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Amylian
05-26-2010, 01:38 PM
“The Other Me”
By Ali Makki

Do I dare cut my throat whilst staring at the other me? Do I dare coil my neck and hear the sound of it cracking? Do I dare slash mine heart and pierce my hands inside to clench it and rip it out? Such thoughts he had in mind. Can I do it? He thought! Will I prove mine existence to the world? He asked. He put the pocket knife down. It stained the golden carpet with dripping red clots of blood. It burnished! The quench of thirst demanded highly that he should drink! But with a hard-beating heart, it would certainly kill him. Afraid of death, is he not? Giving death was a pleasure, but receiving death scared him? Selfish I am, he thought. I shall escape this house at once, he decided, unclothing, dressing new clothes and off he went.

His wife, Lolita, gave him a call. Her children were playing around the small house. He did not answer. Who would call in such a moment? He wondered. He seemed uninterested. His acute wife hanged the speakers. He struggled to find a place to hide, but where to? The summer’s humidity was killing him, evaporating every drop of water from within his body. The acute wife approached the empty white bed. She threw herself. The children were now asleep. Silence took over. She stood up, and shivered momentarily. Her nipples grew as if in need to be sucked. He slithered in the alleys. The sound of laughter he heard. Grasping an awareness of where he might be was the question he tried to answer. He knew he was being chased by a mysterious figure. He tried to ignore it but could not. She looked at the mirror – at her other self --, unclothed gently her bra to free her detained breasts, undressed smoothly her pants to welcome the genial air so to indulge within. The acute wife had a shower, cleaning her pure body. She squeezed her brown breasts for few minutes and then down to the stomach until she reached the road where man is born. The lights were out! He was alone, afraid! What am I afraid of? He pondered. No one saw what I had done! He exclaimed. The road where man is born she reached. To the soft, warm heaven where man is born. She sensed it! She felt itchy. She sensed it again! The shadows were following him, to the end. The acute wife explored the world where man is born. He could not run anymore and stopped at a dark, horrible, and smelly house—in awe he glanced. She immediately expressed euphoric sensations and excited she was. She unfolded her legs, and quickly raised her head, beginning to rub the place where man is born gently then swiftly as her eyes rolled with lustrous satisfaction. He entered the pernicious-looking house. No one was behind him. Bleak. Dreary. The acute wife put one hand on the wall; bent over as the glowing shower crystallized her soft back round world that could make man loses reason. She started rubbing. Up to the stairs he went after he heard a sound of a child crying. He approached the source. The sound of the shower was mysteriously serene. The acute wife began patting gently on her back round. It gave her pleasure. The child’s cry began to transform to devilish ones. What could this be? He asked himself. Should I carry on? In wonderment, he asked. Waiting for him to come I am, will he come? The acute wife thought. There was more than one source of laughter it turned out! The acute wife finished having a shower. Out she went, naked, to her children. The hallways were worshipping her figure as her breasts bouncing very gently—not bothering her. Her hips dancing. Her back round shined at the reflections of the lamps. To her children’s room, naked, she was walking. He decided to take a peek from the door’s keyholes. He did. The acute wife entered the room of her children. Missing they were. He saw devil-like children ravishing the honor of a beautiful maiden-like that looked like his wife. He took the knife out, got prepared to attack. The acute wife hurried down stairs to check on them. As she got closer to the sitting room, she overheard the sound “mmmah” and the voice belonged to one of her children. Naked she was. He attacked viciously stabbing the little devils with the horns. He stabbed one of them in the heart and split his chest wide open. He slit the second’s eyes by piercing the knife into his eyes sockets. As for the third, he got sliced in half starting from the genital area to the heart reaching the windpipe. The acute wife beheld a mysterious figure raping her children. She threw herself at him, but he overpowered her, and raped her. The mysterious figure took a pocket knife, killed the acute wife and had sex with her while dead. The children were afraid. He stood in astonishment after what he had done to the devils, and the maiden seemed a bit afraid. She backed down as blood was flowing on her legs and she seemed unable to walk properly. The mysterious man threw her corpse aside. The young children could take it no more. Why is she afraid? He thought. Why is she backing down? He, again, thought. Come to me, he told her. She refused. The mysterious man took the pocket knife, but the children overpowered him. The first child, a naked virgin took her hair clip and it hit his nose, almost shattering it. The second child, a long-haired girl whose small breasts were sulking, bit his genitals very hard, almost cutting it. The third child, a very beautiful young girl whose body was raging with desire to be had sex with, took the knife from his hands, stabbed him in the windpipe going down to his heart. He griped the maiden’s hands, and she slapped him on the face. He cried. The children, unaware what to do, killed each others in a hideous manner. The man dried his tears, and he pleaded with her to run away with him. With me, it’s better for you to go, he said. Go away demon; go away, she told him. The lachrymal scene thundered his heart with rage; he cut her throat slowly as if cutting a loaf of bread. Flames raged on. He –desperate—.stripped naked and plugged a robe around his neck. He hanged himself.

To the One I present this!


The End

hillwalker
05-26-2010, 02:47 PM
This very strange story took some getting used to :

- firstly it took an effort to figure out what was actually going on (I think I now understand perhaps 50% of it - there is so much imagery masqueradng as reality)

- secondly it seems to take place in the present day
: 'His wife, Lolita, gave him a call'
yet a lot of the phraseology is quite archaic.
In particular, the awkward word order in quite a number of sentences sounds belaboured :
: 'Selfish I am...' / 'The sound of laughter he heard..' / '...excited she was' / 'Naked she was' / 'Her back round'

- I'll admit I did not understand the particular phrase
: 'His acute wife hanged the speakers.'
perhaps it's my age showing?

- and finally the grand guignol ending might be a bit too much for some readers to stomach, whether it is meant to be read as real or allegorical.

You have a sure command of the language that enables you to write without self-consciousness, avoiding cliches as naturally as you breathe. But perhaps you need to rein in your imaginative streak until your style is more reader-friendly.

A brilliant piece, but perhaps also brilliantly flawed. Very promising though.

H

Amylian
05-27-2010, 12:50 AM
This very strange story took some getting used to :

- firstly it took an effort to figure out what was actually going on (I think I now understand perhaps 50% of it - there is so much imagery masqueradng as reality)


This, to me, was an experiment with what I like to term High Narrative Style, or Flow Narrative Style, by encompassing two events occuring at the same time...!!! Of course the blending of reality and fantasy is intentional from my part; it is "Magic Realism" in which I can get access to a deeper understanding of reality...!!!


- secondly it seems to take place in the present day
: 'His wife, Lolita, gave him a call'
yet a lot of the phraseology is quite archaic.
In particular, the awkward word order in quite a number of sentences sounds belaboured :
: 'Selfish I am...' / 'The sound of laughter he heard..' / '...excited she was' / 'Naked she was' / 'Her back round'

I think I am too much into classics and Romantics...lol This what shaped my phraseology and style of writing...!!! I wonder if this is an excuse...!!! But you have a pointed to a very good note here and I am glad you did. The best explanation I can provide you with is simply "Romanticizing everyday occurences create a serious aura about them even if they are nothing." Is this what they refer to as Grand Narrative...I am not sure..!!!




- I'll admit I did not understand the particular phrase
: 'His acute wife hanged the speakers.'
perhaps it's my age showing?

Strip the (a) from (acute), you will get the word (cute)...!!!

Well, ok, hanged the speaker. Personally, I meant it to be simply (hanged the speaker) as in (putting down the phone speaker), but now that you mentioned it, I think it would work as a foreshadowing and creating a sense of forboding...!!!



- nd finally the grand guignol ending might be a bit too much for some readers to stomach, whether it is meant to be read as real or allegorical.

You have a sure command of the language that enables you to write without self-consciousness, avoiding cliches as naturally as you breathe. But perhaps you need to rein in your imaginative streak until your style is more reader-friendly.

A brilliant piece, but perhaps also brilliantly flawed. Very promising though.

Nice comment...!!! I will try and get the best of it...!!!

Regards,
Ali Makki aka Amylian

zoolane
05-27-2010, 06:28 AM
I found this piece insight what man mental state is fight against he own fanasty and real world. I special the way that begin the character is tell the paragraph and carry through.

hillwalker
05-27-2010, 10:36 AM
Well, I did figure out it was some kind of parallel narative - the 'real' world and 'fantasy' running side by side - and you really pulled it off magnificently.

'hanged the speakers' - aha, a light bulb just clicked on inside my skull. I was thinking of a hi-fi speakers. What you meant was simply 'hung up the phone' which now makes it all clear.

Your use of Romantic language ('purple prose' as some call it when they disapprove - myself included at times) fits in well with the theatricality of the story - and now you explain that it was a conscious effort on your part to create an alternative 'reality' I see your point.

You show an infectious pleasure in writing - keep it up, and keep sharing it with us, please.

H