Chapter I: Requiem Aeternam - Second Instalment



This is the continuation of Madness Serial: The Hand of Madness Chapter I: Requiem Aeternam - First Instalment

I introduce my knife with subtle violence, which like a wolf that jumps over a defenceless lamb, carves its way through the flesh of a victim surrendered to its faith, sinking its teeth and spraying the blood of retributive justice with such beauty and grace it even resembles poetry. Constantine’s a helpless lamb who, by his own will, placed his life on the claws of a stealthy wolf eager to fill its appetite for companionship in the world, which, conversely, never stopped loving its loneliness. I’m that wolf, and I need to bloodstain my fangs once more.

I start listening to the reverberation of a tremendous sound. Like a drumset played in a violent and riotous way, which, gradually, begin to coordinate in unison, thus, becoming part of this wild-dance taking place right now inside my head. I feel a fascination for those sounds, after a while though, I realise it’s my heart beating and trying to come out and join the frenzy that happens at this moment. I’m the only performer of this Opera. I’m here, as a watcher, observing myself from the outside. Being accomplice and partner in this paradox I am about to create by immolating the only friend I had since the Darkest Night. Accordingly, I’ll be forced to return to that confinement that will eventually end my existence.

I push Constantine away from me. I hold him by the back with my left hand as I begin to thrust my knife into his chest in a firm and relentless fashion while still holding his gaze. The limpid and semi-transparent fabric of his shirt starts to pigment with the garnet of the blood, blending in like the canvas and the oil. A series of ephemeral sobs escape from his mouth as the dagger penetrates his flesh. Tears come out of his eyes, but despite that, he withstands the blade bizarrely. His eyes express a mixture of gratitude and contrition as I hear him mutter something.

— I do understand — he whispers as I hold him in my arms — . This is our nemesis. Yours and mine. I forgive you, Mads.

Then, in that moment of clarity, I stab his heart just like he stabbed mine, ensuring he feels that blade inside of him and procuring injure with such tenderness, so he has the opportunity to become part of my tribute to loyalty. This our Last Supper tableau and this is us, in flesh and bone, more alive than ever.

‘What kind of irony am I a victim of? What kind of mockery of fate put my life in the hands of the one I considered my best friend? I suppose it’s just that. The fact that I trusted him so much it was me who placed that double-edged weapon on his hands. I gave him that power to corner me between life and death in this decisive moment in which that shining metal blade grabbed by his hand, the hand of madness, it’s my expiation. I could never see him completely how he indeed was. Hidden all the time behind several masks concealing the colossal emptiness inside of him. I heard that untamed wolf howling so many times, starving for flesh and blood, but I never saw it with the monstrous clarity I see it now. I kept my eyes wide shut. It’s late for regrets. We mean nothing but smoke and mirrors.’

‘My symphony seems complete now. This complex composition, that, as a requiem is played in a phlegmatical tone, and whose crimson notes I engrave in the immaculate wall in which this dark performance it’s spread and draw. This sorrowful and romantic medley would surely give him chills when played by delicately kissing his timpani.’

‘I find myself facing the hangman who will execute this sacrifice. He became my nemesis. I feel the raw and stinging knife reaching my heart. It hurts, suffocates, punishes, and condemns me. I see into his eyes while he turns his blade inside of me. I peek what, from afar, might seem a tear running down his face before my sight vanishes. The pain feels unbearable, but concurrently, it’s assuaged. He gently holds me to prevent me from roughly falling, and then, he subtly lays me down. He approaches me, and even when I can barely see him, I am able to perceive him. I feel how he stands in front of me and steals my last breath by taking it inside him.’

This is the end of everything, or maybe, it’s just the beginning. You and I developed into Alpha and Omega. We’re the beginning and the end of each other. You lie in front of me, so powerless and ethereal like I never saw you before. I begin to divest you of all materialism, so that close the life cycle, and restore you to the state you were born in. Without chores. Without guilt. And although you are no longer present, I will relish you for the last time. I see you transparent as never before. I appreciate the beauty of the velvety bare skin of your angelical body amongst the dim and dying light entering through the window. Now, I will consecrate you to what you always represented to me: an angel who showed me the closest to heaven, but who fatefully descended from the podium I placed him. But whom I will glorify again by turning him into a post-mortem work of art.

I close my eyes.

I see two fuzzy silhouettes merging into one. You ascended from my arms and set yourself up in the pose will give you immortality. From your back, a pair of wings arises filling this room wide; these will complete your metamorphosis. The lamb at least became a lion. The light that, at the end of the day, extinguished, is enlivened with greater splendour and as it enters through the windows, these transform into a majestic and colourful stained-glass. Pink. Purple. Yellow. Many brilliant colours make up. Beautiful, like a field of flowers blossoming accelerated before my eyes. A lot of geometric living patterns intersect each other like in a kaleidoscope. From behind, I see your backlit silhouette standing against the window light which makes your open wings seem endless as these vanish in the dark. At the top, right above your head, I can recognize a figure. It’s a lion inside a circle. But I reconsider it for a moment, and it also resembles a gryphon.

Thus, with every drop of your spilt blood, I will colour this beautiful piece I pictured in my mind painted in your memory, which I will call “The Fallen Angel.” A masterpiece.

The moment you leave me, both my heart, and the universe, and as well the whole will be halved. Just like I’ve bifurcated your heart in half. One half of mine will be filled with memories, and the other will die with you. See? See how merciful I’ve been with you? The dagger I carry inside of me will not lead me to death. Instead, it will be a sorrow punishing and cursing me for the rest of my days. I’ll be stabbed, over and over, every time I remember you or think about you, and I can never root that out from my being. I’ll wake up in the middle of the night, inundated by the leaves of memories detaching from the trees of the Eternal Forest. I forgave you, but I’ll never forgive myself for changing you. I changed you. I changed you forever. Now, I can only hope for the inevitable inversion to befalls. At some point, time will start to reverse, recomposing the natural order shattered and prevailing over any sign of entropy — I tell him gently caressing his chin and realising he’s still resting on my lap while we both lie on the floor.

“I turned to him.
I started to cry.
I wanted to kill him.
I had to do this.
I had to be with him.
He had to be with me.
We were the only ones left.
We were the only ones who mattered.
There is no one else in sight.
There is no one else in the world.”

Inversion is here.

Close your eyes.

Eyes wide shut.


Continues in third instalment

Hiya! My name's Seph Brand. Thank you very much for scrolling and reading up here. I hope you enjoyed this literary work as much as I enjoyed writing it for you. I would love to hear from you, especially your impressions and theories about what you just read, so please leave your comments below.

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