Tuesday, June 02, 2015


before story, just hadda say, these fffs been very useful for me as i try to finish diablesse diaries, and i real glad allyuh public-demanded i set it up again, so thanks for this flash fiction friday #57; trigger: …moments [that] amount to nothing momentous…

this year’s resolution: to die.
and this place will never know wha’ it gain through my loss.
they say it cyah be done. and plus nobody ever want to doublecross bois. but this cycle must stop because if i doh break it, it go break me.
you would think in making something like me, bois would have the sense to twist my insides too, render me unfeeling except for the child i must make. and i assumed he did, until i find myself falling, falling, falling…
he was supposed to be another conquest like the rest: engage, lead astray, fuck, send mad+abandon to his death, pray to the forest night for fertilisation; rinse+repeat, if no. instead i find myself not doing the deed i know is mine, stealing time with the walking dead desperately wanting to enjoy him longer, anything for a little more time…
3months later i still stalling+falling deeper+deeper, my blood singing+calling his name into the night, maybe into bois’ ear…i fear for my love’s immortal soul if bois hear i protecting a mark…but this man different; he had the look, the scent, but not the mind of the kinna man i am tasked with culling. when i make him out in the dance that night i make my usual spell and he come straight to my side; it eh decades i doing this and i doh miss…but this man bring a different spirit, not the usual brand of asshole…he talk me into talking and when later i coax him into walking me home i know i will not take him that night.
i don’t take him the nex’ night neither, nor the next.
nights become weeks become months and i become weak with hunger because i cannot consume another while i keep him. serial monogamy comes with the hoof; my condition allows me to take only one at a time and use each [one] only once, impregnated or not. until i consume him i starve both desire+obsession, but he feed something i didn’ know still grew in me…i know i was attempting the impossible, the undead cannot love the living, and live flesh recoils from death; my true face cyah stay hidden forever…
but still, months make me comfortable pretending i am not what i am and when he slide his hands up under my skirts i was sitting wide open, no spell holding him to boundaries i should know better than to let lapse. he was just being affectionate and the lightness of his touch take a moment to register the animal nature of the altar he crouch to worship but as i see it dawn on him what he groping i do the unthinkable, and tell him. everything. what i am, why he still here, how i feel and who i fear…
and he pull back and watch me tell him, listening but barely hearing, shock blocking the weight of my words.
and i know it was impossible when he hold my hands, still on his knees, and tell me if he alive because i love him too much to let my actions run their course, that love mean we can be together. absurd, all the hours we spend, back+forth through the night…love doh make me not what i am. what does? then give the obsession what it crave. we make a child together and raise our child together and i will cease to be what i have been…but i allow myself to believe when he come into me as the hours for my kind dissipating, sun rising to light the 1st+last man to bare my flank, and he touch me and show me he want to love me, prepared to take me as i am, and i feel him move deep inside me and for the 1st time in centuries that sensation doh come with an equally deep flash of hatred.
when i eventually sleep i expect to wake to a new world, not an empty bed. but when i see the note i know is my fault for not knowing better.
i’m sorry. i can’t.
no “love”.
i don’t even remember to check myself in the days after; too weak to hunt, i do nothing but cry+sleep+eat until i feel strong enough to talk to the night again. i hear story on the breeze of him pacing streets of port of spain talking to himself, progressively dirtier, stranger, not recognising friends+family who try to intervene, to carry him home; the irony doesn’t escape me. is that make me realise it happen, my love left his promise fulfilled…
the world is its usual circus but as they navigate hangovers and remembering to write the new date, i considering i have less than 9months now, and this is my only chance. if diablesse exists solely to conceive and bear the child she so covet, then i will make this baby, to sacrifice to the forest night, and when i out her little light, these infinite moments that amount to nothing momentous can finally, finally, end.

walk good.


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