Hazy Memories
Chapter 1
Twilight crept across the overcast sky, from his terrace window he watched as the day painfully gave birth to the night. In the city that lay beneath him, shop keepers lit lanterns that would grant them the additional light they would need to end the day. Tired clerks glared out the store window into the muddy streets watching passers by on their way to their favorite haunts, as they flipped their OPEN signs to COLSED. For most this was a night of relaxation and debauchery, for others it was merely another night to close up shop, lock the day’s take and return home to prepare for another long day tomorrow.
Looking down on this street always reminded him of the books he read as a child; books about cowboys, Indians, gold, and revolver duels at high noon. The muddy streets, lined with horse and carriage tracks. Double storey wooden buildings on either side of the street, all perfectly in line with barrels and horse ties out front. The general store, barber shop, whore house, and the combination bank and post office surrounded by dust and desert plants that stretched out till the land and the heavens met in a tryst of color. It was our world, and it was called Otsar.
When he arrived in this place, his first order of business was to commission the building of his home.
I remember that day like it was yesterday. I arrived in Otsar on Chaplin, my horse. A Handsome Stallion with a thick cream colored coat and a grey mane. There I was at the gates sizing the place up, preparing myself for my next move. I gazed down the row of buildings at the end of which I saw a horrifically attractive site, the great granite mountain. It was there that the Arisis mountain range came to its end. The next day I made the provisions for my modest yet comfortable home to be carved.
From the terrace, I looked up again and tried to catch one last sight of the brilliant colors that filled the sky at sun set in glorious tones of purple, blue, and violet.
When the sun had finally tucked itself beneath the horizon and the last glimmer of light disappeared, I turned back into my bedroom. I stood in the arch way gazing into the room, bathing in the comfort of its ambience. The uneven carved floor and walls glistened with humidity in the firelight, the air thick with the familiar scent of lavender. There I stood with my eyes closed, feeling the stone beneath my feet and every waft of the cool breeze that rushed past me. I opened my eyes, looking through the undulating drapes at the bed, and there among the silk sheets and light satin bedding lay Silvia.
I moved toward the bed, quietly, the drapes licking me like cool flames. With every step the soles of my feet grew colder and more aroused with sensation. The jagged stone pressing against them was a delightful and magnificent caress. At the edge of the bed where Silvia lay, I stood my ground. I leaned slowly over soaking up the image of her ale toned skin, glowing in the fire light, against the blue bedding. As I got closer, her gentle scent filled me. I pressed my nose against her temple and drew in a long exaggerated breath. With the tip of my nose I traced a line down her cheek, along her jaw, and onto her neck where I placed the faintest of kisses. As I stood back up, her eyes opened. She looked me right in the eye as she brought her hand from behind her head, down my forearm to clasp my hand in hers ever so delicately. “Are you alright?” she asked. I offered no reply, only a slight hint of a smile. She pulled back the blanket revealing the build of a goddess and arose to her knees. Holding both my hands now, she asked “what’s wrong?” Her voice was hypnotic. My eyes locked with her’s as I said “you’re beautiful when you’re asleep”.
That night resounds in my head with all the grace and finesse love sonnet read aloud by the village drunkard. Flashes of Crimson, Steel and fire ricochet in my mind’s eye.
It is strange how your mind does not release trauma, but clings to it like driftwood. The mind survives on pain, and emotion. In my time, I’ve grown to understand that people love watching the troubles of others. A person watches, complacently as ill befalls another, watching with eagle eyes to catch every detail, then run off chuckle with their cronies about it.
That is one thing in a list of many attributes that I have grown to abhor about the human race. Very few of which Silvia seemed to entertain. Silvia was definitely different.
Untitled
Chapter 2
“Yes. I do remember him. I’ll never forget the first time I saw him. He had to rooster his head to one side to keep from digging it into the ceiling” a voice said from somewhere in the smoky haze that filled the room. I knew who the voice was describing as soon as it’s failed attempt at covering a drunken slur with and aristocratic tone hit my ears. “Yes, that terribly pale fellow”. That man was pale, but it was not at all terrible. He was as strong as an ox and it took no feat of strength to notice it. He had sharp features, but not in a rugid way. No, this was no tatter and torn cowboy. He had skin that even lil’ Mary “soft as a baby’s ass” McGowan would kill for. He glowed with strength and majesty. The sharpest thing about him had to be his eyes, like barber blades. They seemed to see straight through everything, and look past what they should be. Those eyes could turn a raging bull into a kitten. Those eyes scared the shit out of me. Everything about this man showed that he was no one to take lightly, except for his voice. It was the strangest thing. He could have brought an army weeping to their knees had he so wished, and then renewed their spirits and given them hope with a few choice words. His voice was intoxicatingly comforting. The way a parent talks to a kid with a skinned elbow. Smooth as a silk pillow case falling off goose down. His voice could balm a chicken in a twister. Don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t all rose pedals and satin. He could also make it rumble when he wanted it to. The kind of low angry sound that seemed to carry on like a wave of thunder, the kind that makes all the bones in your body hide behind each other for cover.
I remember the day that he first showed up in town; it was a day that I will never forget. I was the first person to piss him off.
