Skip to main content

Short Story S:1 P: 11 - Mina

An excerpt from The Diary of Mina


Lifetimes have passed since I have put words to paper, I dare say even, since I have been brave enough to share my voice with others. Nay, I have not been mute all these years, but I have left my internal struggles unspoken.
Until now.
I cannot hold the devils tongue that cries so loudly for me to share the world I have come to live in any longer. Though once vial and the damming fiend that took my soul, he is now my only true companion, a lover that has never left my bed nor my side. His whispered desires turned me away from the life I once lead and pulled me across oceans and vast mountainscapes to this still foreign country I call home.


As I write this, recounting so many years gone by, I am sharing space with three ghosts who occupy, not just this very room, but so much more than time. Their voices are just as loud as his, each with tales so tragic, so heartbreaking I fear that once I have shared them all I too will break, but I cannot let them remain silent as well. They have mourned at the devils cry too for we are united in body & soul--our lives so connected we could very well portray the demon beast Cerberus in Homer’s writings upon the stage at Walnut Street’s Theatre. We each have our own lives, our own stories and even our own names, but we are still one. One body, one mind, one soul damned to the fires of hell who have yet to call upon us. I do not know when it may ever will, but I fear if it does not we will never find the forgiveness we had been deceived of so long ago. God has no voice where demons tread for he chooses not too, even when you call upon his mercy with the blood of others.


If I must begin it shall be with the eldest for it is her voice, that though weak, still speaks strongly. She first brought the devil upon us with innocence in youth, her timidness and physical beauty capturing the sight of a Inccubi searching the streets of the educated and well to do for such a woman as her. It is her blood that runs through our veins and it is her unchanging beauty we share. Faint, with a mild English accent I can hardly recall, she begins with her name, always her name, its birth-sake carved upon her tongue as it is upon a stone a continent away. She is Wilhelmina Harker-- mother, wife and beloved of no one but say the devil that owns us all.

 I have never forgotten the years that have swept past me, the faces of those that have long since fallen--their names forever heavy upon my heart. I wanted nothing more in life than to be settled with a man of great character, someone who was gentle, strong...
*Long ago I had the urge to continue Mina's story in a direction that has not been taken yet. This is where her voice stopped. Perhaps one day soon I'll sit and encourage her to continue her tale.
Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Short Story S:1 P:9 - Eternal Youth - Final Part 4

*WARNING! Adult sexual content to follow. Reader discretion is advised. You don't like it, don't read it. Previously* [Stumbling onto the dias, she pulled away long enough to slap her hand upon a decorative mark accenting her throne and suddenly they were descending, the dias sinking into the floor as their bodies and mouths came together again] By the time the other woman registered the change in location she was tossing her cloak away and yanking her tunic up and out of her breeches. “Where are we?” the girl gasped as she raised her arms to allow her to pull the white material up and off of her completely. The sight of supple full breasts, now free of clothing, had her quite literally dribbling down her legs with need and she felt a whimper, the likes of which she never even knew, leave her. “My bedchamber,” she finally replied, her voice frayed with desire as her hands reached out and practically ripped the snap from the tight breeches, trying to get th...
Post a Comment
Read more

Short Story S:2 P: 15 - "Between Shore and Sea"

     The storm raged on around them, encouraging rolling waves to thrash about as if they were dancing to the torrent of emotions spilling across the distance Between Shore and Sea . Words whipped and echoed like arrows across the tides, inflaming sun tanned cheeks and pale skin with blood red passion.      It was to have been a simple affair--no heart and all body.      But as the being had come ashore in the dead of night what felt like a lifetime ago--and settled its charcoal eyes on a beauty carved from mortal flesh and bone watching the stars in wonder--it had felt a daunting pull that spoke of white hot heat and doom.      From that moment forward they had spun a web of Emerald Longing and Golden Wonder around themselves as their bodies twined again and again. By dawn on that very first morning they were unable to draw themselves apart, so they had stayed cocooned, nestled in a world of damp wood, soft sheets and the...
Post a Comment
Read more

Short Story S: 3 Post: 4 - "They Danced"

They danced. In the haunting stillness of the abandoned house, they twirled, dipped, swayed and caressed like time had forgotten them. Shades of red, black and amber skin flickered between ethereal blue flames while soft--echoing music guided their whispering footsteps throughout the darkened house, filling the shadows that hid from the swelling moon consuming the skyline out broken window panes with whispers of ‘forever my love’ and ‘until our souls are born again’ . They danced. Their sunken eyes boring into each other with burning looks of longing, their ashen hearts thrumming with memories of stolen moments from a lifetime ago, and their transparent fingers gripping, tugging and digging into withered flesh and aging cloth with desperation as they moved like an endless foray. They knew not the state of their decay, their visions seared in a loop of enduring youthful ignorance that swung them like a pendulum between the living and the dead. For him...
Post a Comment
Read more