Wednesday, April 30, 2008


Pleasure of The Sick

The old man sat at the dinner table facing the monster, and calmly began to eat... mainly fruit and blood...
The clock embedded in the middle of a Medieval painting marked the minutes as seconds, and a day, only half an hour long...
The old man aged visibly at each bite of fish, for the strange delight of a blond soldier, that laughed in pain close to him, while reading a book on Destiny and Paradoxes that seemed never-ending...
A third creature, dressed in a scissors-suit, couldn't stop scratching his face while spitting hot coal over a little under-aged girl, that cried peace in the corner...
The monster was disgusted by this obnoxious spectacle and left the room in shock...
Upon leaving, he noticed the smell of cracked mirrors coming from a hidden balcony, where stood a great window of shadows. From the smallest of those shadows, it emerged a dog – deformed in all its shapes – that began to chase him like a snake fallows the night...
-I believe you are confused by this... the manifestation of your desires...
-...Yes, the first impressions are never to remember – said the dog.
-Quite right, my friend... quite certain...
After a brief observation of the surroundings, both continued to a silent room, grimly decorated by black wax sculptures, where the air was absent and frail...
A sudden burst of steam and the mere look at the statues, weakened their strange skin, cracking their presence into dust...
Both stepped back a few inches, wondering the reason for this abnormal event...
-Where are we? – asked the monster.
Passing and smiling – Inside the maze of God – pointing to holly Mecca – ...carrying those who refuse Heaven through Purgatory and beyond...
-Who does refuse Heaven...?
– he pondered in irony... – ...and why?
-You did, my friend...

-... What?...me? ...Why would I do such a thing...? – mumbling through speed...
-Only the lie refuses his destiny... only the Magician could decline the truth... – stated the dog.
The monster remembered then, the first metamorphism of his body... He remembered the past...
His eyes were blood, his face petrified with fear... the monster was not himself anymore...
...He was a man... the man who saved Mordred, replacing him in the battle of Camlann...
...and the sole responsible for the complete destruction of Avalon...