Thursday, January 23, 2014


There was a poor man who had twelve children. When his thirteenth was born and he was too poor to sustain him the thirteen child was adopted by death as his godson. Now death was irascible in his human form as a man. Finality was his forte. With irrevocable force of destiny he determined life and death.

When death became a godfather his tender and gentle instincts arose. He loved his godson as his own son. A fierce protectiveness assailed him and his ministrations to the young man's well being were very considerate and caring. As the young man became an adult his sinews rippled. He exuded incredible strength. He was a clean shaven, extremely handsome youth and his beauty, it seemed, was indestructible. Death fell in love with him as he would have with his own image in the mirror. The young adult seemed an emanation of him, a prolongation who distilled in death's withering countenance youthfulness and suppleness. Unbeknownst to death and though an imperceptible process he fell in love. Initially the incestuous undercurrent worried him but he exculpated himself with the thought that since the young man was his godson and not biologically linked to him, a leap of faith would actualize his nascent feelings.

As a proof of his love he taught the young man the arts of a physician telling him that death's presence at the head of the sufferer would betoken living and at the foot of the bed would betoken death. Once the young man saved the king even though death was at the foot of the bed. Death, though angered at this betrayal, gave him another chance. When the young man saved the life of a princess despite death's presence at the foot of the bed death lost it. He dragged the young man to his inexorable fate which was death.

For death the image in the mirror had splintered and shards of broken glass pressed upon his heart making him bleed. As he made final the process of the young man's death the young man fell on his knees confessing that he loved his godfather and had, for fear of incest, concealed the fact. He began kissing death's gnarled face and the broken skin of his lips. He began performing fellatio on the inner fulcrum of death. Death relented. It seemed that the young man too had identified the image of death in the mirror as his own. He had fallen in love right from the outset yet death's redoubtable countenance forbade expressions of intimacy. He had saved the princess not because he loved her because his orientation was predetermined but to avenge himself on death to demonstrate unfulfilled and unrealized love. It was a gesture of frustrated helplessness.

Death, fully tumescent, engorged replete expended his ambrosia which the young man consumed like sacrament. They cleaved, they soldered and commingled. It was a conjunction of broken hearts twined as much as it was two bodies enclosed self contained in each other. Death shows him the fires of hades but all the young man sees is unsullied incandescent light. 

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