I once fled, I set you free.
Feed them hunger, the hounds, I’m set to bleed
Ask of them to not come howling, silence is all I fancy!

Do not trouble your soul, for it is too a vicious one
Do not, with your songs of love, remind them of me
Let a selfish dissonance of fury and of pride run
Through and through until a moment of catharsis
Holds them numb and chokes on each breath.
The raggedy edge, the door to an infinite abyss
Awaiting every life in the city, every life worse than death!

Waking dream (incomplete)

In the depth of winter, the grave of ember

Lay ablaze a dream, a dream to remember
Aspiring to outshine all diamonds combined
And the dust from all stars that ever shined

In the grave of ember lay ablaze a dream
Teasing life’s incandescence with death’s gleam
Piercing hard, skins between the world and next
And walls of future, unbreakable, yet convexed.

...but like many other things, the seemingly interminable significance of this flare had surprisingly ended.

Devil's Bargain

Bring me your dreams of glass,
Dreamer, I’ll turn ‘em into gold
Never again shall your face be seen
Sinner, in any piece they hold

Though your loss be written in silence,
Victory shall be spoken in whispers
Your indulgence be marked with resilience,
Albeit, your love may betray all spurs

Bring me your dreams of glass,
Dreamer, I’ll turn ‘em into gold
Never again shall their faces be seen
Saint, to whom the pieces are sold

But there might come a day when
Mortals might wonder and fret
What would make of the grandeur then
Were they to rather reason and threat?

Time and again, the moment came,
And yet here I stand, I set them free.
Drenched in blood, cursing god’s game
Little do they know, I am Him and He is Me.

Angels of hell: Fiona

Prequel to this: Angels of Hell: Tristan

Rise with the wind, my great big serpent;

Silence the birds and darken the air;

Change me with terror, alive in a moment;

Strike for the heart and have me there. - W H Auden

When was the last time that you weren’t afraid to die?

A wind of mixed moods and random colors is blowing in my face. It is not too late before I realize that it is only I that inspire the weather around. Only what I feel shall be materialized. I try to concentrate on a single emotion. Knowing who I am walking towards, intuitively, decisively and forcibly all at once, I stumble on that emotion. The winds speed up, slow down, and speed up again. But that is not it, something else is changing, the temperature, it’s dropping. The sand turns into snow, the swirling sandstorm into a snowfall. Each snowflake is beautiful and broken, beautifully broken!

I hadn’t slept in weeks. I hadn’t dreamt in months. The very thought of not being able to dream didn’t let me fall asleep. And while I was awake, she spoke to me; spoke to me like a child, a hungry child. She could hear my screeches, see me cry, watch me struggle, struggle to survive. And yet she would recite to me, verses that were no more heartening to a broken spirit than wine would be to a cadaver! But she would go on…

“Sing for me, smile for me.

In infinity, spare all while for me

You haven’t the skill, you haven’t the charm,

You can’t kill, you haven’t the arm.

So sing for me, and smile for me.

 Dance for me, and die for me!”

Every time! Like seeing her wasn’t hard enough! It’s the snow, it’s getting crazier. I’m feeling lighter, it’s starting. She’s around. Playing with gravity has always been the first of her moves. Free fall - the most basic, universal form of fear, one the mind can’t sustain even while asleep. This is probably the worst of her strengths. She’s predictable though, but not ever can you avoid how and when she induces herself within you. I can feel her now, Fiona, the angel of fear. I’m scared.

When was the last time that you weren’t afraid to die? A mere sight of her makes me fear life more than death.

“It’s pretty worthless saying this now, but I did tell you so.”

I decide to listen and say nothing. She never questions me. Never does she ask whether what she feels is right. She just knows everything! How? I have no idea.

“I had given you the power. You could have seen the probable future. But you chose not to, you just couldn’t resist the wind. You see, we were connected by an eternal love…” She continues.

“Stop it!” I interrupt.

I can’t see her. She has no face, and yet she has invaded me with love, and already evaded me with terror. I try to picture her with the most vivid of imagination. But I can’t, she won’t let me.

Where do we go from here? After what Tristan did, I’m no longer bound by the past. I carry it with me. I’m only scared of the present not being the same at times, and the future being exactly the same at the others. It’s when something becomes everything and everything else turns into nothing!

“I am not the passing thought. I’m here to stay, stir the forgotten dreams of your oblivious heart and paint you in ecstasy.” Words! Impact! Devilish!

“What do you want?” I ask, I don’t have energy left to talk in metaphors.

“You know what I want. I know that you know, it should be me that’s holding you! I was your constant companion. Hell! I was your only companion.”

“Fear and love do not go hand in hand. You of all should know that now. Let me be.” If you aren’t definite of anything, pretend. Pick one of the two choices and instead of yourself try, and convince someone else that it’s right. It helps. That’s what I’m doing, advocating a lie.

“You’re playing it all wrong. Don’t talk like them petty humans, you’re something more. You’re a seeker. You seek yourself within me. All I ask of you is to let me direct you. I’ve driven you this far. Only I can take you further. You see, we’re not that different after all. You’re like me, and that’s why you like me. You know that somewhere, every time, I represent you. You’re right, this isn’t love. It’s something more!”

Everything she says is either true or it is exactly what I have in mind. There’s no point in even trying to argue with her, even if I want to, I can’t. She knows things about me, things that even I’m ignorant of. How? More importantly, why? Is there a greater purpose to this?

“Let me walk with you.” She continues, “Even if we run into hell, you know that I’ll never leave your side. Isn’t that what you want, a constant companion. A bowl full of dust, sprinkled on a path! The dust heavier than gravity! The path, chosen by someone else! A choice, a rescue, in spite of your sins! Sins that you never committed! The rescuer, so much alike, to hypnotize! Hypnosis of fear! Hypnosis of love! Love of pride! Pride of what you have! Pride of what you haven’t, of surviving without it. ”

“No. That is something I’ve left behind. In earnest, I’ve no intentions of going back.” Long Pause. I say nothing else, I don’t have anything to. She’s thinking, I imagine.

“You do know why I’m placed here, at the second place, in this divine plan, a plan to perfection.”

“Yes, you’re supposed to be the strongest of them all. Nothing, and no one undeserving shall pass.”

“And yet, you dare to challenge me?”

A question, weird! Like I said, she never asks me anything. What is she up to. Is she falling weak, or only mocking me? She’s smiling. Remember the wicked smile? She’s definitely mocking me. She’s making me angry, yet a part of me is still more scared. I tend not to care about it. My biggest mistake!

“Where do you intend to take me?” I ask instead.

“A quest… just of your kind, seeker. A search of something greater than humanly desires. A search for strength in fear, for confidence in contemplation, for peace in chaos, for truth in fiction, for you in me!”

There’s again a pause, longer than last time. Another voice from behind is mumbling, rattling random words that I can’t make out. But it gets louder…

“Turn swiftly. Close the door behind you. Look down. Stay. Look up. Walk. Slow down. Struggle to keep your eyes open. Wish you could look back without turning back. But don’t turn. Walk on.” It’s not her. Though I can’t see her, I recognize her voice, it’s not Fiona.

Have I surpassed her? There was so much I wanted to say, so much more that I wanted to listen. I feel her presence but I can’t see her. I was never able to see her, but this is different.

“You’ll not feel my touch, but my fingerprints won’t fade.” It’s her again. Why do I feel relieved to hear her voice again? There’s something far more incomprehensible, far more evil going on here. This is not one of her tricks. She isn’t capable of doing this. I know it.

“You know that you want nothing you speak of. You speak of nothing you want. And so you have it, nothing!” The other voice again. She’s talking in whispers again. I’m going to go crazy if this continues. I might fight her now, but it’s done. No, it’s not! I’m scared, no I’m not! I’m loved. No, I’m not!

“Fiona! Fiona!” I call out of desperation. “Fiona, save me!”

“Fiona! Fiona!” I scream out of anger. “Fiona, stop it!”

Something extraordinary has happened. I didn’t do it, neither did she. Like I said, I know her, she isn’t capable of this.

 I’m out of my body. I see myself, I hear myself saying this twice. Different things, different emotions, anger and fear. My soul has been split into two. One half has yielded to Fiona, while the other has somehow, for the first time in my life, outgrown her. He must be up against the next. I don’t know who that is. None of us do.

Fiona materializes in front of me, in front of the first me. She sees him, for the first time, lets him see her. They head north into the pines, it’s colder there. She loves winters.

“What would have happened to me, had I not accepted you?” He asks Fiona.

“You would have run into the eldest of us. She’s called Iris.”

“What is she like?”

She looks back at me, not him, the real me. She hasn’t caused this, but she knows what has happened. She knows that she hasn’t won entirely, but she’s aware of what she has captured and intends to make the best of it, to never let him go again.

“What is this? What have you done to me?” I ask.

“You’ll never find out. I’ll never let you out of my sight.” She tells him. Who was it meant for? Was she answering me or him?

She’s almost done with him. He’s back where he was. But he’s safe. I’m worried, but I’m not scared. I’m curious for the other one.

She’s right, I’ll have to follow the second me. But… wait! There are two me in front of myself, who am I then? Am I only a vengeful spectator of my own life? I pity them, and yet I envy them. They are young, they think they know everything. Ignorance! Acceptance of denial and denial of acceptance at once! Does it matter? Does anything at all matter? I’m stuck with freedom.

Angels of hell: Tristan

 I was just on my way. I didn’t plan this. Why would anyone ever plan this? 

The path is covered in red sand, dry, but still. There’s no sign of wind here, no sign of life whatsoever. It’s hauntingly silent. But am I scared? Of course not! I didn’t bobble when there were people around. So why bother now? Looking at this, the green fields could have very well been a dream. The air contains images of my innate desires. I never knew what to do with this feeling, happiness! Especially when it belongs to someone else!

I’ve been close to this place, but never in, not this far. What have I done to deserve this? Forbidden question!

There she is. I knew she’d be here. I always know it when I’m approaching cross roads. And every time I slow down to pay heavy, undivided, uncontrolled warm attention to her. Look at her! I know that evil smile, wrapped up in pride, blown open by a million sins that I’m yet to commit. I know her!

“Who are you?” An unwanted question! I could have asked her directly, but I want to be sure.

“An angel.”

I know she isn’t lying, I know her. She isn’t aware of my existence, only partially awake! Her expressions are changing. What she wants is to rip of my spirit off my body and leave me bleeding, leave me to die unless it rains anytime soon. But it never rains when you want it to. She’s making me fall, forget my next question. But it hits me, luckily!

“Why are you here?” But didn’t I know that? I want her to say it! So I can fight her.

“To help you?”

“How?”

“You’ve been walking far too long. You should rest. I’ll keep you company. We’ll share stories that no one else knows. I’ll show you a world that you haven’t seen. I’ll show you a world of dreams, a perfect world!”

“What’s the catch?” There has to be something! I know her, I know her name. They call her that for a reason.

“If you begin to enjoy my company… Let me put it in a better way. If I start to enjoy your company, you can’t leave unless I want you to.”

Conjure it! I don’t know what to say. I can hear her, she’s saying nothing! Perform your tricks, draw me out. Wake me up. Someone, do something! It’s too late.

“I know what you do. I’m looking at you, but once we start looking in the same direction, I’ll be paralyzed. I think I’ll pass.”

“You can’t! You’ve had your piece of peace. You took a detour didn’t you? I’ve been watching, you know. There lies a vast, empty, white nothingness ahead. There’s no one there. It’s just us, at every turn.”

She’s lit up. She isn’t lying though. I’ve been out of space and time. I have, for a while, been in someone else’s world, a better world, a happier world. I left my castle of pride for the love of love! I used to be safe in there. And now I’m standing here. She’s furious. Her golden body is burning but not melting. I wish she would melt away. I wish I would melt away. Burn me. Forbidden thought! Now I can ask her.

“What’s your name?”

“Please stay. Stay by me.” Mind games? She knows I’m too good for that. After all, I had built a castle. That has got to count for something. Her voice is changing.

“What’s your name?”

“Tristan.”

I know her. She must have a million names. She’s an angel after all. I want her to say her grace name, as they call it.

“Your first name? The one you were given by yourself.”

“Sorrow.”

It is the truth. It is what I knew I’d hear but didn’t want to. She’s turning blue, reddish blue. She isn’t talking anymore. She’s in my head. She asks me if I don’t trust her. What sort of mockery is that? Of course I don’t trust her. Her lies are deceptive; truths are too good to be true. She’s gracious, beautiful and angry. Why on earth would I trust her? But am I on earth? Interesting question! I lie instead.

“I do. Certainly I do.” I shouldn’t have said it twice. She knows my selfish choice.

“I can’t let you go, you know. This is what I do, darling. I must make you pay. And you must pay. You’ve collected a lot that doesn’t belong to you. It was never meant to be yours. You’ve had your miracle. And now you must pay for it!”

I’m falling weak. Kill me instead! Should I give in? I don’t disagree with her at any specific point. She may not be right, but she isn’t wrong either. Every time I look at her, she turns still more right, more seductive.

I’m walking through wormholes of emotions, jumping from gloom to anger to resilience and back to gloom again. Someone has to know this. A chance of repose in the wake of confession, a chance of confession in the wake of persuasion, a chance of persuasion in the wake of temptation! That is all I need. She knows this. I can have it all, she said that. But I’m out of time. Life is short. I wish it was shorter!

She’s back in my head. She asks me to give it up, give up everything I own. She tells me that once done, I won’t have anything to lose. A perfect opportunity! An easy choice! A right choice? I don’t know.

Memories, she once told me, are glued to the individual; either you carry them forward or else they hold you back. She reminds me of what she said, and tells me that she’s my only escape, asks me once again to rest in herself. She refers to herself by another name in Spanish. She tells me that it means broken haven. I’m running out of any words that’d make sense right now.

“But I can’t. This ain’t my destiny. You make surrender sound so beautiful, when it is only losing a war without resistance. I’d rather die of the tyrant’s hands than give into his dominion. What could you possibly do to me if I don’t accept your offer?

“Oh me? Nothing! But you’re well aware of who you’re gonna see at the next turn. I’m only angry, but Fiona is disappointed. Your world was just a rebellion to me, but to her it was an uprising. You only defied me once, but you denied her mere existence in your world. She has always been with you, even if you didn’t want her to. She has been your guardian, your savior, your protector! And you…!”

“I’m well aware of what I did. She has kept me from venturing into my world. I had a chance. I took a chance. I didn’t need her. I left her hell and took a shot at my heaven. I didn’t fail. But somehow, she won, for no good reason she won! I have no regrets.” I lie again. It’s the best I can do right now.  I know her too, Fiona. She’s the worst of them all.

“You’re fighting a war you’ve already lost. You know that I can’t harm you. But others can and they will. I can only offer you a place to rest, and in return I ask for your most valuable possession, time. Wait here by my side, and you’ll be safe. Wait for something else to appear, another chance at a better world and I’ll let you leave.”

“Liar!” I scream. She looks away. She immediately recognizes the anger. She realizes that I won’t stay. So she awards me with a part of her soul. I can feel her enter my body, plague my mind. I’m cursed. She has wrapped herself around every last memory of mine.

I wait before I leave. She makes me wait before she lets me leave. I look at her. The images start to reappear. She doesn’t let me blink. She makes me see what I had as what I lost, makes me think of my dreams as fantasies, makes me visit places and calls them unreachable, makes me feel life worse than death. She reaches into my memories, reads images, creates a world, my world in front of me and then she takes it apart piece by piece. After ages, I feel myself drowning, my head sinking faster than my feet.

“You don’t want me, but you can’t escape me. This part of me will stay with you not until the end of your life, but until the end of my life. I’m immortal!”

This is not her last move. This is Fiona’s first move. It is not long before I face her.