Gothic tales

nothing

Dragonfly

A doll. Head downward. Long hairs covered breast. Pale skin. White. As a ghost that was dying, at every breath. She was falling.

Her body. She's breathing. Every rip on her skin. Breathing. Her eyes. With closed eyes. Legs too weak to hold her. She could not fall because was bounded.

Ropes tight round the wrists.

A gag around her mouth.

She could not breathe anymore.

But she was alive.

In the beginning when she saw him come in, she begged.

She had learned to know his intentions. Also when he didn’t talk.

It does not work pray him. She knew.

She used to moan for a while when he shut her up. But then she gave up.

Streams chocked in throat. It seemed to throw up. To spit out her whole soul. And all the pain too. It doesn't help.

He took his hatred out on her. If she had been good enough maybe she would have made out with a few.

If she had cried he got excited. Sometimes she fainted. After some lashes little spots of blood fell on the floor. Other ones on the old wallpaper. Near the mildew. Near the stale blood.

It was her room.

Nobody never came here.

Just her.

And her torturer.

Now she was falling. Dropping. Through the air. She wished to collapse.

On the ground.

But those ropes bound her.

To the present.

Pain.

To her life.

***

Doc had had a very bad day. Really awful –he thought. One of those that let you down. Long years of hard work…

A life of sacrifice. Kind of days that he didn't want to practice medicine anymore. He feels pointless. Just…vain. New technologies, cures…and what for? Today he was on the dark side. He could not do anything against suffering. Anything against people’s pain. This time death gained the upper hand. Death always wins at the end he said. In the morning he had lost Ilaria. She was so young. Antibiotic didn’t work. And in the noon Trevor left off. Such of incredible.

What could he do ? He wasn’t god…and the everybody’s destiny is to die.

Nevertheless he felt vain.

He was the best doctor of the region. Maybe the best one of the whole country. He knew it. And his colleagues knew it. The people reckoned it so. Everyone as well. He was the first to test innovative cares. He had never failed a diagnosis. Intuition, experience, knowledge…he was just the best. No one was better.

Death… he used to think of her as a rival in a chess game.

At the end she would have won. But more than one time he could have postponed that event…days, months, years sometimes.

He wasn’t scared of death. He used to see a lot of people dying. A lot of death bodies. But he could not imagine himself dead yet.

Cold.

Without life.

He was too rational, cynic to believe in a after. No breath, no life. And everything was finished. Fairly easy.

No. Nothing is easy

On Sunday he used to read holy written in church. It was important to have a stainless reputation. Blameless. His remembrance would be impressed in the people’s memory…and in that way he could have survived on death. He wanted to be remembered. For what he did. For what he was.

But…in the rear… who am I ?

He always drove away those thoughts. Doesn’t want to think. Not about that. It isn’t possible to define or judge a human being…how could it be? Lights and shades…

Doc wasn’t old. Neither young, nor mature. He was in bloom. Trevor was 4 year older than me he said. …Trevor was worthless…weak

Doc had his delight pursuits. His passions, his plays. As he used to say.

Now he was walking in the main street, lost in these thoughts.

Everyone knew him. Everyone admired him. Because he was a brilliant doctor. And an honest man. No one had never see him with another woman although he had made widower. He was wearing mourning too. He was very generous and noble. Every year he used to give a big grant to the orphanage. Here! he said to the beggar at the crossroad. He left fall some hard and tinkling silver coins. Blimey! You stink much more than a dead! he said to himself while the beggar thanked him. He could not bear those kind of people. Scruffy. Social rejects. Losers. They just survived. If he could have had one in his hand…he should have used him for something useful for science. They did not deserve to live.

Persons greeted and smiled at him. He was a good example. He was the first to help when it was needed. Before his wife’s death he kept a pour little orphan in his home; they treated as a daughter; but then she escaped…

Doc and his wife never had children.

He just wanted to go home. Just to be at home. A quiet and calm silence. Drinking some. Then dinner. And stop thinking.

The blood was pulsing in his temples…he could hardly wait…his pupils dilated from a rising excitement…his amusements.

Good evening doc!

Good evening father doc answered smiling.

…he would have been the next. Fat, filthy priest. He would not have lived much time. But the priest ignored it. Yellow eyes…a very bad liver…some months of life. Not more.

He returned with his mind to his fantasies; stepped faster but a stranger blocked the way. They looked each other. Fastened, their eyes. Doc did not talk. The young foreigner had a familiar face…but doc could not remind who he was. Tried to pass him. But the stranger blocked again the way.

Are you doctor Sullivan?

The street was crowded. A lot just finished their work day. Doc felt the eyes of his citizens on him.

Sure I am…but who are you?

The unknown did not answer. He just had a rapid movement and sprang at the doctor; their nose were so close to touch itself lightly.

***

She did not feel pain. Anymore.

It seemed she could not feel anything. Forever.

But suddenly all the sensations came back. As she had thousands of needles in her skin…in her head…in the eyes…and they pulled and tugged…

But she did not break herself.

She never ripped.

A tumble.

A noise.

Something dazzling.

Maybe he was coming back. He always came back. And he used to cure hurts. The scars. The ones he himself did her. Cleaned off the blood from her skin. He embraced her. He caressed her and told about his day.

He used to feed her and then brush her hairs.

He always did it.

She had not realized to be so weak.

She could not hear the voice that was talking to her.

She could not.

Arms held her.

Something surrounded her.

Dragonfly, it’s me! she heard far it’s all over, I set you free.

***

A tearing pain.

He did not supposed it could be in this way. He could not suppose it possible. It could not. He had never imagined something so true.

Doc was dazed.

The guy that stabbed him kept on staring his eyes.

Why nobody helps me? he thought just while some curious noticed that grotesque cuddle.

A knot of people gathered around them. Someone was separating them. The stranger was far now; caught up by someone.

A voice. Faraway.

Doctor Sullivan! How are you?

Screams.

Call an ambulance! He’s wounded!

Doc watched down with fear. The knife with his blood was on the ground. Between filth and dirt.

He observed his belly. He did not realize well.

Doc tried to keep calm. He was the best doctor of the nation. Maybe of the whole word. He would be saved. He could not die.

Something came out of the shirt.

He should have stop up the blood.

But the cut was too big.

Too much blood. Too much people around. Too little air. His amusements. His distractions. He needed distractions. To understand.

He could not die.

They would have found her. They would have found Dragonfly. His favorite play. She was still tied to the wall.

What did they think of him…

The famous doctor. A sadistic torturer.

The little orphan that was supposed fled…she had never left that home.

But they could not understand.

Who are you? asked with all his strength to the young boy.

I am the brother of Dragonfly…she is free now

…her little brother…but now he was a man. It could not be passed all this time!

So much the better- he thought. He was safe. His misdeeds. Now he was in the clear. Every evidence disappeared. Just the strangers’ word…what would have he told?

And Dragonfly?

In the rear he had just protected her…loved her. Nobody would have trusted in them. Nobody.