La petite mort

She fell in love with him several years ago. Something about his appealing eyes, his delicious lips, she always yearned for, more than the fresh peaches she saw every summer back home. Something about his broad shoulders, his firm skin and his taut body reminded her of the caramel sweets she received on Halloween, trick or treating in town with the other children under the pumpkin sky. Something about him made her want to risk her own walls, her comfortable protection, her safety and security, in exchange for the strobing lights, carousel shots and unspeakable excitement she had always wondered about. Merry nights and starry eyes, were all she read about, quiet after-hours and burning candles were all she lived, or rather, she preferred to put it that way. She enjoyed them unequivocally, lighting a shrine to her beloved and well-known peace. See, it was a place she could manipulate, control and change at her will, like a carefully planned environment where she was both scientist and experiment, testing the variable of a hypothesis. In such a beautiful and exquisite lair, she drank the sighs of the moonlight, trembling ecstatically alone in the blossoming night. Yet, no matter how rare and valuable her love for such an indescribable place, he never once sought out the silent tremors of her heart. She longed for him to open her up, dissect her little body, and maybe, just maybe, he’d notice the silver threads enveloping her wrists, chest and mind, and somehow give him the satisfaction of interest. And thus, she treaded cautiously down the road, leaving a trail of thoughts, subtle glances and secretive smiles to lead him to her sanctimonious safehouse.

She did not know why she felt the urge to take the first step. It was probably the hope that he would understand the intricacies of her domain, and through that, he would be captivated by the moon, the rubies glistening enticingly underneath the winking stars and most importantly, her. If he could see her in the naked limelight, she was certain he’d declare his everlasting love to her and only her. The special somewhere was her sole manner of communicating how much she adored this man, more than cigarettes or her own flesh and blood. She wanted him solely, obsessively, and she knew that he would too, if he could only peep through her walls. She was devoted to him the way one would break bread at the family table, or the way one would adorn their brow with onyx satin. But she could not, by any means, step onto the stage, baring her soul to the world, as if it were just a commodity. No, it was impossible and immoral to do so. She would not, for the love of Man, expose her stark breasts to the public like he did. He was capable of imprisoning the blushing roses without hesitation, and she could only capture his masterpiece from the audience. An experienced observer and a master of Man’s physiognomy, could not allow for the luxury of prying eyes. Yet, her undying love sought to be professed, as if the sin of loving a glorious sun had to be revealed to the Father. The temptations of the Devil proved to be fruitful; no apple better than him could sway her moral decision. And so, she picked a crimson dress and headed towards her inevitable fate.

In retrospection, that night, with its fluttering eyelids and enchanting mouth, called to her in an irresistible smile. An invitation that none could refuse. The rooms were dim, fluorescent paint splattered the walls like a Pollock painting, though the distinction lied upon the curious hand and body prints, reminiscent of the passion that drew men and women to the ravenous sirens. It was a promise of lust, pleasure and sin; right beneath God’s nose lied a den of faith, disdainful faith for the Devil. Here, the laughter derived into Dionysian folly, love into savagery and wine into blood. Already, the thick stench of aphrodisiacs crept into her skin, and she lost all sanity, all rationality that drove her mind to the present. Entranced by these lovely fumes, she arrived at the stage, where her beloved danced, intoxicated by the moonlight. Yes, she thought, he would definitely understand me. The speckled dust reflected his glowing figure that even the sun could not compare. The redness of his skin sparkled like the rubies in her treasure chest. She could not wait any longer.

“Drink with me.” She whispered into his ear.

“Drink for me.” He replied, voice flushing her cheeks.

She pulled him close, feeling his chest, arms, and wrists. “I drink to the moon, the rubies and you.”

“I drink to these bacchanals, these pagans and to Pan.”

The liquid fire burnt her tongue.

“Come with me, my drunken god. I’ll show you wine that will melt your heart.”

“What wine can you possibly offer me, when all these melting bodies already shackle my heart?”

“I’ll show you rubies that taste of wine, and wine that tastes of rubies; riches that fuse with your tongue and silver that sinks into your skin. I’ll show you the delicacies of these earthly possessions, their marvellous intricacies, and their countless wonders. Come with me, my moonlit angel, I’ll show you the ecstasy you crave.”

His eyes sparkled with a fizz only found in the clearest champagne. “I court the moon. Wherever she goes, I go. Tonight she shines upon you, my scarlet witch. I shall take upon your offer.”

The heat of the red lights blent into winding streets and ochre lamps, creating an amalgam of neon waterfalls and racing hearts. Her pulse thrummed as excitement travelled through her veins. Yes, this is everything she wanted. They were just a few kisses away from her holy shrine, and she could sense the electrifying air in her lungs.

“Where are you taking me-”

She kissed him and covered his eyes. This was the moment of truth. Accept her or reject her. Love or loathe her. It was a leap of naïve faith that every pubescent child would have towards their first love, their mother or their father. Believing and trusting the image of the other, hoping for one’s expectations to meet, despite not considering their true character. She plucked a match from the bedside table and lit her sanctuary with a queer aromatic candle. The scent enveloped them in a woozy embrace of tumult and desperation.

“How refreshing,” he sighed, “what is that peculiar smell?”

“It’s the smell of elation and heaven, sinful pleasure and gaiety.”

She pushed him onto the bed.

“I can sense my heart, my eyes, my lips and neck blushing at your touch, everything, everything is hazy. I tremble at your skilful tongue, your lustful hunger that cradles my body.”

The tricky fumes swayed above their heads in a drunken stupor.

“Look now,” she lifted her hands from his feathery eyelids, “look and see the beauty of the night.”

He inhaled deeply before opening his eyes. And suddenly, the world laid itself at his feet.

“I see! I see it! The silver spirals settle upon my body, it fastens my wrist, chest and mind, like a butterfly trapped in spider strings. What a warm cocoon! It shrouds my fingers in a thin veil that connects me to the moon. I feel every movement, every vibration, every breath. I can hear your heart beat, the walls thrum and the night sing. The red of your dress is humming a melody so enticing to the frail human will, it whispers sweet dreams of a long-awaited odyssey that none can deny. My Lilith, show me the ruby wine, the wine rubies, the riches you hide in your bosom. Show me fire, show me passion! Show me desire, show me ecstasy! Show me more, more and more!”

She bit his lip with regale. “Relish it, my dear little angel, it comes but once in a lifetime.”

“Ah! The sweet metallic taste of this wine! I must have more, more, more! It oozes into my mouth, with such appetising ardour— its delicious aroma spreads to every corner, sinking deep and rooting its teeth into my walls! How does one describe such elation? How can such excess possibly exist? Pain lingers like dewdrops upon silver hues of treetops, flourishing as the moonbeams caress this eternally flowing river—quietude laps into the most magnanimous cacophony of music, never to be silenced even by my cries!”

“My winged lover, no hush will ever contain these marvellous sighs of yours. The night is still young, and your flushed skin longs for my lips. Cry for me, my love, the hunt is only pleasurable when the deer yowls. Tell me your desires, and I will grant them all, this may be your one and only, your last chance to pray. I am your Goddess, your fuel and your fire, the dreams of temptation realised. You will not wake in despair anymore, for I am here.”

“Oh, my lovely witch! I shall devote my feet, my ankles and my legs to you! I will be your loyal follower, a tasty offering and a worthy sacrifice! Take me, devour me whole! I am but nothing without your mouth. Take my fingers, my hands and my arms, till nought is left to take!”

“My drunken morsel, wait not for long. We will become one, a unity of lust and love. The burning flames of your chest call to me and serenades the most beautiful songs known to mankind. I hear it sing for more, more and more. I will devour you whole, head, heart and soul. You will be forever with me, forever mine to covet. Cry for me, my love, the moon admires your ribs and your lungs, it shines so brightly upon your eyes. There is only silence and rest awaiting tomorrow, so cry, my ruby king.”

“Oh, I will! I obey your every command. No man is sane enough to reject such an enticing offer! Hear me loud and clear, for my heart shrills and my soul perishes if I do not do so!”

A cry so poignant, filled with hazy scents and incoherent thoughts, sliced through the dimming candle as it sputtered out in an array of sparks. The toxic fumes cleared, dissipating into thin air.

“The moon looks ravishing tonight,” he finally hitched after a profound silence. Rubies spilled from his wine-coloured lips. His impulses scattered to nether as the silver threads disappeared, revealing a crimson mess upon the bed. That night, this mistake. He should never have made it. But alas, his sanity returned too late.

His kindling gaze rested upon the blackened wick, embers slowly fading. What had he gotten himself into? The riches she had shown him were dark, even the moon receded its beautiful halo into the clouds. Where was he? Why was he numb with pain?

“No, no, not yet, we’ve yet to unite, my love. Wait for me. Wait for me.” The stranger in red repeated.

Who was she? What did she do to him? How could he get out? But his crumbling thoughts were of no use now, for he could not feel anything anymore. Only lucidity, and amongst it, the horror of his ultimate exhalation haunted him. Christ.

“No, stay with me, please! My ruby angel, please! ” The woman sobbed into his tattered bloody shirt.

Christ. He looked at the moon one last time before uttering a useless vow. “I swear—I’m never going out with you again.”