posted on Oct, 6 2005 @ 09:14 PM
She seemed old for only 17, dressed in black from head to feet. Hair, coloured jet black and shiny was slightly streaked at the bangs, framing her
face with a blood red hue. Her lips, also purplish black made her pretty young face seem doll-like, an almost pearly white skin on her throat and
cheeks surmounted by eyes which never seemed to smile.
When she moved along the heavily laden shelves of the bookshop, she was stooped, her shoulders slumped forward as her arms encircled her waist. Her
eyes darted from musty old tome to ragged paperback, searching somberly among the titles for anything to feed her mind. Her ability to focus intensely
was born out of isolation, for she had no friends, really, she didn't want them. To her, they were like leeches, sucking her precious time.
Her mind was fine...she had forever been searching for that next atrocity to tune her cynicism. She hated the government, her town, the whole world,
really. She was convinced it was all about to explode in a flash of violence and that anarchy was certain to follow. She had determined that the
Christianity of her parents, as well as the rest of the town, was a load. She saw through it all...the lies, the blind faith of mindless sheep. None
of it worth her care.
Walking further into the back of the old bookstore with the creaking pine floorboards, she felt the eyes of the proprieter bore into her from
'The old fart', she though, 'probably a perv'.
The light was dim here and the books were stacked on the floor as well as on sagging shelves. A musty bookish smell permeated the dead air and this
gave her pleasure. She imagined her 'old soul' connecting with the forgotten authors, piled like so many corpses stacked twenty deep in corners and
on chairs and on side tables, wobbling on uneven footings, threatening to spill their load with a breath.
This place held promise to her...the forgotten texts in the the dark corners called to her. 'Come, Maya...your search is almost over. I'm in here';
the call was insistent, and Maya smiled slightly at the thought. Forbidden knowledge was her constant desire.
She had felt that way for years now, and, in a display which had frightened her parents, had gone through a year of acupunctures, pins, studs, rings
and tattoos until her body had transformed itself into a permanent display of her rebellion.
It was at the tattoo shop she had met the Wiccans and Satanists, and while she thought they were as 'screwed up' as her parents, there was something
in their manner which appealed to her.
While sorting through some books on Masons, she recalled how she had listened to the stories about the powers in magick, even gone with them to
observe their rituals, but, still, she felt that she was smarter than these phoney posers for the mere fact that they needed each other. She hated
that. She was a loner and needed no-one. No-one that lived, that is...because she was imbued by the romance of death.
Maya shivered at the thought of death. It was such an absolute...easily attained yet distant, out of mortal reach. She loved and feared it equally,
and, as she relished the emotion, her hand touched the book.
It was bound in a slippery, leatherlike black binding and bore no title anywhere on the cover that she could see. Her fingers stroked the spine and
felt some ridges. The front of the small book, not much bigger than a paperback, also felt embossed, but the dim light gave her eyes nothing.
Cautiously, without turning, she slipped it down into the front of her skirt, where it lay snugly between her belly and panties. It was so thin she
was sure it would not be noticed and it seemed to mold itself to the roundness.
The dark recesses of the old shop hid her completely from the grizzled old shop keeper. Slowly working her way back to the front, so as not to seem to
be hurried, she avoided looking over at him as she drew near.
"Anything I can help you with, miss?", the skinny, ancient man croaked from behind the glass case. He was dressed in a tattered brown sweater, shiny
at the elbows from resting on the countertop where he had been reading. His left eyebrow, feathery with long kinky hair, raised itself above the
horned rim of his thick glasses.
"No, I don't think so...just looking around", she said. "Thanks anyways."
She moved onwards, surprising herself with her audacity. Proud of the ease with which she had carried out the theft. The book was pleasantly warming
against her soft belly, and Maya thrilled at the intimacy of the touch. Slowly, ever so carefully, she opened the door and walked out into the
Normand watched her as she left and when the door closed behind her, a smile began to crease his sunken cheeks and his eyes sparkled in glee. His bird
like, age speckled hands splayed upon the counter as he raised himself up, revealing a very tall man indeed. As he stood, his long frazzled greying
head of hair almost brushed the ceiling, and, moving with surprising grace and speed, pulled back a curtain, revealing a doorway in a corner behind
Beyond, in a high ceilinged room, centered in a pentangle carved roughly into the floor, was an altar. Carefully laid out upon its wide suface were a
copper dish, a small bowl of salt, a brass censor with sour incense wisping slowly upwards, a knife with a bone handle, an old ewer full of water and
an assortment of rotting fruits, photographs, wooden carvings and many other unidentifyable items. All about the room, thick black candles guttered,
sending soot upwards to mix with the evil smelling incense
Moving quickly to the first point of the inverted star, the 'old man' scratched a match to light a candle set at its apex. Chanting impossible
words, then carefully walked the line across to the point opposite and lit the second. Treading the line he followed to the third, his features
changed, growing softer, filling with healthy colour. By the time he had lit the fourth, muscles began to take shape under the ragged brown sweater.
By the time he had lit the fifth his incantations ceased and a strong young dark eyed man removed the coke bottle glasses from handsome features.
Stripping off the filthy clothes and throwing them in a corner, he stood naked before the altar. Raising his long, strong sinewed arms high above his
head, fingers spread wide, he began to invoke his Master, thrilled to be able to provide another sacrifice for His Magnificence. The girl would please
Him greatly, he knew, and it would only take the amount of time it took for her to open the book to the center page. The image she would then see
would be impossible to escape and her feet would carry her straight to this room, this altar, this acolyte and the mercies of the Master.
[edit on 6-10-2005 by masqua]
[edit on 6-10-2005 by masqua]