(Sept) Prompt #3 - Iridescent

[Kiki]

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The third prompt of September is the word, iridescent.

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If you have any questions about how to participate in this event,
please visit the rules (http://role-player.net/forum/showthread.php?t=63004) thread or PM me (http://role-player.net/forum/member.php?u=42034).

Happy writing!

[~N~]

They were such a beautiful couple. How could I possibly honor them as they deserve? How could I preserve their matchless love for all to see? How, even, might I improve upon it, and reveal them in their fullest kaleidoscopic splendor? It would be feat worthy of remembrance, or not worth doing.

Challenge accepted.

They were both young, in their twenties; the "flower of their youth," you might say, in full bloom. She with her sweet smile, and he with his. They lived the romantic dream that lovers sometimes embark upon without care for reality, obstacles, time, distance, or financial constraints. Love overcomes all. Perhaps that would make a fine title for my work.

I spent three month's worth of wages procuring the necessary materials for their display: shards of stained glass from a variety of different places that art pilgrims visited, drugs from places that were sometimes not very far from broken glass, and needles, nails, thread, and leather straps from a variety of places where the pilgrims of the first two sometimes went to facilitate the doings of their beings.

And of course a saw. From one of those big box hardware stores.

I lied. I also used two long pieces of steel. Steel is quite famous for being able to support a variety of structures. I had high hopes it would do the job here.

I lied again. To preserve bodies (morticians know this) you need a good mix of chemicals such as the formaldehyde and methanol you find in embalming fluid. Resin helps too. You really want the bodies to shine with a radiance enhanced by the glittering colors of the visible spectrum found in the best rainbows. And decay is such a natural thing when decomposition sets in. They were only going to last if I loved them as much as they loved themselves. And love them I did.

After dispatching them with the drugs, (because honestly, I didn't want to have to fight them, so I took them in their sleep with a potent enough combination of arsenic to put down a moose in under a minute) I went to work preparing their bodies with exacting precision and care. Bruising would diminish the art, and their bodies had to be in tip-top shape.

One must always begin with a sketch; an outline (artists know this). You draw and erase and draw and experiment and draw and draw on top of that, and so on. And then you paint, and often, you paint over mistakes or things you want to do differently, so that the final work is one of several layers of reworkings and mistakes and paintings-over. With a canvas that matched the color of their pale flesh, I began my work in earnest.

I wanted them to be as they were in life: joined together. That necessitated the use of the saw, because, of course, I had to cut them in half, and then sew them back together; she on the left, he on the right. They would be one being again; Promethean in their oneness, even. A true pre-modern masterpiece from before the Flood. Needless to say, some might have looked upon that task as a "messy" one, but I took the liberty of incorporating the splatterings of crimson tones and bits of organ and bone into the work itself, Jackson Pollock style.

Except for their skulls. I wanted their skulls whole. They would serve better at the ends of chains -- I forgot to mention the chains, didn't I?! Son of a bitch. Anyways, I had this great idea! I would attach the chains with hooks into their skulls, and then have their hands positioned in such a way so that each one was holding the other with the other end of the chain wrapped around the respective wrist of the hand holding the skull it was attached to! I know, I know, you're thinking, why didn't you make it their hearts?

And I did consider doing that, let me tell you. But it seemed to send the wrong message; I didn't want their hearts in chains, just their heads. Like two balls, each held in the hand of the other. Ball and chain. Get it? Eh? Eh?

I know. Too postmodern probably. I always go back and forth; do I stick the humor in there, or not? Alas, I must confess, I never seem to be able to renounce it completely; one must enjoy their work after all.

I digress. I next drove the stained glass shards into their flesh at various points along the main arteries that flow back to the heart. See? I didn't lose all the potential for symbolism, after all. And then I positioned their arms upward, as though the body itself was reaching out and up towards the heavens in sacred prayer, as the Ancients used to do, before Christians came along and made everyone put their hands together and kneel like slaves. The heads, with their chains, would go upon the hands which were the highest point of the whole piece. Then, to keep them there, I ran one steel rod horizontally crossways through them.

Oh I know, you're going to tell me it makes them look like they're hanging from a cross, or a meat hook, aren't you? Always a critic. Yes, I suppose that's one interpretation, but remember, this piece is really about exultation and divine grace, not suffering and penance. So, yes, I did support the horozontal rod with a vertical beam that ran down through the sewn together body where the spine would have been, had I not removed it when I sawed them in half, but I assure you, crucifixion was not my intention; that's been done already, and I would be quite arrogant to think I could outdo the performance Christ put on.

It was almost finished, but I had to put my work someplace where they could really shine. Now, during the day, that's not a problem. You should see how those stained glass shards really sparkle with the resin and the preservatives that I applied skin. If you look upon the ground, the light is refracted in such away as to throw off spatters of iridescent hues all over the work and the floor for two dozen feet around. Magnificent.

But at night? I love the moon as much as the next person, but she's rather wan and inconsistent. So I thought of a better idea: candles. I made two extra steel trees to serve as holders for over sixty-six candles. With six around the bottom. For kicks. And my god, you should see the haunting melody of illustrious colors that plays when all of those crimson candles are lit, and dripping red wax, and throwing off their fires upon the shards and lacquer of the polished skin and the way the flickerings make the eyes in their skulls come alive!

Eternal Love. That's what I think I'm going to call it.

[m139]

Part Nine of the September Story
Previous Installment (http://role-player.net/forum/showthread.php?t=75406&p=2614901&viewfull=1#post2614901)

As the two adults read the letter, Lyra played with the box. The container was much more interesting that the content, for the letter was just a piece of paper with words. Here in her hands, though, here was something. The hard, green outside of the box. The smooth, soft velvet within, and the shiny inside of the lid. She held up this last piece, shiny and smooth enough that it could still reflect light. Even it the softer light of the open room, it seemed to glow, when held at an angle, with an iridescent shine. And when she looked at it face on, Lyra could see a vague resemblance of herself in that top part of the lid. True, it was browner and a bit distorted, but she knew it was her.

It had been a while since Lyra had seen herself, and she looked at the image again. It was one of the clearest she had come in contact with, the last being a distorted convex picture from a buried piece of lamppost. But now, she could see herself, in some form.

Her Auntie and Uncle had always said she looked like her mother. But Lyra had never seen her. Well, technically, she had, but she was so young it did not really count. But was this face the face of her mother? She looked into the top of the box lid for a while.

No. She thought at last. Her mother had probably looked more like Auntie. Auntie was beautiful, and Lyra knew her mother most have been beautiful. Besides, there was no way her mother had all those blemishes that the box lid was projecting onto her.

She put the box lid aside. She was tired of that toy. On to the other part of the box.

The velvet was soft and red. True, it offered nothing much to look at, but it was wonderful to feel. It was even softer that that plant Uncle had shown her once. What had he called it? Lamb's ear. Yes, it was even softer than that. And it was so red. Not quite like the red of poppies- no, those were lighter, but a deep red. A dark red, such as that of a ripe cherry.

She rubbed her hands on it, then tried to rub it on her cheek, to feel it even there. Unfortunately, it did not quite work- it was impossible to really feel it on her cheek when it was in a box to small for her head.

Ugh. The lining was loose, but not loose enough. If only it was a little looser, she could push up a small portion of it against the sides and over the top. Just enough to feel it without destroying the beautiful box-

She gently pulled. But there still was just not enough. So she tugged again. Again, nothing. She then pulled just a little harder.

Ooops. The entire lining came off. For a second, she held the square piece of cloth in her hands. She hoped Auntie and Uncle would not mind too much. She looked around. Neither of them were looking at her. Good.

She was about to put the lining back in the box, when she saw it. A golden glimmer among the sparkling browns. The whole copper box seemed to be glowing, both the brown copper sides, and, at the bottom, the gold colored key. The light danced around in this little container, sending splats of light in all directions, creating little half-rainbows of browns on every surface. And the key itself, down in the center, seemed at once to reflect both the incoming light and its own, and flamed with yellow and brown iridescent shine.

Her fears of getting caught were forgotten. The velvet cloth dropped from her right hand to the floor, unnoticed. She reached in her grubby little hand to grab the beautiful key.

With a small "pop" and not much effort it came off . She pulled it out and held it in her hand.

To be sure, this "key" looked more ceremonial than like anything that would actually open something. It was about three inches long, with an ornate three looped design on the top. In each loop was a piece of cut glass: two dark ones, which, only when held to the light, could be distinguished as green and blue and a clear one in the middle, which had been one of the main causes of the reflected rainbows. On the other end, were the two prongs, which would supposedly open the door. The gold colored rod which connected the two ends, was smooth and about half a centimeter in diameter. It was heavier than it looked- probably because it was, in some part, composed of real gold.

For a while, she twirled the key in her hands. Free from its constraints, it now tossed light everywhere. The room, all drab with the gray of the carpet and that of the dirty walls, now had splashes of color which flitted to and fro as Lyra turned the key. And for a while more, she watched the light, as it encased her in its beauty. And then, she decided to break free of her own little world, and share it with those whom she loved.

She looked up. Uncle was by the open wall and Auntie was sitting where she had been. And then, all of a sudden, Auntie up and fell, all at the same time.

Lyra rushed over, "Auntie?" she said, quietly. There was no response. "Auntie, she said a little louder, this time shaking her. There was a bit of movement as the woman's arm fell off her knee and two the floor.

Lyra got up hurridly, calling "Uncle, Uncle!" as she ran across the room. But he did not hear her until she actually grasped his hand and spoke to him.

"Um," she said, biting her upper lip, and looking a bit scared, "Auntie's fainted."

Her uncle went quickly to Auntie, Lyra following. He put something under Auntie's nose, and waited.

Suddenly, Auntie gasped, and opened her eyes.

They were moist with many tears, and in each one shined a tiny little rainbow.

[Kicks]

She shoved her hands greedily into the bowl while the woman's back was turned. Her pudgy fingers caressed each cookie without hesitance, without manner. She pulled her now full fingers out of the bowl and shoved them into the pouch of her hoodie. The girl proceeded to ball up her hoodie and place it down beside her as it was before.

By the time the woman had turned around again, her iridescent bowl had lost some of its treasure. But the woman appeared to not even notice, for she took her seat across the desk and moved her nasty green eyes to the fat child across from her.

"Do you know why I called you here?" Her voice had an edge to it that the child had heard before. It was the same voice that she had used on the last child that disappeared. He had been just a little boy, a spoiled and wicked thing that shared a rotting and matted bed with dust mites. One day he had been called out in front of everyone and given a lecture. He was a lesson, she had stated, a valuable lesson to be learned. And then that night he disappeared.

"No." Her voice was hoarse with exertion, as if the effort of stealing cookies had taken a toll on her lumpy mass.

"Liar." She heard the hiss inside of the accusation. Her pink ears ached as the room filled with that one word.

"Why am I in here?" She wheezed past crooked and rotting teeth. She could feel her flushed cheeks growing hot, the warmth spreading down her throat and into her stomach where it laid itself to simmer and waste.

"You're a thief." Another accusation, this one just as on point as the last one. But she could not admit to that, for then she would be gone just as quickly as the last child.

And though this place was a hell of its own, she knew that something awful had to happen to children when they disappeared. She had tried her best to stay out of sight of this woman, of the head mistress. But it was like this woman saw everything.

A gasp fell from her lips when a book was suddenly thrown into the seat beside her. Its heavy weight pressed against her hoodie, the snapping and cracking of cookies could be heard beneath its aggression. Her stomach rumbled angrily. She ignored it, and the panic too that had settled into her large intestine.

"You have one chance, girl."

She watched the mistress with panicked eyes. And though her eyes revealed the horror she felt, her expression was perfectly still.

The woman across from her was so angry, she could read it across her face and in her eyes, in her posture, in her voice.

"Tell me the truth." A cracked finger pointed across at her. She went cross eyed looking at it, her eyes tracing the white cracked lines, the crooked nail, the sore knuckles.

"What happened to the birthday cake?"

The question was another hiss. It was like listening to a snake talk, listen to venom become words and then strike at her ears. And somehow, those strikes went from her ears straight to her stomach.

"I ate it." At least she was being honest now. She had to be honest for fear of disappearing like the other children.

"I thought so." The woman across from her seemed so satisfied. She appeared to relax once the truth was out in the room. She even slid further down into her seat, her shoulders hunching and her bosom sagging. She looked down her long nose at the pudgy girl across from her.

"You can go." The little girl was excused. Those words gained her her freedom. But would this mean she would disappear like the other children?

"But aren't I in trouble?" She was shaking for fear of what was to come. But whatever physically happened to her would be better than disappearing and never being heard from again. She'd rather be an orphan here than an orphan forgotten.

"You told me the truth." The voice was like an angel's now. It was like the first time the little girl had heard this woman speak. It was soothing, rather than fearsome like it had been just seconds ago. "Had you not, you would have been in very deep trouble."

So that was it? All the children here had to do was tell the truth? But what of repentance? Honesty was the first step in repentance. What came next?

"Please, let me repent fully." The little girl could not believe she was actually begging for this. But she needed forgiveness, needed to be certain that the ties between her and this woman were not burned.

A smile crossed the elderly woman's face. Again, it was smoothing like her voice. It was like sticking a fine piece of chocolate onto her tongue and then letting it melt.

"Very well," She straightened up in her seat. "You will clean all the toilets in this house by hand. And you will do it all before dinner."

"Yes, ma'am." The pudgy child quickly gathered herself up, "And I'm sorry about the cookies. And the cake."

"It's okay, child." Another warm smile. She felt so safe when it was directed at her. "Now hurry along. And call the next child into my office."

The girl scurried to her feet then scrambled from her chair. She teetered across the room, making it to the door on stout legs. Her fat fingers wrapped around the cold, brass knob of the office. Behind her she could hear the woman straightening up, putting her face on again for the next child that would come upon her.

Quickly the girl pulled open the heavy oak door. She skittered out of the room and into the hallway. It was there that her eyes fell upon the little pale girl. She was a nervous wreck, twitching and mumbling in her seat.