In the crevices

It would be my capabilities with a quill that helped fill in the gap of expenses for the opulence of our quarters. The old physician was pleased to see me again and assured Jelus I would be an asset to him in exchange for a few coins. The day went quickly with the constant comings and goings of patrons. The hushed tones like the chanting from within a temple were continuous. The passing of coin always secretive regardless of who could have seen a vial, an herb, the toss of a fetus into a bucket along with scarlet soaked reps.

The two books kept of accounts were updated with an ease. It did not take me long to memorize the entries of vitamin for the kanda or the sleeping powders in lieu of various poisons. When the bell on the door sounded the last time, Sorticles flipped the sign over and turned the key. The mild manner of the man had spun over as easily as the tumblers of the lock.

Lechery now burned in his eyes like a well filled lantern. The fumbling of the lacings came with difficulty by the gnarled old fingers. They began a rhthymic caress even before he approached, never lessening their grasp of his ardors. Age had not dampened the speed of which he set upon me. He was tender though with the press of his wrinkled mouth against the vee of my throat. The free hand touching the swell of one breast as if it were delicate enough to be fragile. I found myself pressed and my body buffeted against the ledgers on his desk for what seemed an endless few moments. It was a long acrid breath, a puddle of slack jawed drool on my chest and the close of his eyes that spoke of a journey well ended for him. In profuse apologies, the physician grabbed a roll of gauze to clean away the spill of his affections from his own thigh.

The professions of shame continued as he pressed extra coins into my palm for my use. A more stoic retort came afterward as he transformed once more to the business man I'd worked for throughout the day. He looked forward to seeing me tomorrow.

Those coins were poked into a crevice of loose bricks in the alley close to the apartment when I was sure no one was looking.

A window on the world

He had rented a small apartment, the furnishings of which were far more luxurious than the one I'd stayed in prior. It would never hold a candle to Caethlong but with a good scouring it had potential. It was only half block up from the previous insula and the little diner I remembered could be seen if one crooked their neck to an obscene angle.

I had my own room this time albeit only a few feet by a few feet in measure. One thread bare mat in its center to be the difference between sleeping on the floor itself. My 'room' had a window overlooking the alley and another opened to the street. This one adorned with curved bars that allowed the shutters to open but not allow strangers to scale the two floors below and creep within.

At night I would slip out onto the ledge with the kalika my keeper had given me. It was a gift for the bluish black marks left of wishing silence and finding it if it meant sealing off my breath. The elongated box was worn and scarred. The strings aged enough to need constant tightening to keep it in tune. But there on my little perch I would play the meloncholy songs of Acresius. The songs of Five, the ballads of Pent.

There I had a soul.

Iniquities

Iniquities


Shorl's weakness was avarice and in the end it had swallowed him whole and tied his fate off with purse strings. Dolht's wrath had laid him wide open and left him to rot in the alley only a few blocks from here. A smile painted obscenely beneath his chin with the edge of a blade as definition of irony.

Jelus was one of those men who had a taste for something else. The grace and beauty of a serve was lost to him with his want for someone bawdy and brash. In your face sexuality was brushed aside in want of vulnerability and demureness. He would spend much of his time in the alcoves, disgruntled that he was never pleased and demanding his coin back or in the paga dens with the same end result. Always something. Always something else.

This lust that he carried perhaps unknown even to himself would always leave him dis-satisfied with every thing in life. My hair was not blonde and it enraged him. My eyes were not brown which sent him to a fury. Each small nuance of difference than his ideal set the brakes on his enjoyments and rendered him impotent to thriving in any manner. I was the current scapegoat for his troubles. The more his world collapsed in around him, the more he would lash out. At last I'd asked if he would sell me if I was the bain of his existence. His answer was that I was not worth even a portion of a copper. I was useless. Still his grasp on my arm when we walked the crowded streets held me like a manacle of iron next to him.

My query became a pleading to let me go, allow me to work for enough coin then to buy my freedom from him, something, anything but release me. There was a flicker of weakness that streaked his features, his voice ... a terror in his eyes when he spoke quietly. He couldn't allow that, he wanted me.

Hold my Hand

Hold my hand


When I clone a human being
It will want to hold my hand
When I clone a human being
It will be a member of my band
Scientific method girl
The theorems speak to me
Measure out the chemicals
Safety goggles on my eyes
Turn the Bunsen burner on
My creation comes alive
I have cloned a human being
It is here and holds my hand

~Freezepop

XIII

I am XIII, the thirteeth creation of the thirteenth breeding cycle. A specific order made for an Ubar, a product of genetic creativity, in some clique's it is phrased intelligent design. It is a concept reputed in most cases as explanation for the universe itself though upon this world it is not so grandiose an ideal. Bred slaves can be had for as little as a few coppers. Most though do not wish to know the inner workings of such experiments. 'Just see to the order and send for me when it is done.'
Grisch and Aestheta were in essence my mother and father although we are all from the seed of Racselis himself. Some have called him genious. My own thoughts are that they have no imagining of the man's true abilities. Some call him a mad man. Those would be closer to the truth but not atributed to his skills.
I remember the underground laboratories of my maker. I remenber Racselis. I remember the Isle of Acresius, the World's End. I remember the beakers of my siblings and the vats that contained those that still breathed. Perfection is often a labored result of many erroneous attempts. The eyes of One better known as Alka, had a depth to them that you could stumble into and never find your way home. The liquid effect of her anatomy keeps her limited to amniotic fluids and for all the gelatinous consistency of her skin, she is in fact all heart. She was and will always be Aestheta's favored. Two sleeps in a jar on the top shelf. The tiny body no larger than my own hand carved from our mother's womb remains in stasis not because of the engorged elongated penis matched by a barbed appendage extending from the end of his nobby spine but because he had the misfortune of being male. Five, so beautiful .. too beautiful for words was rendered mute when they cut out her tongue. Her siren's song crafting such despair that the weight of it urged half the staff to suicide before she was silenced. There were others, pallid aberrations, deviances, atrophies, vistigial creatures that the world does not wish to know of.
Myself? Nothing that is complete breathes.
I was made in the image of my creator. Not the design of my features, not the essence of my existence. Find what question Racselis answered in forming me in his likeness or rather what question he asked. Find why he stood back and proclaimed that I was exquisite and you will find my purpose.
I am said to be all that a man desires. In truth I am merely an uncalculating predator created to feast on lusts ... passions ... weaknesses, whatever they may be.

Imperfect Circle

Had it all come half circle once more to the bowels of Ar? It would stand to reason. Where else could you hide a stolen slave so brazenly in public and think to get away with it?
I knew it by its smell alone and with the sordid fragrances of urine, urt feces, spilled paga and the tang of cum was an odd sense that I'd come home.
The card the freewoman of many colors had long since been lost but as the guard herded me along the busy streets I looked for her. I remember the feel of the image that had been painted on the small announcement, the one of the laughing corpse. I could still feel the texture beneath my thumb.
From beneath the dark hood of the cloak I'd been allowed to wear I watched a face now and then. It wasn't so much expectancy to see the actress or the beautiful faced boy I had met outside the insula. It was simply seeking familiarity. My impassiveness otherwise kept my keeper's hand latched to my forearm. The not so gentle jerks to keep me closer to his side allowed a glimpse of the ivory flesh and the contrast of the golden sirik of my ankle to be seen. His growl was for his own benefit. I did not care.
What happens in the Anbar District stays in the Anbar District.

Silence Echoes

under skinned knees and the skid marksPast the places where you used to learnYou howl and listenListen and wait for theEchoes of angels who wont returneverything you wanteverything you needeverything inside of youThat you wish you could besay all the right thingsAt exactly the right timunder skinned knees and the skid marksPast the places where you used to learnYou howl and listenListen and wait for theEchoes of angels who wont returneverything you wanteverything you needeverything inside of youThat you wish you could besay all the right thingsAt exactly the right timeBut it all means nothing to youAnd you dont know whyeBut it all means nothing to youAnd you dont know why