Text Transformation: Porphyria's Lover- Short Story
Porphyria's Lover
A few half eaten tins of food were scattered around a worn velvet chair. In it sat a rigid Jackson, who stared at the wooden door at the end of the room with his left hand clenched tight. He hated it when people were late and there was nothing that could be done about it. The dilapidated 19th century house which he lived in was almost empty apart from the chair, fireplace and bed. The storm outside battled with the single pane windows. It was cold and dark. Despite all that, Jackson grinned for a brief moment. His fist was clenched so tight now the fingernails began piercing his pale skin. He was in love.
"Fuck.", Crystal said under her breath as she walked quickly through the downpour in high heels. She was late and was going to take the bus but a) It was impossible to carry any change in this outfit and b) loads of weirdoes usually leered at her; the last time at the bus station a drunken old perve kept shouting in her direction to give him a blow job. Luckily Jefe was there- he sorted it out. 'Grapes…need to get some for Jefe tomorrow,' Crystal was remembering whilst marching on, the rain dripping off her forehead and nose. An umbrella would've been a good idea. 'At last,' she thought, the old terrace house was standing in front of her. She went to pull out a fag from her handbag but there was only one left, and Jackson hated her smoking inside anyway.
Jackson closed his eyes as Crystal entered the room, who unable to hardly see anything, reached for the light switch. The bulb flickered and fizzed then went out "Oh, brilliant." Her eyes began to adjust to the darkness. "Do we have to do it in that chair again?" She sighed. "It'll break soon." He didn't answer. Crystal checked the time on her mobile: Shit…The next client was in 20 minutes. So she began to go through the usual routine: removing make-up, taking off clothes and undoing her dark brown wet hair.
However as Jackson opened his eyes and focused on Crystal's naked body it wasn't her that he saw. He loved the sheen of that golden hair, so soft, falling about her shoulders. And her smile, as she turned to face him wasn't Crystal's, but the one that made his heart melt. He leaned back, unclenching his fist and grinned, to him Porphyria had come at last. For minutes he stared at her like that.
She should have had that fag if he was going to piss about so much. "Fucking hell Jackson! Come on it's fucking freezing!" said Crystal, whose arms and legs were wet, which made her shiver even more. At least she didn't look as cold as Jackson who was pale and underweight so the skin became slack around his face and looked old. She saw the palm of his hand had small scabby wounds when his fingers caressed the spine of that Browning book he was holding again. 'Who the hell was Browning anyway?' Crystal pondered, whilst waiting for Jackson to pay attention to her instead.
Jackson loved the cold touch of the leather bound 'Dramatic Lyrics'. Carefully he opened the poetry and turned to a specific point. His forefinger touched this certain thin page. Yet he didn't read it. He didn't need to. He knew it off by heart. But just having the words intertwined with his fingers gave him the same enlightenment…the ecstasy as if it was being read for the very first time. But now, even though he tried desperately to preserve it, the hardback was worn and fragile. It was easy to see that one day the pages will fall out and the spine will break.
Crystal watched Jackson staring into space. This was even more boring than screwing Fat Brian last Wednesday. The bastard wasn't even looking at her! Well, she was going to charge a premium rate if he took up too much of her time. "Jackson," she said loudly "Does that skanky fire work?" No reply. "I'm fucking cold!" Her voice yelled and echoed round the room. It didn't even make him flinch; it was like the man was deaf. Crystal took a step towards the fire to turn it on. Jackson slammed the book shut suddenly. It made her jump. He glared at Crystal, who stopped and turned to face him, knowing she wasn't meant to move. Jackson gently put 'Dramatic Lyrics' on the floor so it was by his foot. Now he was looking at her.
Crystal walked towards the chair; he didn't take his eyes off any part of her as if the woman was Medusa. She stooped to sit on his lap but Jackson, with a calm controlled manner, forced her into a kneeling position in front of him. Then as she moved in to kiss, he suddenly grasped her head with both of his hands. His body was hunched over so he peered down into Crystal's face. They were millimetres away, staring right into each other's eyes.
He could smell the perspiration on Porphyria's skin and it made him feel warm. She must have being running to get here. It was so easy for him to see that love in those beautiful glassy blue eyes. 'That beautiful skin, like porcelain,' he thought, 'She too, is fragile.' The warmth of her could be felt through his cold purple fingertips.
Crystal couldn't move. Jackson's thin fingers were cold and the scabs on his palm grated across her cheek. Slowly each hand became locked around her skull. All she could see were those murky brown eyes, darting around, examining Crystal's face. They weren't blinking. They stayed like that for several seconds. Crystal didn't mind him looking at her, even enjoyed being the centre of attention. Then, seizing the moment, she began to whisper sweet nothings in his ear.
'This is love,' thought Jackson. The time had finally come. It was hard to quite take it in. She was his lover. And with her lips almost tickling his ear he heard her murmuring how she loved him. She wanted to be set free and be with him for ever, to leave her life for his love. He saw she yearned for this to happen. Jackson gently kissed her, in reassurance. He now knew: Porphyria worshipped him.
He could hear her words as they became louder and louder. It echoed about the whole room, begging for his everlasting love. Porphyria's voice grew until she screamed inside his head. Her warm breath spat on his face. This noise swallowed him so he was drowning inside of her, unable to think. Then a single pale thought came to him. He knew what to do.
Crystal was relieved they were finally getting somewhere. This would have to be quick, the next client could already be waiting and timekeeping was essential for a good reputation. She sat on his lap and he held her, running his fingers through her hair. Then he threw her to the floor. She landed with a heavy thud. Jackson jumped out of the chair and took several steps away from the women, looking at his two wet hands. Crystals hair was only damp but to him it felt like a slimy mucus. It was like someone had torn up the pages of his mind from their bounded spine and threw them up in the air. 'This isn't…This isn't how it's supposed to be!' he thought, feeling nauseous. Her hair was like a slimy mucus. He could see it all stuck between his fingers and it wouldn't come off. Instead it just grew till it was dripping from him. He snapped his head round to look at the stranger scrabbling round on the floor like a disease carrying rat. Crystal was spurting out abuse. "What the fuck? Jackson, what the hell's the matter? You…You weirdo. You fucking weirdo." This time, Jackson heard her harsh voice echo through the empty room.
Crystal fell silent. He loomed over her staring down in disgust and now all that could be heard was his shuddered breathing. She tried to scurry across the floor to her mobile and clothes but Jackson grabbed her by the hair. She struggled against him. He pushed her against the wall, his hand, round her neck, so she could feel the cartilage and trachea being pushed to the back of her throat. Crystal tried screaming but was only able to make hoarse spluttering sounds. For several minutes her body jerked about randomly and Jackson continued to look into those bitter blue eyes until they closed.
He relaxed his hands and her body fell in a heap to the floor. The storm was calming down nicely now. He turned on the electric fire, then looked in a grimy old mirror in the corner of the room. There was more colour in his cheeks and less lines around his face or eyes now. He smiled, but not having done so in such a long time the grin was a bit strange. Jackson smashed Crystal's phone and put all her belongings in a black plastic bag, which he then tied at the top and put beside the door. Several hours later the room was nice and warm. Jackson gently laid out the dead body, which was all contorted with the left arm being bent right round the back of the head. Then taking her hand in his "Dear Porphyria," his voice whispered in her ear, whilst opening her eyelids and revealing the beautiful ice blue eyes. "Perfectly pure and good." His fingers gently caressed one cheek. "You are mine," and he kissed her tenderly.
He tried, as gently as possible; to manoeuver her onto the metal framed bed. But it was difficult as the naked body was all floppy. In the end she was propped up against the headboard. "Look at your beautiful smile, Porphyria." he whispered, tracing Crystal's mouth with his forefinger. Jackson laid the leather book into her dead hands. Then he stretched, and sat on the bed with her sad face leaning on his shoulder. His arm went round Crystal's waist and her beautiful soft hair tickled his arm. As it was now dry, Jackson fondled it playfully then let out a small sharp laugh, being not really sure how to express this sense of overwhelming joy. The room was quiet as he took her hands in his own just to simply hold them, he did love the feel of her skin. 'There is still so much more to do,' thought Jackson. However he hadn't eaten for 26 hours. Bacon for both of them started to fry in a pan while he took out the rubbish. Soon he was eating on the bed with Crystal. He kissed her, smiled, and leaned back on the mattress.
"Porphyria you… you are free. Yet you say nothing." said Jackson who smiled with bacon between his teeth. Then, as light began to seep in through the boarded up windows he gently traced his thin finger from her hair along the side of her face and down her neck.