A Tragic Tale of Lovers
Beauty Kills
Someone else on the verge of death would be amazed by the fact that they are writing their last words, writing for the last time ever in this world. Write with straight and beautiful letters, excusing themselves for dying. My writing is poor, I know it, but my hands are shaking. The Lord is telling me to stop. If she wants this life, she can have it. I have outgrown it. I tremble now; I’m suddenly so cold. I must remind you, I’m holding my wings for you. I’ve tied them to my back, so I can not fly. In a moment, he will come to cut the string. When I’m finished here, he will stand by my side and give me my kiss. I will fly when Judas cuts me free.
Do not fear me, I beg. I am a person, just like you. I have a mind and a heart and a body, all three were once as whole as yours. I am jealous, seeing mine dangle in shreds. Do not flea me, it is all I ask. I am not to blame. The insanity, the eager death and the memories I send you are the last of my humanity and me. Respect them; please, burn them.
Señorita Liendo got up from behind her small desk. It was a poor excuse for a desk, actually, and reminded me more of oppression of women than anything else. So Señorita Liendo got up from behind her oppression of women and her small feet, dressed up as successful feet in expensive black high heels. She caught me as the bear for a man for a janitor loosened his tight grip in the back of my vest. His large hand was practically the only thing holding me up during my walk of shame from my comfortable place on the floor to the arms of this pleasantly smelling excuse for a career woman.
- Cortale el pelo de ella!
His deep voice made my heart sink a little further. It sunk until it hit the bottom of my stomach where acids consumed its risky content. But was I freed? Never, I knew, as the beautiful woman helped me up from her scented chest and looked at me with worried eyes.
- La griega! Her voice was sweet and as worried as those eyes. Her round face changed its shape when her eyebrows almost merged at the top of her nose bridge. She looked ashamed for her choice of words and excused herself quickly. Her richly clothed feet made their way towards the simple wicker chair placed opposite the oppression of women. She offered me a seat as her quick little hands started searching through the drawers of the oppression like fens to find whatever she needed. I reckoned I waited with great patience, and felt good about myself for a second. I straightened my back and buttoned my torn-up shirt. It exposed more skin now than before, and it amused me. It was something the Pain and Ceasing would never overlook something this Wizard’s Castle would punish. And now, it was caused by one of their won, of their monster. I proudly undid the top button.
The scented fish finally found what she was searching for. In the dim light of the cheap lamp on the wall she held up a pair of scissors. She came over to me and hesitantly picked up a wisp of hair. I could feel the two jaws close around it and make an ominous sound. I closed my eyes again. I didn’t open them until my life was ruined.
That little woman killed me. With every snap of the scissor she cut me in pieces. With every snap I grew fonder and fonder of a life in pain. I remember very clearly how I looked. My hair was uneven and my boyish appearance was often mistaken for more than an appearance. The lady at the grocery store said "gracias, señor" every other time I went down to buy a loaf of bred or a bottle of milk. If she didn't remember me or if she just was not sure, I never knew. She is long dead. But Licia never cared about the length of my hair or the shape of my body or the beauty of my face. She could put her hand on my cheek and just leave it there, perfectly curved around my conspicuously unshaped face, look at me with eyes that saw nothing but my soul. Every day I prayed that my shell would never get in the way of her eyesight to enclose me in a prison of hideousness. Every day I wished for another miracle. When they teased me, she laughed at them, at their eye's shallowness. When they laughed back she ceased and walked away with her hand around my back.
Her drawings were the worst. At their peak of beauty, I faded to pale in comparison. The women with perfect bodies and genial visage. The artist she was would never accept any less than a perfect, strong character and enticing figure. Was I her escape from the flawlessness? Or was I a balance in a non-existing world?
This one time she turned on the radio as we sat cuddled up in the wine cellar. The voice of the National Socialists Party echoed against the moist stone walls and in the frail bottles of blood. That powerful voice bawled and sacred me, as I tied my arms tighter around my body. "Woman's world", it said, "is her husband, her family, her children and her home. We do not find it right when she presses into the world of men". Licia turned it off quickly. I, disgusted with a voice thousands of miles away, thanked my angel as she held me and whispered: "the insanity".
Do not fear me, I beg. I am a person, just like you. I have a mind and a heart and a body, all three were once as whole as yours. I am jealous, seeing mine dangle in shreds. Do not flea me, it is all I ask. I am not to blame. The insanity, the eager death and the memories I send you are the last of my humanity and me. Respect them; please, burn them.
Señorita Liendo got up from behind her small desk. It was a poor excuse for a desk, actually, and reminded me more of oppression of women than anything else. So Señorita Liendo got up from behind her oppression of women and her small feet, dressed up as successful feet in expensive black high heels. She caught me as the bear for a man for a janitor loosened his tight grip in the back of my vest. His large hand was practically the only thing holding me up during my walk of shame from my comfortable place on the floor to the arms of this pleasantly smelling excuse for a career woman.
- Cortale el pelo de ella!
His deep voice made my heart sink a little further. It sunk until it hit the bottom of my stomach where acids consumed its risky content. But was I freed? Never, I knew, as the beautiful woman helped me up from her scented chest and looked at me with worried eyes.
- La griega! Her voice was sweet and as worried as those eyes. Her round face changed its shape when her eyebrows almost merged at the top of her nose bridge. She looked ashamed for her choice of words and excused herself quickly. Her richly clothed feet made their way towards the simple wicker chair placed opposite the oppression of women. She offered me a seat as her quick little hands started searching through the drawers of the oppression like fens to find whatever she needed. I reckoned I waited with great patience, and felt good about myself for a second. I straightened my back and buttoned my torn-up shirt. It exposed more skin now than before, and it amused me. It was something the Pain and Ceasing would never overlook something this Wizard’s Castle would punish. And now, it was caused by one of their won, of their monster. I proudly undid the top button.
The scented fish finally found what she was searching for. In the dim light of the cheap lamp on the wall she held up a pair of scissors. She came over to me and hesitantly picked up a wisp of hair. I could feel the two jaws close around it and make an ominous sound. I closed my eyes again. I didn’t open them until my life was ruined.
That little woman killed me. With every snap of the scissor she cut me in pieces. With every snap I grew fonder and fonder of a life in pain. I remember very clearly how I looked. My hair was uneven and my boyish appearance was often mistaken for more than an appearance. The lady at the grocery store said "gracias, señor" every other time I went down to buy a loaf of bred or a bottle of milk. If she didn't remember me or if she just was not sure, I never knew. She is long dead. But Licia never cared about the length of my hair or the shape of my body or the beauty of my face. She could put her hand on my cheek and just leave it there, perfectly curved around my conspicuously unshaped face, look at me with eyes that saw nothing but my soul. Every day I prayed that my shell would never get in the way of her eyesight to enclose me in a prison of hideousness. Every day I wished for another miracle. When they teased me, she laughed at them, at their eye's shallowness. When they laughed back she ceased and walked away with her hand around my back.
Her drawings were the worst. At their peak of beauty, I faded to pale in comparison. The women with perfect bodies and genial visage. The artist she was would never accept any less than a perfect, strong character and enticing figure. Was I her escape from the flawlessness? Or was I a balance in a non-existing world?
This one time she turned on the radio as we sat cuddled up in the wine cellar. The voice of the National Socialists Party echoed against the moist stone walls and in the frail bottles of blood. That powerful voice bawled and sacred me, as I tied my arms tighter around my body. "Woman's world", it said, "is her husband, her family, her children and her home. We do not find it right when she presses into the world of men". Licia turned it off quickly. I, disgusted with a voice thousands of miles away, thanked my angel as she held me and whispered: "the insanity".