a Sunday in church

Marie hated the church, religion and God. If she had the privilege of acting as she wished, she would strip all the churches, regardless of the deity they worshipped, from all the gold and jewels they used as useless decor. She would sale the art and redistribute the wealth to those who needed the most. Then she would light the greatest fire the world had seen; the big Cathedral in her town would be the first to go down. The whole universe would see it being blown to pieces and her walking away from the explosion in tight leather pants, black sunglasses and red high heels.

Unfortunately, she wasn’t a criminal mastermind or had a governor’s resources. Marie was just a 14 year old not allowed to do anything her Mother didn’t approve of. So, here she was, sited next to her in the Cathedral, daydreaming about exploding churches and the downfall of religion instead of paying attention to the vicar’s sermon.

The vicar was quite old and prudish. Everyone held him in high esteem except her. Marie once commented ruefully that he must have an insatiable hunger for sex; otherwise how could his wife have been pregnant ten times… unless she committed the sin of adultery. Marie’s insolence didn’t amuse her pious Mother. Instead she thought that skipping the most popular party of the year would help her reassess her view of people.

Anyhow the vicar’s voice was flat and boring, with the exceptional quality of driving her nuts and sleepy at the same time. She wished to be anywhere else but there, a sentiment that apparently she shared with her Mother. Fascinating, she thought as she observed the adult fumbling with the hem of her woollen dress, a movement out of place as her usual pose was clasped hands in her lap and staring the vicar with puppy eyes.

What could have caused her Mother agitation? The girl looked around once more and noticed some younger kids stifling their giggles behind their Bibles. The baker was stroking his beard in a futile effort to look thoughtful instead of amused and her school’s uptight Principal looked as if she wanted to send the vicar to detention.

Marie, for the first time since she decided to become an atheist during her seventh birthday, paid attention to the obligatory Sunday sermon. As the words registered in her mind, a laugh bubbled up her chest endangering her attendance to the following weekend’s party. She was sure that what the vicar was reading in his usual flat voice wasn’t what he had intended to read that day. How else could his sudden fascination with animal mating rituals be explained? Well, she had a theory about it, but it didn’t really fit with the topic of “loving your neighbour”, unless the vicar tried to bring forth a polyamorous lifestyle in their community.

As the vicar progressed with his sermon, and her Mother almost destroyed the hem of her dress by pulling that one thread that threatened to come loose, Marie grew more and more entertained by the sheer ignorance of the vicar. The old man went on and on pronouncing one word after the other, without processing them at all, so confident he was on the text he had written the night before.

A satisfied and somewhat evil smirk appeared openly on her face now. The Cathedral was filled with murmurs from every corner, people were openly discussing with each other. As a long thread started unravelling her Mother’s dress, Marie caught the eye of only other person in the church with a wicked smile on his face. It belonged to Nico, the one year older, rebellious and somewhat handsome fourth son of the vicar. Nico seemed too pleased with the content of his father’s words; and by remembering his last year’s record of expulsions, Marie knew who had orchestrated today’s fiasco. Anyway everyone knew that the vicar made his sons act as his personal scribes.

Nico winked at her and she winked back. She might not be a criminal mastermind or have a politician’s resources yet, but it seemed to her that she had just found a possible collaborator in her ambitious plans.


Red sky in the morning

“Red sky in the morning, sailors take warning. The dawn is promising, the day will be treacherous. We have to walk through the mists with care, but they can bring us the price we have longed for”. The Captain stood tall on the prow of the bridge, the mists already gathering around him. The early sun rays turned them red. Red as blood, red as rubies. The pirate crew cherished spilling blood and they longed for rubies. “An easy day isn’t waiting us, but if we go through the mists, then we will have all we looked for the last 10 years. “

The cheers of the sailors echoed over the still sea, but they were replaced soon by silence. The fog was becoming thicker with each passing moment. The cold seemed to sip through their skins and settle in their bones. As soon as the sun rose above the horizon, the red mists were gone and it could have already gone and they would never know. They could not see clear enough; the tip of their noses was the end of their world.

One-Eyed Joe went to the Captain. “This is not a normal mist”. A long pause followed. The Captain always thought it useless to confirm the obvious. Men should keep their words sparse as they can never be taken back. Also, he never repeated a command twice, so you better listen carefully, unless you wished for a swim with the sharks.

One-Eyed Joe continued: “Let us say, that this is indeed the fabled weather that will get us what we want. What will we do once the Bride of the Sea comes to us?”

“She will not come to us” the Captain corrected his Second in command. “She will sing and we will follow her instructions”.

The other man didn’t fear this moment as much as he should. He could not see anything on the sea, but he had faith that somehow his Captain will not lead them astray. He never had before, so why should he do it now?

“All right. We have good chances that we will navigate through this terrible weather and reach the Bride. Then what? How do we not get eaten? How do we get the treasure for ourselves?”

“We will persuade her” answered the Captain, as if it was obvious to everyone.

“But how?” an answer was never given. Even though he could not see any part of his Captain face, he suspected that the pirate was smiling one of his wicked smiles that made women swoon.

Hours in silence passed. The mist was so thick that you could pick up a knife and carve a nice, big piece out of it. No one dared to move and try it.

A woman’s voice broke the silence. It was sweet and at the same time every single man (and woman) on the ship felt ripples of fear traveling down their spines. She was calling them to her; they longed to go, but at the same time they feared the end.

“Row 10 degrees to the left” the Captain commanded and they started to move through the horrible weather.

Red sky in the morning, sailors take warning, was what the old fish folk sang.

“What if we fail?” One-Eyed Joe dared to ask in a barely audible whisper.

The Captain hated to state the obvious. He wasted no breathe to say they would die.

Floating words

She knew there was someone who lied to her. She knew that there was someone who betrayed not only her secrets, but most importantly her trust. She was not named the Dark Queen for no reason at all. She would. A thousand ways to take revenge came to her mind, each and one of them very enjoyable to her, but not so much for the culprit. She needed to figure out who betrayed her and make them look into her eyes to understand the extent of their mistake.

Sometimes it doesn’t make any sense. It is just a whisper in the air, in a dark corridor, behind an elaborate gloved hand. All she had to do was to wait and see. Observe and follow back the clues to the bird got in her trap.

When you speak, your words float through the air. They are gone, they do not belong to you anymore. They will reach the wrong ears, or they might come back to you through the most unexpected route, the Queen told to her young daughter. The Princess was only five years old, but her mother was sure that she would a worthy successor. The little girl had good the perfect teacher after all; her.

She heard the words in the market and as soon as she did, a smile slowly grew in her face. It was a small uplift of the corners of her mouth, most people would never notice it, or they would think it was a product of their imagination. However, those who knew her, recognize it and felt their blood freeze in their veins.

Revenge was close, she could almost taste it. She had found the end of the loose thread and it was easy to follow it back. The pot seller in the central market had spoken to his wife. His wife had a very sweet face with full lips and rosy cheeks. The wench liked to chat with the guards and listen to their stories. A specific guard had interesting stories to share, all of them found in the small circle of the kitchen backgrounds. A specific maid thought that she could impress the guard by telling him what a friend from the high levels told her. The poor girl was not only ugly but also stupid, because she really believed that the stories were just random gossip. The valet knew they were not random, and he knew the correct ears would be reached. As for him? He knew he could buy a good education for his son from the extra gold he got to transfer what he was told.

The Queen did not care for him or any of the rest. They were manipulated or tried to better their lives. She cared to cut off the head of the snake and once she cut it, the rest would never bother her again. It was time she paid a visit to the Grand Duke and teach him the same lesson she taught her young girl. Only that he would not live long after that to be benefited by it.

Author’s Note: Inspired by a certain chapter in the Clash of Kings. 😀

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.

I am not a nice person

I am not a nice person. I feel bad about it but it is the truth.

I want the city to burn down, so I can feel free. I want people to suffer with me, feel bad when I feel bad.  I want to tell them all the mean things I think of them and let my words cut them deeper than words, bleed their emotions out. I want my crush to be happy, with me or else be alone and lonely as I am.

I want to be a Dark Queen that rules an empire full of my minions, I want to be the crazy doctor that finds how to make zombies, I want to be the dragon that kills the prince and steals the princess, I want to be the crazy cat lady that screws with everyones mind. I want to rule the world with iron and fire.

I am not a nice person, and I want to be free.

I have a meaness inside me, real as an organ. – Gillian Flynn, Dark Places

What could go wrong?

She let him pass without another word. 

Anyway, what could she really do? Nothing. She did not really have enough power to impose her will to him, even though she was the Princess and he just the Chancellor. He never listened to her, the old man always treated her as a child. But not for long.

The princess, furious with him, decided to take the matters in her hands. What could possible go wrong?

Apparently everything could go wrong. 

The young princess regretted her actions now. She wished she had not acted by herself, without someone’s else help. Her mistakes started when she tried to bypass her guardians advice, the poor Chancellor would so angry with her. But for now, she had to cope with the Stable Master.

“Why on earth would you choose to go and free all the horses? We lost our best stallion!” his huge head was red with anger and looked like it would pop like a cherry.

“I did it cause they were slaves. In my kingdom, we do not have slaves”, she tried to sound regal and confident, but it was hard to have an effect like that when you are only twelve years old.

“They were not slaves!” the man started to say how well groomed they were, how often he feed them carrots and apples and how often he brushed them. The more she heard him, the worst she felt. All she wanted to do was to let them leave in the garden and not closed in the stables.

What would possible go worse now?

Apparently, she was grounded. The worst part of it though, was that she had to see all that people trying to fix her mess. The chancelor is mean, she thought trying not to cry.


She has a darkness inside her. She is bright and cheerful, with musical voice, but she has a darkness inside her that makes me cringe. I can see it in her deep, blue eyes, stirring from time to time, laying there, ready to burst out. What is she thinking?

I can see her soul screaming in agony. I cannot hear its words, is it desperation for freedom? Does she want to break free from the darkness’ bonds and float away with the autumn leaves? Or does she want to release the beast and let it consume everyone near it?

I cannot tell, and it scares me.