diabolikal

intro

I honestly have no idea how this short story came out. I wrote this after reading a biography on Lewis Carroll the night before. And it was creepy. Something about his love of the real life Alice, who was 10 years old at the time, was just scary to me. And I wrote this based on the weird feeling I had.
I honestly think this is the first time I�ve ever actually written something surreal. Or maybe it was mad. Yeah, probably madness. This story is my ode to trust, madness, and in a related issue, all the children�s stories I�ve ever read that seemed more sinister as I was older than when I was a child, hearing them with wonder in my eyes.
I can�t honestly say I was in my right mind when I wrote this. I was doped up on diet pills and had far too much caffeine in my body. So enjoy the trip. Literally. Because for every story I've ever been grilled on, this is one that I will be asked about for as long as I show it.
Just keep in mind that every actually DOES make sense. I edited this story later, when I was feeling sane.
Enjoy.

A Story

Stark grey is the world as blue fades

A boy crawls to his knees and crawls down to Wonderland

Heaven and Hell stretch out before him, but Hell is closer

He falls and is graven

His mind unfocused and nothing makes sense

Who he is his mother knows

He lies and sits on a chair

The air around him chills and then warms up

His eyes move from object to object

He thinks of a canary and wonders what black is

Something hurts

Black is where he is now

His own body hates him more than he hates himself

He can�t see the blue

The back of his eyelids are the color of blood

His fingers are numb

He dirtys himself and smells awake.

The room has changed

Time has gone on without him and now he goes forward.

He hears his first voice and Heaven is closer now.

Isaac opens his eyes and the first thing he sees is his mother above him, wiping his forehead gently and whispering. What she says, he can�t decypher, but he reads her lips and recognizes his own name as the red lips shift up and down. The cloth is wet and he feels a streak of water rush between his eyelids and down to his lips. The cold liquid touches his dry skin and he gasps. His mother�s voice becomes more prominent. He thinks he knows what she says, but only a few words stick to his mind. Wake. Isaac. Dreams. Wonderland.

He tries to sit up, but his body is bound to the bed like a maniac. He grits his teeth and tries again. They�re keeping him hostage. He shudders, the only movement he can make. Even his eyelids move without his command, flickering like a strobe light. His mother�s lips touch his skin and he shudders again, this time from the disgust of human contact. Her lips are warm and smash his cheek like a gob of shit on his skin. She walks away and the blue is gone.

He waits for a few moments, trying to will himself to wake up completely. Make the dream end. But he only succeeds in confusing himself more. One moment, he�s here and the next, he�s walking green pastures among cows and horses. A bright sky above him, violet and pink as the sun fades below the horizon. And then he smells shit again, and it�s not the cow�s or horse�s, but his own, soiled in his sheets. In reality. He fades again and is gone.

Opening his eyes, he sees me in the trees, smiling and fading.

Closing his eyes, he sees the dark room around him, the liquid dripping in the bag that is attached to himself. He sucks the liquid through the bag and into his arm. He begins to sob. His own tears burn as the salty fluids trail down the sides of his face. His heart beats loudly and almost chokes him with every pounding. He feels his own lungs suffocating his heart with every breath he takes. As he sobs, the breathing is deeper and his heart is grasped tightly by his own organs. It will explode. He has an arrest and opens his eyes.

Two creatures stand above him, the faces of baby children, giggling with gum in their mouths, their bodies like those of a black spider. They reach for him and touch him with their spindle arms and he feels the poison bristles touching his face. He screams and they begin to kill him.

He closes his eyes and dies as his heart panics. His shuddering becomes violent, his breathing raspy and his heart skips more beats than it should.

The children laugh.

He screams, the first words from his mouth and he hears his mother in the hallway, but she doesn�t come in.

A woman stands above him, her mouth bloody and her teeth falling out. Falling out and bouncing off his lips. She cuts his head off.

�You remember, of course, the first time you read my story?� I ask.

�No,� Isaac says, sipping tea.

�I talked of many things. Of dreams and ghosts. Have you seen a ghost?�

�Never,� Isaac says, taking a crumpet, �I�ve never heard such nonsense.�

�Nonsense and illogic is the way of children.�

�I have not been a child in my life, ever.�

�You were once,� I say and move my queen to take his pawn.

�I am not now and have never been,� he says stiffly, �Can you remember me becoming a child?�

�I saw it once, a long time ago. At the same time, I saw a city of rust and goat that spoke of dawn and the rising of a star. I saw a distinguished gentleman rape an elderly man. I saw myself strike a friend down upon the streets. I saw a nation bring fire to it�s allies. I saw your love of ghosts.�

�I will love ghosts someday,� Isaac says and nods. �And on that day, I shall admit to my own madness.�

�Do you think you�re not mad?�

�I think I am dead but madness is not for me.�

�Of course, you will be dead someday. But not yet. For now, you walk a line between the heavens and the hells. Neither are so far away from you as now.�

�Then you say I am a ghost, then?� Isaac says and laughs, sips tea.

I laugh as well and we laugh for the lifetime of a baby.

The story I told him was of a land of wonders. Of orphaned boys and tiny people. Of lizards and ghosts.

He read the story by the fireplace and smiled wide. He wanted to be there, but could not understand why I would not let him. I held him close to me in those days, like my own child. But he was not a child. He was a man. This was before he died.

Isaac has always believed in right and truth. He was a man of principal, but never dead. Only when he died could he lie to himself. But for now, he knew who he was and what he had saw. And he had seen a ghost.

(The ghost was in the corner by his bed one night after the witching hour had passed. It was frightened of him and cowered against the window, the white light of a full moon passing through it. It hissed at him and whispered, but he could not read it�s voice. It reached for him, then faded away.

He forgot this.)

I don�t know Isaac, but I love him more than myself. I hold his hand as we walk down the golden path towards a city of green. He reads a book with the free hand. I point out rare birds and squirrels, but the book is far more interesting to him. It�s a history of the World and he reads in wonder as the Americans destroy the East and cause fire to grace the skies. He points out passages but I ignore them, having seen far too many ghosts to think about death any more than I should.

I introduced him to the ghost the next night. The ghost was Ferdinand and was once a loyal associate of mine before he was killed by a beating (his brains smashed to bits on the stone streets).

Isaac is afraid, but reaches out a hand anyway and touches the cold grasp of Ferdy. Ferdy bows to the boy, then says his name, through lips that usually only moan in anguish. �Why do you haunt me?� the boy asks.

�I don�t haunt you,� Ferdinand says, pointing to me, �I haunt him.�

I touch Isaac�s temple and whisper songs in his ear. I tell him about Wonderland and tell him to forget about ghosts. He wants to be with me forever and I feel the same way. I smooth his hair and tell him to see his mother. His mother promises to show him some of my work and I kiss her gently on the lips in parting. Isaac waves and goes back home to sleep and dream.

I smile and fade.

I promised him to return to him when the bright morning star rises over the horizon.

He awakens, dead, finds himself before my feet.

�Get up, Isaac,� I say. �Look at yourself!�

He turns away from me and looks upon himself in a mirror.

�I�m grown-up!� he whispers in wonder. �I don�t have to go to bed. I don�t have to brush my teeth or hair. I�m awake and alive.�

�Forever,� I whisper. �I gave you my promise and I have you forever.�

�I thought I saw a ghost.�

�And you loved him?�

�Yes, his name was Ferdinand and he had blue eyes, like your�s.�

�We don�t have to speak of Ferdy anymore. Only us. I will give you a wonder land forever. Nonsense and illogic is the only thing you need worry about.�

�And wonder.�

�Wonders will always abound here.�

�And I never have to grow young again?�

�Come with me and we live together until time fades and beasts rise from ashes.�

He smiles and takes my hand.

�And no ghosts?� he asks.

�No ghosts anymore. We leave the ones we love behind. They all are dead and I am your living companion. Welcome to Wonderland, Isaac. Let me teach you to play chess.�

He cheers and we walk towards the morning.

Sulfur rains upon us, people are screaming. My hooves make clomping noises upon the stone streets. Ferdinand follows closely behind, holding his hands before him, a dove dead in his palms. Behind him are other ghosts that I have loved. Others I have brought to this Wonderland.

We are the farthest from Heaven that one can be.

evil speaks

by ryan a~

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