Spider to the fly.

The truth is something that is self conscious. The truth doesn’t lie. We never wonder or imagine with truth yet somehow in a world of facts we still struggle to separate fact from fiction. Our minds are so intricate and that in itself is a flaw. The reality of right from wrong varies on the individual and their intricacies. It’s the difference between love and hate, life and death, and nature from nurture. When do we find purity?

I’ve spent my entire life behind a 8×8 white cubicle. The smell of bland brown carpet. The ambience of multiple touch tone phones ringing like clockwork while you hear the conversations behind them all at once. A grand ball like one described in a fairytale. The only difference is that there is nothing grand about it. It was merely work and white noise. No chandoliers. No beautiful women or fine attire. It was work. This was the truth. This life is merely a lie yet here I am living it. Living the life of deceit, masked by our own cloaks like vampires in the night. We are sucking our own souls day after day. Time has no relevance other than a reminder when and where you must continue this masquerade.

“Hey Tim, me and the crew are heading to D’Addarios for lunch. Come join us!”

I hesitated for a moment. I always thought deeply before doing or saying anything. I always think outside these walls and I’m not simply talking about the cubicle.

“I’ll pass this time. I have some salad and work I need to finish. Next time, perhaps. Thanks anyways.”

That was a lie. I simply could not care for dinner conversation discussions that occurr at a work gathering. I had this client, oh yeah? Well you should have heard my client. I never comprehended the grand magnitude of talking about work during your time away from from it. Our whole lives enslaved to work. An entire universe and we are reaffirming ourselves. Is it to justify the madness? Are we putting ourselves on the back so we can go to bed peacefully thinking yeah I got it good. It could be much worse. We might as well be advertisements. It’s like that joke:

I went to see a psychiatrist. I told him I’m feeling down and blue. I don’t have the will to carry on. The doctor looks at him and says you need to get out and laugh. Palachi is in town. Go see him. The patient hesitates and responds. I am palachi.

Good joke.

Life isn’t that bad. Im not entirely cynical. I enjoy the simple things in life. Gazing at the blue azure sky while listening to Claude Debussys Clair De Lune. It’s tranquility at it’s finest. A beautiful painting with supplementary audio that compliments the experience similar to a fine red wine with a sharp cheese.

My job is mindless, but most jobs are. It takes a lifetime to find out what you truly want. For most it’s money and security, but to me that seems like insurance for the mind. Another reinforcement of status like the dinner conversation at work outings. It’s just stuff. We can own the world, but we can’t take it to the grave with us. We bury the dead the same way. Gift wrapped six feet underground. All the stuff that comes with a lifetime becomes lost in space like a black hole. Particles of what was once living now floating endlessly for eternity. For me I sought after purpose. I sought after people and I have a hankering for a little late night endeavour this evening. People is for dinner.

The night is dark and filled with terrors, monsters and scum. This is where reality is turned upside down. The rules of engagement change drastically. I live for the night. I was just out perusing the city. A posh nightclub area where the luxerious go to live it up. It was raining and melancholy in the air. I am dressed in a slim fit suit with a white italian dress shirt, along with a slim fit tie. The cufflinks I had were silver. The one on my left had a symbol of the sun etched onto while the right was the moon. I was dressed to kill. I began walking along the corner of 1134 street. The night club Travesty caught my eye. It was crowded. It was here I would look to mingle. The sign is in exotic caligraphy, rouge in color like clean, fresh blood. Red velvet handrails that dictated the entrance to the club. It was a hot spot for sure. The name is ironic. For some it’s the last place they will ever see.

The bouncer was a burly man in a plain red dress shirt with a black jacket and trousers that matched with the clubs colorful sign. His name was Craig. I was a regular here so I strolled passed the line and walked up to him with swagger.

“Hey Craig, how goes the wicked the evening? Got room for an evil, good for nothing gentleman such as myself?” He chuckled

“Tim be my guest. You’re always welcome here.” Rightfully so. I slip a 50 note in his hand, grin and waltz into the club.

The club is ramsacked with prized, esteemed, successful individuals of the city. All of them dressed sharply dancing to house music. The lighting was comparable to what you’d see in a film. It’s adorned with vibrant colors that radiate happiness, sex and lust. Perfect I thought because tonight I had a lust. A lust for life. I glanced at the upper level of the club where people often lounge and take a break from the dancing. It was where the wealthy men like to show off their wealth. They would order expensive bottles of alcohol to send to lingering woman in hopes to entice the woman to their table. Lazy I thought.

I noticed a lonely woman. She was wearing a skin tight white cocktail dress. Her hair was brown and down to her shoulders. It was slightly curled and luscious. Her body frame was perfect. Shoulders were well defined and proportioned. Below her perky breasts slightly revealed with her cleavage. Her torso was something to marvel at. Very tight with wide hips that tapered down to her long legs. She wore black pantyhose and I could feel the fabric in my mind. It was exotic. She turned around and we locked eyes for a moment. Rouge lipstick that contrasted starkly with her white dress. This was the girl. This was my damsel.

As I walk up the stairs I peek at her as I’m ascending and notice her gazing at me still. She has no idea who’s walking up these stairs to court her. I reach the upper platform and as I get closer I notice her eye color matches her brown hair. Absolutely divine. I begin to smile.

“Bonjour madame, how art thou on this exotic evening?” She giggles.

“I’m doing great now that you’re here. All these men think they can buy me. I was just looking to meet a true gentleman and a man with grit. Then I saw you.”

I thought to myself. A true gentleman. This was partially true. I leaned in to whisper her into her ear seductively.

“What’s your name beautiful?”

I could see the hair raise on her arm. The art of seduction is so fine tuned. It is what I excel at.

“My name is Isabelle and how about yourself handsome?”

She had such a beautiful smile. I could taste her plump rouge lips caressing mine. It was difficult containing myself.

“I’m Tim but you can call me whatever you’d like so long as you smile when you call upon me.”

She smiles again. Not for long.

The same men that offered her alcohol are glancing over at us. Probably pondering how they failed and I had succeeded. Lazy animals.

“Isabelle, care for a cigarette?”

At this point the infernal noise was beginning to crawl under my skin and the overly intoxicated bafoons moping around we’re making me angry.

“When in Rome eh Tim. Let’s go for a smoke, sure.”

I grinned and gently grabbed her hand and lead the way to outside the club entrance. We passed the failed so called gentlemen. I gave them a pompous nod and condescending smile paired with a wink. This will be the last time you see this beautiful damsel. Her hands were smooth as silk. I want to caress every inch of her body. Oh, such beauty, how tragic. I hand her a menthol cigarette as we arrive outside and light it for her. She obliges me. As I light mine I begin to ponder what she was thinking. I know what she’s thinking, but does she question it? It’s as I said earlier. Fact from fiction. Does she see it? Am I man she thinks I am or am I some illusion?

“So Tim, what are you aiming for tonight coming here alone? Are you lonely this evening?”

She has no idea.

“I came here for you. I left my home looking for you. I was not stopping until I found you so here I am. Here I stand your impossible man.”

She liked that. A challenge perhaps or the oozing confidence. We are about to finish our smokes and I ask

“so Isabelle, would you like to join me at my home for a drink and perhaps some better more suitied music for ourselves?”

She did not hesitate to unveil that beautiful smile.

“I’d love to Timothy. Take me to your humble abode.”

There was nothing humble about it.

We arrived at my place after a nice taxi drive through the outskirts of the city. We we’re very touchy in the cab as we caressed one another’s legs. The fabric of the pantyhose drove me mad. It was intoxicating. I lived in an old neighborhood in the city. It was old, but rustic.

“Oh this is very pretty Tim. Its classy and I like it.”

I grab the door for her as we enter my home. The lights in the home were left on and the living room was bare. It was furniture with nothing else. Flat black walls with white doors.

“For a sharp dressed man Tim you’re place is very minimalist. I’m quite surprised.”

I was in the living room preparing the record player for a sonata to waltz to. A dance of the union of grim reaper and angel. A contrast of biblical fantasy that is beyond symbolic tonight.

“I enjoy flat colors in my home to remind me how bright life is outside these walls. We spend our entire lives inside our home for the most part. The more aesthetically pleasing it is in here then the less I’ll appreciate the beauty outside.”

She looks in awe. She smiles yet again. Killer queen. The piano cues as the needle drops to the vinyl. Nocturne No. 9. I gaze at Isabelle and her perfect body, the red plump lips. The perfect woman. The perfect victim.

I’m resting my hands on her hips. Our faces can feel the heat coming from one another’s embrace as the piano seduces us in dance. We lock eyes and smile. I lean in to caress her lips. A kiss of death. I taste her passion and it shakes me to my core. My hands leave her hips. I’m so intoxicated by her touch. I place my hands gently on her cheeks. It’s invigorating. The song begins to play it’s final note, her final note. She has no idea.

I take her into my bedroom while holding her hand. I give her another kiss as we stand beside my red bed. I begin to slowly remove her dress starting at the shoulders. Her skin is impeccable. Her breasts hang perfectly. I lower the dress to the floor along with her black thong. I tossed her on the bed and began kissing every inch of her body. I stated at her neck and slowly grazing my tongue to her ear. She squirms in pleasure. I work my way down. Circular motions around her breast; tickling her nipple as they rise from the eroticism. Shes moaning in ecstasy. She can’t take it anymore and rips my buttoned shirt off in a frenzy and grabs at my belt. She takes off my pants in such hasty fashion and lowers her lips. It’s sheer lust and I’m aroused in such splendor. I moan as our bodies warm and sweat beat off our skin creating a sensual, primal experience. I cant take It any longer. I enter her gently yet swiftly. It’s a sesnory overload of pleasure. Her soft skin to mine as we fuck rigoursly as the rain beats on the double pane windows of my minimalist home. What a conclusion. So carnal. We part sides as we both came. I turned to the left as she rested on the right. I slowly reached my left arm below the bed sneakily.

“Tim that was absolutely magical. I haven’t felt like that, that since well hell I haven’t felt like that ever.”

I smiled. “It’s funny you mention hell Isabelle. Do you believe in it? Heaven and hell? The afterlife?” She glanced at me with an odd look and rightfully so. Who talks about religion after sex? It’s like talking about porno in a church. “Why do you ask?” She said nervously. ” I want to know if you think you will go to heaven or hell. We are all going to die and these choices are alledgedly the only ones we have. So where will you go?” She’s growing uncomfortable. Perfect.

“I’d like to go to heaven. Who would like to go anywhere else?”

“Ahh heaven yes. The whiteness, clouds, and halos. It’s like a lifelong wedding and it’s everyone sharing the union of love. Well that’s good Isabelle…well good for me and bad for you. I’m going to tell you where you’re going right now.”

I press a button underneath the bed. A noise sounds and straps protrude the bed strapping her by the torso and the legs. They are skin tight along her smooth white skin.

“Ahhhhmumumum” she screams but I placed duct tape swiftly over her plump lips.

“Silence you whore. Remember earlier you had said you were waiting for a gentleman. Well I’m that man, however I’m not gentle. I’m your end. I’m the man who brings you out of this world naked as you came in. Unreborn again. You’re not going to heaven. You’re getting sliced and diced to be tossed into a freezer before being thrown into a swamp. That’s your afterlife. A swamp Isabelle. A filthy, grimy swamp filled with vile creatures. Vile as you.” She’s squiriming frantically hoping for some miracle to relinquish her from this nightmare.

“Sorry, Hun this is the end. Sleep well 111.”

I snap a photo of her. The face of terror, the straps pressing firmly on her naked body on my red bedding. The last light she will ever see is turned off and I send her to her eternal rest.

There is no fact or fiction. There is only me. I am the world’s last chance at visceral life. You can’t change who you are. You either accept it or put on the mask to blend in; like a spiderweb– translucent. You’re there, but invisible to most eyes. You exist, but they can’t see it until it’s too late. A fly in my web to suck the soul out if your life.