Thursday, February 6, 2014

THE WITCH'S BREW

Temporality is my point of annihilation. And desire is my antithesis. I exist in a void, outside of time. I have divested myself of temporal appendages and defied mortality by embalming myself as artifact in my own mythology. By making time and space become points of immovable fixity, the haloed incandescence of my infinitely protracted apotheosis is rendered immutable. I eschew desire because desire ambushes, catches me unwary. I succumb to its capricious visitations and lose my fulcrum. I dissolve in the other, subsuming my being. Unlike other lovers i don't find myself through submerging but actualize myself through detachment, dispassion.

It is, therefore, ironical that though desire is counterpointed in me by intractable reserve it is the point of focus in my cottage. I draw the guileless in through delectable nourishment. Ingenuousness excites me. The pot simmers, the brew stirs, raising soapy bubbles that burgeon and burst and rise up again, awaiting the intercession of flesh to become, to come to be, as an object for my consumption.

Currently i've caught hold of two kids who seem unaccountably, incestuously fond of each other. The boy Hansel i can't stand. He gorges incessantly, his cheeks puff up and his stomach balloons as he ingests the sumptuous repast i set before him. He licks chocolate of his fat forefinger, stuffs his mouth with cakes and the prospect of such gluttony makes me feel relieved that soon i'll have the final comeuppance.

Gretel though, has pale, wan cheeks, rather bloodless. Whiteness attaches itself to her soul with blameless probity. Her lips are a luscious red and her young budding breasts beckon with incipient bursting into bloom. I don't want to eat her up because i want to be eaten up with her desire. She eats daintily, dabbing her mouth gently, picking off crumbs assiduously. She is opposite to Hansel in that he exists in a perpetual present where the gratification of his desires is his only concern. Gretel abrogates the present, conjuring up unexplored vistas of the past and untapped possibilities of the future. So far she has been impervious to my ministrations but i think i'm getting through. Her freshly flavored breath tantalizes me, her quivering young lips makes me want to press mine on hers with gentle indentations. I want to streak that pale arm with langourous kisses.

Her commingling with her brother worried me initially but as i said i became, through the mediation of my consciousness, a mirror for Gretel. She began to see the world as i saw it. Though initially overlooking it the importunity of Hansel, the way he'd expect her to be his sole possession  discomfited her. I am an old woman and i know how men think. One day i left the cottage to look for herbs and returned back to find a bleeding, disheveled Gretel. Hansel fingered his prick with voluptuous indolence. I cleaned up Gretel and a scream of outrage emanated from me. I grabbed Hansel, felled him with an axe and boiled him up.

Gretel and i sit by the hearth, partaking of Hansel's flesh like sacrament. The bed awaits us.

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