Untitled
Chapter One
Roland sighed as he surveyed the cityscape that laid before him. The Strip stretched into the night. A neon avatarian serpent of greed and broken dreams, cascading it's venomous lure into the very heart of the world. The strange darkness embracing the rest of the City of Sin filled the expanse of the valley. A pit of welfare and emptiness. The truth hidden from the tourists and the earth.
But this was the city he called home, and fled from. The Illusion, the Reality, it's a mage's playground. A hermetic uses his magic on stage and the Illusion becomes reality. The Producer makes a show, and lo, the reality becomes Illusion.
He looked to the sky, and saluted the piercing light shooting up from atop the Modern Pyramid into the outer reaches of space and smiled. "Welcome home, " He murmured to himself. He sat at the edge of the roof he found as his sanctuary, dangling his feet over the sidewalk ten of floors down. He pulled out a cigarette and lit it.
From then till sunrise, Roland watched the city of perpetual twilight continue on. Every pedestrian, tourist and car was watched. And as the sun rose up into the sky, The enigmatic Mage stood, walked to the exit, and joined the Masses, with a smile, and with a hope for redemption, and a hope for the future, unforeseen so far. " Shame, this never seems to last..."
On the other side of the city, far from the strip, far from the casinos, She awoke, dreading the day, as usual, pulling the comforter around her like a net of security, She already banished Helios from her room with thick, black material duct taped to the dirty windows. The day wouldn't release her back to slumber, however, and so, she, as a newly released animal in the wild, slowly inched away from her nightly domicile. The thought of returning always present, she pulls random cloths up off the floor, draping them over her naked form. a skirt...she hopes, found it's way to her hips, it's wrinkled silk dancing, sending shocks of pleasure through it's embrace. a vest covered her bosom, barely. She lifted her hair out from under the collar, and found the essentials of facing the noonday... Sunglasses and cigarettes, both in their common place next to her bed.
She drifts to the door, slipping her eyes behind the thick darkened lenses, and allowing a single smoke to rest between her lips, igniting from some unseen lighter, and opens the door to the tomb that is her room. As light invades her sight, she cringes softly, but it passes as quickly as it came, and she stands, to the world, hair, red and flowing, barely free, but never contained, it's curls allowing nothing but madness and chaos. and as she walks, it bounces easily behind her head. The walk she paced herself with was quick, now that the day was, unfortunately begun. The call for sustenance beyond nicotine called to her sullenly.She walked through the cluttered hall, and entered the living room, where, of course, most of the furniture and the inhabitants of her domicile laid, sleeping, from last night's spectacle. bottles laid empty, and The feint smell of vomit and urine crept from the bathroom, and the heavy musk of people surrounded the cacophony of arms legs and torsos that she faced.
With a sigh she took a drag from her cigarette, exhaling the fumes from her lungs, adding to the detestable mess, and walked into the kitchen. she pushed a few stale pizza crusts back into their boxes and threw them to the floor. Moans of disapproval rose from the living room, but if she noticed she didn't care. Reaching into the fridge she pulled out the milk, and after smelling it, deemed it safe for consumption. With a reach, a box of Count Chocula was hers. Randy hated her cereals, but that was his problem, he left... A bowl was absent, so to suffice she pulled out the coffee pot from it's resting place, and looking for floating mold, poured it full of her cereal and milk. content and happy, she ashed in the sink and left the poor excuse of a kitchen to plunge into the futile pursuit for the true essence of escape; Her car keys.
She glanced about the knot of former humanity on her floor and couches, desperate for the freedom of the vehicle resting in slumber outside in the parking lot. and there, next to the phone, laid her Grail. Cautiously, she inched forward, performing acts of grace, and fluidity which belayed a sense of grace which screamed tyranny against her desires of slumber. Yet, she arched her back over, leaning with a leg extended in perfect ballerina-esque shame over the mess, the people and the dreaded crashers snatching the keys up as the venus flytrap would it's meal and fled the disaster, finally content as she threw her bag over her shoulder. The door slammed shut behind her.
"Maybe I'll go to class today." another drag off the cigarette, then it was airborne, half smoked, into the trees over the railing as she shuffled quickly, barefoot, down to the earth below.
" Would you like more Coffee sir?" the waitress hovered over the counter in front of Roland, uncaring and tired, her face a little sunbaked and her form heavy with years of bad, greasy diner food. Roland looked up at her from over his Lennon shades and with a wolfish grin simply winks, " no ma'am. Think I'm set for now, but please, feel free to check on me in a little bit, I might need to order something to munch on. " the light, friendly words seems to sour the waitress' mood further. A slight set off by the fathomless hate born for anyone who could possibly be cheerful at three in the morning. " Whatever you say pal... " she shuffled off for the smoking section, long since bare of humanity, pulling out an old, crumpled pack of smokes from her apron, she falls into the booth with a grunt as the cook in the window shakes his head, wiping down the delivery window with a smile.
Roland continues to watch the clock, patient, as if he knows every tick of the second hand was somehow entertaining. A wistful sigh escapes from his chest, and he pulls out a letter from his pocket he looks over the back of it intently, as if there as some unseen writing on it before turning the ink to his face for one more quick read through. before putting it back into the pocket of his white sports coat. He stands and walks for the door, leaving behind a single bill note, far more than the stale coffee was worth, but the smallest bill he had. fuck it, he thought, as the door swung shut behind him, next time I come in, maybe she'll smile.
" Nice of you to join us, Miss Conner, I trust you have been keeping up on your studies independently..." the old graybeard looked over thin, but substantial reading glasses as Sophia made her way into the lecture hall. She nodded politely to the professor as se took her seat against the back wall, the classroom still bare, waiting for minds eager to ignore the lessons to be uttered for the day. " Miss Conner, I find your candor today to be less than approving, what a shocker. You're potential as a linguist is limitless, I don't see why you won't embrace your obvious talents. Could you enlighten me?" the old man stood, his very posture stern, matching the tenor in which he spoke.
Sophia rolled her eyes behind her sunglasses and slumped into the chair, " I don't know, could be that I see little reason to keep working on a language that is never going to be any use to me. Sounded cool when I first heard about it, but really? " She shrugged, her attitude rung from the rafters with contempt. " Pointless."
Professor Brinkman nodded and grinned, " I do see your point, miss Connor, but, I fail to see why you would keep showing up , when dropping this class is just as easy. In any event, sanskrit might prove useful one day. You never know."
The doors opened and a few more students walked in, taking eats dispersed throughout the room, and Prof. Brinkman returned to the front of the class and started writing out the day's lecture on the whitewall, diagrams of words and their meanings, their pronunciation in the phonic code used by Linguist and Communications majors. The other students quickly began to copy it all down, Sophia simply yawned and watched the words fall into her mind. " I should have stayed in bed" She grumbled.
The class wore on and on, a never ending trial of patience and the Starbucks coffee proliferated through the systems of the students. The professor continued. and Sophia simply listened, her eyes half open, slumped into the chair, staring at the ceiling, rolling the words over in her mouth until, finally, the old grey beard said the fateful phrase. " Alright class, that's all for today.."
Just as quickly as they entered the classroom, the rest of the students left, leaving Sophia alone again with the teacher, who packed his briefcase with his own notes, only casually paying her notice of existence. She watched and looked over the board, going over anything making sure she made it through the entire lecture without drifting to sleep. Then, standing she made her way for the door.
"Good afternoon, Miss O'Conner...Until next time?" She looked briefly before she opened the door, and replied dejectedly, " Yeah, next time..." She walked out of the room, into the hall, out of the building, past the faceless herd of kids like her, doing what's expected of them. She felt out of place as she allowed the masses drift by as she held her bag closer for security.
She never noticed until this moment, but they all looked alike. the guys came in three flavors. There were the Gomers, with the greasy black hair, overdone black dress and pathetic attempt to be drearily creepy. it mostly endeared pity... Then the Jocks... Built large, always wearing their team's colors and always bullying someone, and hitting on some chick. They had short hair, and tried to be impressive, after all, they are the sport teams of tomorrow.. After that there are the geeks. they keep to themselves, usually have a moderate spark of individuality, as long as it was the polar opposite of the latest fashion. They are the ones that would come wearing their little garb for the renn faire, or walk around playing their fantasy games in public. always getting good grades, the laughing stock for the rest of the clowns. She didn't want to know where she fit into their little cliques. She only wanted to get out, away, back to her home with it's debauchery and it's sanity.
That night she lay awake her thoughts plaguing her while she dreamed far deeper than she should. her dreams took her to another time, one of primality. A beat pulled her into the fog of imaginary revels where she danced with the Gods themselves. Odin and Chronos, Athena, Freda, saints and martyrs, they all acted in tune with this beat, their servants casting their inhibitions into the night's revelry.
She stopped before the Lord of the Gallows as he beckoned her. He turned, beckoning a voluptuous woman to his side. and with his hunting knife he cut away the skirt and blouse. the woman welcomed the act, and Sonya was left in shock, watching the act curiously. Odin slid the knife away and spoke in his tongue, yet it fell into her heart with understanding. " The Power dwells in us all. Trapped by the imperfect reflection of the flesh..." Sonya nodded, her eyes fixed on the woman, as Odin pulled off a heavy gauntlet, revealing the sharp beastly talons on the ends of his fingers, he drew on across the collar bone, behind it, a razor's edge line of blood swelled the God drew his nil across the other collar bone with the same effect connecting the wounds above the sternum, above the gentle inward curve of his servant's milky breasts. " One must know the language of release, the letters of Power to release it unto the world." the voice reverberated into the very soul and Sonya grabbed her chest, still surprised, wondering why she couldn't wake up form this strange vision.
"What are the letters?" Sonya heard her own voice. Was it her that uttered them? Was it her vocalizing such a question? he looked about and saw herself. No, not herself, but a twisted counterpart, one free of conditions of propriety and convention. Hair wildly wrapped abut her face atop a naked visage of freedom. Odin looked at Her and started to cut in with his nails, the servant lifted her head and stood still, each touch seemingly radiating pleasure, not the harm seen. The cuts formed patterns in the flesh, bloody countenances of power, they radiated with it. the blood itself began to trickle down the woman's perfectly formed curves, changing direction time and time again, revealing the faint near invisible scars of past treatments with these rites. down each arm he worked his claws through her skin. making symmetrical stripes of runic symbols, on her knuckles, the fingertips dripped blood by the time he finished, on her breasts he carved as well, and the woman moaned lustily and her vitae gathered on her hardened nipples before falling to the floor with a slight, dull spatter. on her belly, he carved through a feint line of blood, taking the cut long and slender, filling the wound staff with markings of the Runes. soon her body was covered in these small incisions. the woman nearly glowed in the glistening wetness of the sticky blood, the beat of the world around her flowing outward into the terrain. Spilt from Odin's holy vessel.
"As it was, as it will be..."Odin spoke casually into the soul, "Is it ready to awaken?"
His attention turned looking into Sonya's own vision's eye. The bloodied woman walked for it as well, embracing her, the warm blood's feel shocked her senses back to the darkness of the room as she bolted awake. She sat up with a start, covered in a cold sweat, breathing hard and labored she wrapped her blanket tightly around her body and shivered. Frightened, but not because of the dream, rather, her fear emanated from the desire she felt. The lust for that bloodied woman. Ashamed, by it she laid back down. and lay there awake until her alarm finally, after centuries of emptiness...
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The alarm sounded, Roland rolled over and slammed the beast back to silence, and drug the comforter over his head, swimming still from a night's debauchery. His thoughts drifted to the dreams of the night. Visions of darkness, visions of spiders, blood and evil. Could the city be whispering to me? He banished the fancy away. Spirits usually left him alone, seeing him as nothing but an intruder. Still, strange he dreams now after so long sleeping in quiet darkness. Could the city be whispering? he slowly sat up, disturbing the previous night's focal point, a gentle girl with light sandy brown hair with twisted locks. he admired her naked form for a moment. the gentle curve of her neckline. the firmness of her breasts. the soft firmness of her midsection. Enraptured by the beauty of her innocent slumber, he couldn't help but smile.
He stood and walked into the bathroom of his hotel room, the carpet, so soft under his heightened sense of touch, sent waves of pleasure through him, and he prolonged his journey, caressing the carpet with his toes, eyes only half opened, drunkenly. the feeling came into his fingers, a slow traveling electricity. He embraced it's comforting awakening as the colors of the room came into sharp inhuman focus about him. The senses reached out, feeling his surroundings, taking it all in. Only a moment and the world was in him. The smell of lavender and alcohol, sex and shampoo. He heard the heartbeat of the youth in his bed and pulled back. not too far old man. he heeded his own thoughts and floated onto the linoleum and shuddered at it's cool, hard texture- the startling contrast strattled into his bones, a thrill he enjoyed with a light, soft chuckle. The face he looked at in the mirror winked at him and the water began to steam up the glass. already turned it on? He turned and twisted the faucet on the tub turning to the clear mirror he tussled his hair. too early for that Roland... Control yourself, there'll be plenty of that later. the mental scolding brought him away from the time warp and the mirror cleared, awaiting the steam that he knew would come. but in the mirror wasn't Roland. But a woman he had never seen before, he turned and looked at the bed, the girl rolled over. So, you're gonna take me to her then, are you?
Roland walked into the bath and turned the shower on, letting the water cleanse him with it's heat and purity as the Mind wandered through the evening. visions of the club surrounded, the heavy beat of the music tore through him again, faces of pretenders and revelers passing by in parade, bodies twisting and melting together, infused with over priced drinks, Women losing inhibitions and men touching that divine under the DJ's watchful guidance. Clubwerker, that makes sense, was a good party. The girl walked towards him, her hips gravitating unabashed for him, wearing clothes that would have been a crime to waste on anyone else, Roland felt her knowing this, and so she did. Her name is.. ." Jessica" her voice spoke in echoes surrounding him has the soap worked it's lather on his stomach. Care to dance the night away? " Of course" the echo ripped through him again, marvelously. a new set of hands set to washing his back, the visions blended with reality. They danced as lovers, grinding on each other. Both building desire the woman had never yet known -would never know again- admittedly. Then, the club was emptying, she came with him without a word, Destiny stirred, and they fell into bed, Roland kissed her soft, hungry lips, which parted inviting his tongue entrance as his hands swam along her spine, sending waves of desire through her. They wrestled as one, as she tore off his shirt, and he her dress. They fell into each other in harmony Dances of Shatki and Shatka, my dear. he began washing her, nervous at his touch. the dreams of yesterday making ways for the moments around them now. in no time, and in moments of eternity, the pains, the headaches were washed away with the communion of their souls. " I have school this morning.. " I know, and I'll take you home.
They cleaned and dried each other, then headed through the hall of the hotel into the elevator, the boring over processed sounds of a once great song reduced to little more than background dribble was the only sound as they waited in silence for the elevator to descend. Roland pulled his mane of near black hair back behind his head, binding it there with a strap of leather from his pocket before he smoothed out the raw linen of his buttoned shirt. The girl swayed contently this way and that, a small grin on her face. and leaned up to kiss Roland on the cheek as the door opened. Roland took her by the hand and lead her through the casino and the acrid smell of stale cigarettes and broken dreams to the parking garage.
" I know this might sound weird and corny, but I have never met anyone like you, Roland." Jessica softly admonished, to a grin from Roland's pale face as he stopped at a large cruiser of a motorcycle. " Yeah, I get that a lot." he handed her a spare helmet from an old beat up leather saddlebag, and donned his own, then got on the bike. allowing it's engine to awaken from it's slumber with a roar of power. With a squeal Jessica hopped on the back and melted into Roland's back becoming inseparable as he pulled out of the garage and onto Las Vegas Boulevard, onto the highway, and out into the West. The road peeled behind them, the wind rushed through their hair and around their bodies, the world seemed to vanish in that freedom, in that oneness. Jessica hoped it would never end, but all too soon Roland found the exit he was looking for and took it, slowing down the monster they rode on around the turn into the depths of humanity's Final Resting Place.
It wasn't the worst area, Jessica knew that, but it sure as hell wasn't the best, and was falling from favor with each passing day. The roads were cracked and bore the tarred scars of years upon years of mass transit on their marred surfaces. The trees, old and twisted, were only saplings when they were planted there by the generations past, hoping to capture the splendors of their native cities of Boston, or Charleston, or New York or a plethora of other large and wet cities. Cottonwoods, Mulberries, Olives. and of course, Palm trees. Beautiful, once. Now, merely blotted and burnt from the desert's unforgiving sun, their leaves curled and hardened, the bark dry, unforgiving, and their roots searching evermore for more and more of that vital water the desert is only sprinkled with. The colors of stucco, ever present in the Valley, are dry, pale tans and grays, even those are bleached by the abominable sun blazing down from the Hellish deep blue above.
Roland deftly maneuvered the bike through the surface streets, coming to rest inside a group of pale gray-blue apartments with bleached blue roof tiles. The covered parking was only strips of crinkled metal on support beams covered in thick chipped paint. The engine halted, and only the sounds of the freeway could be heard. He looked through the chain-ink fence and admired the contrast between these old apartments, with their cement stairs with rusted handrails, and unkempt appearance and the lutheran church. It's grounds were well maintained, the parking lot newly paved, it's walls built of brick, it stood as a strange vision of cleanliness in a sea of architectural martyrdom.
"You coming?" Jessica asked, playfully taking Roland's hand and pulling him into the complex through the sunburned grass. " Alright, alright!" Roland replied, over-exasperated in jest as he allowed himself to be dragged to her apartment. " so? What do you think of the neighborhood?" Jessica inquired, which was replied to without haste, " It has history, doesn't it?"
" Oh yes, it does. Not that I was a part of any of it, but, I guess everything has a story doesn't it?" She fished through her little black patent leather handbag for her keys as she lead Roland to a door with tarnished numbers diagonally set on it. Within moments they were standing inside. The place was sparsely furnished, only a simple, black futon with a metal frame and a thinly stuffed mattress resting in it's clutches. The table was old, probably from some neighborhood thrift store. It's wooden varnish was cracked and marred from years of abuse from cold, sweating glasses and mugs of hot beverages. the carpet was clean, but matted down, definitely in need of a steam cleaning. the pale, eggshell white walls were bare, save for a Led Zeppelin concert poster recreated for nostalgia, and a family picture showing, whom Roland could only assume to be, her parents and little brother. He looked at their faces, empty, smiling, but forced. wearing matching sweaters for the christmas photo...
" That's my family. They're divorced now. Dad's in prison for kid porn and Mom's in rehab." her tenor fell and mood hollowed for a moment. Roland raised an eyebrow but didn't look away from the photo. " It happens, unfortunately." Was all he could muster. " Yeah," she replied, " Dad was always an O.K. guy, you know? Don't know what happened to him. He never touched me or my little brother."
With that she was gone, walking into the back corridor, Roland heard a door open and shut behind her. He could feel the pain. It was palpable to him, emotions always were. the sympathy he felt soon led him to her table, resting on it he saw a bag of incense, and a holder. He lit a stick, focusing his sympathy through the flame's center, and then waving the flame out, it's smoke bore the emotion into the calming effects of magical relief. Only a touch of Mind, with a bit of comfort... I love this rote. Soon the living room felt more like home. Jessica came out and the smoke caught her, the mood lightened up, she relaxed noticeably. " This incense always makes me feel better.." She shot a curious look at Roland, " How did you know?" Roland smiled and held up the package, showing the name on the cover, he spoke it as the definitive answer, " It's 'Relaxing Embers' isn't it?" He grinned and headed for the door. " You're alright, yeah?"
She giggled, " Yes, I'm fine, I think I'm gonna take a nap before my first class." Roland nodded and opened the door for himself. " Awesome, then I will see you around, darling." she merely nodded and waved as he left, shutting the door behind him. He looked down at the mat he stood on and smirked, walking away with a shake of his head.