Immortalizing the word #6 – Secret Habits

Another piece from J. Wesley Beeks, Jr.

—

Crimson shades flower the tapestry of azure blues and tranquil quills of pink. I fell in love with this place when I walked the plush green of its soil. Happiness was an untamed expression that bubbled in my head reeling me into intoxication. The sweet pleasure of lightly fingered petals would lie against my skin like molasses coasting on sweet cornbread. White petals are strung around me as a midsummer wreath. In the distance I can hear Puck strumming on a faerie harpsichord. During these times I can recall my life as living and vibrant…………………

Until my murder.

Shame was brought upon my host as a woman of cloth dazzled me with her piety and sweet visage. She coaxed me with her honey drenched words and hypnotic intelligence.

Never had I known a woman whose divine wisdom and lovely countenance could render me faster in embrace than voluptuous bosom and painted murals.

Her embrace reached inside my soul and gave rise to call higher than strapping thighs and lucid caverns ever could.

My extension of life learned to reach the unexplored terrain, from which my own adolescent libido could ever know.

I was baptized in her glory and swam in the essence of her sweet caramel river and even then as I hungered for her…

Intertwined by her ravenous mounting and heaving; stealing breathe from my frame as I became less and she grew into more…

Lying motionless within her gaze she drew the life from me with exact precision scalping the heart chamber and intestines from my tender frame.

Near the place where we would meet heaven would spring forth and gossamer wings would flutter angelic ambrosia seeping into flesh like grass…exotica

She seemed otherworldly my lady…Sweet disposition as we exchanged glances and touches of unbridled passion. My fellow friends were just learning about the blushes and demonstrative actions of young girls. I was in intimate court with my Divine Queen. On this day a veil covered her eyes, and she led me to a botanical bed and laid me down. Her porcelain hands bound me with strips of cloth, my legs and hands. She removed her veil and plunged her soul within my own stripping the last of my pubescent youth. Smooth hands caressed and bathed me with rose water . She bade me an oppressed goodbye while retaining a luminescent youth. In her hand was a placed a sword which she, my DIVINE QUEEN, graced with the rose water , then slashed the veins of my delicate neck. The head fell cleanly off my frame rolling neatly into her blood soaked lap.

Much time has passed since that day and in the seat of my death is a decorative statue of a child holding a flame. Many come to this holy place and sit to pray. At times I do hear of the immense sorrow and joy as they speak. Gardenias and Lily of the Valleys grow fertile around my temple. This is one of the oldest and most prosperous orders. I see to that!!

Blood for Blood ………….Tears for Joy………..Pain for Love….

The order has many words whispered in the halls and chambers. Many of the nuns complained of nauseous pains in their stomach and hearts as they walked the gardens. Many were sent to the physician only to bleed and wither away in death as the days went by. Prayers were echoed throughout the habit only to be revoked. Clergy held vigils and nightly sanctions with youthful Old Mother overseeing all.

Beauty came in the form of young girl with child asking for forgiveness as she stood over me and sobbed I took the child from her. She fell into hysteria as she heard my pain but I took her child. Her blood flowed like a red river over the feet of my monument. I spared her life. The old Mother of the order was with her as she bleed and when she bent down to pick the young girl from her pain I made sure that she heard my heartbeat throbbing from the ground.

Young beauty still conscious heard the old Mother’s confession and dismissed it as insanity until the old Mother spoke my name. Old Mother stared into young beauty’s face and offered to come to me. Old Mother stabbed herself and begged for deliverance. The ultimate act for she knew no natural death would take her. Old Mother came to know her prayers very well as she slumbered off to death. Final court was mine and Old Mother was sentenced to a different path she had not planned.

Young beauty was my savior and told the story with all evidence in hand. Generation to generation of orders had participated in this most heinous hand. The clergy consecrated the land and I am set to any path I chose. I chose to watch over this order, as is my right to choose.

When you hear the thumping of a sound, listen close to it; the story it tells may often reveal a truer nature to be found.