Obsessions of a Shattered Psyche.
Chapter 4: Bondage
The almighty creator of his own psychotically delusional world was he, yet, it was his overlord, and he, the unwilling servant. As Nehemia carefully polished his razor-sharp battle axe, the voices that dwelt deep within his psyche conspired, “she will make us one this night!” Divine creation or apocalyptic destruction, only perspective differentiates the two!” became their concordat.
The comforting, redolent odour of metal polish lulled Nehemia into a sombre rapture as he indulged himself in a few more deep breaths. “Creation or destruction, both are metamorphosis”, they cackled, “’tis merely attraction or revulsion of the outcome that decides which term one chooses…….Tonight, our night of transformation, she will…..” the axe fell from Nehemia’s grasp as slowly he sank into a profound, serene trance.
Sanity had long been a stranger to Nehemia and no longer did he bother battling the legion of daemons that infested his bitter, twisted soul. For that battle had long been lost! ‘Twas he who crafted this realm of eternal torment. Populating every nook and cranny with the multitudinous fragments of a shattered personality. Each tiny shard of this profane wreckage had long ago taken on form and essence. Constantly nourished with all the anger, hatred and venom of a dissident martyr, they matured into full daemonhood. They were his! His tormentors, his gaolers, and his constant companions. But they fought amongst themselves, and they fought often. Their foul conspiracies and screaming blind rages ensured Nehemia that he’d know no peace. Turmoil, torment and anguish were his legacy. His mind was but an apocalyptic wasteland and the ceaseless warfare had robbed him of the control he’d never known.
Here, now, as Nehemia entered the realm of shadows, the need for dominance was no longer yearned for. Swirling surreal images writhed into focus, throbbing and pulsating ‘til vivid. Again, he was with she. Mircala. There, lurking behind shimmering, moist orbs of radiant energy lay a malevolently serene mystique; as she beheld the dark dominion with unseeing eyes. Through the intricate, ebony latticework of liquid black eyeliner, closer she drew him in. Body and soul. In spiritual and carnal bondage he lay subjugated to this mysterious, gothique marvel of the midnight hour. So powerless was he to stop himself.
Sensuously, her nimble fingers slowly caressed the glittering crystal that lay nestled between her satin smooth breasts. Gently raising it, she occasionally fumbled, sending the transparent shard plunging deep within her captivating cleavage.
In and out went the shard, plunging deeper and ever deeper. So thoroughly bewitched was Nehemia that his universe existed only between Mircala’s mesmerising gaze and her heaving chest. In and out, deeper and ever deeper still. His heart rose and fell, fluctuating as though controlled by some other ethereal force. Rising and falling as the fleshy landscape responded to her every breath. Rising and falling in perfect synchronicity. Rising and falling in complete obedience. Rising and falling, ‘til his heart was her possession.
As the vibrational rate of both blended, two became as one. And thus was formed the bridge. The bridge of souls. That bridge which soon would give passage to Nehemia’s ravenous inner daemons to enter Mircala. Those virulent daemons, ever more rapacious, were ominous in their sudden silence. They’d ceased bickering and from the shadows they watched agog. For soon they’d feast.
But here in the dreamworld they’d not be satiated, for here they could only partake of that portion which is dream. But tonight, when the two mortals again would meet in flesh, that would be another matter entirely.
Consciousness assaulted Nehemia like an arctic splash, and upon his knees he fell. The sweet, salty taste of methacrylate copolymer saturated blood delighted his tastebuds as he savoured the moist red gash that his fall had caused him. But now he’d sullied the sheen that just earlier he’d applied to his treasured axe. Consumed by consciousness, he was in a strange, new world. In this realm he knew his love to be of no good to her. His overbearing conscience, suppressed since before memory began had burst free of its’ restraints and had taken dominance of each alert moment. This new powerful force, now unleashed, could bear no more. For all those years it had watched in bondage, unable to act, viewing all that transpired in absolute revulsion.
Time grew short as the midnight hour drew near. Nehemia hurriedly made his last preparations before departing to join with his soulmate. Soon, this consciousness would fade, and with it, that confusing realm in which morality reigned supreme. Soon, he and Mircala would be together again. Between heaven and hell, no force was mighty enough to break the eternal bond between them. Not even his own conscience.
None amongst the living truly know the outcome when irresistible force meets unbreakable object, and none would discover that secret tonight. The potential for revelation of that forbidden knowledge faded fast with the ecstasy Nehemia had ingested. As he left to meet Mircala, the voices returned. For tonight’s transformation had begun.
