The King Of All The Beast

I remember a quarry tower raised in front of me, tall with an ogival shape and dark reliefs. As a spear that breaks the midnight and with its peak separate the thick mist, the moon’s light penetrates through the cleft and draw the grooves on the facade.

The gates open at a body’s distance, the interior light brings a soft, warm and pulsing glow; I feel each wave radiate towards me. The rosette of an eye crowns the portal with a look on the surroundings, above it has a worn inscription, my sight fades when I try to read it, and it seems to say “Εησηε”. At each side of the rose window, wings formed by feathered bones extend and form the base of the tower like a dead bird.

I am sitting with my eyes hidden by the edge of the hood; I see my arms covered by the purple robe with gold brocade and my hands sweat as I grab something under my sleeves. Hooded men with their eyes on the altar, I have the feeling of having awakened from a dream while something is happening in that direction. I lift my head when I hear a young woman cry, she is pregnant and dragged by two men; she refuses to walk and struggles to free herself.

“There is something familiar about her, I’ve seen her before.”

The men lift her naked and offer their bosoms to heaven. From the same place where they brought her, another woman walks towards her from the threshold. Her robe is the same as mine, she wears a feather crown forged in bronze. With her gaze follows the trail of her palm on the skin of the young woman subjected to the altar, pushes her fingers on the belly and with one blow stabs her with a dagger.

The scream jumps me up, the men next to me want to stop me and use their strength to subdue me. I stab them with the pair of hidden daggers in the sleeves and with the fury of a lion I hurt everyone who rushes against me. I make my way by cutting and passing through whoever crosses my path.

The young woman’s screams are painful calls that vibrate in my ears, I feel the anger emerge from my heart and consume the fear. Nothing stops me, I don’t care about losing the daggers, there is no pain; I kill everything in my power. 

“I want more.”

I feel a tickle on my lips, my jaw opens with fangs and I throw myself into the meat; I tear bodies apart with claws, dismembering bones and bowels with every blow.

I am filled with the force that feeds from the burning ember in my chest. I rip the terrified faces from their skulls. At that moment I’m powerful.

I capture the woman with the crown, put her head in my snout and crush her until I feel the blood drip. Crouching on the altar I devour my prey and see how they flee from me; I enjoy listening to their screams and wails.

“I am the one who sacrifices their lives, my revenge!”

The coiled body of the young woman is on the ground just as she had fallen, and the horror she suffered froze on her face. I watch her with my heart thumping throughout my body, I can feel the pulse of blood and the steam of my gasp. I hold her in my arms and kneeling on the altar I crown her with the bronze feathers.

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Please leave your comments if you like to contribute to improve the translation of this story. I’ll be very greatful.

Publicado por

Carlos Reeves

Soy como cualquier otro que le gusta leer y escribir, no estudié literatura y tampoco sé de grandes autores. La razón por la que comencé a escribir es porque desde niño tomaba esos cuadernos Scribe de hoja blancas y dibujaba todo el día. Esos personajes y escenarios empezaron a tener una narrativa, entonces tuve que escribir sus historias y saber dónde terminarían. Tengo problemas para concentrarme, si un colibrí vuela por mi ventana me la puedo pasar observando cómo se alimenta de las flores, incluso si se va, pareciera que me lleva con él a un mundo imaginario. Soy perfeccionista, escribir es un trabajo duro. Poseo una rivalidad contra las palabras y los renglones que conspiran en mi contra, paso horas editando y leyendo para aplacar su rebeldía. Antes me limitaba ocultarlos después de escribirlos, temía que lo leyeran y vieran semejante lío. Pero todo cambió cuando descubrí que hay personas que pasaron por las mismas rebeliones. Keanu Reeves, Steve Jobs y Scott Fitzgerald. Soy un soñador, no un escritor.

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