Post by Eternity on May 26, 2021 0:11:28 GMT
It wasn’t always like this.
There wasn’t always a ring of fire in my dreams. Certainly not where the safety net should have been. Still the dazzling young acrobat dances once more through my mind. Twisting, turning. Spinning, somersaulting. Flying with all the unearned confidence among the crows and the ravens and the swallows of an Eternity long since passed.
Head almost eternally lost in the clouds, mounted on a shiny silver neck. A thick cranium, thicker than all the other cranes that fly here tonight. Lost among the endless stars of a glorious and perpetual night. She didn’t belong up there with the real stars.
A clown who fancies herself a ring master is the surest sign of a world gone mad. A world rocked off kilter, shaken as she fell, but not far, as we were always there waiting…
Forever waiting.
And then you, my love, crashed through the pearly gates of my heavenly dreams and saw me fixated on the antics of a young female trapeze artist, showing off her skills to the world, thinking herself above us all. Above us both.
Her incredible gymnastics beguiling us all. Beguiling us both. Flip, flop, forever.
It is all she knew, even as the three snakes in the fiery grass hissed and booed, she stole our spotlight. Our moment, my love. And it was then we saw the truth of her existence for what it was, is and always had been.
A pipe dream.
You watched me watch her and then the whispers began.
"Fall. Fall. Fall."
The hurried hushes of my blood lust were infectious.
“Fall. Fall. Fall.”
Now it was what we both wanted, this is why I love you...
~~~~~
We were now in the real world. Brought back to it, resigned to it.
Just as she was about to be.
Purple smoke gathers around me as the golden larger than life Mother Mary once again births me from her world back into yours.
You watch me emerge from the Iron Maiden as the four little girls of my most gifted quartet use all their strength to close it behind me, before drifting into the darkness around us.
You see me cock my head, first to the right, then the left, and then straight up again as you see me scratch my pretty blonde hair, streaked with a hot pink as it flows around my shoulders, every bit as scattered and as free as you had always known me to be.
As you look into my piercing green eyes, emeralds set against a beautiful marble complexion, you notice that the little red heart that sat under the sparkle of my right eye, now had a black arrow running through it.
It was a small detail, insignificant to most, but not to you, my love. You always noticed the little things about me. That's why I adore you.
You watch me step into the spotlight once more. For the first time, but not for the last time, on this very special night.
Unforgettable, like your first kiss, almost.
Come one, come two, come all. Ladies and gentlemen, children of all ages. Come, gather around and let us entertain you with a cautionary tale. Only the first in a night of incredible tales told by the most imaginative idiots. The stories of our lives. Universal entertainment divorced from almost all semblance of logic and reality.
Although she will insist otherwise, won’t you Fiona?
Yes. Yes. Yes! Of course you will. Why wouldn’t somebody who has stitched herself up so gloriously time and time again stitch together a wonderful tale in which her betters are the bad guys. You’ve had us in stitches for long enough now Fiona. The joke has run its course, and Roberto has called upon me to do what I do best. Run you into the ground at every turn.
Run along little gag, run, run as fast as you can. Run the gauntlet, you’ll never run the show. You’re in over your head once more. You were doing so well when you were hiding in the shadows, but now the lights are at their brightest and the stage is at its grandest. The most insignificant worm has been unearthed and covets the spotlight.
My spotlight.
Our spotlight.
You demand so much, deserve so little and demonstrate even less. I understand the rules of life. The rules of basic trade and negotiation.
I’ve seen, I’ve heard, I’ve smelled, I’ve touched, I’ve tasted so many who have begged and bargained for their lives, pleaded for mercy in their final seconds before the scythe cleaves them from their tether to this world, as per the final contract any of us ever sign.
Sign the dotted line, pen a legacy in fresh blood, old sweat and bitter tears. Show the world we belong, that we are not damaged. Show her that we are worthy of love again.
A bright future, a brighter future.
Brightest future I have worked so hard for.
Just like Mommy and Daddy would have wanted.
I must end you to start my journey, restart it and salvage it, to secure any chance to set things right again. A diarrheic, squawking cockatoo like you, Fiona-poo is a small price to pay to realise such a sweet dream.
An absolute bargain.
I always could spot a great bargain. Mommy said it was one of my many many many transferable skills. Skills you lack, just like every other fundamental and foundation. Eroded like common decency, rudimentary intelligence.
Weathered away like the finest stone that will mark your spot as little more than a quirky trivia note on the night I walk towards the brilliant light and the glory of a divine Goddess.
Somebody worthy of my time, all of my time and half of my attention. Split down the middle by a hanging, spinning, twisting knife edge. The tension is palpable, unbearable. Something has to give it always does.
A glorious Eternity in Her presence, where I shall harvest the fruits of my labour in all the ways you never quite could Fifi. I know it burns, I know it stings to realise how truly insignificant you are to my grand tapestry and my grand ambition.
Like fire, but there will be no resurrection. You cannot survive, you cannot make it through this. You cannot end me, you are not my beautiful Fenix. You are only as much as you have always been. Fifi.
That is your crime, I am your punishment. Your first and most significant executioner, I am the Sword of Damocles.
By special appointment, by royal decree:
OFF WITH HER HEAD!
Just as the four death warrants stipulate, just as the prophecy foretold, etched across five senses across eight years. Your fruits have soured and decayed. Grown rancid, useful now only as fertiliser for my own beautiful horse hair crop.
And so before I go on to cement my legend in stone and write the most poetic epitaph worthy of legends and Goddesses, I must first dance with the greatest myths there have ever been in this world.
The myths in the Book of McFly. A short, dramatic piece, equal parts devastating tragedy and absurdist, surreal comedy. A true theatre of fiction.
The lies you tell to soil my good name will be the same soil under which I bury you, and I hope she is watching. I know she will be. I know she sees me as equal, somebody special, everything you are not, Fiona. Think McFly, overthink.
You think, twist and contort, therefore you are knot.
And you never will be right. I will always be right. Right here, right there, right everywhere. Everywhere you really shouldn’t be. A feast for a murder. The crows will pick at your reinforced spine and you will relive the agony of your Weapon X flashbacks.
Your weapon of choice, a pipe, much like your dreams of surviving not only the first, but also the second and then the last of your trials. Two time Iron Maiden, first time Russian Doll. It only gets smaller and more insignificant as you go deeper.
And there is no deeper pit you find yourself in than this, in the dead of Night.
First against the grey, then the black and then the white. Put through the prism until your little white light is split and your true colours shone upon the watching world. Blood red, piss yellow, mucus green, muscle pink, bone white, shit brown. Everything you’ve always been full of served up in three consecutive courses on a single night until we are all as sick to our stomach as we are of the sight of you.
I am the appetiser, the mood setter, the warmest of the three courses, and you will have already had your fill. The only mystery will be how much of your entitled little heart I leave beating, writhing and twitching for my sisters to pick at before I soar further into the night to face a grander and more alluring test.
A test befitting a Maiden who is one better and always has been. A meal fit for not only Kings and Queens, but for Gods and Goddesses if they so desire. I will end you quickly, not out of mercy, for you are thoroughly undeserving. But rather practicality.
You are to be my first step back towards the light in which I have always burned best and brightest. The magnificent beacon of a monument erected in glorious memory. Five times high, seen around the world more than any other.
Above, where seated in his tower,
I saw Conquest depicted in his power
There was a sharpened sword above his head
That hung there by the thinnest simple thread.
I see it Fifi. I see it all, I see through it all, the threadbare logic braided from the finest horse tail and it is beautiful. Truly the stuff of legend.
A legend that will be told year on year. A whole year to build my house, paint my portrait, compose my sonnet and spin my yarn, turning simple iron into glorious gold once more for all times’ sake.
I am coming. I am coming for you, towards you. Not because I want to , but because I need to. We all need to start somewhere, and you my little weathered shamrock are to be the foundation of a legacy renewed. A painful reminder of the everlasting larger than life shadows in which you have always been left to linger. Never by your own design, even if that is what you tell yourself.
I will separate fact from fiction. Faith from fairytale. Myth from legend.
The light of day and the dead of night. Day of the dead. Night of the Immortals.
Bound through eternity, for eternity.
It is how things have always been, especially between us Fiona, and how they shall remain for all of our time in this world. Finite as it might be, there is a natural order to life that perfectly compliments the natural chaos of death. A lot like you and I, Fiona. Polar opposites. The unnecessary and the necessary.
That is going to be our story, Fiona.
A beacon of false virtue and bravado. A lie told over and over and over and over and over until it loses all meaning and is left with no way home after she thought she could supersede the significance of death, but nobody can, and nobody will.
I will never be a con. That's all you are . A con. I am the one universal truth. An undeniable truth of existence. The truth cannot exist without a lie. Death cannot exist without life.
Just as you cannot exist without me, Fiona.
You've followed in my footsteps, you've lived in my shadow. You've burned in my water and you've drowned in my fire. You will be scattered by my earth and buried in my wind. For I am elemental. I am eternal. I am the first and I am the last. I am the beginning and I will be the end.
Your end.
Great Maiden against Greatest Maiden, the beautiful symmetry played out twice across time, space and the wings of a Phoenix. Caught in a jar, preserved in formaldehyde. Pinned back to the wall. A trophy of tragic irony. Pretty little thing, both illusion and delusion in equal measure.
You are the most sincere reflection of my most sincere insincerity. Stretched across your lips, painted upon mine. A smile, only skin deep. What you chase, I wait for. It will come, it will come, shush my darling, it will come! Patience, patience is the key. It will come for you, it will come for us all, one day, one night, soon...
Death.
The only true passport to immortality you will ever come to know.
Funny thing is that it's only by being reminded of your mortality that you begin to understand why you're not ready for immortality, Fiona. That's why I'm here, that's why I came back here. Back home. It's why I'm sitting here on the doorstep of immortality once more. Reminding myself of just how far I've come, and just how far I still have to go in this life before I see the next.
I remain beyond Death.
I remain beyond the beginning and I remain far from the end.
I am the eternity between your dreams and your reality, Fiona.
And what foolish and reckless dreams they are. Every ball of gas that hangs in Heaven thinks itself the brightest star in the sky, but the cold harsh reality is that only one of them can be, and my sisters and I have always shone so much brighter. The light of Eternity shone brighter still.
Come for me, come at me, come because of me. Just come. Bring me the light of your existence so that I may show her, show us both, show all of us how much brighter I can burn once again.
I have only burned for a fraction of her time in the spotlight. She stands above me for now, but not for much longer, for nothing is beyond being extinguished. Not even the brightest and most beautiful flames I have ever seen.
You are to be sacrificed so that I may see the pyre, you are to be broken so that I may feel the heat of two decades of Holy Brilliance. God has always denied me a permanent audience, but the Goddess will not deny me my Holy Grail, as I fill the magnificent chalice with your bitter blood and place it upon her sweet lips one last time.
That is the contract you re-signed, and the fate you are resigned to, Fiona.
Resigned with a curious arrogance, we are now well beyond the point of no return. From Eternity to Rowan to Jess, it’s either Infamy or bust for the scrappy little pup with the mangy fur, beady eyes, wet nose and coarse tongue.
You should have stayed away, like you did for so many months, rested. In peace, like you will on the seventh day. Now, day turns to night - the longest night of your miserable little life - now, it’s too late. Now you never will…
My sisters and I...
We guarantee it.
You see me then playfully blow a kiss and offer a cute little wave.
Well howdy there pardner.