October 15th, 2017 by Patrick Starks
“What, what is this place? Why have you brought me here; have you not tormented me enough,” said Osiris. He was now standing at a pond, a pond where the reflections of anything that stood before it became lost as their owners did the same. It was only ever told in fairy tales about a pond that could give one life or death; most would assume the result would be death, as it was known to have been created by the virulent Amara.
“I told you Osiris, I told you many times of the consequences of your betrayal. You shouldn’t have broken our agreement,” said Amara with wickedly gesture held within her eyes, wicked enough that the goosebumps rested on top of Osiris’s skin would fall into place like dominos. “Osiris, what is she talking about; I thought you said that we were going to save the world, to save not only yours, but everyone’s family, to save the galaxies; I thought we were here to do a bloody mission!” yelled Wanei. The room was vacant of sound, no motion nor notion was given that anyone agreed to such, and yet Wanei felt that he and Osiris were in agreement of the crucial task at hand.
“I knew it, I just knew it. You signed us up for a suicide mission, I wanted to be an actor you know, a star, but now that’s ruined by all this selfishness, all this greed that someone’s life or family is more important than others. You know what screw the both of you, I’ll handle the rest of the mission on my own—for my own family,” said Wanei, taking a couple of steps back into the dusk. And overtime, his footsteps would trickle to zero volume.
“Don’t be a fool Wanei. You know that what’s going on here is bigger than us both, even the galaxies we float in. This is all part of her plan, this is what she wants. Do not let her divide us brother. If you leave this moment, if you run from the devil that presents itself to us, you will die, we will all die,” pleaded Osiris. Amara found it amusing however, the screeching sounds above the hillside would demonstrate her laughter; although, would never really be depicted in any form of laughter to a righteous soul.
As the laughter of Amara filled the atmosphere, and fainted existence of Wanei was all that remained. Osiris became mute, with his eyes glued back towards the majestic pond, hazy just an alcoholics—he saw his reflection, his family, his life, as they would all ripple in motion. “You should stop while you’re at it Osiris, Wanei can no longer hear you; matter in fact, he’s going to make one hell of an assistant, as you know some of us witches could use now a day,” said Amara delivering sharp laughter once more, and the chastisement of a vicious twinkle in her eyes. Osiris became speechless, the smile of Amara would send chills up and down his brawny back, forcing his body down to his knees in a symbolic positioning of prayer in which Osiris felt time would never reward him.
“What… What did you do, what did you do to Wanei,” asked Osiris. Amara wasn’t interested in telling him anything; to Amara he was a false hero, a false leader, one in which she felt could never keep a promise. “It doesn’t really matter right now, all that matters is you and I,” said Amara. There’s nothing for us to talk about,” replied Osiris. Evil intent was bestowed upon his masculine eyes, he thought of many ways of killing her, slow or fast he excogitated, but he knew that it was impossible. It was said that a witch could not kill another; although, he wasn’t hesitant to give such a try—a heroic attempt that he felt no god, but only he could achieve. He laughed, predicting that his son could even achieve such—like father, like son, he juggled. Osiris felt he had nothing to lose, he felt everything that he ever cared about was either gone or soon to be—a randomness of heroism would become a part of his chest filled courage. “No more,” he whispered.
Although, Osiris had forgotten all about the agreement the two had. It been so long, at least that was what the pond perceived to him. It only been a day, only a few hours, but faint memory of the past would become much clearer as the moment went on. Osiris thought of his desperation, how much he longed for his wife, his kids. “Do you see it; do you see it now? Tell me… was it worth it?” asked Amara, as her tongue washed over her lips with vigorous smite. Osiris eye’s watered with rage—memory of what he’d done, memory of the mission at hand was now being painted into the mist-full air that he inhaled.
“I may have sold my soul to the devil, but there is still time for me–to grow, to be victorious, to make things right again,” said Osiris. And before anymore words spewed from his lips, Amara would now hold a burly body up over her head. Osiris struggled for air, pleading to Amara that the mission at hand was much more important than the two, but she persisted as she felt deservingly selfish to do.
“This is just the beginning, I told you, you will be mine, and with this one kiss, your heart to will be mine, no more games; accept this reality,” she said. Her tongue was interminable, circling, wrapping around Osiris’s head like an anaconda. Every taste for her became orgasmic, as Osiris would nearly pass out by the arousal of her pleasure, a horrific pleasure his heart conceived. Amara’s tongue then crawled its way down Osiris throat as his mouth remained periled open with the gunk of her fingers tips. Osiris’s soul became dim, fading right into the heart of the witch that was evaporating it away. His eyes wondered for anything that he could grab, that could get him out of the appall that he was in, but nothing did he find in reach. His rigid teeth punctured into the toughness of her tongue, but it only made her kiss him harder, intensely as acid reflex began to set into motion. His skin was now paler, lesser of the fruit of life that he knew. His eyes rolled back, and body became a limp noodle by the end of it all, hanging within the arms of Amara just like the threads from the dampness of her hair.
” I warned you. I warned you, you foolish man. I loved you but you forced my hand,” said Amara resting the lifeless body of Osiris by an isolated tree within reach. Her tears fell but not too far from her cornea; she was a witch, and to her witches did not cry. Her hair would now straighten, her features broaden, skin became smooth, as it pulled with its magnificence the light of the moon. “I’m so sorry it had to be this way honey, but if I can’t have you than the world shall never. Osiris lied willowed in the heart and soul of what he thought to be Amara, but apparently came out to be his wife at the end of it all.
“Why? Why did you do this my love, my queen why?” asked Osiris. Amara, Osiris’s wife would now hold her heart as it burned with sadness and betrayal, the very emotions that radiated from Osiris once imbedded trust in her. As her heart grown with deceit, the fate of the galaxies rested behind her sternum; Osiris was now knowledgeable of the fact that there was no planet of the black hole, only the hole formed in his heart depicted such. His soulless body still rested by the isolate tree, waiting for his return, but Amara, his wife would make sure that he would never be free—for him, for their kids, she felt the reason should be.