"So, I traveled to Costa Maya a couple of years back. Hiked. Shopped. Photographed. Journaled. And, came upon an evil temple in the woods. I hiked to the top of this old creepy ruin, looked around, soaked up the atmosphere, drank some tequila. Well... my imagination went absolutely wild and I came up with the following story for a novel. I envisioned my helpless hero trapped on the top of a Mayan ruin in the opening scene. And, as the camera pulls back, we see this man. All-American. He wears a black oilskin duster and python boots. Yeah, okay, maybe I drank too much tequila. But, hey, hope everyone enjoys! It's the prologue and my antagonist is well... (the devil). No horns or tail (that's old school crap.) Actually the devil is my antagonist in my screenplay too. Ummm... there may be a pattern."
-- Austin Girl
THE BLACK SERPENT
Darkness. Ominous darkness. His evilness encased me like a decaying corpse lying forever cold in a lonely coffin. He’d been stalking me for seven days — the mysterious man whose face was shielded by the night sky. His boots — I shuddered the first time I heard those cowboy boots shuffle across the cold, hard stone of the Mayan ruin. They were python with a medium box cut toe with a two-inch riding heel and a decorative vamp. With every step, they made a distinct click. He never took them off; he wore them all the time. It was as if the boots were an extension of his lengthy legs.
The mysterious man had intolerably good looks that he wore with a memorable swagger. Both were breathtakingly seductive with promise. And that promise was fulfilled when he sated my every desire. He gave me every desire. He bequeathed beauty, youth and sexuality. These gifts flooded me with unshakeable confidence; in fact, I bathed in it. And after I’d absorbed it, I radiated a confidence that gleamed with a power unattainable by human standards. But tonight, under the hot canopy of the Mayan jungle, my shadow, my stalker, my follower, my love has come to collect. He has come to collect a debt.
The dagger. His dagger — a symbolic vessel to an evil world, lied dormant inside his hiding place. Sheathed inside his black oilskin duster for isolation and maximum protection, the blade alone measured twenty-inches in length with a full ten pounds of tempered steel. On the gold handle gleamed elegant and intricate carvings that reminded me of a complicated road map leading to a final destination. The blade too was decorated, sporting a symbolic crest — the Serpent — the Black Serpent. The Black Serpent snaked down the blade’s center until at the blade’s tip, the Black Serpent’s jaws spilled opened, revealing a dark world where evil ruled.
The Rubies. The Rubies set as the Serpent’s eyes were a beautiful deep rich red hue as intense as they were desirable and hypnotic. Their brilliance, penetrated the darkness, casting an eerie light in the blackness of night. The Rubies could see where no mortal man’s eyes could see. Like their owner, the Rubies roamed the night, scanning for souls. They were his eyes — Da’Vari’s eyes. The Rubies paused their restless sweeping when I came into view, the stones glittering with excitement as if this scene had become all too familiar. The Serpent was alive. And, it became clear to me that the dagger was Da’Vari’s soul.
The Diamonds. Princess-cut white diamonds lay on the Serpent’s forked tongue. The tongue exploded with priceless diamonds that would excite envy in most jewel collectors. I could see them even when Da’Vari was in silhouette, stoking a fire that burned behind me. The air was clouded with thick dark smoke. Gripped tightly in his left hand, the Black Serpent dagger hissed as the flames burned and grew taller. Da’Vari flung stones with the dagger’s tip with the gentle ease of a calm whisper. The Serpent’s diamond-encrusted tongue bathed in the flames with passion and zest as if it were quenching an unpredictable hunger. The Serpent’s eyes — the Rubies — seemed to glance in my direction. I sensed that if I stared in the Rubies long enough, I’d experience unbearable pain and suffering. The Rubies were the windows to Hell: my Hell.
In the firelight, my reflection shone on the Serpent’s tongue, reflecting off the diamonds. My reflection danced on the diamonds, serenading me. My heart raced when I glimpsed my provocative and disturbingly beautiful vision: superbly wavy golden-blond locks cascaded below my tiny waistline. There — deep-lashed eyes the hue of blue topaz, creamy, silky skin as luminescent as a pearl. My pouty lips pulsated and trembled as if they were experiencing an orgasm. I rubbed the crimson beauties passionately to relieve them of their pressure. Had time disappeared? Had I skipped growing old? My thoughts seemed to quietly fade now. I felt an artic chill envelop my body, my thoughts. I shivered and trembled in my red couture chiffon dress. With every move, the form-fitted gown made it difficult for me to breath. Why was I wearing an expensive formal? I was weak and tired. I needed sleep.
Suddenly, an intense sting assaulted me as Da’Vari turned my way. Agony tore through my heart’s fragile flesh wall and the muscle swelled with agonizing pain. It felt like six thousand scorpions at once were plunging their pinchers into my most vulnerable organ. As I began to fall in and out of consciousness, I heard a hiss — the Black Serpent’s hiss — as the Black Serpent flew forward at rapid speed and lodged inside me — devouring and feasting on my heart — my soul. His master’s deeply disturbing voice ripped through a seemingly vast lonely desert of my darkness. “Sucking chest wound. The worst kind. Life’s way of saying slow down,” Da’Vari laughed.
To regain a hold on consciousness, I focused on my breathing, painful and labored as it was. Gulping down the sinful air created an abyss of dryness deep in my throat. I coughed, swallowing my own spit for nourishment. Have I gone to Hell? Blood dripped from my hand as I raised it. I stared in horror before licking them. Blood. Fresh blood. I licked my fingers to soothe their ache. Oh, I still feel -- no, I’m not dead yet I thought. I probed my surroundings quickly, searching the dark chamber for water to quench my compulsive thirst. A droplet of blood fell off my lips. It traveled down the side of the stoned wall. I turned my head in the same direction. I leaned over the fifty-two-foot ledge of the Mayan ruin and watched in sheer delight as my blood landed in a pool of natural reservoir of water. My eyes lit up like a full winter’s moon as I witnessed my droplet of blood crashing in the water below creating a wave. “What are you going to do, jump to your death?” Da’Vari asked. His sinister question snapped me back to my hellish reality and lured me back to him. His words controlled me. He controlled me. I returned to my captive state. I returned to my dark place.
My body lay frozen on a cold slab of stone, engorged in a helpless state. Where was I, and how did I get to this profoundly empty and confusing place? My hand reached below and touched a pool of warm liquid blanketing my body. This liquid encased me like a baby cradled in its mother’s embryonic fluid. “It’s too late for prayers,” Da’Vari’s voice rang with a violent echo. Even though he conveyed a sinister remoteness as he spoke, his voice sounded hauntingly familiar as he approached my inner sanctuary. “Do you need anything?” As he questioned me, he kicked a familiar object into my line of vision -- my guitar. My Mexican guitar. A stunning vintage instrument. Handmade and original. My eyes widened with surprise. My nostrils flared with curiosity. The scent of fresh cedar and rosewood reached me first, but soon, I detected another aromatic odor presence. An incomparable aroma stirred the air like the lingering base note of a rare and exotic perfume. I inhaled deeply a familiar scent that brought relaxation and comfort. I smiled as I exhaled softly. My eyes fluttered and my mind drifted back to childhood and the origins surrounding the familiar scent of my guitar.
To ensure only the finest materials were used in the guitar, my father horse-traded some sort of religious map from his collection when I was five-years-old. He’d insisted the monk use only the rarest of woods. The monk saw my father and I with this map and was firm until Daddy bargained. I remembered my father whispering to me when I was a little girl, “This guitar is unique,” as he kissed me on the forehead and tucked me under the covers. I glimpsed the guitar, battered and bruised, just like me. I longed for the comforting presence of my mother and daddy knew it. Somehow, I had discovered Mommy’s love when I played that rare guitar.
My father, Gordon, named the guitar Francisco after a monk who carved it for him while on a missionary trip to Mexico with his church back in 1962. They saved souls amid the treacherous jungles in Chiche’n Itza years before. Father’s church. The church was a mere shack nestled in the backward community of Venus, Texas. Venus had been established in 1878 by two men: Lou Mason and Captain William Ceedy. Really, they’re unimportant in my hellish nightmare. However, one of their wives is. Venus Ceedy. Captain William Ceedy married Venus in 1878 after rescuing her from a tiny village called Chiche’n Itza amid the sweltering jungles of the Yucatan. A proud, full-blooded Mayan Indian. She told people her family had been sacrificed on top of a Mayan temple ruin because the village needed rain and crops. Still, local legend down there said everyone in Venus’s bloodline had sold their souls in a pact with the Devil. Now, the entire clan was cursed. Venus lived in despair until one sunny day, the handsome Captain Ceedy, a proud son from Salem Massachusetts, docked his ship, fell in love, and brought Venus back to the States to be his wife, breaking her bondage to the Devil… or so it was rumored.
Discuss
Extinguish
-- Austin Girl
THE BLACK SERPENT
Darkness. Ominous darkness. His evilness encased me like a decaying corpse lying forever cold in a lonely coffin. He’d been stalking me for seven days — the mysterious man whose face was shielded by the night sky. His boots — I shuddered the first time I heard those cowboy boots shuffle across the cold, hard stone of the Mayan ruin. They were python with a medium box cut toe with a two-inch riding heel and a decorative vamp. With every step, they made a distinct click. He never took them off; he wore them all the time. It was as if the boots were an extension of his lengthy legs.
The mysterious man had intolerably good looks that he wore with a memorable swagger. Both were breathtakingly seductive with promise. And that promise was fulfilled when he sated my every desire. He gave me every desire. He bequeathed beauty, youth and sexuality. These gifts flooded me with unshakeable confidence; in fact, I bathed in it. And after I’d absorbed it, I radiated a confidence that gleamed with a power unattainable by human standards. But tonight, under the hot canopy of the Mayan jungle, my shadow, my stalker, my follower, my love has come to collect. He has come to collect a debt.
The dagger. His dagger — a symbolic vessel to an evil world, lied dormant inside his hiding place. Sheathed inside his black oilskin duster for isolation and maximum protection, the blade alone measured twenty-inches in length with a full ten pounds of tempered steel. On the gold handle gleamed elegant and intricate carvings that reminded me of a complicated road map leading to a final destination. The blade too was decorated, sporting a symbolic crest — the Serpent — the Black Serpent. The Black Serpent snaked down the blade’s center until at the blade’s tip, the Black Serpent’s jaws spilled opened, revealing a dark world where evil ruled.
The Rubies. The Rubies set as the Serpent’s eyes were a beautiful deep rich red hue as intense as they were desirable and hypnotic. Their brilliance, penetrated the darkness, casting an eerie light in the blackness of night. The Rubies could see where no mortal man’s eyes could see. Like their owner, the Rubies roamed the night, scanning for souls. They were his eyes — Da’Vari’s eyes. The Rubies paused their restless sweeping when I came into view, the stones glittering with excitement as if this scene had become all too familiar. The Serpent was alive. And, it became clear to me that the dagger was Da’Vari’s soul.
The Diamonds. Princess-cut white diamonds lay on the Serpent’s forked tongue. The tongue exploded with priceless diamonds that would excite envy in most jewel collectors. I could see them even when Da’Vari was in silhouette, stoking a fire that burned behind me. The air was clouded with thick dark smoke. Gripped tightly in his left hand, the Black Serpent dagger hissed as the flames burned and grew taller. Da’Vari flung stones with the dagger’s tip with the gentle ease of a calm whisper. The Serpent’s diamond-encrusted tongue bathed in the flames with passion and zest as if it were quenching an unpredictable hunger. The Serpent’s eyes — the Rubies — seemed to glance in my direction. I sensed that if I stared in the Rubies long enough, I’d experience unbearable pain and suffering. The Rubies were the windows to Hell: my Hell.
In the firelight, my reflection shone on the Serpent’s tongue, reflecting off the diamonds. My reflection danced on the diamonds, serenading me. My heart raced when I glimpsed my provocative and disturbingly beautiful vision: superbly wavy golden-blond locks cascaded below my tiny waistline. There — deep-lashed eyes the hue of blue topaz, creamy, silky skin as luminescent as a pearl. My pouty lips pulsated and trembled as if they were experiencing an orgasm. I rubbed the crimson beauties passionately to relieve them of their pressure. Had time disappeared? Had I skipped growing old? My thoughts seemed to quietly fade now. I felt an artic chill envelop my body, my thoughts. I shivered and trembled in my red couture chiffon dress. With every move, the form-fitted gown made it difficult for me to breath. Why was I wearing an expensive formal? I was weak and tired. I needed sleep.
Suddenly, an intense sting assaulted me as Da’Vari turned my way. Agony tore through my heart’s fragile flesh wall and the muscle swelled with agonizing pain. It felt like six thousand scorpions at once were plunging their pinchers into my most vulnerable organ. As I began to fall in and out of consciousness, I heard a hiss — the Black Serpent’s hiss — as the Black Serpent flew forward at rapid speed and lodged inside me — devouring and feasting on my heart — my soul. His master’s deeply disturbing voice ripped through a seemingly vast lonely desert of my darkness. “Sucking chest wound. The worst kind. Life’s way of saying slow down,” Da’Vari laughed.
To regain a hold on consciousness, I focused on my breathing, painful and labored as it was. Gulping down the sinful air created an abyss of dryness deep in my throat. I coughed, swallowing my own spit for nourishment. Have I gone to Hell? Blood dripped from my hand as I raised it. I stared in horror before licking them. Blood. Fresh blood. I licked my fingers to soothe their ache. Oh, I still feel -- no, I’m not dead yet I thought. I probed my surroundings quickly, searching the dark chamber for water to quench my compulsive thirst. A droplet of blood fell off my lips. It traveled down the side of the stoned wall. I turned my head in the same direction. I leaned over the fifty-two-foot ledge of the Mayan ruin and watched in sheer delight as my blood landed in a pool of natural reservoir of water. My eyes lit up like a full winter’s moon as I witnessed my droplet of blood crashing in the water below creating a wave. “What are you going to do, jump to your death?” Da’Vari asked. His sinister question snapped me back to my hellish reality and lured me back to him. His words controlled me. He controlled me. I returned to my captive state. I returned to my dark place.
My body lay frozen on a cold slab of stone, engorged in a helpless state. Where was I, and how did I get to this profoundly empty and confusing place? My hand reached below and touched a pool of warm liquid blanketing my body. This liquid encased me like a baby cradled in its mother’s embryonic fluid. “It’s too late for prayers,” Da’Vari’s voice rang with a violent echo. Even though he conveyed a sinister remoteness as he spoke, his voice sounded hauntingly familiar as he approached my inner sanctuary. “Do you need anything?” As he questioned me, he kicked a familiar object into my line of vision -- my guitar. My Mexican guitar. A stunning vintage instrument. Handmade and original. My eyes widened with surprise. My nostrils flared with curiosity. The scent of fresh cedar and rosewood reached me first, but soon, I detected another aromatic odor presence. An incomparable aroma stirred the air like the lingering base note of a rare and exotic perfume. I inhaled deeply a familiar scent that brought relaxation and comfort. I smiled as I exhaled softly. My eyes fluttered and my mind drifted back to childhood and the origins surrounding the familiar scent of my guitar.
To ensure only the finest materials were used in the guitar, my father horse-traded some sort of religious map from his collection when I was five-years-old. He’d insisted the monk use only the rarest of woods. The monk saw my father and I with this map and was firm until Daddy bargained. I remembered my father whispering to me when I was a little girl, “This guitar is unique,” as he kissed me on the forehead and tucked me under the covers. I glimpsed the guitar, battered and bruised, just like me. I longed for the comforting presence of my mother and daddy knew it. Somehow, I had discovered Mommy’s love when I played that rare guitar.
My father, Gordon, named the guitar Francisco after a monk who carved it for him while on a missionary trip to Mexico with his church back in 1962. They saved souls amid the treacherous jungles in Chiche’n Itza years before. Father’s church. The church was a mere shack nestled in the backward community of Venus, Texas. Venus had been established in 1878 by two men: Lou Mason and Captain William Ceedy. Really, they’re unimportant in my hellish nightmare. However, one of their wives is. Venus Ceedy. Captain William Ceedy married Venus in 1878 after rescuing her from a tiny village called Chiche’n Itza amid the sweltering jungles of the Yucatan. A proud, full-blooded Mayan Indian. She told people her family had been sacrificed on top of a Mayan temple ruin because the village needed rain and crops. Still, local legend down there said everyone in Venus’s bloodline had sold their souls in a pact with the Devil. Now, the entire clan was cursed. Venus lived in despair until one sunny day, the handsome Captain Ceedy, a proud son from Salem Massachusetts, docked his ship, fell in love, and brought Venus back to the States to be his wife, breaking her bondage to the Devil… or so it was rumored.
Discuss
Extinguish
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