Giving Birth
Ron Koppelberger
She danced near the flames of a desire that overwhelmed her soul, in passion and artful balance. The swell of her stomach complimented the rosy hue on her cheeks. She was perfectly pregnant and wonting a sagacious fry cook named Petulant Samaritan. The sky was dark and dotted with the dreams of a thousand thousand, bleeding indigo and fire, caste by the secrets of generations in pass. She danced and the fry cook rubbed the palm of his hand anxiously, she would give birth tonight he thought as he appraised her shining fervency.
She lay on the blanket that was stretched out over the small patch of dandelion weed and prepared to bring her child into the world. The fry cook positioned himself near her legs and waited for the contractions to begin, a moment later she grunted and her labor began.
Hours later Petulant stared at the child he had wrapped in his white cotton shirt. He was amazing and savage both, he had two rows of sharp jutting teeth and a bulbous forehead. Petulant brushed the tiny sliver locks from the child’s eyes and the woman cooed in affectionate wonder at her infant. She looked at the fry cook then the baby. The baby growled and bit a chunk of flesh from Petulants’ arm. He screamed in sudden realization.
He had met the Fairy in the copse behind his house and he hadn’t realized what her designs would be until the child began to devour him, by then it was too late. His lifeblood seeped into the forest carpet and dotted the dandelions as the creature tore him to shreds. The Fairy looked at her child and whispered, “Innocent child of mine you have eaten your father, what shall I do?” The baby giggled and burped as she smiled lovingly at him.
The shadows abated at dawn and the Dandelions trampled yet alive with the will of magic regained their balance with the forest as mother and son made their way into the mystery that was the Secret Wood.
Marked
Ron Koppelberger
The governess gave the key to the warden and the cask shimmered in the distant kitchen, cool inviting and calling the marked, marked by terror, marked by the will to continue on and fight the stain of adversity. Greedy doubts filled his mind for an instant and he whispered, “Let me be free, let me be free!”. The steal bars were a constant reminder of the stain the indelible mark on his body, the profusion of lines radiating from the center of his brow.
He was in wonting passion, the cask of wine in the kitchen was calling out to him, “come drink me in the hour of your need!” It called and the lines that formed the mark turned fiery red with blood. The prison bars opened and the wine was at hand. He slipped into the kitchen as the warden slept and the governess attended the others.
The wine was good and for a moment he forgot the stain. The night wore on and the intoxicating secret revealed itself to the prisoner. He lay drunk on the tiled white floor of the kitchen his stain forgotten and the freedom of sated excess churning quietly in his stomach. The governess returned and discovered the sleeping prisoner. With rough hewn hands she hoisted the prisoner over her shoulder, for she was extremely strong, and returned him to his cell.
The next morning the warden came to the prisoner’s cell and exclaimed, “You are the picture of irrational sense for if you were truly a prisoner here you would have made your escape.” after saying this he unlocked the prisoners cell and said, “We are all bred the same, stained and marked as yourself.” he rolled up his shirt sleeve and showed the newly freed man the profusion of lines on his forearm. “You see?” The man smiled and went to the kitchen again this time for a bite to eat. He would be free from that moment forward even though he never left the estate and the guardianship of the caste again.
The Prophecy of Err
Ron Koppelberger
Thriving on the whirl of scandal and potion the obsession became an amusing prediction of the blessings that influence the expectant bite. She welcomed the teeth, the blood, the sex and the overture the vampire had to offer. He suppressed a grin and licked his cool red lips in fervent respect for the offer of sustenance. She astonished the triumph in his victory of desire, passion and lust with the pulsing throb of her slender neck. He gasped and a tear rolled from the corner of his eye as he prepared to feast on the virginal delights of total abandon. She accepted his response for she knew the prophecy of err.
The tiniest droplet of blood trailed in a thin line across the nape of her neck and onto her white silken gown. He sighed and said, “Myth looks good to the essence of err, defer me not from this accolade dear virgin. I have lordly intentions and your house.” She was delirious in the change for he had given her the gift. She said, “the err of your magic is in the innocence of fine wine and sour stomachs, I have a rare condition, my blood is mixed with the strain of the silver bond…….in sunshine and subterfuge we know the prophecy of err.” He considered this for a moment and said, “renegades are my passion dear virgin and the err is in the marriage of prey and meager heed, you are a creature reborn and I say usher in the sun and the moon sweet child…….worlds of slow will and quick err rejoice the twilight.
