Monday, April 29, 2013
As I hoped, one night Rustem secretly left the palace compound with his family. He did not inform the king about his intentions, for he thought he could escape me. He did not want anyone to know his whereabouts, but I found him. I remember that night fondly, although there were some dire difficulties in store for me yet.
I chuckled softly as I entered the house, my steps as light as a breeze. I felt a thrill course through me as I realized that it was all within my reach now. They were within reach. They had eluded me for so long, but now I was actually looking down at the sleeping figures. I rubbed my hands together in expectation and wanted to clap, but this would surely awaken them. Then I remembered that I was nothing but a mental being now, for I had the power to leave my body and enter another’s for a longer period. This made me smile so broadly that my cheeks hurt. Yes, I still thought I could feel that, but it was because I maintained a connection with my own body, which was surely grinning now as I grinned.
Things seemed so clear as I had made my plans yesterday, but now...It was impossible to get into Rustem’s head when he was awake, and there was no way I would try the woman. As I have said before, I have sworn off women a long time ago. I stared down at them, anxiety beginning to scratch at my mind like an insect at a window seeking the light of the house from the darkness of the night. “What if one of them wakes up?” a timid voice in my mind nagged. Now I felt my fury rise as I tried to push down my fear. Fear. How could I ever feel fear? My power was growing stronger every day. Now if I could only take care of Rustem, my nemesis.
The woman stirred slightly and I panicked. I looked behind me and saw the closed door. She moved again, her hair lit by the moonlight that entered the crack of a wall. My body was safely tucked away in a hollow of a tree far from here, but I knew she would see me anyway. The bitch had power and an uncanny vision. She would have to die.
She tossed again now, and driven by my terror, I suddenly dived into Rustem’s mind. I immediately knew I would regret my haste. Rustem gave a sudden spasm as I entered, panic-stricken and crouching silently in a corner of his mind. I dared not show myself until the time was right. I needed the man to be weakened somehow. I needed the woman to be gone. I was like a parasite now, except that I could see through Rustem’s eyes and feel with his body. I decided to wait. It wasn’t the time to take control yet.
Sunday, April 28, 2013
The day came when I was ready. I was bursting with need for revenge, but I knew I should take my time. I wanted to succeed this time, but I also wanted to savor the fear I would engender. Is it not delicious? Why rush?
I did not return to the palace or the mage’s hall. Instead, I honed my skills in the darkness of the forests. Soon many evil witches and wizards took note of me and became my followers. I began my plot by instigating Rustem’s son, Mihr, to evil. Mihr, being the son of a sorcerer and a sorceress by the name of Anahita, held hereditary power, but it was as yet undeveloped.
One day, as he played by the edge of a stream, I spied him whittling a figurine of a cow. He intended to give it to his sister. I entered the figurine and his fingers paused. He returned to cutting on the wood and I cried out as if in pain. He dropped the cow and saw that blood dripped from it. His hands were covered with blood. I spoke the words of the Holy Avesta that his father had taught him only that morning. The verse was called “the Complaint of the Cow.” It accused someone of hurting its vital breath. Mihr turned and ran crying to his father.
When the sorcerer-mage came to see what had scared his son, all he found was a great pool of blood. He caught the scent of sorcery, but I had covered my tracks well. I could now smell his fear. I was able to get to him through his children. It made me throw back my head and laugh heartily. Now I knew one weakness.
Next I attacked his daughter, the sorceress-to-be, Spenta. She was quite young. She asked her mother for a basket to collect flowers and left for the nearby woods. I possessed the bodies of countless cockroaches so that she saw them as colorful, gay flowers. Skipping home with her basket brimming with the vile insects, she saw her parents sitting together. In her pride, she spilled out the enchanted “flowers,” which now took their real forms as large cockroaches. This is when I realized that Rustem was mortally afraid of insects and other xrafstars. The terror on his face was comical. He hopped in a frenzied dance of horror as they raced to hide themselves in the corners of the house. Into their bedding and clothing they ran, until the sorceress Anahita struck them down dead with a spell. Rustem refused to help in the task of retrieving the bodies, and for days afterwards, he would screech if he found one of the dead things.
Rustem now knew that someone was threatening the children of his family. He began thinking about fleeing the palace, despite his love for King Cyrus the Great and for his position as head sorcerer-mage.
Saturday, April 27, 2013
Hiding in the hole in the trunk of a tree, I spent weeks in intense agony as my wounds healed. Maggots writhed in the flesh of my head and I had to remove them one by one with a sharpened twig. I had what seemed like a lifetime to contemplate the evil that had been done to me—and to imagine my revenge. When I was well enough to venture out, I wrapped moss over my wounds and fashioned a turban with the cloth of my sash. I found a man wearing a Scythian style boiled wool hat I thought would be perfect. It had flaps over the ears to conceal my shame. I would have killed him and taken it, but I still felt weak. Instead, I gave him three coppers and he turned over the hat, which smelled deeply of the foulness of his head. I gagged, but one adjusts to such things.
I once again entered the forest and began to practice my spells and curses with a diligence I had never had before. I would perfect my craft. Now I had not only the inborn talent, but also the greatest motivation a man can have—revenge. Day and night the vision of Rustem insane with fear filled my mind. Again and again I imagined the tortures I would inflict upon him. He would rue the day he went up against the Sorcerer Gaumata. Even now I feel the urge to rub my hands together and feel the heat of my hatred.
Thursday, April 25, 2013
For now I found myself in an awkward situation. I knew I would be reprimanded, but I never imagined the punishment they were planning.
They took me to stand before the King of Kings, Cyrus the Great.
“I suggest death,” Rustem said.
“Yes, my friend. I respect your judgment, but for this time, make him an example for other evil mages,” Cyrus suggested.
“Very well. Chop off his ears!” Rustem ordered.
I was shocked and horrified. This punishment was worse than death. I would be disfigured for the rest of my life. People would look at me and know my disgrace. A large soldier approached me with his dagger unsheathed. Slowly he cut my ears off, one by one. The pain was unspeakable. I never thought anything could hurt that much. The ears are very sensitive. I never knew how much.
I was released, and I fell to the ground screeching in agony. I writhed for hours until finally I fell into unconsciousness. Nobody tended to my wounds. I woke to the buzzing of flies laying eggs into the wounds where my ears had once been. The throbbing pain threatened to drive me insane, but dreams of revenge helped me as I staggered to the woods.
My teeth chattered as I muttered spells in an attempt to ease my pain. I had not learned spells to ease pain, for healing spells seemed worthless to me. I never knew that I myself would need them. Tears gushed from my eyes as I continued to gnash my teeth and cry out. Pain tore through me like streams of fire. I swore through all of this that Rustem, Cyrus, and all of their descendants would pay for my suffering.
Wednesday, April 24, 2013
So I found myself again caught in a woman’s trap. The woman was decorated with delicate jewelry, but she was obviously dressed for an intimate encounter with the king. Her slight bosom was barely covered in a gossamer silk that showed every detail of her young breasts. The skirt she wore concealed nothing. It was totally sheer. I decided that I had to leave and try to figure out how to overcome this problem.
The king held out a paw-like hand, calloused by wielding the sword. Her delicate little hand slipped into it and she giggled slightly. I was poised to leave, but something in the king’s mind grabbed me like a vise around a certain part of my body. I realized that his body was responding to the sight of the woman. He lusted for her. Oh the gods and demons! She brazenly sat on his lap and wiggled as she felt his rising appendage against her body. She turned and I could see her pink lips, but I no longer heard what she was saying. She stroked the king’s perfectly coifed beard with one hand and—may she be cursed—she slipped the other hand into his royal robe, pinching his nipple as if she were possessed by the primeval Whore Jahi. I felt my body convulse. I felt his hideous erection building as if it were a pig’s bladder filled with too much water. It would burst and I would die.
I finally fought down my panic and took control. I used the king’s body to snatch the girl by her hair and fling her to the ground. She ran from the room after staring at him in disbelief. I was just about to make good my escape when the door flung open and the accursed sorcerer-mage Rustem stepped in. He saw me. I know he saw me there in the mind of the king, although I cannot say how. He reached for his waist and pulled out the kusti rope these mages wear to effect a spell and he shook it hard three times. I screamed as I was wrenched out and thrown back into my body. The pain I felt was agonizing. I screamed again as I saw that a large rat was gnawing on my left great toenail, causing it to bleed. My cry barely frightened it, and it stared at me with red eyes and a bloody mouth.
I hastened back to my quarters in the mage hall, but the sorcerer-mage Rustem was waiting for me with armed soldiers. Before I could dispel them with a curse, Rustem put a binding spell on me. He was devilishly powerful. It was at this point that I decided that when I killed him—for certainly I would never suffer a man to live who was so powerful—I would see to it that he suffered intensely. Yes, he would know fear like he never imagined.
Tuesday, April 23, 2013
On the night that I decided to test my skills of long-term possession, it was crisp and rather cold. I journeyed into the forest by foot, careful that I was not observed. I had found what I thought was an ingenious hiding place for my body. It was in a dense part of the woods. I shivered with cold and excitement. I dared not wear voluminous robes, for the spot where I would hide was small. I breathed in the moist night air and paused to listen to the sounds of the night. I heard insects, rodents, and the hooting of a large owl. The leaves rustled both on the ground and in the trees as the wind blew the dry ones. It was soon to be winter.
The large tree I stood before was dark now. The big hole in its trunk had looked quite suitable in the daytime, but now it was very dark and I knew not what lurked within. Perhaps I had chosen the den of a fox. I felt uneasy, for my body would remain vulnerable while my spirit ranged like that of an owl. Again, I remind you that this was one of the problems I faced. I screwed up my courage and muttered the curses I had learned while living among the Persian magi. They detested insects, frogs, lizards, snakes, mice, rats, and their ilk. They concocted spells to destroy these creatures they called xrafstars. I personally did not wish to share space with a poisonous spider or even a cockroach. Soon I was to discover that these were the least of my problems.
I squeezed into the space and felt the chill increase. Being a mage, I blocked my discomfort and began to work my magic. Soon I felt my spirit soaring over the plain of Verethragna and toward the royal palace. I found King Cyrus the Great, and as he yawned, covering his mouth with a bejeweled hand, I entered his mouth and made my way into his mind. He seemed startled at first, but he didn’t see me. This was very good news. I laughed and rubbed my hands together until in a paroxysm of ecstasy, I clapped them together mightily.
I had done it. Now it was a matter of becoming comfortable and learning how to control him. I observed carefully. He was seated in a less magnificent throne in his private quarters. The great, soft pillows were made of brocaded silk in bright colors. Pure gold threads woven into the designs made the upholstery glint in the lights of the many braziers in the large room. The king’s sword hung on a gold knob at the side of the throne, which was large enough to accommodate three people. He took a languid sip of the exquisite wine in his goblet as a woman entered. The servant announced her formally as queen Faranak, youngest queen among the many Cyrus had married. I wrung my hands in anxiety. I had not factored this in. Surely I had to somehow control what might occur. Yes, I must!
Monday, April 22, 2013
I will not reveal the names of the teachers I studied with. They were relatively useful, but after learning what little they had to teach, I killed each of them in turn. I realized that I had to actually experience my magic and eventually it would come under my control. Such powerful magic, however, is dangerous—even to the wielder. I found a sorcerer-mage by the name of Rustem after making my way into the Persian metropolis of Pasargadae. He had knowledge that I needed. He was born to be my guide, but he was perverse. This man Rustem was the head sorcerer-mage to the so-called King of Kings, Cyrus the Great. He had power, and this made me hate him.
The problem is that he was quite perceptive, and he knew my heart was full of evil. His perversion was that he wanted to be a pure hearted sage, when only evil runs in the veins of sorcerers. He taught me some useful things, nevertheless. My goal, you see, was to be able to possess people for a longer time that was normally possible for me. Usually, I could stay in a person for a few minutes. In addition, I thought that it would be best, in so far as my goal was to gain enormous power, to act as a guiding figure in the mind of the person. Imagine, I thought, if I could enter into the mind of Cyrus the Great! I would influence his every thought. I would make him a slave to my desires. He would cower in the back of his mind while I forced him to decree whatever I fancied.
You may ask, how can you force a person to do something against his wishes? Don’t be so stupid! Every person has a weakness—sometimes many of them. The greatest flaw is fear. I look for that weakness. Yes, the greatest fear. Some people are foolishly afraid of bugs. Some fear disapproval. Some are terrified of lurking monsters. I find these fears. I find them and use them. There is no person alive who can hide themselves from me. I am drawn to fear. Ha!! Once I found a man who had an irrational fear of having his eye poked out. I conjured in his mind an image of his eye quivering on its stem of nerves, bouncing on his blanched cheek. His heart actually stopped.
I was becoming very skilled, but there were practical problems. I had to keep my body safe while I was sojourning mentally. It would be helpless, so I would have to hide it in a safe place. No—I trusted no person or demon to tend to my body. My goal was to one day find a suitable body—such as that of Cyrus the Great, and possess it. If it got old and died, I would simply transfer my mind to his successor. Oh I am a genius! But this was something I was working on.
One day, I decided to finally test my skills. I should have waited. I should not have experimented on Cyrus the Great, for he was protected well by the sorcerer-mage Rustem. I knew the king’s fear. And I say these fears can be quite foolish. His was indeed foolish.
Cyrus the Great’s fear was that of being seen or heard relieving himself in the privy. He did not even want anyone to know that he was subject to the physical needs that others had. He had gained this fear when he was a boy growing up with simple, poor shepherds. He had the knowledge, almost innately, that he was a prince. As a child he lived in dire poverty, having as a baby, been ordered killed by his father, the king. A kindly soldier had left him with a childless couple in a remote village. Even as a child, he would pretend to be a king and he bossed around the village children until they would come and serve him. This was how he was, in fact, discovered. Word had spread about his regal bearing and the way he held sway over the village, even at the tender age of ten.
One day, before being discovered, Cyrus had gone far up into the rocky hills to relieve himself. The day was fine and he lingered. Squatting, he passed his stool and then used a few large leaves to wipe himself. Being fastidious, even at that time, he always carried a little brass pot of water with which to wash himself afterwards. He had just finished when he felt eyes upon him. One of the boys who had been quite hard for him to subject was staring at him with an insolent smile on his face.
“Oh King!” the boy gloated, “Your shit stinks the same as anyone else’s! Why should you be King and not me?” With this, the boy ran down the rocky hill to crow his discovery to his friends.
Cyrus the Great had conceived of his need for secrecy at this point and it was reinforced when a Greek visitor had returned to his homeland relating how the Persian monarch was the greatest of all kings. He swore that he had never seen Emperor Cyrus the Great voiding stool or urine. Rumors spread that he didn’t even need to sleep—rather, he meditated instead.
My mistake I will reveal tomorrow. I am busy now. I see my servant putting sweetened water out for annoying birds that are no bigger than bees. They bothered me at first, and I poisoned many of them before I realized just how evil they are. Those birds fight constantly. They are without pity. I enjoy the fact that they are beautiful, as I am, yet black hearted.
Sunday, April 21, 2013
After killing those two, I left the place and returned in the morning when the crowd was removing her charred remains. The villagers saw me and immediately began to make the sign against the evil eye. Nobody dared accuse me of sorcery aloud, and this made me smile. I’d finally revealed my power. They were helpless against me. I inspired dread!
I left only to return later to eavesdrop on their conversations. Indeed, many of them suddenly remembered incidences where they had been forced to do things when they had been around me. They even accused me of things I’d not done. I felt a surge of power. No longer was I the skinny brat who was beaten and hated. No longer was I simply the grown, pitiful son of the town whore. I wanted to feel the power.
It was the morning of the next day and people congregated near the village well. I approached and stood fearlessly in the midst of them. The same people who had treated me like a dog made way for me and looked at me fearfully, but nobody dared to attack me. They just made the sign against evil and looked away. I wanted more. That night, I killed two cats and threw them into the village well. I imagined the reeking water after a few days. It would have been wonderful, I thought, to know a few spells and curses to increase the power of the evil I had wrought, but I was a mere pup. There was much for me to acquire.
I left that night hungering for knowledge. My mother had accused me of sorcery for my entire life. Now I saw this as a good thing. I wanted to surpass even my father in evil. Finally I was powerful! I had a mission in life and greatness awaited me. The only thing I needed now was a master who could teach me how to bridle this incredible power that came naturally to me. I wondered if my father had known what he was doing when he sired me. Had he longed for a powerful heir? If so, why had he left me alone with no guidance? It seemed that he indeed had a purpose, for he’d stayed with my mother until he was well sure that she was pregnant.
I couldn’t shake the idea that I was a miserable accident—a result only of his base urge to mate. I couldn’t stomach the idea that I was but a product of lust. If I ever found my father, I determined, I would torture and kill him before having to learn the truth. Before meeting him I would be powerful enough to cut the tongue out of his head and feed it to the buzzards in the desert. I elected not to hear the truth. I wanted to think that he had sired me as his heir. I was the culmination of his power! I was a son for which he could be proud. I would surpass him in the skills of sorcery! And then I would put him to death for his insolence!
Saturday, April 20, 2013
From the Sorcerer Gaumata's Journal--How I Committed My First Monstrous Crime--Warning: not for the weak
Ha!!! It was the one act that finally allowed me entrance into the ranks of the sorcerers. Dear readers, do you really think it is as easy as reading a book on black magic? No. Despite the fact that my "talent" was inborn, I needed one black act to burst out of the bubble of normal life and finally pass over into the realm where one truly has given up all troublesome signs of humanity. True--I had committed crimes before this, but cold blooded murder is different. Whenever I think of it, my body quickens. I could actually feel the darkness as it came over me. Delicious! The power that was unleashed made me burst with joy so much that I rubbed my hands together rapidly until in a flash of ecstasy, I clapped them. Sparks flew out around me and I began to dance.
I was twenty years of age, a grown man, when I finally killed my mother. We still lived in the small, one-room hut with the dirty sheet separating us. My mother changed men often. It seemed that her career as a whore had given her a perverse taste for the worst of them. This time my mother had come home with a fat man who had begun to undress even before he had retreated to his side of the sheet. He regarded me with a lascivious stare. His eyes were nearly hidden in the porcine face, but I still could see them dully watching me as he stroked his lower belly, which was as close as he could get to the stubby penis that peeked out from the mounds of flesh.
The obese man’s thighs were rolls of fat that jiggled as his excited manhood peeped out. My mother began to protest that I was watching. The man didn’t respond. Instead, he fell upon her and began to rip off her clothes. Her protestations became weak and within minutes, the whore was responding to him with her own grunts. They were rutting swine. I was disgusted.
I waited for a few minutes until my disgust became unbearable and then I got up and looked at them for a minute. The fat man’s behind was spread obscenely as he completely covered my mother. She saw me for a moment, but the man’s meaty face covered both her nose and mouth with his thick lips as he began to suck on her face. I went out and breathed the air. It seemed to me that the smell of their obscene, goatish mating had left its scent on me forever. Taking the oil lamp I still held in my hand, I spilled the oil all around the thatch roofed wooden hut. I then barred the door from the outside and tossed the lighted lamp and whatever oil remained onto the hut. It caught in an instant.
I first heard the high-pitched and frantic screams of my mother and then the bellowing of the fat man. I wondered if it was finally hot enough for her. I wondered if her itch had finally been satisfied. The screaming continued and the man threw himself against the door until it finally collapsed and he emerged, his entire naked body burning as if the accumulated fat in that corpse could burn like that for a month. He ran away from the hut, only to fall with his arms outstretched and his blackened body twitching fiercely. My mother stayed in the inferno. Now I was finally a whole man.
Friday, April 19, 2013
It was not always a pleasant experience to possess another’s body. I found out the hard way. I assumed that I could control a body if I tried hard enough, but there were exceptions. Women! Indeed these are perverse creatures that I cannot understand. Perhaps it was my foolishness in trying my trick on my own mother. You see, my friend, even if you hate your mother, there is a tie to her that resists all attempts of a man. It was such with my mother. Oh, I hated her, but she proved wily. No, perhaps I give her too much credit. The truth is this—a man cannot control a creature of lesser intelligence. I know this to be true because I once tried to enter the body of a cat and was forced to taste a rat. Tail first that beast consumed it, taking its time to savor the stringy guts.
I felt an odd responsibility to protect my mother, despite her perversions, or maybe because of them. After all, she never stopped reminding me that I had been the cause of her misfortunes. I was a young man old enough to have a woman of my own, but no woman of my village would ever consider me, the son of the village whore. I had to put up with my mother’s customers, but after some time, she began to bring home a string of unsavory lovers.
I hated them, and I hated having to hear their brutish sex. My mother, the whore that she was, had found a new lover. This man was squinty-eyed, chinless, and short. His greasy hair smelled like rancid head lard. We lived in a one-room hut at the time and my mother had strung up a dirty old sheet to separate them and me from their nocturnal romps.
Mind you, as a child, I’d already been exposed to this perversion. As a child, I had been curious, but not overly so. Now, as a young man who was, nevertheless, innocent in that I had never engaged in the act, I was disgusted that night after night I heard their moans escalate until they cried out like wild animals being tortured. I decided that whatever they were doing was horrible, painful, and most unpleasant. Yet I wondered what drove them to repeat this thing night after night! These nightly passions made them scream so that I spent my nights in terror, certain that the evil man would finally finish off my mother and then kill me as well. I ordered the man to leave our home and never return. He laughed in my face and told me that it was not my home, but my mother’s home. He said that he would leave if she ordered him to do so. She stood by silently.
The cries became louder and fiercer until one night I had enough! I decided that I would use my mother’s body. I would enter her body and then beat the man senseless. This might then put an end to their nightly struggles. Yes, I would use my mother’s body to beat that man out of the house. If my mother was such a coward, I decided, I would pummel that greasy-headed man with all the ferocity and hatred I felt toward him.
That night, I waited anxiously until I heard their moans. Then I concentrated on my mother in the same way that I had learned to focus on any man I had possessed before. Unlike other occasions, however, I was frightened. Suddenly I knew that I had made a drastic mistake. My mother’s passion had made her mind more like that of an animal’s, and I wasn’t experienced enough to handle it. I tried to back out of her mind, but it held me like a vise. I realized that I wasn’t possessing her at all. I was trapped.
I felt the sweating, stinking bodies come together. My mother spread her legs wide as her lover began to poke frantically at the wetness between her legs. I was caught up in her filthy feelings. It was like I was attacked by an irresistible need, something like an itch that has to be scratched—yet the need was so great that it overpowered me. I tried desperately to pull away, but I had no control over that woman.
Her greasy-smelling lover began to pump against my mother seemingly with all his might, his sweaty abdomen squelching against her. The repulsive smack-suck sounds emanating from their frantic union made me feel intense nausea. They beat against each other in this way, the pain-itch of it causing them to utter animal grunts and groans until, reaching a fevered pitch, the man suddenly stiffened and went limp inside of her still pulsating hole.
The hideous appendage was now flaccid and slippery as he withdrew it, making a trail of slime on her thigh as it did so. The revolting, reeking substance became sticky at once. The hot hole between my mother’s legs pulsated and she writhed again, trying to scratch the awful itch somehow.
I felt seized in a terrible snare from which I could not escape, but suddenly I felt her grip on me recede and I opened my own eyes. I found myself in bed with my hands balled into such tight fists that there were bloody little half-moons against the pale white skin of my palms. Most terrifying to me was that my own genital was stiff and painful. I did not sleep again for many, many nights. It was this event, I believe, that caused me to conceive an incredible hatred for women. I hate them especially because of their hunger for sex. I have never again tried to possess one.
Thursday, April 18, 2013
Life was never the same for me after I realized that I could possess people. My mother never beat me again as she was wont. From that experience I learned that I could enter a person’s body and feel the sensations of that body. I would sometimes even control the body in these early days, but only for a few moments, and only if the person was weak in the mind. I remember the first time I discovered this. I have not always been as assertive as I am today. In fact, I was the village punching bag. Do you know how it was for me? A few of you might. A bully in my village loved to box my ears whenever I passed by him. He was usually accompanied by a gang of other ruffians, eager to please him, their leader. This time he was alone. When he saw me I cowered down on my haunches at the base of a tree and tried to cover my head with my skinny arms in preparation for his blows.
He lifted me by an arm, for he was quite a large fellow, and was about to deliver a punch when I felt the power. I willed myself to slip into his body and stood there over my slumped and still form. I considered what to do. I could feel a pain in the boy’s right toe. It had to be an infected toenail, I thought. It gave me an idea. I gritted my teeth, or his teeth to be accurate, and began to beat that body. I used his own fists to strike his mouth and nose, although the pain was unbearable and I had to scream. Finally I slammed the boy’s head into a tree and willed myself back from that pain- seared body to my own sound body. I stood on shaky limbs, but my body felt no pain. I looked at the heap in front of me. Teeth lay scattered about and the face of that boy was ruined. I skipped away, pleased with what I had done. After this the village ruffians kept their distance from me.
Wednesday, April 17, 2013
Ahh…I believe that being born into a position of power and influence corrupts a man. It is the rise—like that of a phoenix from the ashes of a burned and scarred soul that truly makes for a great man.
Let me stray not, however. I was going to tell you how my powers came to be. One day my mother was cleaning the house of a rich man. I waited in a corner, trying to make myself small and invisible. But it wasn’t so. An obese male child, whose face was as flat as a pan from eating so much food, came and sat close to me. I saw that even his head had become fatty and folds formed under his chin and at the base of his head. His tiny, mean eyes were set into the fatty cheeks and brow in such a way that he looked like a hog fattened for the slaughter. In fact, in his stubby fingered hand he held a large hunk of pig meat, which he gripped by its bone handle. It dripped fat and emitted a wonderful fragrance.
Me, I hadn’t eaten for a day, and I watched as his peg-like teeth tore into the crispy, golden skin. The meat smelled wonderfully of garlic and pork! I had never tasted such a thing, but the fragrance made me think it was delicious beyond my dreams! Although the sight of the mean-spirited boy was repulsive, I closed my eyes not to block him out, but to try and savor the meat he held. I took a deep breath, inhaling the fragrance until I could indeed taste the rich meat with my own mouth.
I opened my eyes suddenly as the taste filled my senses. I could see myself—my body, slumped before me. I realized that I was in the body of the corpulent boy! I felt that I’d been stuffed into an overflowing bag. His body was so sickening. I paused but for a moment and then I tore into the meat with that boy’s repulsive small mouth. I was enjoying the food through another’s body! I ate and ate until the entire thing was gone, then like a dog, I began to gnaw on the bone until a great piece of cartilage tore off and I attempted to swallow it.
That thing lodged in his throat and I began to struggle for breath. I stood and tried to scream, but vomit rose and clogged my breathing even more. I, in that boy’s body, fell to the ground in terrible spasms and then suddenly it was over. I dreamily opened my eyes and before me I saw a horrid sight. The boy lay curled at my feet. His eyes popped out of a face purple in color, and his mouth was set in a mask of death. Pee had puddled at his groin and he smelled of excrement. I screamed a thin howl of terror.
My mother was on me in an instant and she dragged me away from the corpse. I stood there shivering while she set to screaming for the women of the house.
“I found him like this, alone! What has happened?” my mother wailed as if stricken with grief.
The women gathered and began to shriek and wail in mourning. An old woman who appeared almost blind began to grope at the body. “I expected this would happen one day!” she said in a singsong voice. “Daughter-in-law, you have spoiled him so badly that it has happened as I predicted! He has eaten himself to death! You are fat and useless yourself. Now without a son you may as well be dead. I will council my son to find a better wife!”
At this the mother wailed and tore her bodice as she scooped dusty earth up and poured it over her head and body. I stayed quiet, hoping they wouldn’t notice me. One woman finally opened the corpse’s mouth and pulled the hunk of cartilage from its throat. “It is as she said. Greed has killed this brat!”
My mother didn’t ask to be paid for her work that day and we went hungry. As we made our way home she grunted and looked away as she spoke. “You! You killed that fat good-for-nothing rich child with the same sort of sorcery that your father used. You had better beware or we will both end up burnt at the stake for using unlawful magic!”
Tuesday, April 16, 2013
My dear readers: I have been away for some time with a dear friend, the evil mage Gaumata. He enjoys his fame as an vicious sorcerer, and so I make no excuses for him. In any case, he is terribly old fashioned, and although he is fascinated with the idea of a blog to tell his story, he refuses to touch a computer. He has asked me to take his dictation and post his story. Perhaps he can be convinced to have his own page soon and leave me to my own musings.
The great and powerful black-hearted sage Gaumata says:
First entry: My cursed birth, my whorish mother, and my sorcerer father.
My wonderful inscription at Behistun will tell my history in Persian, Babylonian, and Elamite. I will be famous for all time, but you, the reader of this magical text, will know my true story. I am Gaumata the Sorcerer, now known as Darius the Great of Persia.
It is my secret, but how can I gloat if I think that nobody will ever know? This is my journal—my story, and I will have it interred with this body. I have already enlisted the help of the best mage in the world. He will make sure that this journal and my remains are protected from grave robbers, but later, perhaps in two thousand years, it will emerge and people will know the truth. Do you think I really trust that mage with such a responsibility? No indeed! If he only knew! I chose him because he is young and strong and his mind is devious. I plan not to die, but to use my precious black sorcery to take his body, as I have taken the body of Darius as a vehicle for my great mind. Maybe later another great man will emerge—a man perhaps greater than Darius the Great! Ha! But let us start from the beginning.
It all started as a happy accident. I was a miserable lad of five years living with that whore who gave birth to me. She was never a mother to me, but treated me like she would a stray dog. We lived in the town of Fugasa in the Sogdian outlands. I remember her, this mother of mine. She would scream, “Don’t look at me! You have the evil eye, just like that father of yours! What a demon sorcerer he is!”
Over and over she would tell the story. “I was only a child, just a girl. So tender and beautiful! My father died when blood ran with his piss. It was probably the doing of the sorcerer, for a sorcerer can put a curse on a man and truly he will die! Listen my son, for you cannot blame me for hating you! That evil man, after my father was dead and my mother left destitute, he came to us. He offered money and a home to my mother, and she, the weakling that she was, sold me to him. I was glad for what happened to her for that crime!
“Do you know, you craven scarecrow, that I later saw her body after it had been tossed into a refuse heap, and I wasn’t even grieved? How could I be? That man used me, a scrap of a little girl! He stuck that thing into me right here!” she would point to the place between her legs.
“Again and again for over a year he did this to me until finally I was round in the belly with child. With you! Then he stopped. One day he just disappeared and I stayed like a beaten goat in the place he had paid for. I stayed until the landlord took me by the hair and threw me out. Later, his wily wife came and got me out of the gutter. Why not sell her to the men who frequent our rooms? She said to her husband. After that I was forced to be a whore. Now do you know why I hate you? You have those eyes! The same eyes as him—a murky green with an ochre center. I said don’t look at me!”
That was what I had to suffer. I remember the bitter cold nights I passed without a blanket and with an empty stomach. Now I can eat delicacies of any kind, but as a child, I starved. Sometimes the men who pleasured themselves on my mother would come and beat me, as if their sexual scratching stirred within them hate and violence. Yes, I do think that was why.