THE ART OF BEING DIVINE

   

The following article was published in N-SPHERE May 2010 issue.

 

Late was the hour the puppeteer was hailed into the room. Adventurous spectrum, thick armor, broad shield, rusty tools of a retired assassin, unlucky friend for hire by the highest bidder. He politely inquired about his long awaited apotheosis, a well deserved finale for services rendered.

“I died under your boot, in mushy smell of blood, while overflowing emptiness marked my end. What will you do now that you got away with justified murder? I cannot guess, beyond the dancing fury in your eyes.” “Murder… A long lost friend. So well covered by the cloak of a perfected smile. Perhaps someday I’ll beg forgiveness of those I have done wrong to. Including you. But not today. Today I wallow into the seeds of haze planted long ago, abandon myself to the strong, deep roots of the crepuscule I adore.” “You do know that you’ll be left stripped of every fantasy you could ever give birth to. Your strings will drain you motionless, until you’ll fade from memory, for I alone could master and control your doom. But as you rose in rebellion, you traded places with those whose corpses you piled up before your throne of dementia. Tell me, how does it feel?” “It was almost worth the price. It might still be. Once I find the words to trouble and cast a shadow over your triumph.” “Still defiant I see. Then maybe I shall take my veins and put them to a better use, and make a new set of customized strings to celebrate your failure. And do not be troubled. I know your resilience all too well. Alas, you ran out of aces up your sleeve.”

And so they laughed to the puppeteer’s face. He wishes for just one day the city would be empty and deserted, so he can bear his strings in silence.

by Bahak B

artwork by Mara Ex

Full article here.