The Soothsayer - Suspension

And the world stopped in 1849.

Hang in total suspension.

Not a stir of echo, a heartbeat or even a lift of an atom.

The world just stopped with its creatures and nature stuffed on their paths inanimately like the works of a cozy dollhouse.

Everything paused.





To be continue...

The Soothsayer - Cigarette

Notorious serial arsonist Nongchai had been acquitted in 1846 for his responsibility in causing harm to twenty-one people and four deaths in one of his fires.

Seven months later, he was decapitated in a boating accident.

His new life began.


Perhaps the greatest horror in this place was it's unyielding tolerance to succumb to expectations.

Many people would say that the sufferance of the flesh marked the focal principality here. Then those many people apparently had never been here. Not yet. For the pride of the local taskmasters had dedicated the punishment to the human psyche. Because the mind could fine tune and blend the flesh to endure any harshness, with due time. The mental immunity. The habitual instinct to adapt. Therefore it was only rational to remind and reeducate the human minds in every cherry minute that they had came here to suffer the worst and nothing less.

Nongchai opened his swollen eyes, a thin line of visionary field. The three suns took turns to boil the air with intense violet and sulfur gases. He felt for his body. Intact. There was a time where they taped his head onto the arse of a two headed ox for eons. Nongchai had passed out for some time. Someone did something to him. Nongchai would remember soon, for unconsciousness was a myth in this place. No one could sleep nor black out here, no matter how tortuous the routines gotten. They had to make sure everyone suffer every cherry waking second in this place. The seas of volcanoes made entirely of mankind erupted, washing erosive lava downstream to the million angling bodies. They screamed like neonates.

Some thought that with enough sufferings, the nirvana of redemption could be ultimately attained. That was ludicrous. Redemption was a concept only available in the mortal world. Besides, giving such hopes would only encourage the sinners to accept their punishment more readily. What kind of Hell would allow that? The mission of the local taskmasters was to kill any form of acceptance in this place. For without acceptance to one's peril, only can one truly agonize without ever learning how to cope.

Nongchai proceeded to move. It was everyone's motivation here to turn away from the suns, hoping to seek shade of some kind. The air was frying his skin. There were people everywhere. Hell was made up of sinners literally. The landscapes, the suns, the infrastructures and even the devices meant for punishments were made entirely of people. Underneath his weak feet, the earth of sinners stacked flat in gazillion bodies. Nongchai snipped his left toe into an eye of a sinner on the floor. Nongchai turned to look at the blood on his toe. It was not his.

Every sinners that died would drifted through the Valley of Passing first. The passage acted like a filter, removing certain human qualities while intensifying others. They would be immortals, but they couldn't recover nor heal damages to the flesh at all and they felt hungry and thirsty all the cherry times. When a sinner lost his arm, he could sew back on if he wanted. Could he still be able to feel that arm? Yes. For the intolerance to pain was so intensified that they rather not kept that rotting limb at all. Sometimes, sinners would appear with foreign objects attached to them, like a tree branch or another sinner's head, a consequence of the merry making by the local taskmasters.

And someone put something inside him, Nongchai was sure. Soon enough, a pack of humanoids were chasing him into the jungle of skins and hair. Nongchai ran with his nimble legs and tried to hid in some trees made of sinners. The trees were subjected to invasions by the eyeless birds, the insects made of sharp fingers and the hacking from the local taskmasters. The tree betrayed Nongchai by shrieking out to the humanoids. Nongchai kicked the tree and began to run again.

Contraband were sometimes leaked to the sinners. Be it a tiny flask of water, a piece of writing or a coin to play with, the voidness of any pleasure in this place would create a savage war with such contraband in-situ. There it was logical to realise that these contraband were placed by the local taskmasters to make a show out of the sinners.

Nongchai sat near the stream of blinking eyes, panting. His lungs weighted piercingly against his shrunken heart like a rusty spear. His head sweltered up as he felt a rush of nauseating turmoil inside. Something was inside him and those humanoids wanted it badly. Nongchai felt for his old wound site at the top right side of his head. It was chewed off some years ago. He put his fingers inside to assess the wound, and he dug out wet yellow tissues with a handful of maggots. The tiny insects each possessed a human face squirmed and wiggled restlessly. Nongchai crushed them in his fist and wondered what the humanoids wanted from him. The humanoids were of course sinners like him, but they came and stayed way longer than Nongchai. Things in this place do stuff to your mind, thought Nongchai.

Hunger had always been an issue around here. A starkly need that was strongly deprived. Nongchai had been tasting his intestines for months now. A small bite each time when his hunger pangs struck badly. At first he kept hitting his stomach to make them stop, until he punctured a hole in it. The pain was insanely mesmerising, yet the hunger never ceased. Nongchai had saw other sinners eating themselves or at others and he decided to try. It was a funny experience tasting your own flesh. It was then Nongchai had decided he had long abandoned what was left of his humanity.

Nongchai heard his vicious attackers closing up again. It looked like they would not stop hunting him until they had gotten what they wanted. What was that they wanted? Nongchai decided it was best to find out and surrender to them. After all, there weren't any places to run in this place.

Nongchai felt for what it appeared to be a shard of sharp bone in the mud of skulls and felt for its sharpness. He then touched his wasted skin, trying to decide where to violate himself. He dug deep inside his craved belly, crawled his fingers between his guts with stabbing tenderness. It was not in his guts. Nongchai breathed out a tremble of hot air as he felt for his back where the kidneys were. Using the stream water as reflection, he began to slice the dry bone into the side of his waist. Then he dug with his fingers again. Each turn of the index and the middle finger made him sweat pain in his eyebrows and winching in jumpy agony.

No. It was not in his back. Nongchai heard them coming. It seemed that they had gathered more of their clan. He could smelt them. Their shadows fell on him like vultures as they shrieked in maniacal glee.

'No! No! No! Please!' Screamed Nongchai.

The mishapped humanoids tore Nongchai up like a laundry basket. Blood flew and colon uncoiled. They dug deeper and snapped away all his ribcage with their teeth. Nongchai cried and cried. The sinners upon hearing his cries, could only weep along with him, for pain was their only prerogative here.

They could not find what they wanted in Nongchai.

Then it was all silent.

It was strange that Hell could be silent. Not a sound was heard. It was like waiting for the rain to fall.

A distant long horn was heard. Two long horns and three short horns were blown.

The humanoids scampered away in fright, leaving Nongchai with his entrails exposed helplessly.

Another sharp fast horn was blown. The call for arms.

Nongchai then saw thousands of demons in battle armors flew in the burning horizons on gargantuan locusts. The skies turned black with their passing.

Nongchai touched the wet insides of his chest and felt for the circumference of his tattered heart. It was a mess. And through the bloody mess, he pulled out a cigarette. A contraband. It was what they were looking for all along. It was hidden in the cave of his pinkish heart. His trembling hands took the cigarette, dipped it in the water and had it sizzled in flames. With his broken back still on the soil made of skulls, his insides sunned, Nongchai smoked the cigarette and thought about his predicament.

Nongchai howled and wept at the eternal violence of this place.



To be continue...

Guns N' Roses - November Rain

Slash playing solo outside the church.

Guns N Roses - Welcome to the jungle (Ritz 88)

welcome

Placebo - Meds

I was alone, falling free Trying my best not to forget
What happened to us What happened to me What happened as I let it slip
I was confused by the powers that be Forgetting names and faces
Passers by were looking at me As if they could erase it
Baby, did you forget to take your meds? x2
I was alone staring over the ledge Trying my best not to forget
All manner of joy All manner of glee
And our one heroic pledge That would matter to us
That would matter to me And the consequences
I was confused by the birds and the bees Forgetting if I meant it
Baby, did you forget to take your meds? x4
Sex, and drugs, and complications
And the sex, and the drugs, and the complications x3
Baby, did you forget to take your meds? x5
I was alone, falling free Trying my best not to forget

Bon Jovi - Always (Live)

the only bon jovi song i ever like...

This Romeo is bleeding But you can see his blood
It's nothing that some feelings That this old dog kicked up Its been raining since you left me Now I'm drowning in the flood See I've always been a fighter But without you, I'd give up Now I can't sing a love song Like the way it's meant to be Well I guess I'm not that good anymore But baby thats just me And I will love you, baby, always And I'll be there forever and a day, always I'll be there til stars don't shine Til the heavens burst and the words don't rhyme
I know when I die, you'll be on my mind
And I love you, always Now the pictures that you left behind
Are just memories of a different life Some of them made us laugh Some of them made us cry Why they made have to say goodbye
What I'd give to run my fingers through your hair Touch your lips, to hold you near
When you say your prayers, try to understand I've made mistakes, I'm just a man
When he holds you close When he pulls you near
When says the words you've been meaning to hear
I wish I was him, with those words of mine To say to you til the end of time
And I will love you, baby, always And I'll be there forever and a day always
If you told me to cry for you, I could If you told me to die for you, I would Take a look at my face, there's no price I won't pay
To say these words to you Well there ain't no luck in these loaded dice
But baby if you give me just one more time We can pack up our old dreams and our old lives We'll find a place where the sun still shines
And yea I will love you, baby, always And I'll be there forever and a day I'll be there til stars don't shine Til the heavens burst and the words don't rhyme I know when I die, you'll be on my mind And I love you, always Always

The Soothsayer - Descent

The soon to be extinct township away from the jagged edge of the Danish border was a vacant stare in the winter widowhood. The ghost town apparent with the knowledge of the infamous creature it once bred returned, blossomed as its children uproot and fled. For they had witnessed the tragedy that the fire beast left and it's return to his wake of destruction spelled nothing less of any disaster.

Eilert in his shiny armor of rising flames stood fixated in the mean axis of the city square. Where he once paraded with a broken signboard for the past two years. Where he was spit and kicked in the guts for doing so. Where he held the lingering breath of the nameless girl who peddled cheap sulfursticks. Where he dreamt the end of the world would take place.

Eilert dug his claws of fire deeply, exulting soot. He clenched tight his closed brows as he focused in the dark of his mind. The air stung with sulfur, gravity and electrifying hues. His flames shone their brightest in the mist of the black winter, blazing the skeletal silhouette of the ghost town.

Droplets of golden rubies sweat off his burning face as Eilert concentrated wickedly. They fell like oil on the trembling rubbles, like gold pieces in the night.

A vagabond watched the Fire Monster in awe, hiding in walls and walls of thick shadows. The atmosphere was stricken with weight and the wind screamed like banshees caught in their miseries.

Eilert concentrated in his blindness.

He could see lines, snakes, wisps and patterings of reflective lights at the back of his mind. They shimmered and wavered like seaweeds in an ebony ocean. They came with his beckoning. The wretched beauty of the human souls.

Eilert had turned his back on his destiny. Forgotten and denied the gift bestowed to him from God again and again with the weak frailty of the human mind. No more. Everything would burn. Tonight. Lutherans were wrong. Father Nathan was wrong. There was indeed a predestination for damnation. With his power as God's stigmata, Eilert would proceed to bring forth apocalypse, sending the world dreaming into His embrace. Just like in his dreams. Just like His plan.

Methodology was easy. With his ability to see souls and and burn them, Eilert focused to seek the entire human souls. They glowed and presented themselves like the wick to a dynamite. Tonight. Everything blows.

The roofs of the buildings clattered like cold teeth and the ground rumbled hungrily. The hidden vagabond burst into flames and dreamt that his son acknowledged him.

The world revealed itself to Eilert the Soul Eater. The streams of souls coiled and buoyed towards him like the mirroring of stars on the seas.

Eilert felt a wash of delirium over him as he marveled at the overwhelming souls. For a while there, he felt a sense of omnipotent. At his tender touch, the world would end, dreaming. Everyone would burn. The power of control. Eilert likened that delirious feeling with that memory where his wheelchair run over the brown cat. Sick and fuzzy.

'Halt!' casted a booming shout.

Eilert snapped away from his concentration and it pained him sharply. Few houses expanded and exploded in the fiery static. Eilert dug deep into his head for relief.

In the mist Eilert saw three people walking towards him. Despite looking like everyday peasants, they were not affected by the boiling pressure Eilert casted over the town.

The largest man began to speak with a thick French accent. It appeared that it was him who halted Eilert. He had a mouthful of beard and spotted a balding patch. He looked like a boxer of some sort, something common. Yet there was something Eilert couldn't put his finger to.

'Mister Swane.' Vvael began slowly. 'Do you even harbor the slightest idea what you are going to do to them?'

Something about Vvael that Eilert couldn't quite figure. Eilert looked at Vvael's companions. They were a pair of young expressionless couple different in their clothings. The lady with the silkiest complexion dressed in the softest fur and the finest jewels while the young man looked emaciated with his dirty leather coat and soiled boots. Something was wrong about the younger companions too. Eilert sniffed puzzlingly at his instinct.

'Come closer and I'll burn you to smithers!' Warned Eilert.

The beautiful lady in her black grown fanned herself, looking quite disgusted with the heat and tension. Eilert felt her repulsion against his abominating presence, raised his head defiantly for he was the true herald of His words.

'Look at you,' Pancia pouted haughtily, 'Haven't you realised by now?'

'Let me talk to him.' Hissed Vvael.

Eilert the Fire Beast had realised. There was indeed something different about them. Eilert couldn't see their souls. Instead, all he saw was swan-like wings when he concentrated with closed eyes. And Vvael, the seemingly leader of the three had six.

'Angels.' Eilert could not believe the words coming out from his blazing lips.

'Let us help you.' Vvael proceeded.

'To end this? God send for you to make it happen? To make the earth open up? I can't do that. Are my ways wrong? You folks are going to help me open up the ground?'

'No.' Vvael paused, 'You are ill. The flames are something else. It's your head you need help. What you are doing is wrong. Taking lives are never His intentions. Not like this.'

Eilert looked at them, hurt. He then said calmly, 'I was wrong. You are not the hosts. You are the devils. Marring my work here. Go away, or I'll kill you all.'

'You can't,' explained Vvael, 'We don't have dreams, only servitude.'

And then they attacked him, Eilert felt it in his head and before he could realised, he was rolling on the ground, screaming away like a child throwing midnight fits. His desperation cries could be heard worlds apart. Eilert stabbed his digitalis deep inside his flaming cranium, wanting to stop the pain inside him. He screamed and screamed until his vocal cords burst and continued to struggle in gags and chokes.

Vvael looked at the Fire Monster in confusion and turned. 'What happened? Did you do anything to him?' And all the angel saw was the grave digger's hollow eyes.

Kepharel was grinning from ear to ear as he drove his shortsword into Vvael's belly.

Vvael was thrown to the dust and reverted to his true form. His golden crown of a million lights overturned, the loins splashed with his red wound and his gigantic wings spanned out in long feathers.

With one boot on Vvael's blood stained chest, Kepharel pulled at one of the wings.

'How do you enter Hell without passing the Valley of Passing?' Asked Kepharel to his mentor.

Vvael coughed out blood as his wound grew with the injury of the heavenly weapon. Pancia was raising the Fire Monster up. Eilert stood up like a fire golem, having no will of his own. He was no longer Eilert Swane and possessed not a single hint of humanity. The Fire Monster obeyed Pancia's command and barked like a dog. Pancia roared with womanly laughters.

'How do you enter Hell without passing the Valley of Passing?' Kepharel repeated, this time in a song like manner. 'Find the seal where Samuel cast, and spill the blood from the wings of a Cherubim.'

'What do you think you are doing?' Snarled Vvael.

The skinny grave digger tore the white wing with the bite of his dagger, and spilled blood on the ground of the city square.

'The Fire Monster! You planned this all along!' Cried Vvael.

The world shook its worst earthquake and the ground drew opened wide like a pair of lips. The depth of the split went deep into the core of fire and smoke.

Kepharel threw the sword away and walked towards The Danish Soul Eater. 'You are right. I made this piece of work here. He doesn't burn souls, he incinerate sins. One of his usage was to lure you here, to this place.'

Vvael couldn't stop bleeding. 'What more do you want from him? What do you want to enter Hell for?'

Kepharel smiled and said, 'Father was gone for way long, and so was Lucifer. This is a sign to take back Hell and win the war once and for all. Once we incinerate all the sin-doers in Hell, burning them to limbo, the mortal realm is ours to keep.'

Vvael sighed in anger, 'Haven't you learn anything right? Father created Hell, He created Man, He created everything for a purpose, a balance. His absence is a test, not a blind eye for treason!'

'Right.' Kepharel jeered as he dragged Vvael by the underarms, 'I want you to see it with your eyes.'

The obedient Fire Monster, the beautiful diplomat, the dying Cherubim and young Kep descended to Hell.



To Be Continue...

The Soothsayer - Servants

In the french province of Nivernais, Vvael managed his tiny bar tucked secludedly in a corner of the street edge.

Country flags remained proudly from the remnant celebrations of occupying the romans. Vvael shook his head at the flags of invasion, for he knew only too well the illusion of possession. As the skies turned for the worse, Vvael had other things on his mind, far more critical than mortal wars.

With a build like the mountain, Vvael was a dominating presence in the neighborhood. But Vvael was a man of few words and guarded with many secrets of his own. The neighbourhood didn't even knew that Vvael was his real name, they called him Uncle Bou. With a keen eye to the horizon where the sun appeared to be melting quickly, Vvael swept the porch. For some reasons undetected by him, Vvael loved to sweep floors. With almost every patronisation, people would often find him sweeping away or wiping the glasses attentively, leaving the tending of his business to his mute hire.

Vvael flipped a close sign to his parlour which was contrary early. He pulled up a chair outside his business, struck a match on his pipe and admired the setting rays. Vvael was expecting important guests.

The nurse arrived first just before the sun completely drowned. Oriares was still wearing her nursing uniform and looked vastly tired. Vvael sat her down and poured the nurse a strong drink. They made a small conversation about the worst outbreak of Cholera in London and Oriares was already asking for another drink.

Kepharel in his black coat and poor man's gloves joined them as they waited for the last kinsman. Kepharel was young and handsome looking. He dug graves for a living. A keen conversationalist, Kepharel gave his two cents worth about disposing infectious corpses. Young Kepharel always possess a taste for gory details.

A carriage drawn by horses halted nearby. The secret agents surveyed the environment before allowing their mistress to come to Vvael's bar. With the guest list filled, Vvael ushered his three kinsmen into his parlour. They sat down in a corner as Vvael's mute maid poured them malt whiskey. The late mistress of important statue unveiled herself and tasted her whiskey. Pancia the envoy from the Pussian Empire smiled at the oak suggestion of her wheat cure and claimed that it had been a long time since she drank.

Vvael began the conversation, 'The rumors are like the wild of his fire, everywhere now to children in different versions.'

'The Denmark government tried to intervene, they speak of newer abilities of the monster.' Provided Pancia, 'They say he could read minds and burn souls even without contact with the body.'

'Maybe it's time we should meet him for ourselves. Look at the omens in the skies, the fire beast is planning something.' Said Kepharel.

'I agree.' Supported Pancia. 'He's taking lives and Father would never allow his children to condone such acts of treason against his creation.'

Vvael slipped his malt and sighed, 'We're what we are. We are not permitted to engage. I know that something horrid is going riot but I say we leave it to Father's decision.'

'Come on, Vvael. Father...' Kepharel hesitated for a while before saying his mind, 'Father have left his throne for years. Without a message, nor a herald. If the fire monster is planning to take His Silver City, wouldn't it be too late to allow that abomination to master enough trickery?'

'Kep is right. We should show ourselves to the fire devil at least, to let him know the power of our Father's stretched beyond worlds.The last I heard, cults are worshipping him.' Argued Pancia, 'We don't have to take him out, but least warn him of the consequences. Think of the innocent lives burnt!'

They looked at the quiet Oriares.

Oriares spoke tiredly, 'I'm not with you on this one. London is sick and it needs me. That's my decision.'

Vvael turned to Kepharel and Pancia, 'What if I say no? Would you still go?'

The young grave digger and the bored diplomat nodded their heads.

Vvael downed his malt and sighed, 'Then I shall chaperon.'



To be continued...

The Whale

http://perfect-day.blogspot.com/
stranger blog

The Soothsayer - Monster

This was an abstract from 1983's 'Monster Weekly' published in South Korea. Though the magazine was proved to be unreliable, it's observation of The Danish Soul Eater was curiously sharp.

"With the ability to see through psyches and mortal dreams of mankind, it must be a terrible burden should the monster was a person by birth. Upon every touch, the world burnt in his wake and every souls the wick for his intimacy. The Soul Eater must have exchanged his dreams to others for their pain and misery. For they all perished with smiles. It is only judicious to say that this Danish Monster understood pain only too well..." - 'Monster Weekly' August Edition.



Eilert was born Eilert Swane to a wealthy family in Kolding where his grandfather ran a booming seaport business in logistics. Two heart wrecking misfortunes happened in the Swane family in that year Eilert was born. His father whom Eilert never met, died in the freak of nature accident when a boat dropped on him in the holding bay when his wife was heavily pregnant into her ninth month and Eilert Swane was born crippled.

Eilert Swane spent his childhood confined to his wire spoked wheelchair and chained to his nanny for the fear of the only Swane grandchild ever falling over. His routine was strictly paced with him schooling with a college professor in the rose garden of his grandfather's mansion should gay weather permitted. Then he would study languages with his mother during tea sessions in which his favorite memory of his mother was that she would lovingly fed him exotic sweets from the East that went supremely well with the tea. At nighttime, before young Eilert could retreat from a day's work into dreams of running, he would learn the teachings of Lutheranism from a German pastor.

'Salvation through faith, with undying trust.' Pastor Nathan would often remind young Eilert Swane.

Young Eilert Swane would often nod obediently and his pastor would continue, 'Swane, understand that faith is not a human emotion, it is not a character in which we can breed nor a tool we could keep and use. Faith is a gift in which we can only ask from God. And only with that vessel of naivety and reliance, we can then ask for salvation from Him. You have to understand this. Because this world will test you endlessly for your love and laugh at your obedience of your service. Swane, you have to hold firm to your faith and believe in your predestination.'

'I have a predestination?' Asked young Eilert Swane looking at his unfeeling legs, his cold wheelchair and the bony chain around his tiny waist.

'Faith, Swane. Remember.'

When Eilert Swane was older, his nanny would push him into the buzzing city square for sight seeing and attended Pastor Nathan's sunday services. Young Eilert Swane would often watch from the church's window at some local children kicking a ball around in a nearby greenfield. Once young Eilert Swane heard Pastor Nathan muttering that those children would surely go to hell for disturbing his services and not attending church on sundays.

Sometimes; after services, the Swane grownups would stay to speak with the pastor and the nanny would bring young Eilert Swane along to chatter with other housemaids by the trees. One sunday, the nanny tied the chain onto a branch and left with the housemaids to look at something interesting. Young Eilert Swane was able to free the chain from the tree and rolled himself into the woods.

Young Master Eilert came to find a cat in the dark of the woods. The brown cat with whitish tail looked strange and fearful of the crippled boy in the wheelchair. Young Swane put out his hand to pet the cat. The cat snarled in rage, arching its hair of back into a fin and baring its razor teeth. Young Swane realised that something was amiss and tried to roll himself back to where he came in. The cat screamed and pounced onto Eilert's face. Young Master Swane hurled the cat onto the ground when the tail was caught in Eilert's wheel. The cat snatched away some flesh and cloth off Swane's arm. In blind panic and desperation, Young Swane rolled the rest of his wheelchair across the cat, bursting its guts and blood exploded all over Eilert Swane.

The cat was panting in death, young Swane gripped his wheel tightly and rolled over the little animal again. There was an intense look of curiosity in his eyes. For the first time, young Swane felt in control. That he was capable to dictate lives around him. When he stopped rolling his blood soaked wheels, young Swane came to realise his deed. He grew frightened at himself and burst out crying.

The Swane family along with the nanny came running upon hearing their young master's cries. They found young Eilert trembling in the rain of the brown cat's blood and his wheelchair over spilled intestines and fur.

Young Eilert Swane held his mother tightly and cried out loud.

'Mama! I've got blood all over my hands! I've got blood all over! I'm sorry! I won't do it again! I'm so sorry! Make me stop! Please! I'm sorry!'

Young Eilert Swane was so traumatised by the incident that he refused to set his wheels anywhere outside his grandfather's mansion.

Until the dream.

Eilert Swane had reached the age of fifteen where young boys were as young men, leaving home to seek better lives for themselves. Eilert Swane remained caged in his wheelchair, the silver noose around his waist and the interior of the mansion. On the night of his birthday, after his grand celebration, Eilert Swane had a dream that would change his life forever.

In his dreams, Eilert Swane dreamt of the Apocalypse. He saw God and God spoke to him. The skies were booming with rays and God warned of the intended doom. Eilert then saw himself in jewels and shinning armor. He was the selected herald to spread God's message. The earth would open up and swallow the world in blood and fire.

It was a very long and consuming dream. Eilert Swane shook himself awake in tears and moans. It was then the fifteen year old realised that he could walk.

No physicians could explain how Eilert Swane could walk and jump and wiggle his toes just like other boys. The Swanes were exhilarated as there was a proper heir to his grandfather's legacy. They quickly abandoned young Swane's intended studies and taught him the ropes of the business.

In the next two years, Swane grew to be a competent businessman, a suave suitor and there were even talks about making him the mayor in years to come. He often made short of his sunday services and a rift was formed with his mentor regarding their discussions on spirituality. As Lutherans did not believe in a predestination to damnation. They often fought about Swane's dream and cease to speak to each other again.

Eilert's mother tried to made peace between her son and the pastor. She encouraged Eilert to return to sunday worshipping with her. Eilert went one sunday and grew bored with the worship. He looked through the church's window and saw that the same boys were kicking the old ball around in the greenfield.

Then it started to rain outside. Despite the storm and shadowing clouds, the boys continued their game. Eilert started to feel worse; something was going to happen, a premonition brewed in the bowels of his mind. For a minute there, he couldn't feel his legs. Eilert was truly frightened as he gotten up, halting the service and ran out of the church. In the black rain, he yelled and warned the boys to stop playing. The boys laughed at Eilert. Then a flash of lightning struck them and a grand thunder followed faithfully.

In the rain, Eilert ran to them. All six of them were killed by the lightning. So burnt that one could smell them in the rain. Eilert collapsed to his knees and shouted in joy, 'There is God! There is really God! The dream is real! I am the herald! I was born to warn the world! I am His instrument!'

That night, he packed a small luggage and left Kolding forever.

He always traveled light, worn the cheapest and ate leftovers. For faith was his armor and destiny was his soul. Everywhere he went, people spit and beat him up. They would break his face along with his signboard.

Redeem Yourself, The Doom Is Nigh.

He had to find the venue of his dreams. The place where God would strike the hardest. Eilert found the city square that was supposed to burn and swallow the world in a small town a distance from Copenhagen.

There he made home and stood in spite of climates holding up his signboard.

One winter when the blizzard hit the fiercest, he met someone at the city square.

The little girl was peddling cheap boxes of sulfursticks in the snow.



To Be Continued...

The Soothsayer - Aad

It trodden on in the dead beat tracks of snow, limping and wounded.

the sun is warm irregular warm and burning i know it's snowing i could feel it on my fur on my tail on my snout but the sun is blinding a distance away so far so near the air is thick and fuzzy like the insides of something horrid i shake away the smell of the air of the snow of the dirty sun they make me squirm and twitch and rotten i'm teething the aches in my eyes, my guts and my bones i need something to hold on to to bite to fill my hollow hollow well in the depth of my bones i see red i see black i see things that make me angry sad bitter and lonely

It's convulsion began again and it rolled onto its back and flinched violently.

i need to eat the sun maybe of maybe things will get better how could one eats things that is inside the head the sun is in my head i smelt things that are not there i see things that are not there i see blatant colors i see you and i see me and i see nothing

Then it resumed its way, foams smearing over its red jaws and eyes fluttering. It grew sicker.

i can see god and god hates me and i hate everything i'm good i'm used to be i'm generally good but now something is inside me i see things double and not by intention i see the sun and i think it's inside my head i will be waiting always forever till the last exulted breathe and i will wait to see the blinding sun emerge from my tired head bored and easy and i will kill it attack it attack it kill it kill everything and i will be free of this madness of this sweet blood it taste so bad in my mouth i will kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill

By a corner of the pine tree, in the shade, it struggled to breathe. Mist and dribbles of saliva wet the cold earth.

i see god and god hates me

The Fiery Monster from the Northern Mountains found it. His blazing thorns of fire lit up the bleak morning of the Danish winter.

kill me kill me kill me kill me kill me kill me kill me kill me kill me kill me kill me kill me kill me me kill me kill me kill me kill me kill me kill me kill me kill me kill me kill me kill me me kill me kill me kill me kill me

The Fire Beast rubbed the snout of it and asked gently if it remembered Aad?

aad?

'I'm here to release you from your wretched bond.' Eilert said softly.

bond? aad? the sun in my eye blinding like your fire i need no explanation i need no restoration i need no time

It burnt like a warm log and its throwing fits and green aspirations eased forever.

The rabid dog rested in peace.


To be continued...

The Soothsayer - Testament

This is the written testament of Madeleine Mattiasssons in 1849. She was born Swedish and died in Angola at the age of fifty-one. She taught English to the local charity office, married twice and lived to see her generation of six children and eleven grandchildren.

Madeleine was an ordinary woman most described as 'warmhearted' and 'progressive' by people who loved her.

Madeleine was the only person whom recorded detailed journals about The Danish Soul Eater.

She was sixteen then.


With so many children to care for and a dead spouse, Mother was only an image of a gigantic back, forever shadowing our lives. She was poor all her life but wise. Wise people were always bitter and grew old easily. Mother died of dysentery and called us to her bedside with the roaring parade by the passionate revolutionaries imploring for Sweden to become a republic. The eldest of us was only seventeen and I never saw her again when my grandfather sold her to Great Britain to become a maid. I was lucky to finish junior school first in my grade and able to pursuit my ambition of becoming a newspaperwoman. But life was tough for female orphans like me, and despite making the grade, I was unable to become what I want. Doors are closed to me and I was forced to survive in those turmoil years in which King Oscar shot demonstrators and people talk about the Cholera and the German Manifesto that could liberate the world. I turned into prostitution for a while and worked mean hours in sweatshops for mere wages.

But I never stopped writing. Writing was the only I knew, it was the air that I breathe, the light which I believed in. I began and ended my day with writing. Mother taught me how to write at the age of four and called me to her bedside when she was dying at the tender age of thirty-two. Mother shoved me a fountain pen in the depth of my petticoat, kissed my forehead and told me not to tell my siblings as she had nothing to leave them.

I knew that to fulfil my dream and for people to take me seriously, I had to prove myself by coming up with the news of the century. Something grandiose and distant, yet powerful to inspire. Like my mother's back, my news must shadow over Cholera and Communism. When I heard about The Fire Monster in Denmark, I knew I had to be there.

Spending two months in the forestry mountains of Danish Winter, I was almost affirmative that I would not lived past my seventeen birthday. A relentless pack of wolves were hunting for me. I hid and cowered like a young doe. The chase continued for nights and I had lost and spent every possession I had.

One evening, the murky skies over snowed pines and dirty earth, the wolves cornered me. I wavered my fountain pen like a knife and prepared to jam my mother's gift of hope into my heart should the wolves started jumping.

Then he came. The Fire Monster. The wolves smelt him even before the blight. They cried in whimpers and ran away in tails. The burning flames emerged from the woods and the myth of the Danish mountains stood in front of me. Beneath the burning armory of his deadly flames, I could see a skeletal feature of a human figure. Perhaps there was a heart in that monster as well.

The Fire Monster didn't kill me and I followed him into the deep mountains to his den. It was a cottage of sticks and trees.

His glaze was deeply piercing, the crescent pupils gleamed with intense curiosity. We sat down by the empty field of dark rubbles, he was the bonfire of the wicked winter night. His presence possessed an impulsion to be truthful and honest. As if he was the almighty sun at the dark vacuum end, sucking at all hints of treason. As if he was burning bush of God, imploring one to submit one's will. He flared his vocal cords, throaty sound of an ancient well. He said that he knew why I was here. It was until weeks later when the Royal Assembly tried to trial The Fire Monster that I figured out how he knew what everyone was thinking.

The Fire Monster allowed me to stay in the cottage of sticks as long as I don't talk to visitors. And he said that his name was Eilert.

Myths had it that the terrible Fire Beast from the Northern Mountains would ride in fiery chariot across the skies into villages and ate little children. But I witnessed no chariot. Eilert doesn't eat nor sleep. He would often spent days in the scorched field to meditate. His meditation would last for days. It must be a powerful mediation because often the nature breathe along with him. The willows and the thin air swirled and pulled at each exhalation of his burning chest in perfect synchronization. The mountains remained warm during the heavy Danish winter.

Who were the visitors? I asked him when we were admiring the dusky sunrise comprised the vast nothingness of the starless horizon.

They were good people, Eilert said softy, almost to himself.

One day, approaching the end of the long winter, a young couple drawn up a cart filled with their child. The boy was no more than ten, he was sick with green in his cheek and feverish red in his eyes. The boy was consumed by the devil, went the saying from where I was from. His parents then related the tragic condition of their only child who was bitten by a stray rabid dog and could only suffered endless convulsions until he die. The local physician advised to put him down to end his suffering. Each minute was askin to hell for the poor little boy. The parents heard about the mercy deaths that The Fire Monster could performed and pleaded with Eilert to burn their sick child into dreams.

Eilert refused and went deep inside the mountain forest. I invited the visitors into the cottage and served them tea. I did that all by hand signs because I was still forbidden to speak to strangers. The child cried and kicked helplessly. He vomited and threw fits for as long as he could bear. Out of desperation, his mother attempted to strangle her beloved son to kingdom come. Eilert appeared outside the cottage and called out to us. We brought the child to him. Eilert asked the feverish boy his name. The dying junior said that he was Aad.

Eilert whispered Aad's name as if trying to remember it for a long time to come. He put his flaming hand over Aad. Aad immediately burst into fire. But Aad didn't look suffered from the madness of the bite, instead he was smiling at an invisible thought. And Aad passed away.

That was my first encounter with Eilert's power.

Then Eilert began to change. Instead of providing more answers for me to write my story, Eilert would ask even more questions. He would ask about everything, as if my opinion was gold. I began to suspect he knew things that he shouldn't. Or anyone else.

They came with infantry, hundreds of them. The Danish Royal Assembly. The general wanted to bring Eilert to trial for crimes of massacre. The general said that resistance was futile because they had spent months spying Eilert. The Royal Assembly knew that Eilert could only burn people by touch. I wanted to tell Eilert that I wasn't in alliance with them. Eilert knew that. The Fire Monster could read mind.

Eilert asked if I want to know how he manage to read minds. He asked me to close my eyes and breathe in accordance with him. I did what he said. I could hear noises in the darkness of my blindness. Their heartbeat, the drying snow in the leaves, the shuffling of toes and their internal voices. They didn't just want to trial Eilert, they wanted to use him as a weapon against the Prussians.

Then the Germans, Eilert said softy with his eyes still closed. He said that when he mediate he could see wisps of smokes which were the very essence of the human souls. And following the wisps, he could hear the truth.

It's a very dangerous control, to see those things, Eilert said. He told me that sometimes he could almost touch those flimsy snakes of smoke.

I listened with my heart and we knew that the Royal Guards would then kill me to show that they were serious in bringing in the Danish Fire Monster.

Eilert seemed to be very furious at that murderous thought. His fire vibrated with intense glow and the ground shook and charred. I was very frightened, the mountains looked like it would be exploding in any moment. The Royal Guards could felt my fear too. Some of them were dropping their rifles in dread. The general yelled on, against the turn of nature, the fury of the supernatural. The general took out his pistol and wanted to shoot his guards for desertion. But before he could do that, the general burst into a huge combustion of fireball. In death, he dreamed that he was the Danish King.

We now realised that Eilert could burn people without coming into contact. The Royal Guards screamed and fled.

You could touch their souls? I asked in dirty mix of amazement and horror.

But Eilert was too deep inside his own mind to listen. He only asked in stone cold silence that would I like to know what was his profession before he swallow those sulfursticks?

Eilert said that he was God's servant. He was the soothsayer. He said that he now knew why he could see and burn people's soul. Why he could grant a moment of happiness and dreams. He said that it had all become clear to him that God gave him the power to take away lives were for a reason. To finish what he was born to do.

I never doubt him or suspect that Eilert was losing his mind. With such ability, I always knew that it was either him or mankind.

He turned and spoke to me for the one last time.

'Run, to the end of the world and never return!'



To be continued...

The Soothsayer - North

No hide nor vest could hide his crackling flames. Everything Eilert touched burnt to ashes. There was no way he could travel undetected.

The roaring human fireball.

Eilert knew he needed help. And the best option he could come up with was to seek aid from a medicine man from the Northern hills whom was known for curing many strange diseases. Maybe the medicine man could help him. For two days, Eilert travelled north. To avoid attention, he traveled in the ways of swamps and uncleared forestation. But still he had this nagging feeling that someone was following him. That feeling got stronger and Eilert wondered if the authority was tracking him down. He knew he had better be faster.

On the third day, Eilert met an old man on a donkey. The old man was smoking his pipe away, unfazed by the sight of the human torch. Encouraged, Eilert asked if the old man know where the medicine man lived. The old man nodded and pointed to the Northern hills.

'I'm going there as well. I could use a companion.' The old man offered.

So with the old man riding on his donkey, Eilert trotted aside. They spoke about Eilert's condition, his conviction of the coming Apocalypse and many idle things that two person could imagine during the long march.

Up in the Northern hills, they came to a cottage made of sticks. There the old man tied his donkey in the barn and fed water to the tired animal. The old man sat Eilert down on the ground and offered him some food.

Eilert tried eating it, but everything burnt to ashes upon touch.

'I see.' The old man said as he sat down with Eilert.

'Is this your residence?' Asked Eilert.

'This is the place in where you seek.' Said the old man, 'But I don't think I'm the person whom you could depend on.'

'You mean...' Asked Eilert.

'I'm the medicine man of the Northern hills, and I can't help you.' Said the old man.

'What is going to happen to me then? Who can help me?' Seek Eilert.

'The way I see it, this might be the best thing that ever happen to you, or at least for me.' Said the old man puffing away his pipe.

Eilert asked him what he meant by that.

'Where's the joy in going through an entire livelihood of nothingness when compared to a minute of fulfilment? A minute of dreams that come true? A minute of utter happiness?' said the old man of the North.

'Close your eyes, what can you see?' The old man asked.

Eilert did and saw again the wisps of smoke in place of the old man.

'That I supposed is the essence of dream.' Offered the old man, 'Now please shake my hand.'

'But I'll kill you!' Exclaimed Eilert.

'That's the intention, lad. And after this, look back to where you came from.'

They shook hands and the old medicine man engulfed in flickering tongues of pinkish flames.

The old man smiled to his invisible visions, 'Gjerta, I missed you so much!'

And the old man died.

Eilert got up and looked to where he came from. There was a trail of people, a dozen of them. They looked very sick with leprosy. They came to Eilert and asked if he was the medicine man.

Eilert closed his eyes and saw that there were wisps of tangling smokes.

'What do you want?' Eilert asked.

'We seek an end to our suffering.'



To be continued...

The Soothsayer - Altered

Eilert burst into flames.

He burnt and scorched like a sun in the frozen Danish city.

His skin peeled and melted as the pink flames raged from him.

His sight grew brighter and brighter and everything was glaring and blinding and altered.

Eilert just kept burning with rosy flames.

Some neighbors seen the exploding light and came to the nook of the buildings.

They were armed with tridents and large craving knives.

They could not recognized their soothsayer and called the human torch a monster! They demanded to know what happened to the little match girl.

Overwhelmed by his eternal burning pain, Eilert was unable to explain himself. He wanted to tell them that they were not what they were. Everyone looked like wisps of smoke to him. Eilert needed help.

His fire melted the snow beneath their feet.

Someone yelled and someone moved. Before anything, Eilert found that a townsman had struck a trident in his belly of flames.

Eilert could not be killed and so the rest of the town folks joined into the assault.

In the act of things, a townsman touched Eilert and was burned alive. The pinkish flames engulfed the townsman but he didn't scream at all.

Instead the burning townsman laughed haughtily. He shouted, 'Finally! Finally I'm rich beyond my wildest dream! I'm wealthy! Look at all these gold!'

With that the townsman collapsed and died with a smile on his face.

The rest of the murderous folks looked at each other with uncertainties. Not wanting to be bewildered, one burly townsman yelled a war cry and attacked Eilert with his mean trident. He struck the trident to where the heart of the burning monster once sited, the flames travelled from the trident and lighted him up like a star.

The burly man burnt and cried in pain, 'Henrick! I missed you so much and I always thought of you, because I'm never happy again. Forgive me! Please forgive me for dropping you on the head when you are young. Maw and Pap never looked at me the same again. I hated you, and loved you and missed you. Please forgive me for taking away your little life!'

A townsman glared at the burning sight and whispered to himself, 'His talking about his baby brother who died when they were young.' And the frightened townsman fled, holding on to his head and sanity.

The burly man laid in the thick melted snow and sobbed like an infant while the roaring pink flames consumed him.

'You'll forgive me? You mean it?' Mumbled the burly townsman as he closed his dying eyes and sighed.

In eternal relief.

The rest of the townsmen bolted, yelling God's name over and over again.

Eilert with rising smoke looked at the two corpses in the darkened gravel. The snow fell harder.

'What have I gotten myself into?'





To Be Continued...

The Soothsayer - Sulfursticks

The winter was the worst in that decade.

Everything was frozen.

The small Danish town was caked entirely in snow. It was New Year's Eve.

While the few of its citizens remained in the city square, they were on their way home. In thick furs and vastly coats.

A Danish soothsayer trembled in the climate in his torn rags.

He was once called Eilert. But names were for civilized people and not for social outcast like him.

The town spit on him.

Because all Eilert did for the past two years, in each day of his life was to carry a signboard in the city square.

It said, 'Redeem Yourself, The Doom Is Nigh!'

All Eilert ever did was to warn people.

And he forgotten the times he was beaten up by the town folks.

As the blizzard rolled about, Eilert was confident his warning was materialising. He brought his signboard up high.

It all started two years ago when Eilert had a dream. God came through and made him the prophet.

The winter continued.

Eilert thought about his little friend. He never knew her name or spoken to her before.

She peddled boxes of cheap sulfursticks in the city square.

She was all bones in her dirty shawl and she was just a child. Eilert wondered if she had a name.

The cold storm became greater as it snowed harder and soon the city square was blind. Eilert held his signboard of doom across his chest tightly as he struggled to move into shade.

In the nook of two buildings, he seek shelter.

And there Eilert saw the little match girl.

And he saw the marvellous things that she performed.

Trying to warm herself, the little match girl decided to strike the sulfursticks.

She lit the first match and she saw a hot iron stove in the mist of the air.

Eilert's eyes grew wide.

The match flame was blown away and the iron stove vanished.

Encouraged, the little match girl lit the second sulfurstick and they saw a fully laden dinner table with delicious foods and a roasted goose that
came slowly toward her. It too disappeared as the match went out.

At the struck of the third match, she saw a beautiful Christmas tree lit with a million candles. The candle lights went higher and higher until they became stars.

In the corner, Eilert almost wanted to call her. And he wished he did.

Because upon the fourth struck of the sulfurstick, the match girl saw her grandmother and cried out loud.

Her cries were long and weary. It was pregnant too long in her tiny heart, and her whimpers called out to the injustice of God in treatment of His little children made to peddler stuffs to strangers, without shoes, without food and without mercy.

The little match girl finished her cry and collapsed in the snow.

Eilert rushed over to find her dead.

She had died with a happy smile on her lips, knowing she would be forever safe in her grandmother's arms and away from this cold dark world.

Eilert saw that there was still a box of sulfursticks in her peddling basket.

He looked around to see if anyone witnessed them.

Blowing a mist of frozen air, Eilert took out a sulfurstick with his shaking fingers.

Eilert the soothsayer struck a match.

And they came just like his dream. Like like God intended. He saw the world in its ruins, fires and floods, the coming of the Apocalypse.

He was right. They were wrong. The end was nigh! Then the wind blew the flame off, killing his vision.

Eilert knew that he would end up like the little match girl if he continued to strike the matches.

But he wanted the visions to go on.

Forever.

Maybe he was thinking too much, maybe he wasn't thinking at all.

Eilert the Danish soothsayer devoured the box of sulfursticks in one swallow.



To be continued...