The Deep Place

Part One - MONSTER

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I trembled steadily, my breath low and barely existing. There was no air, none at all. A trickle of oxygen was left in my lungs, left over from days, months, years ago. I ran my tongue across my lips, crack and rough and split. The pink worm inside my mouth touched the bars of my muzzle—it tasted bitter sweet of copper. There was a putrid stench in the air, a musky scent of blood and sweat. I was suffocating. I shivered unconsciously as I wrecked my wrists, pulling on the chains with as much strength as I could. The iron scrapped at my skin, cutting into the edges of white bone. I could not see how much crimson liquor I had spilt; it was too dark, much too dark, this cover of black universe. No light existed in my world, and never has. The sun was far too high for me to fly; my wings had been smashed long ago.

With my back pushed against the metallic wall, I force myself to stand. There was pounding between the halves of my brain. I rattle to my feet, my legs seemed lacking in substance, as if they were only flesh and blood, with no bones. I was being eaten away, I knew, but at least I wanted to last a little longer. I forced myself forward, running towards an invisible door. The chains locked me in its twisted embrace, holding me almost lovingly.

My hands quaked and shuddered as I rubbed them together gently, a shiver shooting down my spine as my palms touched one another. I could feel my hands, still raw and bleeding from pounding on the door of my impregnable mental tomb. My hands hurt; but it was nothing. Nothing, this was nothing. I had endured much more.

I suddenly hear the sound of footsteps approaching my prison; I look up in the darkness, and watch as a sliver of light broke through the door. But oh, it was only a fictitious dream. There was never any light in my world; I was burned by the fire too long ago. The door opened with a mocking shriek. Serpent emerald stared at me, amused.

“Well, glad to see you’ve calmed down.” I didn’t say anything; after all, what could I say? The green eyes gazed at me, mocking, taunting, proud and malicious. I wanted to gouge them out of their sockets and bury them in the sand.

“Leave him alone.” My voice croaked, hoarse, barely audible, but I knew he heard me; that accursed smile widened, so I knew he heard my pathetic plea.

“You’re telling me to leave him alone? Tsk, tsk, Monster. It’s not your place to say anything.”

“Leave him the hell alone you fucking bastard.” I spat at him, but the saliva was dry and hardened in my mouth; how long had I been locked in here, without water or food? Millennias, it feels like it, millennias of being trapped in this ebony cavern, drowning in this endless claustrophobia. “Don’t touch him. Don’t. He’s just a kid, father. Just a kid. You can’t do that to him. You can’t drag him through all that crap. He’s not a whore you can just sell. Just a kid. You can burn me. You can whip me. You can beat me. But you can’t touch him.”

That condescending and cruel smile remained, still amused, smiling, just smiling away, that damn bloody smile; I wanted to bite it off his face. The pounding inside my brain intensified ever so steadily.

“Tsk, tsk, Monster.” He shook his head mockingly disapproving. “What a bad girl you are. Always wanting this, wanting that.” He extended his long, elegant hand, brushing his finger against the bleeding skin of my cheek; I recoiled from his touch, as if that hand was made of poisonous lava. “That boy is mine. He belongs to me. You belong to me. You know that. You’ve always known that. Stop fighting me, Monster. It’s a losing battle. Stop fighting me. Join me. You’ve got it in you, kiddo, to be like me. So don’t fight it.”

I felt the stingy liquid stain my eyes. No. It was happening again. Not again, not again. I couldn’t let it happen again. He’ll hurt him, my beautiful little brother, so innocent, so sweet. I won’t allow that man to hurt him anymore. I refuse. But I was weak, so weak, my limps made of stone, unable to move. This man with the serpent eyes, I could not let him destroy us any longer. The pounding twisted inside my brain. It was to be born soon. The pounding and the booming, and the white noise and black nothingness.

“No.” I split the muzzle off my face, my nails and fingertips bleeding, the back of my neck stinging where I tore the leather strap. I breathed deep, I drank in his smiles, I ate away at the darkness. “I won’t. I won’t let you touch him. Not again. Never again.” I glared at him viciously. For a moment, a flash in time, he looked frightened, absolutely petrified. His face was suddenly pale, and his smile weakened considerably. Only a moment, just a moment, but from that moment I rose from within the fear and the suffocation. I glared at him nonchalantly.

“What will you do, Monster?” he asked, regaining his composure. “What would you do to protect that precious little boy?” He laughed, and laughed, his voice trembling inside that dark womb, laughing of mocking and taunting. Laughing a serpent’s laugh.

“I’ll eat you.”

And I did.

I threw myself at him; I ripped him apart with my hands, feeling the warm sticky mess on my finger tips, the pure crimson red, so lovely, so haunting, his flesh against my teeth, his heart against my palm, it still beating. I could feel it; I could taste it. I cut him up into pieces, cooked him in a pot for seven days and seven nights. I ate his flesh, and I chewed the bones, I drank the soup, I sucked him marrow-dry. I swallowed him whole.

I ate him, and became a Monster.

The mirage receded.

I suddenly awoke, and ran to the bathroom of the dilapidated motel, vomiting out my innards into the toilet. The spit and saliva dangled from my lips as I gasped for oxygen, drinking the air into my lungs; and I looked over, to see my little brother, still asleep and mute, hidden away from my dark abyss. Ah, good, I’ve kept him away; slowly, I began to calm down. It was just a dream, just another dream, of that era in which I was just a thing bound in unearthly chains, and my sweet little brother was a prisoner of sin.

I sat down on the tiled floor, my back leaning against the wall—it was cool, like that invulnerable metallic prison. I lift my hands to see them trembling—it has not stopped since we escaped there, since I did an unspeakable act. They were clean, but I could still see visibly the crimson stains and smell that putrid scent of rotting flesh—all the perfumes of Arabia would not be able to purify my sinful hands.

“Sis?” I look through the open bathroom door to see my brother sit up, rubbing his eyes childishly. “Sis? Whatcha doing on the ground?”

I smile as I lift myself from the ground, my limbs feeling as if they were melted into quicksand. “Nothing, baby,” I say as I went over to his side, wrapping my stoned-arms around him. “Nothing, baby. Just a bad dream. S’okay. Did I wake you?”

He shook his head. “Uh-un…I had a dream, too. It was about mum.” He smiled lovingly.

I nod, trying hard to keep that insatiable anguish at bay; it was not time to cry yet. I was not allowed to cry. “Well, go dream so more. Sleep, sweetie. Tomorrow, we got a long ride to take.” He nods once again, and I tuck him into bed.

For hours I sat there on that moldy motel bed, gazing at him—so young, so sweet, so pure. Did I keep him from being ruined? I don’t know. I did all I could do; break out of the Serpent’s strangle hold to find some kind of salvation, whether or not it was corrupted. I knew this world, this world of perpetual pretending, was not much different then that hideous cavern, but it was still much cleaner than that place. I lift my trembling hands and gaze at them; their bloodstained texture. I can still remember the feel of him; I can still see those Serpent eyes. I ate him; he’s a part of me now. Eternally, his blood shall run through my veins—I had potential to be like him, and now I am like him, no different, just a Monster. I reach to the marking on the back of my neck; that burnt emblem of seven grotesque letters, that Serpent’s last gift. Such is an appropriate tattoo.

I feel the imprints on my skin, my finger grazing over each letter.

M. O. N. S. T. E. R.

“Oh God.”

I wanted to vomit.