It is between you and me

How does it feel to be the never-ending flavor of the month, to be on top every year? To be everyone`s dark shameful secret, promising not just pleasure but possibilities; to linger, to echo, to land on somebody`s moist lips jumping to an eager ear, worm inside and curl, purring, in the trembling jelly of a brain, growing into a tumor of a thought there, a thought evolving into desire? My secret is that the very essence of me crawls under your skin and makes its nest around your beating heart poisoning it with stinging snake kisses. I make all of you my home, my castle, my fortress, my birth place and my dying bed. I turn you into a tomb bearing me inside forever.

Some falsely claim that they have discovered my true identity of a spider and though the idea of me having those funny hairy paws with claws is ridiculously amusing, it is entirely wrong. I strangle you gently with my silky threads but you are not a victim trapped by my greed, you are an active and willing participant joining me in my little games. Rejoice, brothers and sisters, for I am not an enemy, I am your loving savior. 

When I was a boy, I found lots of pleasure in imitating others, forging and lying. Poor souls, how little they knew, subjecting my ink-stained fingers to a punishment with a crooked ruler. Did you really think I was afraid of pain and could surrender to its burn? Could you weed out all the venomous twigs and recreate the garden of Eden? I shape shifted, I slipped through your fingers like hot Moroccan sand, leaving just a hint of exotic scents. You could not tame your poor, ordinary children, how could you tame the devil? The creature hiding in plain sight? 

The creature, the devil, and finally God. The promise is given, the lips are sealed. 

God. 

What is God for? God is the one who listens to prayers and answers them. I always answer, I’m not picky. I inhabit neither churches, nor cathedrals. I live on the receiving end of a phone call, one business card and a few beeps away. Is that my voice? Have you ever heard God? Then why are you asking? A secretary will take your details and full payment - non refundable, I am sorry, but this is the rule. I do not care about the vulgar economics, it is merely a question of dignity. Besides, people give more value and attention to things they had to pay a lot for and I respect myself and my time.

So I guess you are wondering what is that thing that I do so gracefully? It is a funny thing to ask God, but I will tell you. I am the one who can drag you out of the colorless dullness of your insignificant life and give you another chance. Yes, this is magic, but I can do it. No need to try to follow, you can not make fire lick your hands with tenderness and the ocean to rock you to sleep safely.

Some time ago I had a rich client. To be frank with you, I would never shake his hand, I would never stoop so low. He was a disgusting, greedy piece of highly unprofessional work. So he came to me, ready to kneel and crawl, and kiss my feet. A famous actor, he killed his young lover. A total accident, of course. He wanted to fake his death and start a new life in South America where he could go on sinning free from any legal consequences. It is tough to be God so I had to agree. It took me some time to arrange his alibi, to have photographs doctored, bank statements falsified. It amazes me how much people love money. Give them enough and they will sell themselves out to the very last cell of their bodies. So I had my client networking at parties all over the world and later going to an Italian villa which burned down one night. Nobody survived. A total accident, of course. Oh, what a fire that was! A burning torch amongst the tall cypresses`, dark silhouettes against the raging fiery background. A few more crisp bank notes and a few pennies and I had the forensic papers falsified as well. I even went to his funeral and brought some white tulips - a nice subtle touch as white tulips mean rebirth. I went incognito, as you could guess. I do not like fuss. Some cash and a few hours with the best plastic surgeon paved the way to a private jet for my client and I, being my modest self, treated myself to a nice dinner at the Ritz and some nice expensive Pinot Noir. We live once, after all. 

But even God gets questioned. Just as I was working on my next case, that man came again. The one who cheated on me and called my eyes the black windows of a dead house. The one who thought I was the deadly stillness of a white forest, its killing beauty, its poisonous lullaby. 

"I know it’s your work, you promised." 

Oh, people. "To die, to sleep…" Don’t confuse death with sleep. In death you lose yourself, giving in to the endless ocean of space. Sleep is still you, your brain sending electric impulses through the body, questioning the existence of your soul, rebelling, arguing. Death is absolute, death is disintegration. I am above that. I do not play by the book. 

"Stop it, you promised."

I have a modern Blue Beard, another rich creature, this time an American. He marries rich women, gaslights and humiliates them, casting a merciful blessing of death upon their exhausted souls in the end. He is looking for a new bride and a way to get rid of the old one, deformed by numerous plastic surgeries done to appease his insatiable appetites. An appalling type. No poetry, no beauty. A butcher. He says he loves them. Every single one is the greatest wonder. My man loved me as well. He told me so but he lied. He left me. Does it equal me with those poor ladies pumped with silicone longing for love, waiting for the knight in shining armor?..

Love is overrated. It`s just words, pulling the strings of overworked hearts loaded with cholesterin aimed for selling soapy novels to make some graphomaniacs rich. I need a stand in, a bait to hook up with my Blue Beard but this time I am going to hit the last nail in my lover`s coffin, to alter his life forever. I will send him a message – "Marry me" carved deeply into my client`s chest.

"Life is whatever happens between you and me."