Poveste

His hands were gripping the bottle tight as he was gazing at thecolorful and animated screen before him. The characters displayed, smalland markedly round ,unidentified animals, seemed to be a mockery ofhuman existence. Of his own existence. His mind was probably wanderingthrough a cemetery of love affairs, sighs and women with warmthighs. However, he was earthbound enough to notice the dancing green rabbits, orperhaps jaguars. He couldn't tell. Another thing he could have never realizedwas the terrible warning the ambiguous beings were sending tohumanity. For he himself was humanity in its utter love for mediocrity and dullcontemplation. He took another sip of wine and lit one of those foulsmelling cigarettes, reaching for the exit of the cemetery. It was enough forone evening. Disabling the "mute" function of the TV, the man burst intolaughter. The creatures were singing and their words of undying lovewere spreading through the smoke. In a peculiar way, his smell suddenlybecame sharp. The sweat and old perfume scent invaded his nostrils as hecould see that he never actually reached the gate of the graveyard. Therevelation that the gate was going to be out of his reach for eternitymade him tremble in fear and regret. In the stillness of rotten memoriesthere was one ghoul that kept wrapping him in her dry hair. Despite the strands cutting through his skin causing massive blood loss, the mannever glimpsed at the undead's face. He would not see, not hear, not touch. Herefused ,choosing to have an attempt to crawl beneath the sterileearth. The repetitive song of the animals was altering the wine flowingthrough his veins. It seemed to get louder and louder, almost commanding thesmoke into familiar shapes. Dizziness was slowly turning his bodynumb. The decaying hair was shutting his eye-lids. He couldn't have guessed itcould penetrate ground. The man chose not to scream in fear or pain, butto stop digging in hope that the ghoul would not sense his breath andshe would angrily return to her grave. But the sharp pain he could feelin his fingers told him that the undead was expecting just that. Shewas slowly dragging him above. The song had stopped, as the creatures knewthere was nobody out there to dance. The only thing left was an earpiercing silence. The man was desperately gripping her hair. He thought thatthe ghoul would force him to wake up from the labyrinth of funerarystones and thoughts. Split black ends were already making way through hisflesh. He finally screamed as loud as he could. The sounds turned thesight of dead trees and forgotten graves into bleak. Stillness was theultimate ruler of his surroundings. For one moment he could have sworn hewas at the center of Cosmos. But the battle drums he could hear were asign that he was not alone. There was also sound. The feeling ofdisintegration made him call for other beings. He felt as if a thousand winds weretearing his flesh to pieces. The sound shifted into anthropomorphousfigures. As he rose ,a woman was standing before him. Her face seemedquite familiar as it was smiling compassionate. He knew there were otherbeings behind her that would not dare come close. All he could see wereethereal shapes radiating a sound the man could associate with the colorblack. Through his darkened eyesight ,the man saw the woman trying tospeak. He then recognized the ever so familiar wrathful countenance:"For the death of one thousand archangels and for the birth of onebillion demons, you are damned to an eternity of non-existence."Sweat was dripping from the man's brow. The frenetic body dance hadstopped and warm, humid hands were tightly gripping his arms. His seed was now in her womb and her gaze instantly told him that her orgasm was satisfying enough. The woman rose and unintentionally whipped the man's face with her black dry hair, leaving thin reddish lines on his cheeks. Regaining his senses, he could hear a song about undying forgiveness.

Pulp- acum ceva ani

Batranul reusise cu greu sa deschida usa capelei.Mainile ii erau inghetate iar privirea ii era incetosata de amicul sau Polar.Se sprijini de peretele pe care il simtea scorojit,gafaind puternic din pricina efortului precedent.Recapatandu-si suflul observa ,cu parere de rau, ca pe catafaclc zaceau ,neglijent pozitionati, saptesprezece ani de feciorie.”Sa fiu al dracu’”, se gandi cersetorul, ” Astia mor din ce in ce mai tineri”.Apoi lua o dusca de vodka,varsand-o pe cea de-a doua in numele spiritului tinerei.Se clatina.Stia foarte bine pasii dansului acordat lui Bachus.Dar pana acuma nu auzise nimic nenatural.Niciun scancet venit din vreun colt intunecat,niciun demon scartaind a sange inocent.Numai ca acum un sunet ii intorcea stomacul pe dos,un sunet ce invoca imaginea unei guri uriase molfaind carne cruda,o imagine departe de adevarul ultim pe care avea sa-l cunoasca. Era pentru prima oara in zeci de ani cand ceva il obliga sa fie treaz.Era teama,teama de ceea ce urma sa apara ca o consecinta a zgomotului infundat.Inlemni si urina calda i se scurse pe piciorul batran si inghetat.Sentimentul de irealitate il invaluia,neputandu-si intoarce capul de la cadavrul din fata sa al carui pantece se umfla in convulsii.Rochia ieftina de mireasa se sfasiase lasand sa se vada pielea vanata intinsa pe burta perfect rotunda a raposatei.Trupul se ridica,pentru ca apoi sa se lase la loc pe catafalc intr-o unica si violenta miscare ce provoca expulzarea unui foetus diform,creat parca intr-un malevolent proces de hibridare intre un caine flamand si un copil suferind de rahitism.Grohaind,creatura incepu sa linga vaginul largit al fostei sale gazde.Horcaia si plescaia din ce in ce mai tare,incepand sa devoreze carnea moarta.Urechile,mari si moi,saltau in ritmul dansului macabru al progeniturii.Martorul ospatului erotic ramasese tintuit in pozitia unui foetus mort.Respirand sacadat,auzi cum usa masiva a capelei mortuare se deschide.Se stradui sa priveasca in directia acesteia,distingand o silueta feminina.Speranta de salvare se narui cand reusi sa observe miscarile nefiresti ale femeii.Aceasta adulmeca aerul si facu o grimasa aproape inumana,un ranjet ce denota scarba si triumf.Se apropie de ramasitele de pe catafalc si mangaie bestia ce inca molfaia pofticioasa un ovar.Animalul se ghemui la picioarele necunoscutei,oprindu-se din infruptat.
-Carnea moarta nu e buna pentru tine scumpete,glasui femeia si infasca creatura de ceafa,ghidand-o spre batran.

Obsesie

Unedited story preview. Steal it and be sued!


The blonde man angrily grabbed Frank’s neck.
“ Redemption!”, he hissed. “You were praying for redemption. You little piggy, you thought we couldn’t actually hear you? We hear everything you human scum are thinking. Hasn’t it occurred to you that we might be gods?”
The god neared his thick lips to Frank’s, who noticed his breath was hot and somewhat foul. He sniffed the painter’s face and than spat on his chin. Grabbing a bottle of wine from his damaged leather jacket, the immortal let go of Frank. Catching his breath, the human bravely yelled:
“ Yet you were once human yourselves. Is there any place for contempt among kin?”
“ What might you know on who’s human and who’s not, worm? You sunk lower than the rats I used to eat for breakfast back in my good days. Your kind has no right to speak. And I will personally make sure that you, yourself will not be entitled to this particular right for the rest of the bleeding eternity!”
Frank thought that the ability to use complicated phrases was rather unexpected from such an apparition. In fact, it sounded somewhat ridiculous spoken with the god’s guttural, hissed voice. The painter couldn’t help to wonder if the powerful creature in front of him had once been a heavy drinker and smoker. Noticing the patched leather jacket, another question rose in his mind: was the immortal so…young?
“You are really pissing me off now. What part from I can hear your thoughts haven’t you understood? Assumptions, assumptions. Is that how hive reasoning works? What the hell did you expect? A sword? A halo? White doves? A golden helmet with fucking wings on it? Oh, of course. A pompous 17th century attire. I take it you find my leather jacket unappealing? Stole it from a dead biker back in 1986. His brains were splattered all around the highway, but this piece of leather is still in great shape, isn’t it? Lay down your soul to the gods rock’n’roll! “
Frank opened his mouth to reply to the sarcastic immortal. He had nothing to lose. The god was quicker and grabbed him by the shoulders, lifting him in the air.
“I forgot. Of course I drink, you boot licking groundhog! Are you blind? I also happen to smoke bad cigarettes. Like my pretty teeth?” he grinned, “ And perhaps you assume that having God of Disfigurement written on your forehead makes it impossible to copulate with hot virgins. Say, you don’t have a daughter, do you? ”, he muttered, jamming Frank into the wall.
“Let there be light!”, laughed the immortal reaching for the light switch. “Good, now I’ll be able to take a better look at your entrails.”
His features were certainly not as Frank had expected them to be. He was the least dark he could be and his figure still bore childish traits. The god had no wrinkles, except the ones surrounding his trickster smile. Curly, dirty, blonde hair was flowing down his not very broad shoulders. Beneath his leather jacket, ragged clothes were covering a thin, yet muscular body. The immortal’s disfigurement was less gruesome than his attitude. He had a marble eye and a burnt underneath, which followed his delicate nose, leaving him without a part of his right nostril, and continued to his thick lips. His mouth was probably the most striking in his physiognomy, sensual but somewhat irregular. The good eye was of a dark brown and both his eyebrows were unusually thin.

Molifte?

Inainte sa ma culc, stau si ma intreb: Ce dracu sunt alea moliftele sfantului vasile? Google nu vrea sa ma ajute deloc. Iar eu cred ca stiu mai multe despre Asiro- Babilonieni decat despre riturile ortodoxe. Ia, Ia Pazuzu!

Tramvai

Imi aprind o tigara. Inchid ochii. Aud ploaia. Miroase a jeg, a caine ud. Se pare ca sunt in tramvai. Refuz sa privesc indelung la chiorul care canta la vioara. Sterg geamul cu maneca de la pulloverul rosu si observ ca mai am cateva statii pana la Piata Progresului. Mi-e frig. Ma consolez cu gandul la supa de rosii pe care am s-o beau calda, din cana mea de plastic. Va trebui sa cobor cu o statie inainte pentru a ma opri la magazin. Oare am haine de schimb? Berea bauta in Sovata mi-a cam pus capac. Cred ca si de la aia mi-e atat de rece. S-au urcat niste tigani. Un ea si o el. Gagica are taieturi pe mana si un tatuaj. La fel ca si mine. Ma intreb cum dracu eu sunt in pullover si parpalac, iar ea in maieu. E stirba.
Tramvaiul opreste. Ma reped prin ploaie spre geamul chioscului. Cer supa, niste icre si un pate Antrefrig. Merg cu pasi mari si repezi. Nu vreau sa fac pneumonie.
Traversez cu atentie, ca de obicei. Ajung in fata usii. Incerc sa o deschid. Se pare ca cineva mi-a facut o farsa. Usa e sudata. Toate geamurile sunt sparte. Acolo nu sta nimeni. Ma asez pe asfaltul ud si incep sa plang. Respir adanc, imi fac curaj si deschid ochii. Hanneman se uita sictirit la mine de pe usa camerei.