Ink Head by Theodora Oniceanu - HTML preview

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, events, and locations are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons or events, living or dead, are entirely coincidental. This file is licenced for private individual entertainment only. The book contained herein constitutes a copyrighted work and may not be reproduced, stored in or introduced into an information retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means (electrical, mechanical, photographic, audio recording, or otherwise) for any reason (excepting the uses permitted to the licensee by copyright law under terms of fair use) without the specific written permission of the author.

For my father: R.I.P

For my family: thank you for doing everything you could for me and the whole family to live a life, much better.

“I began keeping a journal the night I made my first kill. He was an abuser and I had had enough of it. I slaughtered him with the pleasure a child discovers the magic of flavours a candy can bring with its sweetness, much satisfaction taken by the child who couldn’t take it anymore. No child should take it. No girl, no boy, no woman or good man, no good human; ... hard a lesson I had to learn to be complete, to ask for myself to be complete and strong enough, live with dignity and not in shame, a life.

This journal I’ve been keeping under my bed tells me stories every night: about the ones I killed, about my goals to keep a world clean of problems you wouldn’t have, you couldn’t cope with! It’s the blown-up journal of my wounded heart trying to find balance whilst keeping track of my obsession with justice and kindness and hope; and by this journal, a little book stands proud to tell of the lies and truths the world has got for us to help us play in interesting ways. I was not concerened with the proud books’s fame and glory when I chose to give my notebook a chance to find guidance, but wanted to know more about all the lives that were possible - posibilities and ideals to have.”

Telling on... - by Syn Cigne

DREAMING ABOUT YOU

I run the streets of this town I just accomplished a mission for, catching this and that in my way to a clean escape. A postman’s finished delivering mail and a dog is walked by a sexy lady as the man looks for some numbers on the buildings. A couple of strangers exchange opinions on their day, a woman asks for the money of her bread to a thief who trips and falls. Two men catch him and dispose him of the bread.

- It’s not fair, the young man cries! You have so many of them and I am starving.

- You could have asked for the bread, the woman harshly retorts.

- Would you have given it to me?

- No, but you could have asked.

- Great, then I guess I just hoped for the best, the thief spits back while being collected by two citizens. He yanks himself from their grip and runs away, bumping into other two citizens walking side by side. I shuffle through the streets, watching for a goddam way out of this filth! It stinks.... the murder still stinks on me. Fresh blood’s aroma is flowing in the air. At the top of the hill, to the end of the gently caressed by sunrays street I cross to avoid anyone follow me, there is a house. It seems quiet a place, maybe abandoned, I don’t know as I am not close enough to tell. I’ll go there and hide for a while! I say to myself.

As I arrive at a good distance to check if it is inhabited, I observe the window. A small light is flickering inside. I approach and stand looking through it. There’s a boy inside. A little boy of..., well, actually he is not that little, maybe he’s nine, or twelve. Mentally, though, he is a complete adult, if he understands anything of what he reads in that book. Schopenhauer - not easy to read, especially in such youth! Or is it and I was a complete idiot for ages!? I was twelve when I thought I discovered this book’s mysteries? Then lightning struck and I lost interest, realising the fool I was thinking myself smart enough to get to the secrets behind everything I was willing to take in as knowledge of my own.

I stand and watch him for a while, a wish growing inside: I believe I want to know more of him, to be like a guardian and learn everything about him. He is interesting. A hit on the back and I drop on the grass. I look down at my body, check then the surroundings. Apparently I made a quick recovery. I look down the hill and see a shadow running away, taking distance at an inhuman speed. In no time two humans get out of the house hurriedly. My body is taken inside. I follow. There’s nothing else to do outside but walk around, if you care for some air... I start feeling the evening’s cold... So I do for precausions then I enter the building. One mustn’t have their body out here, in this cold. My body starts to shiver. I recompose. As I move to walk away, the entry door opens and I am invited to sit at the table set ten paces away by a tall woman wearing a dress with an apron. It looks so out of this world, taken from a distant past! Maybe the ‘20s weren’t so bad... Were they having a costume party here? I look around: the walls were decorated with finely printed tapistry. Six lamps are distributed evenly on the wall on my right. To the left, the large windows of the living room are allowing the cold blue moonlight to compete with the warm shy spread of light from a lamp set on a coffee table right next to an armchair. I raise from the soft couch and walk a few steps to the left to see who is there, sitting in that deep green armchair.

The woman hands me a little handkerchief curling her lip up for a second, then returns to her stern countenance. Revenge will be mine! I promise. I suffered in vain for too long! It is the kind of promise I always make to myself to be certain that I don’t forget to keep myself composed and fight until the end. He is somewhere, there and I have to look for him. I have to find him. The woman in front of me is looking into my eyes expectantly. I reach for the handkerchief. Wiping my forehead and cheek, I ask after clearing my voice:

- Excuse me! Can you help me with some information?

The boy continues to read without raising his head. I clear my voice one more time: Excuse me, I...

- My parents will be here any minute. He raises his head.

- How did I get inside?

- Our maid found you..., the boy answers returning to his reading. I make a few steps and look around. On the large table in the eating area, a great basket of fruit is guarded by two tall candles on each side. I approach to study the candle stickholders. Just when I am ready to touch the finely engraved pieces, the door slides open and a woman enters the vast saloon. She is wearing a dark blue dress a palm above her knees, simple cuts on each side of her thighs, like a tunic over the white skirt underneath, holding a large plateau with two bowls and a plate of home-made biscuits, two cups of tea and a teapot steaming. She smiles at me and places the plate on the table. I smile back. I don’t know why but, for some reason none of us feels like introducing ourselves. Her eyes seem to speak to me about how she really feels: she hates my presence here, for some reason. She suffered some long time ago and became a very strong person. One can see it in the way she walks. She learned to be tough, strong... she is and always was striking beautiful. Her spark is extraordinary.

In a minute she is out, her steps tapping confidently down the hall. I am listening to her resounding depart, the echoing sound of her heels speaking in tougues as I am gawking at the treats on the table. Suddenly I feel hungry. Curious on what the two pots are holding, I approach to take off the little plates covering them. In less than a minute the boy is standing right next to me.

- Do you like soup? he asks.

- Yes, I think so.

- Alright, then. Let’s have some.

We ate in silence. After half an hour, the beautiful lady comes back to the saloon. Her neck is stretched as if ready to clear her voice before saying anything but she does it not. A brilliant smile on her face, she starts measuring me intently:

- Maybe you’d like to take a shower or a bath, realx a little?

- That would be nice.

- I have some clothes for you to choose from. We have to clean these. They’re all stained with blood. Her gaze is almost rising an inquiring eyebrow. Follow me. We have a room prepared for you. I follow her through the corridor. The house is a pretty large one, filled with decorations that look very expensive. I feel like walking on the corridors of a museum. There is art exhibited all over the walls. A vase on a small tall table and a statue along the hall. We walk in silence. After a two-corridors exploration we get into the room that was picked for me. The place is vast, luxurious, designed to impress.

- The bathroom is over there, she says pointing to a space that’s open and where I can see a room filled with many paintings on the walls and the statue of a woman wearing with pride a dress that is flaunting her graceful shape in a corner of the room. There is diffuse light climbing down to the floor and fade in-to the walls. A large bathtub in the middle, I feel like going there to take a closer look. You have some new clothes in the closet, there! the woman points to the large doors on the other side.

- Thank you, I smile. I believe we haven’t introduced ourselves properly.

- There’s no need for that! the woman says as she turns around leaving the room. I sigh not being sure of her reasons to act the way she does. Maybe she wants me to remain ignorant of her identity for a good reason. Fine by me. I don’t want to know her either. Besides, it is probably best for myself not to reveal too much of my own identity as well. Although, I can always choose a new counterfeit to protect myself; just in case...

I get closer to the bathtub and turn on the water tap, fill the tub with warm water. It is ornated with bird of paradise leaves. I touch the leaves and watch how the pink shadow of my finger walks along with my eyes amazed with the estraordinary craft. Moving to the closet, I observe myself into the mirror. I am looking terrible. My clothes are all stained, my jeans cut on a side, the blouse all torn and half soaked in blood. I still can’t believe it. I fought a monster of a man and won. He will no longer hurt another soul. I was feeling exhausted but happy, almost proud of myself. Now the world has one problem less to face. I head to the closet and open it. Another room reveals to me with only a few items to choose from. Using the speed of a cheetah, I pick a couple of pants and two blouses to try on. I take off my clothes and get into the bathtub. In an hour I am ready for lunch. It appears that the little snack I was offered earlier wasn’t enough. The fight must have drained me of energy. I open the door and go back to the saloon hoping that I’ll find somebody. There is nobody there. Where is the kitchen? I ask myself. I have to find something to eat! I check every room until I find the kitchen. There is fresh fruit on the table here as well and the fridge is loaded with food. I pick cheese and butter and a lovely fresh tomato and eat in silence. There is moonlight and there are crickets outside, parading their songs. I sit and listen to them for a while with joy in my heart then I get up and clean the table, replaying in my head everything that happened that day. In a minute I am done with the glorious achievement and remember my husband. We were the greatest team! Together we fought against the very wrong. We protected the innocent, we made this world a better place, just like I did today myself, alone. I’d prevented some people from being hurt or even killed by a monster. It was my first solo kill of such a thing, in a long while, and I couldn’t believe the hatred that was residing in me, the powerful thirst with which I destroyed that creature. The pleasure I took in spilling that blood!

A little girl was rescued there and I couldn’t forget the gratitude in her tearing eyes for being saved. It’s an honour to serve for a cause like mine! I’m extremely happy to have chosen this path that I know it’s the right one. Of course, I have to be very careful and not punish someone who didn’t do anything wrong - and this is probably the hardest part in my activity since I have to make sure, and sometimes very fast, that the ones I punish really deserve it; so I go for information and look for the truth - only those who deserve it will get it, the punishment.

Where are you? I ask myself with reference to him, trying to remember the last place we lived our life together. From there I could try to track him and see if he’s alright. It’s been a while, he must have moved on by now but I still have to see him, to know how things are going. Yes, I am lying to myself right now! I admit. Deep inside this bottom heart full of regrets and rage I hope he still cares and looks for me too, just like I do, but let’s be fair: it’s been a long, long time since I was... well, killed... and separated from him and the life we lived together.

He was the only one to care for me. When we first met I was completely exhausted, devoid of the joy of life. I was looking into the distant horisons hoping for a recovery of the soul I had and lost - was it because of my insignificant kills? A few stupid boys who were frightening a girl: they thought it was amusing to scare and torture her, I thought differently so, well... I had beaten the hell out of them and killed their leader, promising the other ones who escaped to get to the same treatment if they dared touch another girl like that... or a woman... or a child. They behaved after that but nobody ever forgave them for what they tried to do. The newspapers went crazy, the news as well and I had to hide for a long while, change the place, the face and the style... The unforgivable is still unforgivable, no matter what you say or do after an action that hurt or promises to hurt too much. And let’s not forget about what promises to hurt a lot - that counts as well. Just like beeing a sweet treat can mean a lot more than the world would like to hear about.

In a minute I snap out of my slightly recurrent introspection and walk out the kitchen to find my way to the room offered to me for the night. I have to get some good refreshing sleep (I want and need that fresh breeze that can help me find the man I loved with all of my heart and continue with my cause of cleaning the world of the nastiest monsters out there - creatures that would do anything, name it, for their own pleasures. And boy, pleasures come in many coatings and shapes!).

...

During the night I cry with tears that are amazingly loud, keeping it all inside, not wanting to wake up the entire house from their sleep. But, God, I am angry and upset and I feel lonely... and You were as silent as I struggle to be. You know. After my exhausting cry I fall into a perfect slumber.

When I wake up early into the morning, I can’t remember what my inner fight was about but I feel so refreshed and content that I am absolutely sure I had managed to do the right thing. I feel relieved and grateful again. Thanks God! It was hard but I did it. I just had taken a shower when the woman I met yesterday comes in to bring new towels and a glass of water.

- Good morning, she meets me with a grin, measuring me from top to bottom and up again to stare straight into my eyes drilling for the core, a set of new towels and a glass of water on a plate in her hands. I can see that she is uncomfortable with my presence here. I don’t know the reason and frankly, I couldn’t care less. I just want to give them thanks for helping me and get out: I have better, more important things to think of and fight for, and no one has the right to judge me for that.

- Good morning, I answer with a flimsy smile.

- You need to hydrate, she says placing the glass of water on the coffee table. She then places the new towels in the bathroom cabinet and helps herself out after saying: Breakfast is in half an hour. We’ll serve it in the saloon. I trust you’ll join us in time. She sketches a smile before walking out.

In half an hour I am walking towards the saloon dressed in my own clothes that I managed to clean. When I arrive, there is nobody in the saloon. The table, though, had been set for four. I decide to wait for a while so, I move towards the opposite corner of the place where there is a small library and two elegant armchairs guarding a round tall table. I start reading the titles of the books aligned in perfect order. I reach for an encyclopaedia and begin reading. In two and three quarters of pages read, the saloon becomes animated with the presence of its owners. The maid comes in, bringing hot tea and coffee. The scent of fresh coffee and bread just taken out of the oven makes my stomach rumble. I got so absorbed into the pages that I forgot how hungry I really am. The boy I saw yesterday reading by the window rushes into the room and takes a seat at the eating table. Then, the mysterious woman enters the vast room followed by a man. I assume he is her husband, I do not care to ask - it just feels inappropriate and rude to meddle. She also seems to feel upset with my presence there, masking it only too well for the rest of ghosts with a brilliant smile. She is radiant today. Her green dress matches her eyes that yesterday looked blue, now they look green. The man I assumed as her husband is just as attractive as her. They look good together but, for some reason, there is tension between them. I just want to get the hell out of here and mind my own business.

- Well, hello! the man greeted. Be welcome to our humble abode. My core manages to restrain a blurt in a puff - the place is anything but humble - instead I manage to smile and put the book back on the shelf.

- Hello and thank you for being so kind to receive me into your home.

- Please, join us for breakfast! the woman grinned. I thank and sit near the boy.

- How are you feeling? the man asks.

- I’m alright, I answer.

- Please, excuse me, I forgot to recommed myself. My name is Julian and this is my lovely wife, Cynthia. And here is our son, Jerome.

- Pleased to meet you. I am Lem, I lie, knowing that this identity is perfect for a great cover.

- Lem, what an ... interesting name, Cynthia grins.

- Would you care to tell us where it comes from? the man asks.

- An acronym. My parents were a little eccentric.

- I see... Julian smiles widely. Please, do enjoy our food.

- I am not going to lie, I feel a little hungry right now, I say.

- I’m hungry as well, the boy says grinning.

- Well then, let’s have breakfast. Please, with an elegant move of her hand Cynthia invites me to choose from the tempting foods elegantly set on the table. She’d do it with all the contempt in the world if she weren’t obliged by some mysterious force to behave like a real lady. She obviously doesn’t like me. Well, what can I say? It is her right to feel this way. And mine to be polite and make her agony shorter so - the old clock on the wall helps me with a gong. I excuse myself in the most peculiar way:

- Oh my God! I play the pale face. Look at the time! God, I am so sorry, I feel so embarrassed, I blush genuinely, left palm on my cheek. I really have to catch a plane, please forgive me for not honouring your invite. Suddenly the light in Cynthia changes - she glowers.

- Perhaps you would like something on the road?

- That would be very nice of you, thank you! I say. Please forgive me, and thank you for your hospitality and kindness. Good-day! The man nods. There is deep understanding in his eyes. I turn around and walk down the corridor. I do not have things to pack, my yesterday’s own clothes on I check the pockets as I head for the bedroom to get my backpack. Storming in and out I grab an apple on my way through the corridors, getting out of the house without being guided.

I’m out! The fresh morning air calms my over heated self. There are birds into the sky and there is perfume of roses and there are lilies, and asd I am moving forward I find the jasmine scent that calms my mind asking for trouble: Why do I ask myself what happened back in there? I shouldn’t bother with things like that! They were kind enough to offer me a place to stay over the night! I run for a few miles until the inner heat fades out. When I’m too tired I don’t stop but walk towards the train station without minding about the long distance. I’m used to taking long walks like this! It is somehow soothing. Although there is much to see, my mind is not taking in all the beauty, nor the interesting details of this place. I’m somwhere else. Where are you? I ask, completely overwhelmed by the air I’m breathing: it’s lilies again and something else, the perfume of a flower I think I never knew... I simply can’t remember the name. It takes away my pain so I take another sip, then another one. The pain disappears for a little while but then it’s back. I can’t take it anymore. I need to know about you. I didn’t fight and survive for so long for nothing! I take off my back-pack and reach for some chewing gum. I forgot to take any real food in my way out of that house so, this might just help me trick my stomach for a while. My brain craves for something sweet now, something to help me think the next step to take. I rummage through the back-pack again, hoping for a God forgotten candy. When I’m done with all the little pockets I give up. I’ll have to find a store! Then I start looking around more carefully. A perfoliate woodbine branch is hanging above my head, coming out and falling down from the fence of a garden. I take the few flowers with me and eat them. Vitamins and nectar for free, some fibers and minerals, all welcome. They help me recover my strength. I walk a few miles on an empty stomach then I find a little store. I get in and buy myself something to eat and a bar of chocolate. Heading towards the train station, I take in the picturesque surroundings. In half an hour I’m there, at the station buying a ticket. I take a seat on a bench along the platform and decide to take out of my back-pack the sandwitch I bought then I eat it. There are still fifteen minutes left until my train arrives.

*

Villains fear me! They fear us! They don’t respect the law, they aren’t afraid of prison, but they do crap in their pants when one of our names is spoken. We’ve tortured and marked forever so many that I lost track. And what’s wrong with that? They tortured their victims as well, they marked them for life, why wouldn’t I teach them a lesson hard to take?

I am a revengeful ghost, all criminals fear me but, the ones who fear me most, and those I terribly enjoy hurting and torturing, are rapists and pedos. There is a history with them I do not want to speak of, right now, but I can tell you they are the ones who disgust me the most. So, I scare and scar them in fashions that help them to the inability to produce suffering ever after our delightful encounter. My ways are sometimes incredible. I work mostly in the protective cast of shadows, occasionally coming out to the light with a mask faking a natural character in plain day too; they are mysterious, my ways, always.

So, I scar and mutilate them so they could never be able to make use of their powers. A whole bunch of them were sentenced to chastity and I’m not sorry for that at all. To be completely honest, I’m proud of myself for such a cure: “an angel of justice somebody” called me and I can’t lie and say that I didn’t like that but I never thought of me in terms of that extraordinary as they described my persona. That was until I actually did it - my first real job - then I knew that it was time to admit a flash of light of the sort and depict myself as that “angel of justice” I aimed to become without naming myself this feat.

It doesn’t make me feel superior in any way, what I do. On the contrary - it puts me on hold for the many times I kill and imposes humility and active retrospection, introspection and self-awareness. As watched from above, I am nothing but on little bug sriving for an ideal world she is rarely able to see and sledom happy to enjoy.

I can’t say that it makes me happy either, this thing that I do. But it does make me enjoy those moments when people can be surprised living a safer life in a safer environment. And I being part of the cause of it makes me know that my existence was not in vain.

I once felt alone in all this, alone and tired of trying to lift my spirit up and fight, all by myself, using means and tools left behind for a reason, for the same ideals and purposes, for the defenseless to defend themselves, but not anymore. Now I know that I am not alone in this. Neither of us is. There are those who’d do anything for what they want and believe in, and there are those who do have some boundaries, who did learn a lesson or simply knew how to deal with different aspects of life and dangers without harming some-body else to the point of no return. Yeah, you probably don’t want to learn of this but you do need to hear it: some things are just wondrously damaging.

*

Moonie is in front of me telling to her companion everything that had happened that year in school. She is clearly bragging about how brilliantly she did, how skillfully she mastered a few cute problems in her life. God, can I wake from this nightmare, please? This ugly dream in which there’s no one to save me from the hurtful truth and myself? ... help me move on..., help me forgive myself for causing you more suffering in vain. It shouldn’t be in vain! There must be a reason. This was my parallel universe, brought to face once more the world of the blissful. I loved the contrast in this odd placement. It is better than being among the miserable. It means that there’s still hope left somewhere for one. Still, it can produce amounts of excruciating pain!

The girl was still speaking loudly with joy and passion about her entire first year as a student on media, her central interest being a few class-mates she was friends with and some of her competition. I smiled again as I watched out the window. It reminded me of my former class-mates. They were more or less the same: happy to compete and have fun. I sometimes admired them, other times I felt like walking away. I also felt inspired by them, a couple of times, maybe more. Their judgement and the terror coming with it are nothing compared to what came after, though; from the other side, the truly dangerous side of darkness, I got bombed with the news: “the world is a dangerous place, filled with evil and trouble and pain!”.

- I was so surprised, oh my God, so surprised at the wonderful gift he picked for me. You know... her voice is dissipating into the vast horisons. Oh, no! I left planet Earth again. It is time for me to stand corrected: It is I the one who is getting lost in the horisons. I am watching outside the window, imagining, longing for his embrace. I miss him so much! He offered me an entire new world, a world of hope and peace, a world where our desires could mean nothing but happiness... a world where there was nothing but beauty. I love him and I know that he still loves me too... I need to believe this is true.

He approached me, wrapping his arms around me from the back, rocking me gently. His lips touched my shoulder softly, I leaned my head on his chest, for the first time in ages feeling complete, happy, relieved from all that hatred against all wrong doing. After all this time!

- I love you, he whispered in my ear.

- I love you too. I think that I was in love with you before we even met, I confessed... You were only a shadow back then, a man I made up... some would say a product of my imagination... of my need to help me ease the pain of my torments. Yet you are so much more than that! You helped me realise how wrong I always was; you convinced me to become a better person, a human being who can offer something good at her turn! You made me realise that discovering something good in myself and the world I live in isn’t stupid, that life is worth living and love worth fighting for! You helped me discover myself...

- God, you are perfect! he kissed me and there was no time to smother us, there was no creature to disturb our plunge, no alien to amaze our eye-sight and impress our ear, only us in the vast space offered by the Universe, floating. We were such a disabled One creature, now that I give it a fair thought - a monstrousity built in five points to reflect their perfection on the other side for the sake of a delightful, much enjoyed symmetry.