The Harlow Story

“Valmah, my love!” choked Martin. “After all these years, this is how you finally betray me?”

“Betray?” Valmah replied coolly. “Join me Martin. We will command them together.”

“Let me go Valmah! Leave me to die in peace!” He begged.

Valmah's grip grew tighter. Her essence billowed with a violent giggle, and she unveiled a small blade. The dagger donned dark gemstones that siphoned the moon's illumination. As she raised the blade towards the grim evening sky, a blinding light radiated from the weapon.

Martin's screaming was silenced as the cryptic blade plunged into his broken heart. The obsidian night revealed no shadows as Valmah pulled the dagger out and walked away from her beloved husband.

The obedient and callous earth began to alter his body. Roots pierced his skin, growing and flowing throughout. A wave of dirt erupted from the ground crashing over his body. The gathering turf and stone transforming into a tempered layer of armor, reconstituting his fragile human skin.

Valmah thumbed the dagger and admired her flourishing garden.

“My organic soldiers,” she whispered.

It was almost time to wake them.

She cocked her head to see Martin thrashing mindlessly in pain. The beautiful stalk of Pachamama sprouting from the crown of his head.

“Rise, my king.”

The warmth of this tide is overwhelming. Knees cave in, the chest falls, and darkness creeps in with a distant sound. Buzzing, heavy, and sunken noises vary. But the pressure...

Oh, the pressure is always there.

Inch by inch, the body crawls through a pathetic range of motion. The eyes drown in cold blood, and teeth grind into a pulpy mash. Lack of oxygen stimulates unforgiving cranial compression that concentrates the pain. The frigid, stale air burns like a thousand torches blowing in the wind.

A guttural yell, then a progression of shallow breaths.

Oh, the pressure.

Sometimes it may seem to disappear. Teasing mercy! The blood clears a path in the throat for projectile vomit. Tears made of lava and ash stream down the body, swirling together into the pit of red feces. The flies crawling on the lips search into the mouth, the ears, and the nose.

Too soon for the maggots, but the carrions watch.

Truly grotesque! A blood masquerade!

The drums begin.

Every beat fractures the flesh like an earthquake. The steady and relentless hammering of a nail. Bones shift, slipping in the crimson mass. The unyielding pressure magnifies with every strike.

More. More! MORE!

Cracking and twisting, the skeleton starts to pop. Slow, creaking breaks and sudden ruptures of blood create a majestic cacophony with the beat. Abrupt screaming completes the musical scale.

Oh, the pressure.

Here, the night is restless.

Resonance irritates the man who lay on the red leather couch. Body weary and scarred from the day's labors. Voices are heard, revealed only by a break in the window. There’s a smell of the pillow equivalent to a seasoned sock. Oddly enough, as it seems, the alley behind the crack sounds like the most occupied in town.

Late winds nudge the curtain.

The handless fools vainly march past the window, conversation ringing in the man’s ears. A racket at the door summons rage. The knock always had a peculiar conclusion due to the fact that every outcome was aggravating. These knocks occur frequently and only result in a body ache that cramped the nerves.

Sometimes they come in, other times not.

The alley was perfect for the clowns to squat and further arouse anger with the shuffling of feet and dirty mouths spewing pure obsessive nonsense. This was almost a guarantee if they were told to fuck off.

Here, they linger and the night grows cold.

A heavy draft breathes against the curtain, breaking thought with a frigid grope; Silent shivers divide the cosmos as noise negotiates madness.

Feet heavy with confused intent spill into the room casting a midnight obscurity. Bleak eyes grip the restless man and an unyielding stare is met. The bellowing chill sinks as the shadow slithers by, finding comfort on an adjacent seat.

A hand claws the peripherals of the unseen, grabbing a pack of cigarettes on the table. Keys shifting when the pack is clumsily returned. Several attempts later, the shadow exhales and fog penetrates the man who breathes in the smoky frost.

A groan follows the exhale and another quick drag. Subtle light illuminates a deep expression as it buzzes along in the dark leading more cancerous breath.

The scent of misery is bittersweet for the man.

The phantom grumbles and a thousand granules of sand and ash slide with its foot, crawling through every orifice of the man. With a blink of an eye, the man throws himself up to sit and stare into the darkness of his own shadow.

A cigarette cold and idle sits in the groove of an ashtray, and the wind blows again on his back.

He grabs the partially consumed cigarette while his eyes strain to see in the dark. Sparks fly and a flame is set, casting a glimmer of light revealing the bitter solitude and a puff of smoke spiraling into the void.

Here, the man sits alone on the red leather couch. His mind restless and lungs burning in the cool night.