Darwin

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2010-05-23 18:31:59

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Darwin’s’ Pull.

Lucien stood at his Cathedral sized desk, tapping his fingers against his forehead irritated. His quickening pulse played out a maddening beat, his fingers joined in with the rhythm.

Think, Lucien, think.

‘We need some sort of a gimmick, an incentive.’ Theodore Speltz spoke, a timid man, in his late forties. His hair was already on its way to balding, a sparse patch near the top of his head. Pushing up glasses perched on a narrow hawk like nose he gazed at Lucien. His eyes small and unremarkable. He was the mirrored opposite of Lucien.

Tall, strong, with a lean physique, thick, black hair and intense green eyes. His skin was of a pale but healthy complexity. Lucien was a work of art. Like Michelangio's David , he shone, in all his glory.

’Well, how about getting some tart to front the campaign for us? Would that work? Someone young, naïve, good- looking, but totally utterly dense. We can’t afford for some deceptive bimbo figuring what we’re up to before we’ve even got a chance to suck blood.’ Lucien drawled, the words slipping off of his tongue like honey, a dark flash in his eyes.

‘Because, and I mean this, if we fuck up, its your throat that’s cut, and no-body wants that now, do they? Least of all, you. I would have thought’. You got that ’Theodore?’ He spat the mans name out as if it was poison, as if the very words stung his tongue as they flowed out, staining his insides a hideous black ink.

Theodore lowered his head, in defeat.

‘ I did not think so. Now, come, we must prepare for the Harvesting. I am hungry, and I get nasty when I need to feed.’ But I rather think that you had already realised that, the other night, did you not.’ Lucien smiled wickedly, showing a row of smooth white teeth, and a pair of sharp, cruel fangs.

Theodore looked away in fear. Lucien was a cruel man. He played with his victims, to him it was a sport. The same could be said for his many girlfriends. He loved women. And everyone knew it. After all, why should he not have those exquisite beauties for himself, then taste their writhing souls later on? And every now and again, if a lover proved herself worthy, and she had the looks to match, he would take her into himself, and make him one of his own. She could embrace the world in a new light.

He rarely asked them though. He would take anything and everything, be it their love, or their life. And if they were to decline to either of these requests, it fell unto deaf ears. Lucian could have anything he wanted, and he knew this.

Because people feared him. They knew he was different to the others. His immense beauty alone captivate the women, and made the men envious. And although fear tends to breed hostility, in Lucian’s case this was not so. Men wanted to be like him. Women wanted him, so badly, they ached.

They would have thoughts, images of him racing around their heads all day, even more so at night, which would not cease until their bodied had been spent by his bedside. Lucian had been known to visit these ladies under his power at night while they slept soundly. These were Lucian’s Chosen.

A young woman, of twenty three, had been thinking a lot of Lucian these past few days, and Lucian had decided that she had waited long enough. He usually let the infatuation carry on for a while, so that the feelings were all that more intense.

He was excited by this woman. True, a lot of the women Lucien met where ‘exciting’. But this girl was so very different. She herself captivated the hearts of men all across town, and beyond. She had an intense beauty, a gothic sort, that if you gazed into her eyes, you just knew that you would fall victim to her deadly kisses.

She was an angel. A dark angel. She wore her blackened wings silently, and to all but few, was invisible to the naked eye.

The girl, Adriana, carried a heavy soul. Her eyes mirrored a seep sadness, that very few had failed to find, even as they had gazed into her eyes whilst they expressed their burning love to her.

She had been violated, in the worst possible way. Her heart now remained a chamber of locked secrets, and as the blood pumped through her veins, this was the only real feeling to remind her that she was, in fact, still alive.

This was the sort of pain that Lucian desired. Someone who was already corrupt.

Someone who’s already seen the black hand of human kind, and felt its killing blow, when all she should have felt was love, gentleness, and awe at her beauty, inside, and out.

So, Lucian called out to her, in foreign tongues, meant to enrapture, ultimately to conquer the senses.

Adriana sat in the corner of the small, tastefully furnished café, on her own.

The waiter came over to her, to take her order. He looked up as he ask his usual, cheerful, mundane question ’what can I get for you?’ doing a double take. He drank in the girl’s appearance greedily, taking in her full, red lips, and her pale, flawless skin, the faintest touch of natural blush across prominent cheek bones. His eyes lingered on her eyes, so deep they were, so blue, he could swear he’d been standing at the very edge gazing in, bottomless pools of intensity, wondering if he were indeed, perhaps to drown in a soul so deep, it hurt him to gaze, but unable to tear his eyes away. This girl was beautiful. Not beautiful in the sense of unnatural means, painted doll faces, and unnatural hair.

No, she was beautiful in the sense of she was naturally just beautiful. She was just.. Haunting. Her long, natural dark hair, with shots of blue here and there, those were enhancements, but that was about it. Adriana sensed the young waiter, as he approached, aware of how she was intimidating him. She smiled, a genuine, warm smile. The boy felt as if he had died and gone to heaven. Her smile.. Oh!

If angels had a form, this would indeed be the form that they would take! When Adriana smiled, the sun shone bright, and the mood of the day would change. The sun beat down on the world below, shattering the grey outlook, and releasing the prisoners of a gloomy Monday morning.

Often she would paint her dreams, but not always. Nearly always, the dream was of her. And she did not really know what they meant, what they could tell her. But she knew that the dreams were trying to tell her something,. And that is why she might paint some of the more vivid ones. She always painted herself wearing red. She dreamt of herself with in red. Red, a strong, passionate colour, mirrored her own personality. Dreaming of a red object in Adriana’s mind, was to absorb the image, commit it to memory, to later wash over canvas, awash with her soul, the canvas would literally shake with the intensity.

Some of the images Adriana were disturbing, and these she would only show her closet friends, the most open-minded of them all. A particularly close friend was Siobhan, a small, petite, blonde, very cute- looking, with large, brown eyes. She had the sweetest soul ever.

Her hair was just above shoulder-length, in a blunt style. She usually wore her hair in braids. She was a dancer, and attended a very creative dance school, which allowed her to be as expressive in her art form as her heart desired. She had had to pay for it though, working hard for summers, coming from a less than privileged background.

Her parents had said, ‘if you really want to dance, than you would sacrifice everything to do what you wanted most in the world.’ So she did. She had achieved her goal, and that is one of the most extraordinary feelings in the world. Against all the odds, when things look their bleakest, the strength of character reforms the weaknesses, overrides the negative advice, and keeps you focused on your dream.

Dreams are what ignite the human soul, but strength is what keeps the fires burning strong, the passion surging, coursing through the veins, like a drug hammering, refusing to die, hammering at your heart, screaming to be released.

Walking up to the door that led her into the foyer, she pushed the key into the lock, jiggling the handle a bit, as it was slightly broken, before letting herself in. The door locked automatically behind her, a cold, mechanical sound.

For a brief moment, she felt so alone. She shuddered, hating the emotions that had just entered her, flooding her mind, and engulfing her heart. The moment passed, and she mental shrugged off the odd occurrence. Deciding she would take the stairs, she climbed her way to her floor. On passing the 6th floor, she dropped her bag, and the contents spilled onto the cold, smooth concrete.

Picking up her purse, and the various accoutrements, she paused momentarily. Something.. was not right. She had felt a shift in the atmosphere somehow. She could not quite put her finger on it, but somehow, something was not right. At all. She walked back down the twelve stairs that led on to the corridor of the 6th floor.

As she did, the feelings grew stronger. She carried on, the tension mounting. As she passed door after door of the same, non-descript doors, with the numbers etched onto them in solid brass plaques, the feelings grew, swallowing her in swirling, mixed emotions, ever- changing like a lone light within the darkness, interchanging the colours that reflected the moods she was experiencing. Blue, red, green, blue, white, and finally resting at black. The blue certainly indicated the strong sense of depression. The black represented.. Despair.

The light she could see in her minds eye rested on black as she stood outside number 12. The blackness pulsating, emitting the pain throughout her body, making her tremble with utter fear and dread. She wanted to turn and run, but knew she must not. For some reason, she knew she had been brought here, and she was not about to turn heel and flee, when such a force had literally ’spoken’ to her. She had to know what, or who was feeling this isolation, this.. Pain. It was so intense, it made Adriana want to weep with the sheer helplessness she now felt.

The door was ajar, slightly. She pushed it open gently, calling in a small, but strong voice. ’Hello? Umm, I don’t know if you know, but your door’s open? I was just passing and I-’ she stopped abruptly, as she entered the flat, hand covering her mouth.

Gazing around the flat, it looked as though the occupant, or occupants had been broken into, on first glance. The room was a mess. Glass shelves and cabinets were smashed, a television in the corner wrecked, a chair had been flung at it. Mirrors were smashed, glass every where, cruel slithers strewn in and amongst the sheepskin rugs that decorated the wooden floors. But what had shocked Adriana the most, was what she saw lying on the floor sandwiched between the leather sofa and the modern fireplace.

It was a man. He lay silently, as though asleep. A coffee table stood just to the left of him. It was clear that there had been a fight of some kind, and he had been thrown onto the glass table, as it was smashed, bits of steel poked through the glass which had remained within the frame, but the rest of the steel frame had buckled with the sheer force at which the guy must have been thrown. She was not completely sure, but she guessed that a woman could not have been strong enough to do this, so it must have been another man involved.

Walking slowly over to the man who lay silently on the floor, she was dimly aware that she should have either checked the rest of the flat to see if there was an intruder still lurking, or, she should have called for help. A woman was pretty venerable in this kind of situation, but she could save herself, if need be. But her main concern was for the man who lay injured, possibly dying, and not for herself.

She called over to the man. ’hello? Are you ok?’ She heard herself saying. She could not deny the dread that was building up inside of her. Before she even got to the man, she knew the hideous truth that awaited her. She stood over him, briefly, her tall, slender figure made her seem ethereal almost.

She saw the blood, wet, glistening that oozed from the back of his head. The man opened his eyes, briefly. Adriana knew he was dying. Blood trickled from his ears. His eyes struggled to focus, and Adriana, sensing this, knelt down by his side. ’Am I dead?’ He asked, his eyes finally resting on Adriana’s face. ’Oh god! He muttered. Am I in heaven?’ His Irish accent wavered tremulously. ’Are you an angel?’ he asked again.

Adriana was not sure what to do. She knew that the man was dying, delirious from the amount of blood that was pouring from his wound. She saw the life ebbing slowly away from him, the light from his eyes would soon cease, and would dilate, and soon he would be enveloped in darkness.

She prayed he had a good soul, for then he would see the light once more, the light many talked about. And he would pass onto a new life. That would be his heaven. Another chance.

She was not about to lie to him, she did not deal in broken promises and lies. She respected the truth, and respected those that she gave it to.

She held back the tears that threatened to betray her, and smiled. The sun cast vivid prisms of light through the shards of broken glass, through the damaged windows, creating a kaleidoscope of colours. The man smiled back at her, warmly. ‘I’m dying, aren’t I?’ Adriana held his hand, which he gripped ferociously. He feared. Adriana lowered her head, and spoke.

Remember life, not as you knew it, but how you know it. Remember the first kiss you were given from your sweetheart. Remember the first time you ever made love to your loved one. Remember the sheer ecstasy and closeness you felt. How whole, complete you felt. The connection you made with another living, breathing soul.

You are life. You made your life what it represents to the world. A life lived.

You will be judged, and you will say: Yes, I have made mistakes, but I have lived. I did not waste my life. I loved every minute of it’ You felt things, you embraced life.

Life is about empathy, love and sacrifice. I believe you lived you life by those three rules.

The mans grip loosened, touching her face with his other hand, smiling. ‘I have no fear. I will walk on into my next life with my head held high, my heart and conscious lay clear. I have a pure soul, and I have experienced life, tasted life, and I will be back for more. You are an angel, for you to perceive such things, for such a young one, you must be an enlightened one.’

Adriana lowered her eyes, putting her hand to his own. She replied bluntly’ I am no angel, nor an enlightened being, I am simply a woman with her own darkness, struggling to keep the demons at bay. If anything, I am a Fallen Angel. Can you see my blackened wings?’

The man nodded, gazing at her in awe Adriana meant of course, metaphorically speaking, but who knew, as the hand slipped away from her face, his eyes closed in eternal slumber. Who knew?

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