white pepper

“Miss, your order is almost placed. All we need now is your name and address”.

“Elfing Street 90. Bloody Mary”.

“Excuse me?” the voice on the phone sounded confused. “I said Elfing Street 90. My name is Bloody Mary”.

“Is this a joke?”

“My parents were a joke” if she had a time travel machine, she would go back in time and beat her parents to sense. 

“Umm, ok. So your surname is Bloody?”

“No, this is my first name” Bloody was losing patience. “Is everything in order now?”

“Yes, Miss. Your package will arrive in two days”.

“Good” Bloody Mary hung up the phone  and stared out her window in Elfing Street. She didn’t seem to be able to do much more these days. Just sipping boiling hot till it burned anything that remained inside of her and staring at falling snowflakes.

She fucking hated snowflakes. They fell the morning everything in her life fell apart.

It was a morning like this one, cold and snowy. The snowflakes made everything look merrier than usually, promising a white Christmas. Why did she have to love someone so much that she wanted to keep them happy? Bloody Mary had met her in a demonstration against some war or something like that. It didn’t really matter anymore, what it mattered was they were together for ever, despite the talk.

Bloody Mary left work early that day. Her boss was afraid of a snowstorm and closed his shop earlier than usually. None of his employees complained, it was almost Christmas. “Boss, can I take with me some white pepper? Alice needs it for tonight’s roast”. Truth was that they needed the pepper because Alice had mentioned that the snow looked like pepper falling from sky. Bloody thought that it would be a good idea if they had their own peppery snowstorm in their kitchen. 

Ten minutes later she was almost home with the pepper in her inner pocket. A sense of excitement and tiredness went through her. Nowadays, she would have liked to be able to say that she entered the place with a sense of doom, that a premonition of what was to happen warned her. But really, all that Bloody could think was cuddling with Alice in front of the fireplace.

Their small apartment was oddly dark; her sweetheart liked aromatic candles, but today nothing lit their small living room. Weird thumping sounds came from their bedroom. “Thump, thump, thump” wet and repetitive. It sounded like the time her dad decapitated her mom in their bedroom. Panicked, she grabbed the meat knife from the kitchen. Bloody wouldn’t let the love of her life die at the hands of a lunatic.

Steeled herself, took a deep breath and entered the room. What she saw in her mind, had nothing in common with the picture she had in her mind. 

The bitch that she loved as anyone else on this Earth was naked on their own bed, being fucked from behind by a man. A man. Somehow Bloody had expected to feel less of a betrayal if she had been with another woman; now Alice had betrayed her and all women around the globe who fought to be independent, to be free to love whomever they wished.

She died for it.

He died because he simple put his cock in the wrong hole.

Bloody Mary called the cops herself. They found her sitting in the middle of the room, meditating on the floor. She was covered in blood, their bedding was soaked with blood, sweat and semen. Bloody had sliced his throat first, then she stabbed her 42 times. She put up a fight; during some point the white pepper in her pocket had opened. She still sneezed when the police took her away.

Her trial was a national sensation for a long time. The lesbian who killed her girlfriend for a guy, was perfect for tabloid headlines. The judge though consider it a double homicide.The next twenty years of her life Bloody passed them killing boredom in a prison cell, forgotten by everyone. Once she killed Alice, she had no one left.

In prison there was a priest. He always told her to forgive. To forget. ”I cannot forget” Could she forgive?

Bloody Mary was already out of prison the last two years, her life already wasted. She was diagnosed with cancer and felt more alone than ever. The delivered package was in her pocket, exactly like that hideous night. “Alice McTavish” was written on the white tomb, an old picture that Alice hated was bellow it.  Someone had left a flower pot that long ago dried out.

The old woman opened the package she had ordered online. It was the exact same brand of white pepper she had brought home for Alice that day. Bloody took a handful out of it and sprinkled it on top of her lover’s grave. A snowstorm out of pepper for her at last. “All I wanted to do  was to make you laugh and sneeze. You used to look so cute when you sneezed”.

Today the sun was shining, cold and refreshing, signalling a Christmas morning fresh to enjoy. Christmas is about loving, is about giving, is about forgivng, used to say the priest during his festive sermon. Did Bloody forgive?

She searched her soul for an answer and she found out she knew it all along. She wished it was different. 

“I cannot forgive you. See you in hell, bitch”.

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Safety

What more could she wish for? What more than safety could she wish for?

Up until tonight, she had everything she wished for, and that was to be kept safe from the monsters lurking bellow her bed, the shadows lingering on the corners of her eyes, the ghosts breathing down the back of her neck.

Safety was all she ever wished for. She hoped, as she turned off the lights in her room, that she would wake up in the morning, safe.

Good night world, wish me luck.

Due Payment

The sun was shining in the sky. Its rays shone through the café windows. The greenhouse effect caused by the glass surrounding her, made her feel like an old delicate flower in the greenhouse. Did all plants feel so warm and moist regardless the time of year? If this was so, she was so happy she was not a plant.

The news at the newspaper were already stale, even though they happened only the day before. All had read a thousand times over about the inauguration of Donald Trump, the 45th President of the USA. Every time the same story; they made such a big fuss over the new President of the USA, or the new Prime Minister of the UK, or the whichever man (or very rarely woman) took over the control of a country of the West Society.

She did not care anymore about politics. This is a logical consequences of the age she had reached and the experiences she had gathered in her long life. At some point the squabbling over the rules and laws and power lost its power to interest you.

A sudden chill on the back of her neck, a crippling sensation on the lower of her back. Suddenly, her stomach was tied in knots and her aged fingers were numb from the cold. A quick glance around her, confirmed her suspicions. She was the only one who knew. The rest of the customers were too happy, too relaxed to have experienced a chill coming from a gust of the open door. No, she was here, and the old woman sitting on the back of the café was the only one who knew.

The pair next to her let their coffees get cold and the weirdos at the back of the café continued writing furiously at their notebooks, and the Lady glad in black sat across from her. It is so soon, was the only coherent thought she could make.

“Hallo, Johanna” the low voice of the Lady rose the need in her to scratch her face. “I hope you do not mind joining you for a cup of tea”.

“What do you want?” Johanna tried to sound brave, something that she did not feel. There was not point for fake pleasantries, this was not a courtesy visit.

“I want the payment” a happy note in Lady’s voice.

“It is so soon!” cried Johanna. A couple of customers turned around to look at her. Quickly she pretended that she was speaking on her phone through her earphones.

“It is not. You should have read the terms and conditions more carefully when you signed the contract”. Lady pulled out of her pocket a pair of neon green glasses, the only thing with color on her, and she wore them. After that she pulled out a very old stack of papers and took her so long to open them and find what she wanted that Johanna felt like she had aged another ten years at the mean time. “Paragraph 183” she read in her ageless voice. “When the Buyer has turned 100 years old, the payment must be given every six months instead of yearly, as it is increasingly difficult to keep her out of the clutches of Death.”

Johanna sighed. She hated Lady, but when she was thirteen years old, the idea she sold her seemed amazing. Who wouldn’t like to live forever? No illnesses, no hospitals, no doctor bills? And at what price? Just a liter of virgin’s blood.

A few moments passed. Johanna stared in front of her without looking at anything in particular. “Do I have a choice?”

“Did you ever had a choice?” questioned her ironically Lady.

No, she never had a choice.

Flowers from a grave

When she woke up that morning she wondered whether anyone would remember her birthday. She turned 30 years old today, even though she felt 20 years older. It was not easy having to go through high school, university and raise her baby sister. Her parents had never thought of their two daughters when they got involved with the local drug dealers.

They had promised to get them into the best university, to get them the most expensive clothes and the newest gadgets. Hanna’s parents tried hard to fulfill their promises, even though it meant they had to obtain illegal money. She did not care though, as long as she had the coolest clothes, fitting for the coolest kid at school.

Her life changed when a policeman picked her up from school and told her that her parents would never return. He tried to conceal the horror of two dismantled bodies. They said it was an accident, just a tragic car accident, but she knew it was revenge. No one got away from the organized crime unharmed.

She never learned what has caused the rift between her parents and them, but she found out something else at the first birthday after her parents’ death. Hanna received a box filled with flowers from her parents’ grave. They were red and twenty five in total. She fricked out but she did not believe in horror stories.

After a bit of research and questions to the false friends of her diseased parents, she could decipher the message of the flowers. She had to repay, or else her sister and her would join their parents in the grave.

It was hard surviving, but every birthday the flowers in the box were less and less. She was not proud of some of the things she did to obtain that sum of the money, but at last she and her baby sister were safe.

When she opened the door at  the day of her 30th birthday and found not gift waiting for her, no flowers at her doorstep, she knew she had just received the best gift of her life.

Wanted Robbers

CAREER OPPORTUNITY

Robber’s Ltd. is seeking to recruit motivated, competent, enthusiastic candidates for the following positions.

 

1) Goods acquisition manager.

-5 years of experience in the field is required with preference in illegal acquisition of goods from unsuspected travelers in the woods.

-willingness to argue with not so well mannered individuals in the field.

-knowledge of law is required.

 

2) Executive manager of  goods redistribution

-5 years in the field is required.

-character references from 2 former employers and mortal enemies are expected.

-Good knowledge of maths is required.

3) Internship position

-no previous experience is required.

-loose ethical views are advised.

-candidates under the age of 16 years old will not be considered.

 

Interested applicants of any gender and ethnicity may apply with a recent photo, criminal record and CV clearly stating the position they apply for. Positions will remain available till the right bastard shows up.

Give the appropriate documents to our representative at “Pirate’s Liar” going by with the name One Eyed Joe.

 

Human Resources Division

Robber’s Ltd.

Knitting

She coiled the dark red yarn around her aged fingers. She made a loop and started knitting. One, two, three, fifteen loops. Then time to extend it. One, two, three, twenty rows of perfect knitted loops were in place. The old woman knitted fast and steady. Only years of experience could make her knit so well.

She was skilled with the needles. She could do a lot of things with them. She remembered knitting scarfs for her grandchildren, socks for her daughter. She could remember the colors she used to knit the King a long blanket so he can be warm during the chilly nights of October. She remembered like it was yesterday the day she pulled out the eye of one man with her needle, and she could still hear the last breath of the whore she had killed by stabbing her between the ribs, right to the heart.

Oh, she was very skillful with the needles and red was always her favorite color.

 

Archetype: The Rebel

A person who refuses allegiance to, resists, or rises in arms against the government or ruler of his or her country. Also a person who resists any authority, control, or tradition; Foolish, bratty, valiant, headstrong.

Before going out of the room, she straightened her head and back. She cleaned a bit her clothes and moved her small package under her jacket. Then she joined the masses on the street as if she was a part of them, as if she was a part of the common people. As if she was not carrying the only thing that could destroy the Queen.

While she was moving around, she felt like she was going to die. She felt like the small package waited as much as the whole world. Was it so hot today that made her sweat like a pig? Or was it the anxiety that made the sweat look like pearls on her face?

She was worried she would not be able to reach her destination without drawing any attention. She was afraid she would not be there on time. Every guard scared her; were there always so many of them? She thought that the shiny weapons were mocking her: We will taste your flesh and drink your blood. You cannot hide from us.

She continued walking around till she found the place she wanted to reach. Her breath quickened and without wanting to, the same happened to her pace. She wanted to break to a run, but then she felt a strong hand touch her shoulder and her heart stopped.

As she turned to face the guard, her stomach turned into a thousand snakes moving round and round. The Resistance will fail, and it is all my fault. The guard looked her into the eye, searching for something. His friend was checking a drawing on an old paper. She tried to remain calm.

How long did they look at her? One second? Two minutes? Three hours? She would never be able to tell. She stood still as a statue, with her eyes fixed on the ground. The guards liked the people to keep it low, to show respect. They thought they were ruling, just because they were the Queen’s guard. But finally they left her. When they disappeared in the corner, she covered the rest of the distance running. What a marvellous rebel she made.

AN: Inspired by the Archetype: The Rebel playlist on 8tracks. You may find the tracklist here. Or listen here. Italics are for thoughts.