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out of every thing i could choose to write in this today i feel only like writeing a part of my story



Eden


The sky was more a cold vapor that sinked through the flesh onto your bones leaving you ridged and shaking then actual air, as far as your eyes could see it was this… From the earth your feet rested on, to the vacant horizon, to the heavens above us, it was this whiteness…

As the moist spheres of his eyes slid from one corner of their sockets to the next the air of the cold chewed on them, drying the white of his already bloodshot eyes. Moist tears, probable his last, swelled around the steeled circles in his skull wetting them, running down his face, slowly falling to the ground sinking into the light snow that was left white in front of him before the shuffle of his feet, the mud of his boots, and the red of his wrists hid them. He turned the trail behind him into a scarlet path drained from the color of his face and body… he walked this carpet red as so many had done already …

He stared absently at his feet, not exactly the way one who was sentenced to die would, but the way one who was trying not to stumble would. He averted catching the eye’s of the hooded onlookers, the cloaked few that stood encircling the platform and others peering through glass, he did not look at them … though he knew that their cold gaze fallowed him from their courtyards, and their balconies, and the windows of their Abby. He knew this more than anyone in particular, he knew that today was a day that their hims would not be heard, that they would not murmur amongst themselves or think of studding in their archives, not today… it was not a day of prayer, it was a day of quite… a day of “judgment” as they called it. A day for the souls not to be prayed for. But in reality it was only a day of bloodshed… Yes, he knew this more anyone in particular. This was a day of pride.

He watched his boots, dyed red, as where the leggings of his trousers, that is where it seemed to fall. Wrists bound he walked the stairs of the raised platform, the executioner stood his chin resting on his hands and his hands on top the hilt of his ax, old and worn. The rough hand of his captor steered him to the reddened center and kneeled him before the wooden block. The skin of his throat felt the damp cold of the wood as they laid down his head on the block, a large basket of heads, hands, and blood sat no more than four inches beneath his face, frozen wide eyes stared im silent… To steal a loaf of bread was to lose a hand, to displease the church there were more severe penalty, but in truth none of these where things he had done... he grinned to himself when he thought about it.

“No.” The bloody limbs nearest his face (the ones that looked familiar for instance) where the only thing distracting and stopping him from looking to find the source of this authoritive voice. But he didn’t need to see it, he knew the voice it had no intention of his well-being. The robed figure, shrouded in white robes that draped across his frail boney form... the hood pulled down to shade the strong sun. His paper white skin pulled and stretched in an evil grin as he sat hunched over in his chair, the silver pendent around his neck, his horse breaths, his harsh voice was heard over the others, so sure of himself was he.

“No … make him face the sun as he dies... I want him to see the ax come down.” As the priest said the last words his mouth twitched into a sickening smile. With his arms still bound in front the first executioner turned the boy’s weak frame around tilting his head back towards the place where the sun should have been. The silver of the clouds shown blindly onto his white hair giving it a holy silver glow. The first held his head back by the back of his hair harshly as if he was about to struggle, he smiled a little as he notice the bluntness of the blade. The cracked lips of his mouth open in taking air as the second held up his ax, “…bit dull isn’t it?” his voice sounded sick but the strength in it held.

The executioner smiled, and why wouldn’t he? He who had been worried that this boy would have died in the prisons after his hands were taken, and then the confiner would have the pair of boots instead of him. But now all is right, this sinner lies under his ax already near dead. He shouldn’t even have to put forth an effort.

He brought the ax down easily and as he did he watched the boys jaw slacken above it and saw the boy’s eyes darken. In that moment the boy’s lips moved in a deaf man’s scream, a hissed gurgling came from where the ax had separated his windpipe leaving him no air for his scream. He retrieved his ax for a second blow, as the boy’s head was still intact, he had not put the ax through the boy’s spine and so this sinner’s head stood on its axis splashed in red and leaking all over everything. Still clinging to life the boy looked up wide-eyed.

The executioner raised his ax closed his eyes and brought it down to meet the boys neck and hear the satisfying crackle of his spine shattering underneath the thick blade, but all he heard was the splintering of wood… opening his eyes he found the boy turned over on his elbows dragging himself by the splinters of bones that where his hands wheezing, and coughing, and bleeding… the executioner smiled, he turned and put the corner of the ax deep into the edge of the wooden platform, he would no longer need it, he would walk slowly over to the boy and kick him from the platform so he would fall and snap his neck on the coble pave-way below, separating his head from body, it was as if the boy had wanted the him to do it. He turned smiling and much to his confusion he found the boy smiling and… standing, he looked to the boy’s arms, the blood stained mess surrounded splintered bone as it had before, but how had he gotten untied? And why does the other man lay like he does behind the block?

The boy palest yet and eyes darkened struggled forward until he could whisper in the man's ear. “…I told you when you took them that I would be- wanting them back… and if I was not given them back, then I would be taking them… and if this be my last day on this horrid earth I will… enjoy- every- minute- of it.”

As he said that, he forced the splintered bone of his forearm into the man’s lower chest… …and his jaw seemed to shake, as he speared- his teeth into the man’s throat… …And then… blood started to flow…



…



The glass was deep and tinted, it was the kind that can only do so much as glow even with the brightest sunlight. Not that there was any light of any sort outside but it felt that this black was somehow worse. The lanterns and the creeping cold of the night gave the hall a clear glow, the boy sat on top the table near the alter, still very much pale and bloody… he himself was not bleeding anymore. But his skin was splashed with the drying crimson that seemed to crack and flake off in places, scabs that weren’t his own.

A rather large thick sowing needle, probable for sowing the end of grain sakes, protruded from his mouth, positioned in his teeth like a toothpick. His foot propped on top the flesh to keep it from moving his arm held steady in position, using the length of the needle he speared it on angle through both sides of the skin of the wrist near the back of the hand. Removing it from under his foot he held it to the light. His hand sat lifelessly from atop his wrist held by needle pierced through the flesh of both his former hand and his bloodied arm. Chewing on the frayed seams of his sleeve he pulled with teeth from it a single thread and very careful not to tear it he unraveled a reasonable length, rolling the end of the thread on his tongue he wetted it to a point which with a little patients he successfully put through the eye of the large needle, where on he began (with use of his teeth) to sow… not the most skillful but even, and on completion he had the limp flesh replaced, he smiled childishly at his success, proud of his craftsmanship. A mumbled moan came from the other end of the hall… he had woken up - good. The priests face was death white and the back of his head bleeding leaving trail running down the length of the pew that he was tied to by the wrists, his legs broken. As He walked down the steps towards the priest he smiled the wind blew through the trees and beat against the windows of the hallowed place. He shouldn’t be allowed here.

The priest pale and dark looked up toward him. Shaking and drunk with anger he started stutter out the Latin the boy had been waiting for.

“Deus, et Pater Domini nostri Jesu Christi, Invoco nomen sanctum tuum, et clementiam tuam supplex exposco: ut adversus hunc, et omnem immundum spiritum, qui vexat hocplasma tuum! Mihi auxilium praestare igneris! Per eumdem Dominum. Amen!” The boy smiled trying to not laugh, the priest redoubled his efforts, shock and fear swelling from his eyes he started again, desperately his face pleaded for something to work.

“Exoricizote, immundissime spiritius, omnis incursio adversarii, omne phantasma, omnis legio, in nominee Domini nostri Jesu Christi eradicare, et effugare ab hoc plasmate Dei! Ipse tibi imperat, qui te de supernis caelorum in inferiora terrae demergi praecepit! Ipse tibi imperator, malorum radix, fomes vitiorum, seductor hominum, proditor gentium, incitator incitator, origo avaritiae, cause discordiae, excitatory dolorum: quid stas, et resistis, c** scias! Christum Dristum Dominum vias tuas perdere? Illum metue, qui in Isaac immolatus est, in joseph venumdatus, in agno occisus, in homine crucifixus, deinde inferni triumphator fuit! Sequentes cruces fiant in fronte obsessi! Recede ergo in nominee Patris et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti: da locum Spiritui Sancto, per hoc signum sanctae Crucis Jesu Christi Domini nostri: Qui c** Patre et eodem Spiritu Sancto vivit et regnat Deus, per omnia saecula saeculorum! ... Amen.”

This child stood before him… grinning malicious the sunkenness of his eyes dark as shadow, “I told you this before priest, I am not a demon” the old priest looked to himself bound then back to the boy as he hissed “Lamia”

The child burst out laughing, "the word you are looking for would more apropriatly be 'strigae' the name you use is for common foke, not your kind, Ah preist?" He grinned at the man bound, the winds howl raged a branch broke the painted glass the shattered fragments shown gold in the moonlight, the wind blew through the hall dowsing the torches sending the hall into darkness. The moonlight crept into the hall sending dark shadows from the wooden cross of the alter. As the priest’s eyes adjusted he saw the boy walking towards him, half of the boy held in the moonlight the other half immersed in the shadow… the light that shown on his back and arms made his form clear and distinct to the darkness around him, but the other side, the one covered in the blanket of shadow sunk into the darkness more phantom than form, seeming to crawl with the darkness of the night, these shadow stung from his body like a vale of death, pure darkness that ebbed from his body like the tide, webbed from his soul the cold of the night surrounded him like a fog. As he walked closer the priest felt the cold hand of this death embrace him, suffocating him in the sinking darkness. The fear was the only thing that kept him from drowning in this. The boys hand hanging loosely from the stitches in shadow began to twitch the skin crawled onto itself, wrapping itself, twisting itself back together, its fingers flexed and tightened into a fist before relaxing again. The boy’s grin deepened, his very eyes seemed to grow more twisted with every step. Stood above the priest smiling from ear to ear.

The priest head covered in the fold of the white hooded cloak he head lifted his eyes where pitch black vacant of humanity he tore from the ropes charging at the boy. The boy grinned he brought the back of his hand across the old priest's face the sound echoed through the hall as the priest was thrown to the ground the priest head snapped upward to the boy “Cursed creature!" he spat. The boy grinned as he squatted down to the old priests height “remember you where human old man. You are far more cursed then I will ever be” the priest laughed defiantly “your actions have started something you could never have foreseen you will be condemned to suffer in the pits of hell for your ignorance, you will not stop what has been set in motion!” the boy wrapped his hand around the vampires neck and stood holding him at eye level “you forget who I am father” he leaned forward as his grip tightened whispering in the old mans ear “you and the others will suffer for your betrayal, you little fool” the priests jaw slackened biting at the air his mouth held open gasping for air as the boys fingers closed tighter. The boy pressed his thumb into the side of the mans neck pushing it until it snapped, like breaking a stick. The vampires jaw moved his neck muscles pulling desperately to pull his neck back in place for the bones to heal. The boy grinned he raised his other hand and pulled on the robes of the priest. His bare chest shown the heart cold beating franticly still with the blood of some innocent tortured and slain by the church. The boy pressed his hand under the vampires rib slowly “…. So proud you where... so proud, you think you can get away with anything you think you can justify the means with your religon... your church and your all mighty cause... you think your place in heaven is assured.. You are sorely mistaken... I have seen your fate... and let me tell you old priest... you will know hell” A dark think black blood seeped down onto the priests robes. He gagged trying to cough it up through his broken neck. It seeped slowly through the hole under his rib. The boy slowly pulled his arm from the hole. In his hand the heart black and cold.




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