Fanfic Friday
“The Demon with My Face”
(One of the first chapters I wrote about Alondra the Vampire Huntress. Any resemblances between any of the characters in this story and more famous pop culture characters should be obvious -- though my first draft of this chapter made the connection even more obvious than it is in this chapter. I hope you all enjoy it.)
Chapter One
There is a demon in the world. It wears my face. I know it is not me because I am not a demon. But it is the demon's face that other people see, not mine. And even when I myself look into the mirror, I never see my face. Only the demon's.
My name is Alondra Verano. I used to be normal.
It’s only when I grew older that I learned that I was different. That I was always different. That I always would be different.
I almost killed myself that day. Instead I took a bottle of sleeping pills from the local drug store and took them all in one gulp, only to find myself spitting them out fifteen minutes later.
My parents came home and found me lying by the downstairs toilet. They sent me to the modern-day equivalent of an exorcist and then they put me in a mental hospital. There the doctors continually told me that I never saw what I obviously saw and that I never heard what I always heard.
It was not until the day that a specialist came in to interview me that I finally learned the truth. That I was a Chosen One.
I kinda laughed at that point because both my parents were cradle Catholics and though there had been rumors of Sephardic ancestry in our family's distant past, few of the younger generation -- including myself -- ever took such rumors seriously.
Then the specialist stopped smiling and said that he did not mean that kind of Chosen One. No, I was of a different kind.
The man came from a distant city -- apparently a city located within my home state -- though his accent told me that he himself had come from someplace far further. Apparently there was others like me in this place. Two, in fact -- though in fact, there were only supposed to be one.
He wanted me to come with him and train with the other two. That it would not be good for me to be alone. I had a special gift but such a gift would be useless to me without training. At least that's what he said.
At that point, I would have agreed to anything to get out of that place.
And yet...
"Let me speak to my parents," I said. "And my sister. And the rest of the family."
The man from far away frowned. "That... would not be advisable. The more your family knows, the more they'll be in danger."
"Bullshit," I said, despite myself. "I want to at least talk to my mother."
"You mean the loving mother who committed you to this facility in the first place?" he asked.
"She had her reasons," I said, feeling somewhat strange because I was actually defending actions taken by my mom that I hated.
And yet something about the stranger made me want to fight back. Almost as if he knew something about me that he had no right to know. And yet it was something that I had to know as well. And if I didn't know it, I'd never be free -- no matter how many times I was released.
"Okay," he finally said. "You can see your mother."
Friday, December 20, 2019
Monday, December 16, 2019
Cuento de Mi Id
“I Don't Want to Start Any Blasphemous Rumors, But I Think That the Muse Has Got a Sick Sense of Humor”
Alondra was dreaming again when she had the vision. It was a white palace adorned with purple pennants and there were servants throughout the place, dressed in green and gold. On a balcony overlooking the countryside, there stood a princess clad in a purple dress looking up at a full moon. She was gazing at a silver lake and chanting words that seemed quite familiar to Alondra...
It was then that she woke up. She reached for the notebook by the bed to write down the details of the dream while it was still fresh in her mind. But before she could write down the first words, a baby started crying.
It was her sister's baby but her sister was not home. So Alondra had to get up and see what was wrong with the baby. Did it need a new diaper? Or a fresh bottle?
Alondra could not tell. But she changed its diaper just in case and then she gave it a bottle when it kept fussing.
By the time the baby went back to sleep, it was almost time for Alondra to get ready for work. Alondra really wanted to write down her story first but she just knew that she had to take her shower now or else she would not get a chance to take one this morning.
Besides, the story was still intact in her brain. She just had to get it down on paper.
After her shower, there was no time to write because then she had to get dressed. Then she had to brush her hair. And do her makeup. Then she had to eat breakfast, only no one else was up yet so she had to cook her own breakfast first. Finally she had time but no, she didn't because she had to leave for her job at the local coffee shop or else she would be late. And her boss hated it when she came in late.
Oh, well, Alondra thought. I'll write at the coffee shop.
When she got to the coffee shop, there was no time to write because she had to wait on customers. It seemed unusually busy this morning -- not just during the morning breakfast rush and the lunch rush but in-between as well.
Ironically, one of her customers was herself a writer. She was a middle-aged redhead who continually stared at her laptop as if it held the answer to all the mysteries of the universe. Alondra thought about asking her for advice about writing, but every time she had the chance, the expression on the woman's face always discouraged her.
At long last, Alondra's work was through and she had the chance to go home. Now she finally had time to write.
But as Alondra opened her notebook and started to write down her dream, she had trouble remembering little details. Had it been a large palace or a small one? Purple pennants or green? Silver lake or blue?
Was this story really worth writing down? Alondra wondered. It had seemed so vivid this morning but now...
As Alondra read over the few words she had written, it was all she could do to keep from weeping.
xxx
Meanwhile, on the other side of town, the redhead who had been in the coffee shop was in her apartment trying to think of a story to write in order to justify her art grant.
But for some reason, the words would not come.
Indeed, no words had come all day.
And all week.
And yet people all around her seemed to find plenty of stuff to write about.
Life is so unfair, she thought. Why does everything always happen to me?
“I Don't Want to Start Any Blasphemous Rumors, But I Think That the Muse Has Got a Sick Sense of Humor”
Alondra was dreaming again when she had the vision. It was a white palace adorned with purple pennants and there were servants throughout the place, dressed in green and gold. On a balcony overlooking the countryside, there stood a princess clad in a purple dress looking up at a full moon. She was gazing at a silver lake and chanting words that seemed quite familiar to Alondra...
It was then that she woke up. She reached for the notebook by the bed to write down the details of the dream while it was still fresh in her mind. But before she could write down the first words, a baby started crying.
It was her sister's baby but her sister was not home. So Alondra had to get up and see what was wrong with the baby. Did it need a new diaper? Or a fresh bottle?
Alondra could not tell. But she changed its diaper just in case and then she gave it a bottle when it kept fussing.
By the time the baby went back to sleep, it was almost time for Alondra to get ready for work. Alondra really wanted to write down her story first but she just knew that she had to take her shower now or else she would not get a chance to take one this morning.
Besides, the story was still intact in her brain. She just had to get it down on paper.
After her shower, there was no time to write because then she had to get dressed. Then she had to brush her hair. And do her makeup. Then she had to eat breakfast, only no one else was up yet so she had to cook her own breakfast first. Finally she had time but no, she didn't because she had to leave for her job at the local coffee shop or else she would be late. And her boss hated it when she came in late.
Oh, well, Alondra thought. I'll write at the coffee shop.
When she got to the coffee shop, there was no time to write because she had to wait on customers. It seemed unusually busy this morning -- not just during the morning breakfast rush and the lunch rush but in-between as well.
Ironically, one of her customers was herself a writer. She was a middle-aged redhead who continually stared at her laptop as if it held the answer to all the mysteries of the universe. Alondra thought about asking her for advice about writing, but every time she had the chance, the expression on the woman's face always discouraged her.
At long last, Alondra's work was through and she had the chance to go home. Now she finally had time to write.
But as Alondra opened her notebook and started to write down her dream, she had trouble remembering little details. Had it been a large palace or a small one? Purple pennants or green? Silver lake or blue?
Was this story really worth writing down? Alondra wondered. It had seemed so vivid this morning but now...
As Alondra read over the few words she had written, it was all she could do to keep from weeping.
xxx
Meanwhile, on the other side of town, the redhead who had been in the coffee shop was in her apartment trying to think of a story to write in order to justify her art grant.
But for some reason, the words would not come.
Indeed, no words had come all day.
And all week.
And yet people all around her seemed to find plenty of stuff to write about.
Life is so unfair, she thought. Why does everything always happen to me?
Friday, December 13, 2019
Monday, December 9, 2019
Novela de Mi Id
“In Fear and Trembling”
Chapter Seven
The hairy one proved to be a gentler lover than she had imagined. The first night had not been one of pain like her mother had warned and as succeeding nights wore on, she began to realize that her husband was quite gentle for a man who looked like a beast.
Nevertheless, there came a night when she awoke to find him staring out their bedroom window, his face focused on the distant moon.
“Come to bed, my heaven,” she said.
“I can't.”
“What is it?” She pushed away the blankets and walked over to him.
He was murmuring something. “I was conceived in darkness and raised in darkness. Now I conceive yet another in darkness and so on forever and amen.”
“What is it?” she said again.
He turned to look at her, and suddenly, despite her long white robe, she felt quite exposed. His attention seemed focused on the small triangular slit that had been made in her robe below the waist. It was a conception dress, to put it quite bluntly, and yet the way her husband looked at her now made it quite clear that conception was not quite on his mind.
“You are quite beautiful,” he said.
“Thank you.”
“Too beautiful.”
“I don't understand.”
“They will separate us in the end. The beauty and the beast only live happily ever after in fairy tales.”
He stared at the night sky again. “Someday I will burn and so will all my children. But you -- you will be spared.”
“Why are you talking like this?”
“I have decided to go to the New World, away from the eyes of the Mother Church.”
He grasped her hand. “I want you to come with me.”
“Why?”
“Because you are my wife.”
“No,” she said. “I mean, why are you fleeing the kingdom?”
He looked away from her. “You would not understand.”
“Yes, I would. Just tell me.”
He turned toward her again.
“I am cursed.”
“Why do you say that? Because you're hairy?”
He shook his head and then fell silent.
Then he pointed.
On a path in the garden below their bedroom window, the bones of a small animal shone in the moonlight.
“I did that,” Don Felipe said. He looked at her again. “And God help me, someday I may do it again.”
“In Fear and Trembling”
Chapter Seven
The hairy one proved to be a gentler lover than she had imagined. The first night had not been one of pain like her mother had warned and as succeeding nights wore on, she began to realize that her husband was quite gentle for a man who looked like a beast.
Nevertheless, there came a night when she awoke to find him staring out their bedroom window, his face focused on the distant moon.
“Come to bed, my heaven,” she said.
“I can't.”
“What is it?” She pushed away the blankets and walked over to him.
He was murmuring something. “I was conceived in darkness and raised in darkness. Now I conceive yet another in darkness and so on forever and amen.”
“What is it?” she said again.
He turned to look at her, and suddenly, despite her long white robe, she felt quite exposed. His attention seemed focused on the small triangular slit that had been made in her robe below the waist. It was a conception dress, to put it quite bluntly, and yet the way her husband looked at her now made it quite clear that conception was not quite on his mind.
“You are quite beautiful,” he said.
“Thank you.”
“Too beautiful.”
“I don't understand.”
“They will separate us in the end. The beauty and the beast only live happily ever after in fairy tales.”
He stared at the night sky again. “Someday I will burn and so will all my children. But you -- you will be spared.”
“Why are you talking like this?”
“I have decided to go to the New World, away from the eyes of the Mother Church.”
He grasped her hand. “I want you to come with me.”
“Why?”
“Because you are my wife.”
“No,” she said. “I mean, why are you fleeing the kingdom?”
He looked away from her. “You would not understand.”
“Yes, I would. Just tell me.”
He turned toward her again.
“I am cursed.”
“Why do you say that? Because you're hairy?”
He shook his head and then fell silent.
Then he pointed.
On a path in the garden below their bedroom window, the bones of a small animal shone in the moonlight.
“I did that,” Don Felipe said. He looked at her again. “And God help me, someday I may do it again.”
Friday, December 6, 2019
Fanfic Friday
"Jim Morrison's It's a Wonderful Life"
The banker awoke at dawn.
He put his boots on.
And he walked on down the hall.
He stopped at the room where his brother Harry slept.
And then he...
Then he stopped at the room where his Uncle Billy slept.
And then he...
And then he walked on down the hall.
And he came to a door
and he looked inside.
"Mary?" "Yes, dear?" "I want to kiss you."
"Violet?" "Yes, George?" "I want to..." *Makes unintelligible noise*
"Jim Morrison's It's a Wonderful Life"
The banker awoke at dawn.
He put his boots on.
And he walked on down the hall.
He stopped at the room where his brother Harry slept.
And then he...
Then he stopped at the room where his Uncle Billy slept.
And then he...
And then he walked on down the hall.
And he came to a door
and he looked inside.
"Mary?" "Yes, dear?" "I want to kiss you."
"Violet?" "Yes, George?" "I want to..." *Makes unintelligible noise*
Monday, December 2, 2019
Novela de Mi Id
“In Fear and Trembling”
Chapter Six
The next morning a sexless one appeared at the door. “Come with me,” it said.
He was escorted down a long black corridor to a solitary stone chamber. The furnishings were much simpler in this chamber than in the one in which he had slept the night before. For one thing, there were no windows or wall coverings and the floor was bare stone. The only piece of furniture was a wooden chair; its only source of heat was a modest fire. A brown-robed man sat in the chair. Besides him was a yellowing human skull. The man's head seemed almost as hairless as the skull. His hood was down and around his neck could be seen a crucifix and a rosary.
“Good evening,” the man said. “I am Father Jerónimo.”
The man patted the skull beside him and waited for an answer. When none was forthcoming, he continued. “I have heard that you have some objection to the Mother Church.”
Father Jerónimo patted the skull again. “Why is that?”
He replied, “For years, I have been a prisoner in the royal dungeon. Did the Mother Church lift a finger to help me? No. Why then should I be especially grateful to it for anything?”
Father Jerónimo frowned. “You owe the Mother Church more than you know. It was we who fed you and educated you. It was we who gave you clothes and arranged your marriage. Your own father cared little whether you lived or died. You saw that for yourself at the ceremony.”
“You mean that old man was my father?”
“Of course,” said Father Jerónimo. “But then I suspect that you had already guessed as much.”
He said nothing.
Father Jerónimo continued. “Anyway, the one reason you are here today is because of the Mother Church. Otherwise, you would have been exposed at birth.”
The hairless old man smiled and noted his visitor's reaction.
“What of my mother?” he asked.
“She died while giving birth to you, her only child,” said Father Jerónimo. “Why else do you think your father resents you so?”
He stared at Father Jerónimo, his assurance suddenly shaken. He took a step forward. “Why do you tell me this?"
“Just a warning,” said Father Jerónimo. “You are a good man in spite of your unalterable handicaps. Our kingdom needs good men like you to rule it. Especially since we are on the verge of becoming an empire. However, what she does not need is would-be heretics spitting in the face of her supporters and dragging the kingdom down to ruin. After all, we are first and foremost a Christian country. Our ways are Christian ways. Take care not to mock them for even you are not indispensable.”
Father Jerónimo patted the skull again. “Heed the lesson of the memento mori. We are all mortal. Never forget that.”
He just stared at the old man again.
“You are dismissed,” said the priest.
He just stood there.
“I said you are dismissed.”
He still did not move. “My name,” he said.
“What?”
“Say my name.”
“Very well,” said the priest. “You are dismissed, Don Felipe. But take care never to darken my door again.”
He smiled again. “You seem to forget that it was you who had invited me to come here.”
And with that, he left.
“In Fear and Trembling”
Chapter Six
The next morning a sexless one appeared at the door. “Come with me,” it said.
He was escorted down a long black corridor to a solitary stone chamber. The furnishings were much simpler in this chamber than in the one in which he had slept the night before. For one thing, there were no windows or wall coverings and the floor was bare stone. The only piece of furniture was a wooden chair; its only source of heat was a modest fire. A brown-robed man sat in the chair. Besides him was a yellowing human skull. The man's head seemed almost as hairless as the skull. His hood was down and around his neck could be seen a crucifix and a rosary.
“Good evening,” the man said. “I am Father Jerónimo.”
The man patted the skull beside him and waited for an answer. When none was forthcoming, he continued. “I have heard that you have some objection to the Mother Church.”
Father Jerónimo patted the skull again. “Why is that?”
He replied, “For years, I have been a prisoner in the royal dungeon. Did the Mother Church lift a finger to help me? No. Why then should I be especially grateful to it for anything?”
Father Jerónimo frowned. “You owe the Mother Church more than you know. It was we who fed you and educated you. It was we who gave you clothes and arranged your marriage. Your own father cared little whether you lived or died. You saw that for yourself at the ceremony.”
“You mean that old man was my father?”
“Of course,” said Father Jerónimo. “But then I suspect that you had already guessed as much.”
He said nothing.
Father Jerónimo continued. “Anyway, the one reason you are here today is because of the Mother Church. Otherwise, you would have been exposed at birth.”
The hairless old man smiled and noted his visitor's reaction.
“What of my mother?” he asked.
“She died while giving birth to you, her only child,” said Father Jerónimo. “Why else do you think your father resents you so?”
He stared at Father Jerónimo, his assurance suddenly shaken. He took a step forward. “Why do you tell me this?"
“Just a warning,” said Father Jerónimo. “You are a good man in spite of your unalterable handicaps. Our kingdom needs good men like you to rule it. Especially since we are on the verge of becoming an empire. However, what she does not need is would-be heretics spitting in the face of her supporters and dragging the kingdom down to ruin. After all, we are first and foremost a Christian country. Our ways are Christian ways. Take care not to mock them for even you are not indispensable.”
Father Jerónimo patted the skull again. “Heed the lesson of the memento mori. We are all mortal. Never forget that.”
He just stared at the old man again.
“You are dismissed,” said the priest.
He just stood there.
“I said you are dismissed.”
He still did not move. “My name,” he said.
“What?”
“Say my name.”
“Very well,” said the priest. “You are dismissed, Don Felipe. But take care never to darken my door again.”
He smiled again. “You seem to forget that it was you who had invited me to come here.”
And with that, he left.
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