In Maze With The Devil

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Thrillers  |  House: Booksie Classic

Chapter 8 (v.1) - Apointment With Mary's Portrait

Submitted: December 06, 2011

Reads: 99

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Submitted: December 06, 2011





Since the days the TV invaded in people's houses everyone learned to attribute every insanity or exaggeration as ''Television Scenario'' but the truth is that the world outside of it is much much more lunatic than every script. Mass murdered, children raped to death, savage rulers, flora and fauna breathing fire alive under the raging conquering finger of manking, screams, pain, blood, catastrophy, chaos all contibuting a little bit more towards the big end...'' And I will be there to witness the utter quitness'' replied inside him with a little climax. He smiled giving credit to himself in the mirror

  He was just toying with his reflection in the mirror like a kitten until taking the speech on the phone. Priests would rarely deffend with such efficancy, alsmost an hour and fourty minutes in particular, the work of god. The most of them sooner or later got drunk with money and abandon religion as they have been rewarded by god, and that's the end. And it's not concerning a situation existable only on TV, Akrabash knew that most of these guys (being humans) were like that. Commonly farmiliar, if we have to repeat the obvious, riches cannot coexist with simplicity. Not that it's unlike to but it's rather hard to not be charmed by it's power.

  Well, this priest was from the rare pieces.The ones with unlimited supply of streangth inside him. He noticed him one morning as he was feeding the flowers humming a slow church song out from the chantry and bet he would one day destroy him. For a long time now he would hope to get his powers to his benefit but the blasted time would always get in the middle. The only obsticle he still couldn't fool. He looked at the clock hanging over the door.The day was six in the morning, exactly an hour away from where he should be by eight o clock. Curce this earthly hour!Odds burned significantly fast with every minuite passing.

  He allowed himself to take the word over the babblering stupid dotard ''Our entire life, according to christianism is a hard race to reach god, father of all. You'll have to be torchored and like it. Be hungry just to keep the other one full. And you're not even sure if all of this is true'', said on the phone. After the first word he spoke he wondered if it would be best to just hang up. Seriously, this conversation wasn't gonna lead anywhere.

  ''And that's why not everyone is a believer'', he answered softly on his ear with a slim dose of -unless if it was his illusion- humor. If it was a joke, then: Was he supposed to laugh with this now?''Dear sir, you must proove your kindness and therefore you shall save your soul. The laws off Christianity are something like...the right behaviour, you understand?It's like...''

''Yeah - okay, I know. Peace and all that, but...'', he said.

''You cut me short sir''

''Shit. Say''

''I wanted to say that the laws of Christianity are not just rules, cut out to be followed with blind obedience, and in any case the purpose of these laws are not to captivate human, in fact I'd say it's the opposite''.

''If wasn't the Christianity promicing a place in heaven and all that as exchange of 'correct saint behaviour' then believe me, everybody would be atheists. People just want to ensure they have a place in the future as always, as unsure as that is''.

''No. I mean, yes. Indeed there is some who believe that doing a few good deeds they open the doors to heaven at once but that's not enough. But also it's not only that...''

''Hold on-hold on'', he interupted ''If I find myself a gipsy, throw a rope in his mouth, jump on his back and throw a chokolate in front of him wouldn't he go and take it, assuming he still can? Wouldn't he carry me with him since I am holding from the rope?'', the priest mumbled something realy low.''You don't understand. If I give hope to a dying man does he have to carry me with him for the rest of his life?''. Ts-what a load of crap. Akrabash couldn't understand how the old man hadn't hang up on his face still. He realy needed a friend.

''We must coexist with our brothers ih harmony...''

''Again you don't understand. Chistianism is a dreadfull weight on our backs. We could all have what we needed, there would be no starvation. While the gipsy could get up and walk to the candy, I -because I gave him that- command him to carry me on with him.Why can't we just live withought owing to anyone''.

There first came a sigh from the end of the line which felt like a small victory in Akrabash's ears and then the priest gave the answer he ignored. ''First of all hunger is not here because of some religion and you secondly don't put it like that...'' and so on. He stayed and listened withough attention to his potatoes while picking under his nails. It was so difficult to choke in the flow of insults storming him in each of the priest's new sentence.He waited carefully until the priest stops to take a breather and then jumped up to end the matter. Like he had all day listening to the old fart talking like he's god himself. He spoke with such heartthrob for the lessons of god that he knew changing his mind would be impossible.

  Holding the phone in the ear stillm he twisted the cord like a snake on his leg and then with an impish smile pulled it sharply and disconected the device. The Priest's voice stopped like so suddenly like someone had cut it with a knife. ''Fucking shaveling pardoner'', said ''What did you think would happen'' .He pocketed his keys and left his appartment.


Weakened drops of water foretell the coming of a hard winter, drizzling on the slack citizents. All those who made comfortable in the warmth and the welcoming summer embrace these three months refused to turn back to reality. They snail around chill wearing still T-shirts and hop from one coffeehouse to another dealaying to show to work. This picture though was doomed to be reversed significantly starting from tomorrow already. While ants huddle in their colony to make the last preperations for overcoming the deep cold narcosis ariving, people gush once again in the streets running and shouting on their phones. Exactly that inversion would he exploit always.

His cape from his longcoat bloated, folded, flapped and whipped the bodies of the pedestrians as he wormed through them. His clothes appeal many unwanted eyes upon him, whether it was a push he couldn't avoid whether it wasn't. A cachectic policeman, a traffic policeman, a curious mind, everything was a risk.

He wore a black leather cowboy hat, a black cotton coat that set way down to his ankles like a blanket, tall black again socks so tight which would be cutting the flow of his blood now if his veins where not dead already, black bussizess shoes of one branch, black gloves and his head permanently lowered to his feet. He passed sharply between the people like a shadow and then dissapeared. Just because he was short he'd get away with it.

Each time before he lookes behind he expected to meet the end of his. A man standing, or following, untroubled, put his hand on his shoulder and then ''It's over beast, time to walk with me back''. Like hide and seek, only this game he would not give up even if they hang him by they throat and yell to him ''You lost. Go back to your pit''. It was a battle to death. Only as a spirit would he return to his home.

He was into a dilemma. On his 'left' there was a situation requaring to be dealt with sharpness, method and attention while on his 'right' if he didn't do quick he'd die. He was so desperate that he wondered if he'd even make it to where he should be. The child had started to leave him out of energy droping back only doupts.

In the middle of the coffe house ''Sandy'' and starbucks there was nothing else but a small dump with an iron back door to the kitchen and olld grafitty. Looks like the owners of the two bussiness took advantage of the space for fraudy purposes and put there a (too heavy to be lifted and cleaned) big trucksized square for garbage. Certaintly would be more appealing if instead there was a beautifull garden but it wouldn't be as usefull. The sanitary inspector should probably make a check on the trash to see how many frosen and molded shit pilled up everyday from the plastic plates to the trash instead of going inside.

Akrabash looked at the wall paintings. They were all innocent and good intentioned in this part. The stupid kitty who fell in the glass jar and fling the fish outside, the fish hooraying. The definite face of a man with a hood jumping out from the darkness. A lightning, some trees, some letters and the worst of all...her! The hairs on his back stood up like niddles. Virgin Mary.

She didn't look similar to the other mother Maries similar to famous paintings. Akrabash was the first who recognised the identity of this virtuous portrait because just like any other when he saw her he felt the heavy eye of god judging him and draining him out of every last streangth he had. The person who drew her here gave a taste of latino on her face and her shouldrers were rather narrow compared to the head but this layed some dimension to the picture, like Marry was pressing her forehead against the concrete to free. The painter evidently had placed her the forehead of this drawing on that particular spot having full awareness that there was some kind of leak. Her skin swell and mildew.

Akrabash streched his hand on the bullous part of the wall, as he had seen it the last time, and when he withdraw it the paint unglued melted.He left his trace like a title over between her eyes. Afterwards he first scrape a pimple of paint and then shrink his face again. It was painfull. Even though it wasn't recent, the care of the artist held strongly within the drawing still. Every time he layed touch on this blasted thing he flet his fire burning out and his vains saturating with this stelirizing liquid, the blood- the cold blood of hope and fair. It's not like he was satan himself, these things could mean his very end.

He fought for a breath, filled up his lungs and put the tip of his nail again on her eyes. Immidiently when he did that the paint soften, melted, started to smoke and soon enough a thick drop rolled over the other colours. He kept his finger in there and didn't pull it suddenly but he couldn't do this for long. Water burst out from the wall with much pressure and punched him on his chest. He repeated the same action  a little to the left and another drop began running for the ground. Then the water.

Akrabash stepped backwards while his alert eyes stare at the piece (his piece) now by distance. On the places he had put pushed in his fingers there were now two holes on the wall, where originaly should be mother Mary's vacant and eyes. The burning paint had completed its cource to the ground. The imiddiate contact with the watter it became stiff like a rock. The water gush out from in her eyes like they were trying to break out of her scull. Probably when they saw this they would say shit like ''Her tears are not enough for all the injustice and cruelty of humanity''. But what did he care about what they'd say...

Akrabash growled satisfied with himself. This sign of 'god' would save him enough time. Provided that noone had seen him there.

He admired again to his creation. It was his own now.

Suddendly the door opened and dig him on his back. A tube of puke eject and then a little boy atached to it. Akrabash's feminine fingers rush automatically to bar his eyes, hide him. But the woman appeared long after he turned his back on her.

He would rarely be taken aback because he was used to -used in the past that is- to have a big range in his second sight. He would predict the unpredictable long before they at least let their first signs.

The mother of the child had the desency to apologise for banging him. She lift her eyebrows as she tilt to his side. Her hand touched his shoulder sure to find solid body, the square though tumbled like it was just traping air on a shape. She jumped back.
''Excuse me'', said cowardly. Her voice though and the sudden way she pulled her hand from him witness a lot more about her fealings. An air of terror pushed him, an air all for him. The female was under severe upsetness. ''Sorry young man'' probably assumed by his height ''are you allright? I'm sorry but we did not see you there. I didn't know somebody was outside'' .Her insecurity just kept making him stronger.A little more and he could turn to look at her in the eyes.

''It's the boy. He's not right. It hit him out of the sudden before two minuites, he wanted to run back here'', she stopped speaking abruptly staring at her shoulders. They climbed up, straighten and then fell again deflated slowly as they lost their personal fight.

While holding in his breath he manage feel her so goog like he was herself. The only thing she saw was a house and a cab. She wanted to be as further away from him as possible. Then why did she keep staying there?

''Baby let's go leave'' she said turning to her kid ''I'm sorry again''. Please dont be mad, don't hurt me. Don't turn she thought with one deeper voice in her head. Yes, he could hear her mind! Now he was sure of how strong was her fear before.

''Alright'' Akrabash said scrachily. He grit at his dog teeth while stablising his shoulder shape. He didn't want to let her go yet. And again he felt that wave of terror. What a beautifull fealing that! Like a summer shower. A bite of chockolate. The rub of a frozen water on swetty forehead. He rolled his eyes over his shoulder to her buttcheaks. That indeed...the rape of a scared little mother. Her hands dragged gently her kid by the arm while her eyes scanned hystericaly to the sidewalk, while she imagined a taxi ariving to pick them up towards the hospital. That was a little too far retched for just a throw up and a stranger with his back turned, don't they think?

So the fat boy was sick huh?...His special fealing told him she would react to one of his curces so he said it anyway. ''I will ask from my lord for you to ensure a place within his hookers after this, as for the fat child don't hope anymore, his desiese has met it's ending today'' tried to sound as clear as he could appart from his soarthroat voice. Cheesy curce but it made her turn.After she turned and saw him he laughed pretending that he was joking. That would confuce her. Was he? The point was to keep her there not to make her run -something he already risked by curcing. Withought his powers another ability got reduced. Curced would actualise only if he called them out loud and in the targets speaking language. Thank the humanity their mortal stupidity had no cost for him.

The young woman hesitate for a moment and then shift her body half circle ''What do you want from me, I said I was sorry''. Just as her fears predicted her.

He blew out his air joyfully and smiled with his hands opened ''Forgive me for the inconvinience. I wasn't serious''.

Her hand losen enough but not all the way. The odd 'comic man' approached steadily to her. His hat hidding the face all the way except from a little part of the chin and his was nasty.She threw a stare quickly at her son, he was looking her back curious, and then returned.

''Hello Monica''.He was right in her face.His words burned on her nose and chicks like steam of lava taking the air right out of her...




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