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  1. pDaisy


    It doesn’t take me long once I make up my mind. Like others, I suppose, I am my own worst enemy. I often refuse to see what is right in front of me. This is a flaw of human beings, but as I must remind myself periodically, I am not a human being. I am born as a human, yes, but eventually, I figure out who I really am. Typically it happens in adolescence. As if this time in the life cycle isn’t chaotic enough, I am destined to discover that I am of the perpetually reborn. One whose destiny is tied to the fate of three others and so long as one of them is alive, the others will continue. When the time comes, however, when my eyes are opened after many years, I am ready for the revelation. Not once have I questioned my own sanity. I know instinctively that the history that rushes into my mind is a truth I cannot deny. And so it was, when Luka used my real name, there on the floor, lying beside each other, that my essence was poured back into me, like some giant pitcher of memories was being poured into my soul. This experience, of which I have now relived countless times, has never felt like an outside experience; never from an alien place. It’s more like a barrier that was always there was removed, so I can now see what lies behind. The dam breaks, and that, which was held back for so long, is now rushing into every part of my conscious awareness. It’s not easy. This transition that happens does so in a way that brings with it the knowledge of responsibility. The weight of my history is heavy, and often the burden that the memories bring back to my understanding, is overwhelming for me. I can hide for a time, but always, like now, it becomes impossible to ignore the call of my kin and the necessity to see the souls that I have known through time. Outwardly, like me, their appearance will change, as they too will cycle through lives as we move from age to age. They too will discover in their adolescence exactly who they are, and they too will know the truth of the knowledge that rushes in. In time, we all feel compelled to seek each other out. If we discover that our brother is still a child we will not interfere, we will let them live in the bliss of ignorance that comes with childhood. On the inside, however, they are as recognizable to me as the day we descended from the realm ruled by our Father. I do not know what compels us to find one another, but the need is strong. I do not know even how we find each other, but I am guided, and whether this guidance comes from the Almighty, or if like a goose on migration or a salmon finding it’s home stream, I use the forces of nature to guide me home, the end result is the same. We know when we look upon the other. The recognition is neither questioned nor surprising as we also carry the knowledge that the one we seek knows we approach. The reunion is simple, but joyous, words are not often needed and indeed we will soon begin to communicate without words, as speech is limited in the information it can convey and thoughts are easier and more honest. Much can be communicated in a millisecond when a thought is shared. I can describe it as a cascade that is framed by fear or anticipation or any other feeling or hesitation that may accompany a thought. I find myself sad at times, thinking about the loss, which is experienced every day by humans communicating verbally, but then they are progressing. The evolution of the human species is moving forward, as it should according to grand scheme of our Father. Each generation builds on the next, and yet, there are exceptions, or maybe they aren’t exceptions so much as they are blips in the evolutionary framework working themselves out. Be it the introduction of a new genetic deficit or characteristic that appears from the recesses of the human genome, or an evil that is difficult to comprehend, like genocidal acts or the mass killings that currently plague certain parts of the world, they seem to push the human psyche further up the evolutionary ladder. I do not pretend to know what the Omega’s plan is. This degree of hubris is left to the delusions of a scant few lunatics on the Earth making life difficult for the rest of humanity, be it in advocating for the destruction of people due to who they choose to love or the destruction of a race or nation on something as inconsequential as the colour of ones skin or the way they choose to worship their Maker which, most offensively, is often justified by invoking the very name of `said Maker. I have often pondered how people could possibly believe that their Creator could give a shit about gender or whom people should choose to love, or how chaste the be. Granted cruelty is frowned upon by my species as well as the human race in general, but it is not without acknowledgement that we all have a responsibility to the others with whom we share this realm. But to think that the Creator spends Its time considering or weighing the acts of a human in its earthly existence is to consider this time and place as important as the next, and herein lies a delusion born of arrogance. A being that is all things cares very little of the distinction between man and woman, but in the minds of a species, and indeed a world of species, that is based on this distinction, it seems natural for them to attempt to arrange a hierarchy of status. It begs the question, however, of whether this arrangement lends itself to ever getting to a place of true equality. Where the male in this society feels like they are exactly the same as the female, where the necessity and righteousness of coming to a conclusion of one being in two halves is actually recognized, and that this distinction is not about the parts of the anatomy that people perceive to fit or not fit together. Suggesting that one being entering another is based on anything other but desire and affection, is ludicrous. Indeed the species must internalize the notion of propagation, but this only goes so far. All species on the Earth, with one exception, reach a point of balance within the environment in which it exists, and when it reaches this ideal, the idea of propagation becomes unnecessary for the whole. Instead it relies on the few to continuing the population for the many. So the idea that two beings of the same gender should not enjoy each other physically or otherwise is illogical nonsense. Who am I to judge the human species? What grants me this power? What gives me the right to decide what is nonsense and what is righteous? God does. For it is my Father and Mother, the Alpha and the Omega, both sides of the same coin, that grant me with the power to judge. It doesn’t mean I have to like it of course. My task is to simply accept that it is what is. But, like all beings, I too am flawed. I too seek out the way to shirk my responsibility and run away from the reality of my own existence. It is my quest to discover a way for me to leave this behind, and in doing so reject my own creator. And this really is at the heart of my escape that I have spent years in the perfection of, be that in the despair of heroin addiction or the pleasure of spreading my seed so the world can see. This is my “fuck you” to my single parent upbringing, while at the same time accepting the gifts bestowed upon me by my creator. What a hypocrite I am, and in this I have a lot of company. So it comes to pass that when my hypocrisy is pointed out that I begin again my search for the others of my kind. If I thought about it enough I could pinpoint at this very moment the locations of my three brothers around the world. The family connection is unmistakable. It’s embedded in my psyche and at times, when the itch is at its greatest it claws at my brain hoping to get out. It’s a second skin of sorts, except it’s the inner skin and I feel it shiver in anticipation at the thought of meeting another immortal. The ones I have met countless times before. The ones that remind me that I am but a reckless child, who goes off and throws a tantrum every few hundred years, and who sulks in his isolation for fear of living up to his potential. Come to me. I collapsed immediately and felt the tears bursting through my eyes. The voice was so powerful I vomited on the floor between my hands. Every crevice inside me was filled with His power. I collapsed in a heap on the floor and curled in a ball attempting to stop the vibration of my cells. I have not heard this voice for millennia. At times I thought I would never hear it again, but as it reverberated through my hollow bones, it filled me with love for the being that created me. How could I doubt? How could I be so flawed that I forgot the connection to my Father. How could I be so stupid as to throw away the gift that was granted to me, and waste my time on the escapes of the human lifestyle? I had forgotten my purpose. There was a demand, an urgency that forced its way into my consciousness and I swallowed the feeling that my stomach would once again revolt against the onslaught of the voice that filled every space within each of the cells that made up my form. Yes Father, I replied on instinct, and immediately searched for the three of my kin that would be looking to answer this call as I was. They were there of coarse; distant points of light, making up a constellation that few would see. There are those that believe in our presence, those that sense who we are, that know when we enter a room full of people that the shift that occurs is due to the presence of something greater than what used to be in the room. They are in tune it seems with this difference and some even readily identify us. Not as angels, not as the fallen, nor even as godly creations as their knowing is most often couched in intense fear of this understanding, but of difference, and sometimes they go so far as to connect with the idea that we are not human, but this is rare. “Who are you?” I looked at her puzzled as to why she would ask me such a question. “This is rather a forward question from someone whom I have not been introduced to.” “You need no introduction death walker,” she said in a voice so confident of the knowledge of her truth that it literally forced me to take a step back. “What did you call me?” It was asked not because I did not hear what she claimed of me, but that I was stunned that she knew. Who would have knowledge of what I was? It was impossible to sort out and I felt myself becoming angry. I rushed toward her and seized upon her throat to demand the answers I sought, but in my haste I utterly forewent the withholding of my own speed and strength and this was enough to crush the life from her. She stared at me as her last breath left her body, and it angered me even more that I failed to glean any information from the human that knew me, but whose precious life I had just taken in a moment of fear. She slumped in my grasp and as the guilt of what happened began to wash over me, I saw, as I do, her soul leave her body. I dropped the shell I was holding and cradled the soul that left the husk it knew for many years. There is no malice in death. The soul was not afraid of me. It did not resent me for ending it’s physical form, and truth be told, I have killed thousands, and have felt very little for the lives of those I have dispatched. I care for their souls, however, and I rejoice in the knowledge that they will meet their maker, but I will also feel the more mortal shame of knowing that I prematurely ended a being’s existence on the earthly plain and that I doom the soul to repeat a life most likely before being granted final admittance into the realm that our Father has created to house the souls of the generations previous. The shell is unimportant. It acts as a vessel, and some treat that vessel through their life with care and others do not, but it makes no difference in the end. We do not feel remorse for the chrysalis that the butterfly breaks to make its dramatic entry into the world, and so too, we do not need to mourn for the human form, it is but the casing, which holds the treasure. This, however, is lost on the human species. They are blinded by their own sight, and see little beyond. They judge the too fat, the too skinny, the too tall, the too short, the too dark, and the too light. On and on their judgments condemn these vessels to unspeakable cruelty. Where they should be bowing to the contents within and not let the shell distract them, they choose instead to focus on the pretty or not, the ugly or not. They force their attention to the unimportant, and allow their petty politics and superficial differences to obliterate the knowledge of what they carry. This is the task that I am charged with. This is the reason for my judgment. My task is to carry out the instructions of the Maker, and to put an end to the divisions that seek to destroy the greatest civilization in earth’s history, the human civilization. And make no mistake; it walks on the edge of a knife. My Father’s call was not far from my consciousness as I reached out again to make contact with the distant point of my kin. Shedding my shirt I opened the large windows of my loft on the Manhattan skyline, and climbed to the rooftop patio that sits seven stories above the city. It was nearly three o’clock in the morning and still this city was noisy and bustling outside my home. I took comfort in this noise, in the darkness of the sky, the crisp air of the autumn season. Soon the leaves would fall from the maples and oaks that lined the streets below, and the hand of the Oak God would unfurl and cast its spell upon the landscape turning it white and soft. I love New York in the winter. The snow settled on top of the responsibility that fell of my shoulders; insulating myself from my calling. But it was always only a temporary reprieve. The orientation of the surrounding buildings meant I had privacy for the transformation that took hold of my body for the first time in almost three years. If you looked closely you can see the faint scars that run in two vertical lines from inner curve of my shoulder blades next to my spine, to halfway down my back. They have been white for sometime, but this is only because they have not been in use. Their purpose is to encase the wings of my kind, and they fold neatly within a casing inside my physical form. This necessitates a certain stature for all my kin. You will not find one among us that is shorter than 7 feet. Our bones, like the birds that often fly with us when they see us in the sky, are mostly hollow, and our organs are efficient at processing the minerals and vitamins in food quickly. My organs are smaller than most human organs, and this serves the function of accommodating for the large cavity of our wings. I need not eat regularly, but I enjoy the flavour of food as it has evolved in the various tastes of the cultural groups of the world. My favorite is the spice of India. I have lived there many times as a result of my love of the culture and its souls. There is a peace there that I do not find in New York, but that peace is elusive when the burden of my kind weighs so heavily on me, and as a result it taints my love of both the food and the peace. As so I hide, in the noise of this great city that was once so very peaceful itself, when I think back to the trees and the clean ocean and the beaches that lined the shoreline hundreds of years ago in the very spot that now houses the building on which I stand. I unfurled my aching wings. They trembled with an excitement to take to the sky, and I shook my feathers violently as they moved into place, overlapping each other and settling in the strong wind coming from the north. Like any being with wings, we are never truly satisfied unless we feel the wind ruffling our feathers. We orient into the wind naturally, and in this place we can feel the magnetic energy running in lines through the earth; it is a map of the world that is ingrained in our consciousness. I used this sense to take bearing on the first of my brethren. To the winged, the undulations and calculations of landmasses mean very little other than markers on the path to where we are travelling. I have witnessed the strength of geese moving through the sky for a thousand miles, and have felt their calm, quiet minds, focused solely on reaching their destination. They are blessed with a singularity of purpose that I find compelling. Their souls are at peace with who they are. They are all I strive to be. I once found myself flying with them for nine hours in formation. Like the others I would rotate in line when I was instructed to do so by the leader. A group of thirty or so was migrating together, and they would occasionally call to others in the distance, but would always continue to move forward, and did not stop. I estimate our altitude was nearly 6 kilometers. A single unspoken shift took place, and the leader dropped back, and the others would be one step closer to the lead. I dropped from formation when I came to the head of the flock, as I did not know where they were going, just that they accepted me, knowing my intent was simply to be part of their flock for a little while, and not meaning them any harm. Although we are not the same species, we are alike, and I feel closer to them, then to most humans, save one. I used the power of my legs to launch myself upward and instantly my wings spread and moved as of their own accord to aid me in gaining altitude. I would fly higher today in search of the current that would take me to where I needed to go with the speed that was necessary. My father had called to my brothers and I, and waiting was not an option. I would be expected to converge on the location of the one that was closest to all of us, and that would mean that my journey would take me north up the Eastern coast of Canada to find the polar jet stream and then off across the Atlantic to London.
  2. Lol, I Could totally relate to your main character running around cleaning everything in the anticipation of his friend arriving. god knows how many times I have felt that excitement.
  3. pDaisy

    The best news ever

    I grew up in small town (900 people) Northern Saskatchewan, couldn't tell anyone that I liked guys, headed to Vancouver after high school at 17 to find my self! I have written a number of stories with Canadian themes and I always appreciated the home connection when I have a chance to read it; there's just something about home that speaks to me. Coincidentally, I found one of those gay skin magazines in an abandoned car on a neighbouring property when I was about 14, and glued the pages together over the next few years, lol. Thanks for the nostalgia, and and an interesting first chapter. Pink.
  4. Happy Birthday, Daisy! 


    I hope you're having a great day! :)

    1. pDaisy


      :) I certainly am Lisa thank you!

    2. pDaisy


      Thank you Headstall!  I did have a wonderful birthday.  Pink.

  5. Happy Birthday!

    1. pDaisy


      :) thank you Daddydavek.  Pink.

  6. “All rise! The Honourable Justice Harvey Billingsworth presiding.” “Please be seated,” the judge announced to the packed courtroom, and the shuffling of benches and chairs reverberated throughout the wooden hall as people settled themselves. Victor glanced around nervously hoping for some way to get himself out of this mess. Thinking furiously he hoped that others in the courtroom would be called first so he would have more time to figure this out. "Dorothy, whose first on the list?" the judge asked his court clerk. "The matter of the Crown versus Dr. Victor Frankenstein, Your Honour." she shouted across the room. Victor groaned inwardly and moved up to the desk he was pointed toward by the bailiff standing in the corner. "Does the prosecution wish to proceed with the matter?" the judge asked the dude in a wig standing at the table to his right. "Yes Your Honour, Mr. David Harrington for the prosecution. We believe we have more than enough evidence to proceed with an immediate trial." "Objection! Objection!" All eyes suddenly swivelled to the door, and a collective gasp wrung out as a berobed and bewigged Igor shuffled slowly and loudly, grunting with each step toward the dais. The judge looked over the top of his spectacles and down his nose at the shuffling mass coming towards him. "And what exactly are you objecting to sir, this proceeding hasn't even started?" Victor turned a cynical eye toward Igor as he made his way forward. "What the hell are you doing? Do you want to get me hung?" he hissed under his breath. "Watch and learn Doc," Igor winked covertly and attempted to straighten himself up as much as his massive hump would let him. "Apologies to Your Honour and his courtroom," Igor bowed awkwardly. "Igor Willington the 3rd, representing the defence. My objection is based on a trial going forward without my client having the necessary representation in place to offer a plea. Since I am now here, I withdraw my objection and offer a plea of Not Guilty on all charges your Honour! "Hmmm... very well, but I warn you Mr. Willington, no more outbursts in my courtroom." "I wouldn't think of it Your Honour." Igor respond humbly, quelling the ire of the judge. "Mr. Harrington, please proceed." "Thank you, Your Honour." The prosecutor rose, placing both hands on the lapels of his robes as he moved toward the centre of the room. "In the depths of the night, an evil night, I might add," the courtroom pulled back and gasped, "this man," he shouted with a pointed finger at Victor, "did willfully... and egregiously violate the very sanctity of our moral fortitude, by attempting to dig up the grave of our dearly departed friend and local blacksmith apprentice, Lenny Johnstone. Affectionately known as Smithy." The prosecutor wiped a fake tear from his eye and dramatically swept his robes as he pivoted on his foot to face the judge once again. "Your Honour, he was found with shovel in hand by our very constable on the night in question, and shackled immediately, and brought to the stockade where he has been languishing in his shame for two nights until this glorious morning! I rest my case." and he sat down on his chair dramatically, to the applause of the gathered crowd. Igor, along with the rest of the courtroom was on his feet applauding, much to the disgust of Victor who was pulling his robe in an attempt to get him to sit down. "Your not helping when you applaud for the prosecution Igor!" "A little trust would go a long way here Doc." Igor turned back to the court and continued clapping long after everyone else in the courtroom had seated themselves again. "Mr. Willington, are you supporting the position of the Crown?" the judge asked. "No Your Honour I simply thought it was an appropriate show of respect for the soliloquy that my learned colleague must have practiced for hours to get just right. Most affective." he concluded sarcastically and the courtroom erupted into laughter. "Order, Order!" The judge struck his gavel repeatedly to calm the spectators down. "Another outburst like that and I will clear the courtroom." He turned his eye toward Igor. "You've been warned once, and you are bordering on being thrown out of my court and summarily having your client in chains." "Again I beg the courts apology," Igor bowed, and continued, "I call the good constable to the stand." "Objection!" this time it was the protection's turn to be outraged. "The defence can clearly see that the Constable is not here, as he is tending to his duties. Is the defence suggesting that the constable has lied in his documentation on the matter?" He turned an accusing eye on Igor, which the judge matched. Igor stood, "Your Honour I could not call the constable a liar if I wanted to, as he is not here today. Perhaps I could cross examine the documents he submitted, as in my understanding of the laws governing this land, my client has a right to face his accuser." He sat down with a satisfied smirk on his face, and a look of surprise on Victor's. The judge sat back to consider his statement, and turned his attention back to the prosecutor. "Objection overruled." The prosecutor sucked in his breath and turned an evil eye on Igor. Igor once again rose to address the court. "Then I would like all charges dropped, due to lack of evidence, Your Honour." The judge considered the request glancing back at the prosecutor who was nervously awaiting the decision. "No. The documents will stand as is. Do you have any thing else to submit in defence of your client?" Igor glanced at Victor whose hard stare confirmed that he was thinking murderous thoughts of him. "Yes Your Honour," his voice rang out in the courtroom. "I call Mr. Miles Davidson to the stand." There was a small shuffling of one chair as a small, thin man of at least 70 years, slowly made his way to the dais, and took his seat in the witness stand to the judge's right. The judge turned to the man. "Please raise your right hand sir," the judge instructed. The man did so. "Do you swear to tell there truth, the whole truth, so help you God?" "I do." the man said. "Please state your name and occupation for the court." "Mr. Miles Davidson, undertaker." "Thank you Mr. Davidson. Mr. Willington, your witness." "Thank you, Your Honour." Igor said as he raised himself up and shuffled toward the man. "Mr Davidson, did you have, in the recent past, any occasion to meet my client?" Victor moved forward in his seat eager to hear what the man would say. From his recollection, he had never met the man. "Yes, sir. Not four days ago, when he came and buried his good father, a man I knew well." There was a collective sigh of compassion from the audience, which the judge looked annoyed at, but ignored. "And where, good sir, is Dr. Alphonse Frankenstein buried?" "Not three hundred feet from the hole that young Dr. Frankenstein was found in two nights ago." Victor sat back with a small smile on his face. "Thank you sir, Your Honour, I would like to call my client, the esteemed, Dr. Victor Frankenstein, to the stand." The judge dismissed the undertaker, and swore in Victor as he took the stand. "State your name and occupation for the court," the judge instructed Victor. "Dr. Victor Frankenstein, I am a medical doctor specializing in genetics." There was an intake of breath from the crowd as they tried to figure out what that was. "Your witness," the judge said to Igor. "Tell me, good doctor, were you or were you not highly intoxicated on the night in question?" "Objection your Honour," the prosecutor called from his chair, "Perhaps my learned colleague would like to be sworn in before he offers testimony?" "Objection sustained, do not lead the witness." "Point taken Your Honour," Igor acquiesced, but the fix was in. "Dr. Frankenstein, please tell us how you came to be discovered on the night in question digging a grave in the local cemetery?" Victor picked up his cue and turned on his tears. "I drowned myself in drink that evening, I am ashamed to say. Overcome with my grief at losing my father, a man who nurtured and stood by my side for many years and who had been taken away from me prematurely by the white plague, I wanted, in my stupor, to look upon his face once more. I went to what I thought was his grave for this reason." The prosector was desperate, and jumped to his feet sensing a losing battle. "And why did you not mention this to anyone at the time?" "I did Your Honour, but the constable refused to hear my explanations, choosing instead to ignore my protests, and being more concerned with locking me in irons." The prosecutor sat down defeated. "I rest my case, Your Honour." Igor returned to his table and stood waiting. The judge considered what was before him. "Given that we do not have the constable here to dispute your testimony," he glanced reproachingly at the prosecutor who looked away sheepishly, "I have no choice but to dismiss all charges against you. You are free to go." And the crowd erupted in applause, again to the annoyance of the judge, but he chose to ignore it and retired to his chambers. "Let's get out of here, and you can make me some of that stew Igor." Igor looked at Victor with a raised eyebrow. "Not even a thank you Victor for saving your ass, or buying off a drunken undertaker, or digging a grave with no body in it and marking it with your long dead father's name?" Victor looked taken aback, "What? I would have probably done the same for you," he stated flatly. "Really? Would you really have done the same for me, or would you have laughed while I rotted in irons, behind a cell door?" Victor looked uncomfortable and shuffled back and forth from one foot to the other, not meeting Igor's eyes. "That's what I thought. Perhaps, Victor, maybe once in your life, you could turn your many skills away from the dead and attend to those that are living." Victor watched in shame as Igor shuffled out of the courtroom slipping off his wig and leaving it on the courtroom floor.
  7. "Master? Master!" Igor yelled enthusiastically, his voice reverberating off the cold stone walls of Victor's castle. He slammed the heavy door behind him and pulled the giant lever beside the door tripping the mechanism that held a large bag of sand nearly 20 feet high in the air. As it dropped, the rope it was attached to went through a series of pulleys, and turned the gears that moved the giant steel beam into place, settling it into its iron brackets ensuring no one could storm the door down. He shuffled in his spasmodic, lurching way, heaving his prize one foot at a time, over the cobbles unceremoniously, leaving streaks of dirt in a trail behind him. "Master?" he tried again, louder than before. "Stop yelling Igor, I'm sure the neighbours can hear you across the entire valley! I, however, am only in the dining room around the corner, so your screams are not necessary," came Victor's annoyed reply. "Ah, thank you Master," Igor continued around the corner pulling his prize. "Doctor I have a surprise for you. I spent nearly all night retrieving it. He hauled the heavy package to a spot at the feet of the good Dr. Frankenstein. He dropped the end he was holding suddenly and the package thudded loudly against the bricks in the floor. Victor studied the outline of the heavy, black, canvas cloth and a smile spread on his face. He needed some good news after having to lay low ever since the trial nearly a week ago. He turned to face his faithful companion. "Is this what I think it is Igor?" Victor rubbed his hands together and his eyes took on a maniacal quality reserved only for his finest moments. "Yes Master, a new body. And I made sure no one was near when I dug it up. I replaced it with that smelly corpse downstairs, as it was starting to get a bit gamey in the dungeon." "Yes, yes, quite right Igor. You did very well. Very well indeed. I'd kiss your hump if you washed more," Victor complimented his companion of many years. "Oh Master, you don't have to do that," Igor blushed. "Shall I put the body on the stone table in the laboratory?" "Yes please Igor, and right away. I don't want to lose any more time. Is it a young one?" "I believe so Doctor maybe 23, or 24." "Oh perfect, a fine specimen I'm sure," Victor became excited and trailed Igor closely as the body thumped down each of the winding, stone stairs toward it's destination in Victor's huge laboratory 2 storeys into the earth. The lab was always full of bubbling potions of some sort or another and when Igor entered he cast a weary eye around the great expanse to make sure something wouldn't jump out at him, or blow up if he accidentally knocked it over. God knows he did that enough times with his troublesome gait necessitating a precarious wobble to his shuffle. He passed a long wooden table with beakers of different coloured liquids in them. Some were smoking away, and others burped occasionally and spat out some of their contents onto the surrounding surface. Another oddity was the ever burning flame that hovered over a canister of something that smelled as evil as it looked. There were various iron contraptions hanging from each of the walls, the specific uses of which eluded Igor, but he relished the day when he caught a live human and got to use the medieval cages to discover just how painful each could be. His eyes lingered briefly on the coiled wires and tubing that connected whoever happened to be the Doctor's latest victim, via an iron helmet, to the large spike that sat atop the highest point of the castle. It was this point which was struck the most by lightening, and would allow the Doctor to animate the beings he brought into existence in this room. He was mad no doubt in Igor's mind, but he was also brilliant, as no one else came close to achieving the Doctor's goal of having control over the very essence of man, life itself. A smaller man would not attempt such an atrocity, but Victor Frankenstein was not just any man. Igor finally stopped parallel to the table and hurled the body up, one-armed, onto the large slab that was currently oriented horizontally, but occasionally, when the good Doctor was ready for a test of his latest experiment, Igor would be instructed to turn the large steel wheel located at the midpoint of the table and attached to chains that made their way under the table and would slowly inch the large slab in a vertical manner. Victor always said it was to ensure that his creation could walk away when they breathed life for the first time, but inevitably it would not be necessary as something or other would go wrong, and poor Victor would be heartbroken for a week afterwards. "Not too heavy I trust, for such a strong lad like you Igor, no? Victor cooed to his only assistant. "No Victor, quite manageable thank you." Igor drooled, but his slobber hid a small smile. "Good, good... now be a good Igor and untie the bag for me." Victor was mesmerized with the lines and curves he saw beneath the canvas cover and was anticipating the chalk white, hard limbs beneath at any moment. Igor, true to his nature and devotion to his boss, did what he was asked and pulled the canvas cover viscously off the body exposing it for the first time to the light. Victor stared at what was before him on his table, not moving a muscle. After some tense moments, he turned slowly to face Igor and noticed the smirk he now saw readily on his helpers face. "Ah... Igor?" "Ya boss?" Igor asked innocently. "It's a woman," Victor said dangerously with an edge of anger to his voice, unmistakeable to his hunchback. Igor looked to the corpse and then back to the Doctor, "Uh... ya, see she's got tities." Igor smiled and poked the corpse in the breast. Victor could barely manage to contain himself and turned to stalk away toward the door. "Gross!" he managed before he hit the stairs. "Aw, come on boss, I thought it would give you a laugh! Maybe she can dance?" Igor said hopefully. "Get that thing out of my sight, Igor." Igor got irritated and the doctor's mood got the better of him, never being able to satisfy the perfectionist he slaved for. "We all know why you want a man, Doc!" Igor yelled at Victor freezing him in his tracks, but remaining with his back to Igor. "I don't know what you mean," he said quietly. "Look Doc it's not a big deal, it's 1818 people are different now, it's not like your gonna get burned a the stake for liking a guy! And I don't judge you Doc, it's me and you here. Mano e mano, huh! Just admit it, you'd be much happier Victor." "I can't believe I'm hearing this," and Victor stormed out of the laboratory and up the winding staircase. "It get's better Victor, just remember that for when you're ready!" Igor added helpfully though the good doctor was halfway up the stairs.
  8. Figured I would write something for the season lol. Glad you are enjoying the read Cafe. Pink.
  9. pDaisy

    Here's Steve!

    glad you are appreciating the read. More awkwardness to come yet in this series. Pink.
  10. Moses? Mooossssseeessss? God whispered lightly into the mind of his most devoted. Moses roused himself from a dream and looked around in the dark. “Is anyone there?” he asked. It’s me Moses. Time to get up, we have work to do, you and I. “Yes my Lord. I am honoured Sire, what shall we do?” Come to the mountaintop this morning and we shall speak there, and bring your papyrus. The people know that I am here, be quick. “The mountaintop, Wise One, you mean the mountain I was just on the other day?” The very same, now quit wasting time, I don’t have all day you know. “You’re welcome to make the day longer my Lord, maybe I could finish my sleep then? Moses, get your ass up that hill! “Yes my Lord, right away.” Moses rubbed the film from his weary eyes, straightened out his robe and packed a cheese, some bread, and a skin of water for the journey. Looking to the sky Moses could see the gathering clouds, and the streaks of lightning, and hear the trumpets announcing the arrival of the Almighty. All morning, through the afternoon sun, and into the cool of the evening, it took Moses to climb the familiar path. This was the second time in a few days that Moses had climbed to the peak. The first time, Moses recalled, was an arduous journey which when accomplished was rewarded with a message to the people in the desert far below to get themselves ready. Moses had to climb all the way down again to tell them to clean themselves and prepare for word from their Lord. A message, Moses thought, not even a crust of bread or some wine to wash it down with. Finally at the summit he waited patiently on a large rock beside the remnants of a blackened bush. Ah Moses, you have made it. Moses rolled his eyes. I have a message for the people of the desert. Return to them at once and tell them not to follow you up the mountain. Moses shook his head and tried to consider what to say. “Um… my Lord, no one has followed me up the mountain. They are too scared to speak with you, they fear you my Sire. “ God paused a moment and Moses waited to feel the wrath of God’s displeasure. Right well, they need to be told, and after they have been… come up the mountain again and we will chat some more. Moses’ mouth dropped open. “Sire you wish me to go down the mountain, to tell everyone who hasn’t followed me up the mountain, that they shall not follow me up the mountain? And then after I have told them, you want me to walk back up the mountain, which I will have already walked up twice previously?” Good Man Moses, I knew you’d get it eventually! “Yes Sire,” Moses said dryly. And so… once again… Moses made his way down the mountain to tell everyone that they should not follow him up the mountain. The people looked at him in confusion and replied, “But Moses, no one followed you up the mountain.” “I know, I know, just do as you are told, so sayeth the Lord!” Moses’ nerves were starting to fray. “I have to go back up the mountain,” he announced, “but no one follow me!” The people grew concerned for the old man as he replenished his supplies and turned around to head back up the mountain. After a third journey, an exhausted Moses reached the summit and sat, once again, while waiting on the Lord to speak with him. Moses you’re back. Good man! Okay take out your papyrus; I want you to write some things down. “Ah… my papyrus Sire?” Yes Moses papyrus, you know the stuff you use to write things on? The papyrus I expressly told you to bring with you on this journey? That papyrus. “Yes my Lord, I am familiar with papyrus, but I have none with me. I seem to have forgotten to pack it my Lord,” Moses cringed as he anticipated another trip down the mountain and then back up the mountain. Hmmm… well no matter, I will write them down for you. “Oh… well, that’s very nice of you my Lord,” Moses was rather surprised that God would be so generous with his own papyrus. Don’t thank me yet Moses. Moses didn’t like the sound of that. Let’s get on with it shall we? “Yes my Lord,” Moses said cautiously. Alrighty then, I have a number of rules that I expect my people to follow. Moses sat and listened for hours to the Lord as he set out the many commandments that would govern the people as they followed the word of their God in Heaven. He found himself thankful that he didn’t bring his writing supplies as the rules were many, and he didn’t know how he would possibly write them all down. Don’t worry Moses, God interrupted his thoughts, the words of the first 10 commandments are the most important and these I have written for you. You will find them in the bush next to the rock you sit on. Moses hunted through the bush until he found two large stone tablets, each engraved by the hand of God. “Ah… my Lord?” Yes Moses? God responded innocently. “They seem to be on stone Sire… and quite heavy.” Really? Hmmm… well maybe next time you are requested an audience with your Maker you will see fit to bring your writing supplies I think, yes? “Yes, my Lord,” Moses replied sheepishly. Sufficiently chastised, Moses carried the two stone tablets down the mountain to tell the people of the words of God… and to remind them to always carry their papyrus with them.
  11. pDaisy


    Definitely more to come on this story. Thanks for reading.
  12. pDaisy


    Funny how we can cry for people we never even get to meet. Thanks for allowing me a glimpse into what you experienced. Pink.
  13. pDaisy

    Chapter 1

    I am very interested in moments in time. Particularly the slices of life that help us come to meaning or conclusion about the big questions in life. Thanks for the look inside. Pink.
  14. Stepping through the cathedral-like entry they spotted a guard and approached him to ask for the administration office. Matt’s German language skills didn’t seem to be lacking any, but it was a bit much to get excited by everything he experienced so Andrew held his awe in check so they could accomplish what they were there for. Truth be told, Andrew felt like he was a spy in a movie and was on some great adventure, just like Jason Borne, or James Bond. It was thrilling. They entered the office around the corner from the guard and once again Matt approached first. “Excuse me, could you direct me to the archives section of the museum please, where you keep your manuscripts.” “I’m sorry sir that section is not open to the public.” She was all business, and despite her accent her English was superb. Matt paused, “Excuse me, could you direct me to the archives section of the museum please.” Although Matt repeated his earlier statement something was different about the way he said it. “Certainly sir, right this way.” She opened a small door in the counter and invited both of them through. Andrew was confused and as he and Matt followed the woman through the back hallways of the museum, and he poked Matt in the ribs to get his attention. “Ow, what are you doing back there,” Matt hissed back at him. “What the hell was that? First she said no and then she waltzed us through the damn door? What just happened?” “I just added a little persuasion to the request that’s all.” Matt whispered back. Andrew thought for a second and then pulled Matt’s arm so he stopped and turned back to face him. Looking as serious as possible Andrew passed his hand before Matt’s eyes, “These are not the droids you’re looking for,” he stated in his best Obi-Wan Kenobi impression. Then he tried to suppress his giggles. “Really?” Matts expression was full of faux disgust, “A Star Wars reference as we are breaking into a museum. You think this is the appropriate time?” He turned back and followed the woman again. “Well I thought it fit,” Andrew justified and continued to snicker to himself. It didn’t take long for the woman to reach the end of a long hallway and pressed a button to an elevator door. “You can go back now, thank you.” Matt impressed upon her. “Certainly sir,” she chimed, “you’ll find the archives on level B3.” “Danke schön,” Matt was as polite as ever. She left them and the elevator arrived and took them down to the floor of the archives. The elevator opened and showed them an expanse of a room. It must have occupied the entire square footage of the building three floors above them. It was filled with row on row of paper stacks and file folders. “Well this should be fun,” Andrew sighed. “Want to try the force again Obi?” Matt gave him a sour look, and scanned the stacks in front of him. It was easy enough to figure out the categorization of the documents was by date. “What was the date of publication of the documents you were reading online?” Andrew reached into his pocket and retrieved a crumpled piece of paper. “1431 AD." “Hmmm… this way,” Matt headed off to the left scanning the numbers on the shelves as he walked by the rows of paper. He entered a particular row and asked, “Author?” “Drukheim.” Matt stopped and turned back to look at Andrew. “Ansel Drukheim?” Andrew looked at the paper again. “A. Drukheim,” he confirmed. “You know this dude?” “Not personally, but someone I know had a connection to Ansel Drukheim. I haven’t heard the name for hundreds of years.” "He wasn't the original author, if that makes a difference.” "What do you mean?" "Well, it was a collection of pieces that Durkheim summarized." Andrew followed again as Matt scanned the shelves and eventually pulled down a large bundle of loose papers tied together in a stack with twine. Matt plopped the sheaf of paper on a metal table at the end of the row and pulled at the neatly tied string bow. He looked down at the flowing hand-written script. “The Writings of Ansel Drukheim,” he read the title out load. “He wrote it in an obscure dialect of East Slavic. Not many people in Berlin at the time would have been able to read it. In fact,” he pondered, “not many people in the world today would even recognize the language.” He leafed through the stack of papers, occasionally stopping to read a paragraph or two and pulled out about twenty or so loose leafs. “What are we looking for exactly that we couldn’t find online?” Andrew inquired. Matt smiled and held up a sheaf of smaller paper with a clip in the corner holding them together. “This,” he stated triumphantly, and put it on the other papers he pulled from the stack. He then collected the remaining paper back into a neat bundle, tied it up again with the twine, and returned it to its place among the archive. “You’re not going to take that out of here?” Andrew was slightly aghast at the thought of removing an archive from the museum. “I am.” Matt said in a matter-of-fact manner, and led them back to the elevator. They walked out of the museum, paper in hand, and no one once questioned their passing. Andrew suspected all along that they would be surrounded by security at any moment. Once outside again in the warm air and breeze off of the river Spree, Andrew felt like he could breath again. This spy business was exhausting, and he was starving. “I need to eat.” “Let’s walk over to Alex, we can get a Currywurst.” “A what?” “ A Currywurst, it’s a pork sausage smothered in totally bad for you curry barbecue sauce. I don’t know what it is about this city, but you can’t come here without having one.” They made it to Alexanderplatz in very little time after they crossed the Spree and bought their sausage at one of the many outlets serving them in the square, and sat at a bench overlooking the hundreds of people milling about the plaza and the tourists taking selfies in front of the world clock. Andrew thought about what they all didn’t know, all going about their lives in blissful ignorance of what was in front of them. Looking at the stack of papers under Matt’s paper bowl, containing the sweet and spicy sausage, he considered the purpose of their trip once more. “So what exactly did we accomplish with this highly illegal trip?” “Well,” Matt spoke around a mouthful of sausage that he was eagerly consuming with the aid of a small plastic fork. “Back to the translation that you were looking at, what was the name of the translator?” Andrew considered the question and shook his head. “I don’t know actually, I only ever read some of the scrawled notes that were in the margins of the photocopied originals. They seemed unimpressed with the detail of the work, and considered it a work of poor quality fiction.” “You’ve picked up more than most would from a translation of a document. They are notoriously tight lipped about identifying themselves.” “So what’s the big deal about who it was that translated the information?” “Document translators have an interesting history, and a place of some power.” “How so?” Andrew’s curiosity was piqued. “Well when something was translated it often was translated for a specific purpose, for a reason relevant to the person hiring the translator. So…” Andrew finished for him, “if you know who the translator is, it can give you a clue as to the purpose of the translation.” “Precisely.” Matt said with a smile on his face. Andrew’s eyed him warily, “What do you know?” Matt slid the small paper-clipped bundle toward Andrew, who picked it up and started leafing through the pages. “The only thing I’ve found consistently on each page is the small EJC circled in the corner or every page.” “And what would those three letters be doing on every page?” Andrew thought hard. “Identifying the translator, so when the document is reviewed for accuracy they have the name of the original translator!” Andrew got excited and looked to Matt for confirmation that he was correct. Matt smiled and nodded. “Now all we have to do,” Andrew reasoned, “is figure out who was translating in Berlin at that time, and we should be able to find a clue as to their intentions.” “We might not have to make it that hard on ourselves.” “Why? What else do you know?” “Take my hand,” Matt smiled. “Oh God, where are we going now?” Matt only smiled in answer. Reluctantly he placed his hand in Matt’s and felt the swoon of his environment being replaced by another. They were inside an office. The plush furnishings seemed familiar to Andrew. “Are we back at Eagles Nest?” Matt approached the phone on the desk and pressed a button. It rang over speakerphone and a woman answered. “I didn’t realize you were coming back so soon Matt, what do you need?” Jack’s distinct Eastern European accent was unmistakable. “Hey Jacks, can you join me in my office please?” “On my way.” It was only 30 seconds before she knocked quietly on the door and entered without a word from Matt. “Andrew, nice to see you again.” She said on entering and seeing him standing close to where Matt was sitting at his desk. “Andrew,” Matt began, “I don’t think I ever formally introduced you. Meet Elena Jacqueline Constanin, initials: E.J.C.” Jacks smiled, but she was suspicious of what was going on. Andrew’s mouth hung open, and he looked down at the small sheaf of papers he was holding to confirm what Matt had just disclosed. Her eyes followed his to the stack of papers in his hand. If she recognized what he held, she gave no indication. “I don’t understand,” Jacks said confused looking from one of them to the other. “Would you like to do the honors?” Matt looked at Andrew. “Uh. Jacks, can you explain this?” Andrew handed her the stack of papers. She took the papers and leafed through them, a look of recognition coming over her face. “Where did you get these?” She looked up at the both of them. Matt looked to Andrew. “I was working with a translated document about the Arcana, doing research about the family that seems to have it out for me, for some reason, and Matt suggested we go to Berlin to find the original for some clue as to who translated the document. We found your initials on the notes pages. I didn’t realize it was you until just now.” He shot a dirty look at Matt who just smirked back. “I haven’t seen these pages for many years. I thought they were lost in a fire that burned the coven house I was living in at the time.” Her eyes were downcast. She looked at Matt apologetically. “Wicce.” Matt looked at her, and she acknowledged his statement by nodding slightly, and kept her eyes down. Andrew was confused, “Sorry, I missed that.” “Witch, Andrew. Our Jacks here is a witch." “What the fuck! Are you serious? First I have to hear that my boyfriend is older than the country I live in, and now I find out that his assistant is a witch! An actual fucking witch!!! Who are you people?” Matt threw his hands up in the air and plopped himself down on the soft leather sofa against the wall. “What the hell have I gotten myself into? You’d think I could pick a boyfriend who was somewhat close to me in age, whose family wasn’t trying to end me, and whose assistant couldn’t turn me into a god damn frog!!!” “Calm down Andrew,” Matt encouraged. “I think we need to hear an explanation from our witchy friend.” He looked at Jacks with an upraised eyebrow. Jacks took a plush chair situated in front of Matt’s desk. “Where do I begin?” “How about the part where you become a witch?” Andrew asked sarcastically. “Well that comes after I wrote these papers, so I suspect you want to hear about that first?” She looked at Matt who nodded in agreement. Jacks took a breath and began… “In 1429, an order was created in the heart of Europe. It was in response to the political and social movements taking place that centred on a prominent…” She hesitated looking at Matt, “female military leader that was making her mark in France during that time.” She paused focusing on Matt who groaned and put his head in his hand rubbing his temples. “Really Jacks?” “I’m afraid so.” “What are you two not saying?” Andrew was once again confused, and he was not appreciating the déjà vu. Matt looked at Andrew. “Joan.” “Who the hell is Joan?” Andrew asked “Otherwise know as Joan of Arc… we dated.” Matt said quietly. “Excuse me?” Andrew’s tone was rather icy. “You dated Joan of Arc?” “Andrew it was a long time ago, I was a young woman in France at the time, we were both 17 and Joan was… intriguing. And let me tell you, she wasn’t as chaste as they made her out to be!” Matt caught Jacks’ eye role. “Beside, I didn’t think that you would really want to hear about my previous…” He didn’t finish when he saw Andrew’s glare. “Why don’t you keep going Jacks,” Andrew said, “I will deal with you and your lesbian love affair with Joan d’Arc later.” His comment was directed at Matt who swallowed uncomfortably, but took note of the fact that no one offered Andrew Joan’s proper last name. That he knew this was a testament to his knowledge. “She was into cross-dressing if that makes a difference, and made an awfully cute guy,” he said weakly looking hopefully at Andrew. “Anyway,” Jacks continued, shaking her head at Matt, “The Order of the Maid, as it was referred to then, was looking to bring down Joan and her followers. They began looking into all aspects of her life, including anyone that was… connected to her intimately.” She avoided Andrew’s sour stare. “Matt or Matilda, as she was known then,” Jacks couldn’t hide the grin on her face. “Come on! It was very fashionable at that time in France!” Matt's face colored dramatically causing Andrew to inwardly cut him some slack. He was cute when he blushed. Jacks continued, “At 17 years old, Matilda was less inconspicuous then she should have been, and The Order began to track the movements of the Arcana through her salacious behaviour. Their plan was to burn Joan at the stake for crimes against God, but for some strange reason they could never find the young woman Joan was involved with. They eventually convicted her on some ridiculous charge of wearing men’s clothes and burned her anyway.” Matt shook his head vigorously. “Not true, there was no way I would have let Joan end her days burning in a fire! The Order was a disgusting excuse for cruelty and was determined not to allow women the status in society they deserved.” Jacks looked at him curiously, “Who was it that burned at the stake then? It was widely reported by witnesses that they watched her burn.” “Nothing that a corpse from the morgue and a little mass persuasion couldn’t handle,” he looked at Andrew, who smiled back at him acknowledging his compassionate deed. It was surprising how good that smile made him feel. Jacks carried on with her tale. “The order’s head was none other than Ansel Drukheim, the author of the documents that you referred to Andrew. Of course all of this happened more than 150 years before I was even alive, but I was studying the life and writings of Drukheim, as I was completing a master’s degree in linguistics at the University of Prague in my 26th year. I began to run across writing after writing of ancient texts that he had collected into binders and stacks upon stacks of notes. All dealt with a card game and the meaning behind the game. At first I thought he had lost his mind and gone crazy, but eventually I began to see behind the writing and realized that he believed the game to be true, or more to the point, he believed the characters of the game to be true. I launched into a prolonged study of his work and finished my degree with a synthesis of the man. I concluded that he had indeed, in his later years, lost his mind, and I effectively discredited him and his work,” she said quietly. “But you suspected it to be true, didn't you?” Andrew asked incredulously. “Why would you do that?” “She did it Andrew,” Matt interjected, “exactly because she suspected it to be true, and to protect the secret that had for so many millennia before Drukheim been protected, by others of her kind, or at least by those that would eventually be initiated as her kind.” “Why do you keep talking in riddles?” Andrew stared at him. “What?” Matt asked innocently. Jacks answered Andrew and ignored Matt. “He’s trying to be dramatic, but he’s not wrong.” “Excuse me! Who exactly is in charge here?” Matt asked trying halfheartedly to assert his control once more. Andrew raised his hand and Jacks pointed at Andrew. Matt threw up his hands in mock frustration. “By all means continue,” he acquiesced. “Are you telling me that you purposely lied on your thesis to protect Matt’s family?” Andrew asked Jacks. “Well my reasoning wasn’t so noble, to be honest. I figured that I needed to keep it a secret until I could understand everything that Drukheim had discovered about the Arcana. I would then publish the results under my own name,” she said sheepishly. “But as fate would have it, I had a conversation with a man that changed the course of my life.” “Time.” Matt said dryly. "Precisely. He told me I would be made an offer of immortality; that I was destined to enter the ranks of the Arcana. Since then I have served the purposes of the Arcana until 140 years ago, when I was introduced to your boyfriend,” she spoke to Andrew directly. “And, in my own way, in my old age, I have mellowed, and my ambitions turned from the pursuit of power, to my dedication to the service of humanity.” “Your people would be proud of your dedication Jacks.” Matt said sincerely. She blushed. “Thank you sir.” “When do you get to the witch part?” Andrew asked. “That Andrew is a tale for another day.” Matt said with finality. “Thank you Jacks. Could you leave Andrew and I? I think we are ready for bed; it’s been a long day for the both of us.” “Certainly sir, do either you need anything before turning in?” She looked to Andrew who shook his head. “I think we’re both good.” Matt concluded. “Have a good night to the both of you,” Jacks stood and left quietly leaving them alone once again. “Did you not know that?” “I had no idea. I had some suspicions about her longevity, but I did not know the details of her story. In my line of work you get to the point of recognizing the benefit of privacy.” “This is totally crazy. Who could have imagined that the person whose words we were reading across the world was living in your house back home?” “Who indeed.” Matt reflected, allowing his thoughts to linger on Time and his hand in this matter. One thing Matt was completely convinced of was that this was no coincidence. Too much was happening too quickly and his senses told him things were about to come to a crashing conclusion. His job now was to try and find out what was happening, and to prevent Andrew from being swept up in the chaos. He looked at his boyfriend affectionately. “Let’s go to bed babe,” Matt suggested. Andrew smiled, and approached Matt with an outstretched hand. “Good idea,” Andrew replied trying to keep the hesitation out of his voice. The pieces of this puzzle seemed to be falling into place, but the picture could not yet be seen, and he wasn’t sure he was going to like what he saw when it finally came into focus.
  15. Thanks for the edits Paqman! Definitely "them," not "him."
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