by MG Leister
‘Tis harlequins that I fear for they hoot a haunting sound.
There were hands at my feet, tying knots on my shoes,
Putrid, they were. Oh, someone throw me a bloody noose!
A man wearing a suit and tie, came to me and said hi,
“I’m mad!” He said, “Look at my hat, hello, goodbye!”
“Wait, please, wait! Please, tell me where I am.”
He grinned and cringed, “Please, tell me where I am.”
“You’re in Underland, dear, and I see your trepidation,
Don’t worry, ha ha! ‘Tis but a detour to your destination.
Where to go? Oh, where to go? Follow the white rabbit?
Ah! But you chased the black one, was it out of habit?”
“I need to get out, please tell me where to go.
I’m afraid I can’t stand any more of this ghastly show.”
“Well then, my Alys, let me put you to the test,
Answer this, deary, why is a raven like a writing desk?”
I thinked and thinked, I even caught the madman wink, but-
There’s nothing I can think of and nothing I can do but blink.
Barbunzel
Once upon a time, in a world where witches were feared,
There lived a man in a tower high, who had a very long beard.
His name was Barbunzel, and indeed he was very charming,
But his beard was so long, that all the maidens went running.
“What did I do wrong?” He pondered by the window sill,
“In a day I’d be aging, yet I am pure as a wee baby, still.”
So he sat in a corner and his beard he washed and washed,
Did I mention that he loved it so? He then grabbed his trusty brush.
Ten hours had gone and he have not yet gotten to the tips,
When he heard someone say, “Barbunzel! I want a kiss from your lips!”
Barbunzel was so happy, he was dancing and filled with glee,
“Alas!” he said, “As soon as I see your face, we shall marry!”
Before he could open the window, his feet got tangled,
He got stuck in his beard, he was almost strangled.
He rolled and rolled until he was braided into his barba,
The damsel left, he could only say “please help me, mama.”
Cinder Ella
My name is Ella and I lost my shoe
Somewhere in a castle when I went adieu.
I had to run, though the night was fun,
I wouldn’t want fairy godmother
To shoot me with her gun.
I borrowed her dress so that I could be
A princess for one night, be free.
I even met a prince, who claims that he loves me,
But how can that be?
He doesn’t even remember me.
Why search the kingdom so desperately
To give me back my shoe so that we can marry?
I’m up in cinders and that’s the truth,
Stuck with step-mother for all my youth.
I’ll never be free, that’s the end of my story,
The prince, you say? We simply cannot be.
Slipping Beauty
Locked in her chamber with a spindle and a broom,
Playing with pins and needles, waiting for her groom.
She stitched up a dress made of rags and sheets,
She can leave her room if her insecurity she defeats.
She’s not fair, you see, at least not anymore,
It’s been years of sleeping, then she woke up, what for?
There was no handsome prince to take her away,
No magical kiss that will make her forever gay.
Mirrors were broken, her face she need not see,
She’s become old and grey, a virgin she need not be.
What can she do? Perfection is not forever,
She used to be a rose, but she decided to wither.
The Little Weremaid
When the moon glistens against the ocean deep,
Little Weremaid awakens from her glorious sleep.
In the depths of the blue she rises and howls,
Growing fangs and hungering for earth bound owls.
In her search for supper she stumbled upon a lover,
Human, she thought, and he smelled very clever.
He had eyes like the sea and skin like a pearl,
Oh, his scent was so sweet, just like a little girl.
She took him to the shore and stared at his face,
He was handsome, she smiled, she wanted a taste.
Half soaked and half dry, she was enjoying his lips,
Unaware that she was draining him with bloody sips.
“Oh, no!” She exclaimed when she saw what she had done,
He’s dead and she couldn’t bear him any son.
Little Weremaid howled and growled as she flapped her tail,
I guess this is the end of another eerie fairy tale.
Ala Deen
Of beggars and thieves, he was the king of them all,
He’s fast and strong, ooh! He’s handsome, dark and tall.
Ala Deen was his name, he could have any dame,
But he desires for a flower, with great power and fame.
He went on a journey, in his pocket a magic lamp,
It could grant three wishes, or throw you in a swamp.
Rub it three times and a genie will appear,
“Your wish is my command.” It will speak so clear.
“Make me a prince!” Was Ala Deen’s first wish,
Soon enough, he was sitting on a throne, chained and leashed.
“Release me, genie, I do not want to be bound.”
“Your wish is my command.” He was then safe and sound.
“Make me rich!” T’was Ala Deens’s second demand,
“But of course,” said the Genie. “Your wish is my command.”
Indeed, he became rich, but he was sent to the sky,
Not really, you see, as Genie turned him into a fly.
Cleone & The Missing Shoes
There are times when the sky is dull and gray
When the shoe monster comes out and play.
He likes to lurk and burp under Cleone’s bed,
Where he can steal her shoes and scare her dead.
One day, Cleone got a present from her momma,
T’was a pair of rabbit shoes, “Oh, mom, I love ya!”
It was pink and fluffy with teeth like bugs bunny,
She left it in a box, the next day it was empty.
She cried until her momma brought home another gift,
Ballerina shoes, with a tutu and, oh, boy, was she swift
When she unwrapped the package, trying on the shoes,
By night the monster concocted another deuce.
But Cleone caught him while he tied the straps,
She screamed but it sounded like gentle baby taps.
“Give me back my shoes!” she finally said,
Though she’ll have to ask momma for a new pair instead,
As the monster had gone, leaving Cleone in tears,
“You won’t get a new one until you overcome your fears.”
Kissing Death
ᴥ The clock pointed to exactly three in the morning. Insomnia was consuming me again. My brain kept on cluttering unwanted memories in my thoughts and some of them aren’t entirely pleasant. My brain is good at that: flooding me with memories to keep me wide eyed until the sun came up. I don’t get to sleep during the day either. Not much at least.
I lolled myself on the loveseat in the balcony. It was the only place where I feel serene during sleepless nights. The sky was bare and starless, like a paint bucket was poured over it. It would have been pitch black if it weren’t for the dim lights that radiated from the row of houses below. Cool wind was blowing, yeah, right. Just what I needed, and my pajamas didn’t agree with it.
I dragged myself across the room, to my w
alk-in-closet. My favorite biker jacket was wrapped around me in no time. Its leathery feel made me warm right away.
A cool breeze swept inside my right sleeve. It felt like a caress. And then the coolness stopped and remained in my shoulder like it was grasping me. It felt more like a hand. No. It can’t be. I tried to make my way back to the balcony, but another phantom caress paralyzed me before I could even take a step. My shoulders were being held in place, immobilizing me.
A laugh thundered inside the room. The voice was foreign to my ears. It was a man. He couldn’t have gotten inside since I locked all the doors, except for the one at the balcony but it was thirteen storeys high. "Don't be scared." He said. He was right behind me. He was the one keeping me still. I couldn’t open my mouth to respond. I wanted to scream but I couldn’t. Who the hell are you!? Get out of here! But nothing came out.
Cold hands released me and I fell on my knees. I looked up and found him grinning down at me. He was beautiful. His eyes screamed murder, they were intimidating. It was odd though, that one eye was green while the other was blue. My guts told me to run, but I wanted to stare at him longer. "Who are you?"
“I am death. I’m here to take you.” He said, keeping the grin on his face.
“Wh-what do you want from me?”
“I’m here to take you.” He said again. The calmness in his voice raised goosebumps on my skin.
“What are you?"
“I am death.” It was eerie, but something inside me was telling me that he wasn’t lying. Everything about his image told me that I was going to die. My demise was near. I wasn’t ready.
He held out a hand. I took it. Instead of seeing flashes of white, hearing heaven’s choir or seeing my own body lying lifeless on the floor, he pulled me up to face him. His face was beautiful. His emerald-sapphire eyes were stunning. For a brief moment, I have fallen in love with him, despite his insanity of referring to himself as death. “You have until sunrise. Then you’re mine.” His lips tilted up to a smirk. It was intoxicating. He had beautiful lips and I wanted to kiss them.
“Why? The big boss wants me to repent now?”
“No.” His smirk became almost a grin. “I want you and I am going to take you with me.” Did I not do anything to offend the almighty? I stopped going to church many years ago. I almost don’t pray anymore and I have too many vices. Considering that I’m a woman, I was never ladylike. Sinful was my middle name.
“Why?” I had to ask again. He wasn’t giving me the answer that I needed to hear.
“I’ve been watching you for years. You have compelled me to you and I want you. Your soul is mine to take and mine to own.” He caressed my face. The feel of his skin was cool electricity. My whole body began to shiver and my biker jacket was no help in keeping me warm.
“What will happen to me?” I was curious. If I died, do I get to hover around this plane and haunt people? Maybe I was going to be dragged to hell. I knew that I needed punishment.
Our eyes met, damn, he had beautifully enchanting eyes. I could drown in his gaze and I wouldn’t mind being lost in it forever.
“You’ll be mine.” Was all he said. I shifted my gaze from his eyes to the clock on my nightstand. It was half past four, two hours before sunrise. Two hours before my demise.
“Since I’m going to hell anyway, why don’t you just take me now and spare me the few hours of wait before dawn?” There’s no one to say goodbye to. I had no friends who’ll miss me when I’m gone. No family either. Solitude was my only friend.
He planted a soft kiss on my lips. Heaven’s choir began to sing; I guess I’m dead now. It was a subtle kiss, a tease, an effective tease. Kiss me again. And he did. It wasn’t faint the second time around. There was hunger in the movement of his lips. They were soft yet demanding.
My heart was banging against my chest. I wanted him too. “I’m ready.” I said and he smiled. His azure-viridian eyes glimmered and he kissed me again. He wrapped his arms around me and I embraced him back. I began to feel as if we were flying. Everything was cold. From a distance, I could hear a sweet melody but I couldn’t make out if it was a song. And then, the coldness was gone. It was replaced by a warm feeling that travelled all the way up to my heart. I felt safe.
--
It was pitch black. If I didn’t knew that I was in hell, I’d say that I was in oblivion. The beautiful man who called himself death held me prisoner in the depths of the underworld.
He locked me up in chains, behind heavy bars with no sense of sight.
My flesh was rotting. I could smell me as I was being devoured upon. Phantom teeth were ripping me apart, feeding off my screams and the torment that Death inflicted upon me. He did want me, he wanted to punish me.
“I love how you are suffering.” His deep voice sent me screaming. My mind was stuck in the asylum of my own skull. I didn’t want to hear his voice anymore. “You are beautiful.” He laughed.
Hell, I was beautiful with tattered flesh.
Teeth
ᴥ Killing people is an art.
Though, like any other form of art, it leaves one nasty mess after the act is done.
I guess every other artist would agree with me when I say that cleaning up is the worst part of it all. It's the time when it seems like everything is good where it is whether there's splatter on the wall or a puddle on the floor, simply because doing art is exhausting enough and tidying the materials create further exhaustion which no one really wants unless you're a fucking neat-freak.
But, every mess needs taking care off and I'm not that sloppy to leave my studio with victim number twenty-one's blood all over.
It shouldn't have been like a freaking bloodbath at all. If only he wasn't so squeamish like a little girl and took his death like a man, blood would have been only where he stood. Yet he yapped and tried to break free though he can't and it ended up with me cutting him everywhere until I finally hit the vital nerves and his blood started wooshing like a fountain out of his body.
The struggle is fun, sometimes.
What's fun is the part where I get to use my pliers instead of a knife. Plucking out victim number twenty-one's teeth out of his mouth was a high. He had porcelain, well taken care of, teeth that sparkled even with the redness that bathed them. I took each one out carefully, but I'm no dentist so a couple of teeth got crushed.
No matter.
When I was done, I put the choppers in a black, silk pouch and tucked it in my jean's pocket.
I was bloody, too.
I look around the place. My place. It sucked that I had to take him home to get a hold of his porcelain's because I'd have to play crime scene cleanup. I convinced myself that it was worth it and three hours later, there was no more corpse in my living room and there was no sign of a murder at all.
Though I despised the nasty part, I was good at it. I had to be if I didn't want to get caught.
I lunged myself on the sofa, slouching completely like a rotten piece of vegetable. I was still covered in blood. I let out a frustrated sigh and headed to the shower. Naked, I threw my clothes in the metal trashcan, poured gasoline in it and threw in a lit match stick before I closed the lid and finally drenched myself in the cold shower.
"Good job, Fang." I told myself.
--
Earlier
“Please,” he cried as he choked on his own blood. “I have money, lots of money! I can give you money! Just please, don’t kill me.” Unfortunately, my mercy is out of stock.
“Don’t be scared. I’ve done this before.” He squirmed as I grinned. “Show me your teeth.” Ah, teeth. I loved to look at people’s teeth. His teeth, however, was painted in crimson. Not exactly how I enjoy it looking at it, though close enough.
Confusion, fear, and agony are all smeared in his face. His blue eyes blubbered for compassion. His nose looked like crumpled paper as he sobbed. His mouth was moving, saying something that’s too inaudible for me to hear. Or, maybe my ears are just immune to the sound of a
dying man. I hear them cry and plead and beg all the time and I don’t give a damn. They all say the same things anyway: don’t kill me! I’ll do anything for you! There are times when they are a bit aggressive and call me names that are not exactly pleasant to my ears. It doesn’t matter. They end up in the morgue anyway. That is, if they’re lucky enough to be found.
I dug out for the knife in my left boot, then for the pliers in the other. Crouching, I examined Blondie. He was very muscular and too good looking for his own good. I enjoyed how solid he was. His arms were cement, his thighs too, and his…delicious. However, he wasn’t him, not the man I was looking for. Despite having done nothing against me except for being a pervert, he has to go. He has to die for the sake of my pleasure. I’m sure we fucked well enough for him to have a taste of heaven before hell.
Having hold of my two favorite weapons, I stood up and slinked towards him. “Please…don’t-“and he didn’t say any more. It’s funny how a man so beefy turned out to be such a pussy. Blood from his throat sprayed all over me, covering me in the warm crimson paint that I hated as much as I loved. He was still alive and his seconds were counted. I clamped two of his front teeth with the pliers and pulled them out forcefully. Dentistry is out of my line of work, so what I did was messy.
“Aww…You chipped a tooth or two.” I teased. I pulled out as many of his teeth as I can as he choked on his own blood. The cut I inflicted on his throat wasn’t deep enough to kill him instantly. He had to be alive while I collected his choppers. Torture makes a kill worthwhile.