I received a few comments about the short story that I posted last night. I must admit that I too was enthralled with the character of Lola. To be frozen in time at one age for thousands of years, fighting what you are but not being able to resist it is a crazy nightmare. I related to her in a roundabout kind of way, not with the killing of humans as a messenger of death, but as a person who constantly fights who he is and not able to resist what he does. (read the entry about OCD)
I thought about Lola before I slept last night, and also all day today while I worked. I thought of a million different routes that I could take her, building a back story to her life and how I could form her into a character that people would like, or at least relate to. I decided to post small portions of this story on a regular basis, adding to the short story for the entertainment or myself and others in an attempt to keep myself and others guessing as we progress along, together, on a confusing and dark ride through life, death, and relationships with those who are like us, and those who are unlike us.
Please comment if you enjoyed it or if you would like to give constructive feedback.
Lola continued:
Lola felt the sand squishing between her pale toes. The jetty she stood beside looked treacherous in the blue moonlight coming down from the heavens. The ocean shushed from twenty feet away but sounded far off as the noise echoed off of the large gray rocks.
“I don’t know who I am,” Gregoire responded. “But I know who you are.”
“And who do you think I am?” she asked.
“You are the one who takes life swiftly and quietly. You are Death.”
Lola pondered that last statement quietly for a moment, then lifted her head upward to peer at the far off stars that she had seen change patterns several times in her life. The formation of the stars now was almost the best arrangement she had seen yet. Five thousand years ago there were a set of ten stars that she had fallen in love with. One by one they faded, the constellation that they made losing parts slowly over centuries of killing. One remained, and she looked to it for guidance each night.
Without warning, Lola took off at a sprint, leaving Gregoire, the rocks, and the dead man behind. She was faster than Gregoire, of that she had no doubt, so she didn’t worry about him catching up to her.
When she moved at this fast of a speed everything around her changed from a solid object into a blur. Trees were darkened shapes, street lights were shooting stars, and buildings were shadows. People were nearly invisible to her, and she was invisible to them. She felt free when she ran, but that freedom always ended.
She came to a stop deep in a forested area about forty miles from the shore. Hidden amongst overgrown ferns, wedged between an old and very tall tree and a mound of dirt was a cave. She had once taken the life of a woman here, a murderous coward of a woman hiding behind supposed witchcraft that turned out to be nothing more than harsh hallucinogenic herbs and saltwater.
Her footsteps echoed against the damp walls of the cave as she crossed through the entrance and toward the deepest sections. Within five minutes, she came to the end of this particular chamber of the cave and saw her belongings waiting for her, still packed neatly in her backpack beside her shoes and a small burlap sack of dried grass a twigs.
A circle of fist sized rocks formed a fire pit a few feet from the wall. She closed her eyes, whispered a thank-you to Mother Nature, and a dull fire sparked to life in the center of the rocks. She grabbed a clump of grass from her sack and sprinkled it onto the flames, causing them to shoot upward in gratitude of the fuel. She placed a few small sticks on top of the fire, and soon she had a crackling and raging fire made of nothing more than her own will and a few pieces of earth. The fire would last her until morning.
Her sleeping bag, a new purchase that she made just a week ago, was dark red and reversible. Underneath the sleeping bag was a five inch thick mat that she could roll up and tie together with her sleeping bag if she needed.
Lola climbed into her sleeping bag and zipped the side all the way up to her chin. She felt woozy, overly exhausted, and ready to drift off. This was the part that she hated.
Each night, when she laid down for sleep, she didn’t actually sleep. First, the cold started in, hence the fire. Her feet and hands became chilly before any other part of her. It was more like a dull aching like one would get in the Fall months. But it quickly turned to chill, and finally, full on frost bite.
After the cold spread from her hands and feet to her legs, arms, and her body’s core, the shakes began. She vibrated like a roaring motor, shaking so violently that her teeth chattered together until they felt like they would break. This part was easy compared to what came next.
When the cold threatened her heartbeat and her skin was numb, her eyes became heavy. She always fought it, trying not to let them close, but she always lost that battle. Well over three million nights, and never once could she fight off what was about to happen.
When most people would now fall peacefully into sleep, she replayed the horrors of what she had seen. The deaths of each person that she killed flashed before her eyes, the pain that they felt overtaking her own body. Choking, stabbing, bodily trauma the likes of which the average person could never imagine. She died million of times, in a thousand different ways, by her own hands.
Finally, after the most agonizing of minutes, she passed on into death. There was no light, there was no heaven of hell, only darkness. A darkness so all consuming that she feared fear itself that stalked her from any number of invisible areas.
Hours passed while she slept, but she was dead to the world, just barely conscious of what happened to her.
Lola woke the next morning in a cold sweat, her hair slicked against her forehead and tangled at the nape of her neck. Her clothes were soaked in perspiration. Her sleeping bag reeked of sweat and fear.
“Thank you for another day.” Lola said to her creator, someone or something that she did not know even existed.
She rose from her sleeping back, careful not to step into the glowing orange cinders that sat in the circle of rocks.
The change of clothing in her bag was a welcome sight. She walked over and removed her dress and sweater, placing them in the backpack. She removed a pair of white linen pants and a baby blue top accented by white stitching. She dressed quickly, packed her bag again, rolled up her sleeping bag and mat, and placed them in a neat pile at the back wall of the cave.
Lola walked toward the sunlight that shone through the mist and dust at the mouth of the cave. She felt the warmth of the suns rays as they first touched her feet, then her legs, and finally her chest and face. She rose to her full height after ducking low to exit the small opening to the cave, then closed her eyes and basked in the glory of warm sunlight.
A few minutes passed as she let the previous night’s events pass into the past and open the path for the future. She took in a deep breath, held it for as long as she could, and then released it. She did it again, laughing softly at being given another day to live in this world.
She suddenly became aware of a presence around her, a sensation of intelligence hovering nearby. Lola had felt this only one other time in her life, and that was the night prior.
“Do you die each night, as well?” Gregoire asked in his gruff accent.
“I don’t know who I am,” Gregoire responded. “But I know who you are.”
“And who do you think I am?” she asked.
“You are the one who takes life swiftly and quietly. You are Death.”
Lola pondered that last statement quietly for a moment, then lifted her head upward to peer at the far off stars that she had seen change patterns several times in her life. The formation of the stars now was almost the best arrangement she had seen yet. Five thousand years ago there were a set of ten stars that she had fallen in love with. One by one they faded, the constellation that they made losing parts slowly over centuries of killing. One remained, and she looked to it for guidance each night.
Without warning, Lola took off at a sprint, leaving Gregoire, the rocks, and the dead man behind. She was faster than Gregoire, of that she had no doubt, so she didn’t worry about him catching up to her.
When she moved at this fast of a speed everything around her changed from a solid object into a blur. Trees were darkened shapes, street lights were shooting stars, and buildings were shadows. People were nearly invisible to her, and she was invisible to them. She felt free when she ran, but that freedom always ended.
She came to a stop deep in a forested area about forty miles from the shore. Hidden amongst overgrown ferns, wedged between an old and very tall tree and a mound of dirt was a cave. She had once taken the life of a woman here, a murderous coward of a woman hiding behind supposed witchcraft that turned out to be nothing more than harsh hallucinogenic herbs and saltwater.
Her footsteps echoed against the damp walls of the cave as she crossed through the entrance and toward the deepest sections. Within five minutes, she came to the end of this particular chamber of the cave and saw her belongings waiting for her, still packed neatly in her backpack beside her shoes and a small burlap sack of dried grass a twigs.
A circle of fist sized rocks formed a fire pit a few feet from the wall. She closed her eyes, whispered a thank-you to Mother Nature, and a dull fire sparked to life in the center of the rocks. She grabbed a clump of grass from her sack and sprinkled it onto the flames, causing them to shoot upward in gratitude of the fuel. She placed a few small sticks on top of the fire, and soon she had a crackling and raging fire made of nothing more than her own will and a few pieces of earth. The fire would last her until morning.
Her sleeping bag, a new purchase that she made just a week ago, was dark red and reversible. Underneath the sleeping bag was a five inch thick mat that she could roll up and tie together with her sleeping bag if she needed.
Lola climbed into her sleeping bag and zipped the side all the way up to her chin. She felt woozy, overly exhausted, and ready to drift off. This was the part that she hated.
Each night, when she laid down for sleep, she didn’t actually sleep. First, the cold started in, hence the fire. Her feet and hands became chilly before any other part of her. It was more like a dull aching like one would get in the Fall months. But it quickly turned to chill, and finally, full on frost bite.
After the cold spread from her hands and feet to her legs, arms, and her body’s core, the shakes began. She vibrated like a roaring motor, shaking so violently that her teeth chattered together until they felt like they would break. This part was easy compared to what came next.
When the cold threatened her heartbeat and her skin was numb, her eyes became heavy. She always fought it, trying not to let them close, but she always lost that battle. Well over three million nights, and never once could she fight off what was about to happen.
When most people would now fall peacefully into sleep, she replayed the horrors of what she had seen. The deaths of each person that she killed flashed before her eyes, the pain that they felt overtaking her own body. Choking, stabbing, bodily trauma the likes of which the average person could never imagine. She died million of times, in a thousand different ways, by her own hands.
Finally, after the most agonizing of minutes, she passed on into death. There was no light, there was no heaven of hell, only darkness. A darkness so all consuming that she feared fear itself that stalked her from any number of invisible areas.
Hours passed while she slept, but she was dead to the world, just barely conscious of what happened to her.
Lola woke the next morning in a cold sweat, her hair slicked against her forehead and tangled at the nape of her neck. Her clothes were soaked in perspiration. Her sleeping bag reeked of sweat and fear.
“Thank you for another day.” Lola said to her creator, someone or something that she did not know even existed.
She rose from her sleeping back, careful not to step into the glowing orange cinders that sat in the circle of rocks.
The change of clothing in her bag was a welcome sight. She walked over and removed her dress and sweater, placing them in the backpack. She removed a pair of white linen pants and a baby blue top accented by white stitching. She dressed quickly, packed her bag again, rolled up her sleeping bag and mat, and placed them in a neat pile at the back wall of the cave.
Lola walked toward the sunlight that shone through the mist and dust at the mouth of the cave. She felt the warmth of the suns rays as they first touched her feet, then her legs, and finally her chest and face. She rose to her full height after ducking low to exit the small opening to the cave, then closed her eyes and basked in the glory of warm sunlight.
A few minutes passed as she let the previous night’s events pass into the past and open the path for the future. She took in a deep breath, held it for as long as she could, and then released it. She did it again, laughing softly at being given another day to live in this world.
She suddenly became aware of a presence around her, a sensation of intelligence hovering nearby. Lola had felt this only one other time in her life, and that was the night prior.
“Do you die each night, as well?” Gregoire asked in his gruff accent.
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