Wednesday, June 12, 2013
Dead at Last
Cyrus the Great knew that he was a great warrior even at his advancing age. He hated to have the killing of a woman on his list of accomplishments. He felt compassion, but then suddenly rage. The thing in his head (me)—the thing that kept trying to tell him what to do and what to feel—he felt helpless to stop the power that rushed into his muscles now. He felt as strong as a young man, and he had to kill the bitch that dared to approach him swinging her little club. She was a disgusting woman, but he would deal with her now, although her filth would be polluting.
Suddenly she charged at him and they were so close that Cyrus could see the small bubbles in her saliva as she cried out. He was too close now to swing his sword. The woman was upon him in an instant, stabbing at his gut with a short sword. Cyrus was himself again suddenly. The pain was sudden and he saw a white streak before his eyes. He was afraid now. It would happen and he could do nothing to stop it. All of a sudden, he felt himself lose control of his bowels. All the treasures that they had been hoarding during this wretched trip were suddenly let loose and he could feel it in his pants. So this was how it would be, he thought miserably.
I almost regretted leaving him, but I knew I had to push out of his mind before death took him. I did not wish to die with him, which is what would have happened. Now I tarried not. I rushed to the place where my body had hid for so long. At my arrival, my servant, the one who had been caring for my body, jumped back in alarm. I opened red-rimmed eyes and stared at him in hatred, for he knew my secrets. He had bathed my naked body for all these years. I looked around to see the miserable place and I was disgusted. He had become sloppy. My body smelled and my hair was matted. Even my fingernails were long and curling—yellowed with age.
With one hand, I grabbed his face and he screamed. I used those horny, yellow nails to gouge slices into his cheeks. Then dragging him toward my face even as he struggled, I bit his neck in a frenzy and drank of his hot blood, for my body was starved and my soul, furious.