Contest Submission thread.

[Monk]

Visions from a Cut-out Man

By Rythmic

1

Softness. Nonetheless hardly extraordinary, the light dancing across the rifting ripples as it did every evening. A sight he had grown used to overtime, that harbour. (I must point out though, that despite his cynicism you might actually have enjoyed this sight). Especially the way the tidal breath would play with the light, and cast the mist from slope to slope. While the daily shipping would curtly push the waves aside, reaching for that grey dock, wherever it meandered to now.

Yet perhaps, well maybe certainly, he had seen it too often. To him, looking at it now was like staring at something through a curtain. Little more than a dull representation. After all it is not like it wouldn’t be there in the morning, or the next morning, or the morning after that. It’s not exactly something that could go missing, or be misplaced.

I had better stop there before I lose myself, and perhaps you too, in my own rambling thoughts and return to our man. He was sitting where he would sit almost every evening. Sitting in the kind of silence that fills the spaces between acquaintances who unexpectedly meet in the street. And on the rare occasions that his wife did join him they would talk, and by talk, more sit opposite in silence. The sort of silence that is only ever perforated by even more silence.

How rude I am for not mentioning his wife, or rather who she is, or maybe was. She was hardly a refined person, content, or at least her husband thought so, with the simplest of things. Then again, he may have had a point if her cooking repertoire was anything to go by, consisting of a range of rices, pastas and potatoes, all white and about as flavoursome as a Christmas gift from your mother-in-law. Her name, well that’s hardly important, it may have been Greek like her father’s, my memory is not what it used to be. So let me continue, his wife was a housewife in the most literal sense of the word. I’m not certain if she loved her husband, more tolerated him, and in return he tolerated her.

And, in routine, as with every other evening she would call him to his supper. There they would sit, each opposite the other, inflating the room with an atmosphere usually breathed out by the queue at a supermarket checkout. And as the time slowly ticked by he would gulp each mouth and forkful down, hoping to taste as little as possible. (Not that that was much of an issue mind you, with his plate usually covered in a grey, tasteless paste). And with luck, and I must inform you that he was a very unlucky man, he would keep his eyes down and the small talk to an absolute minimum, almost as if he was attempting to break a world record for the smallest talk ever spoken.

As awkward as this was, it was his, what he knew, the evening. That evening and every evening that would follow, maybe even every evening that could ever be conceived or at least I could conceive. Because, I must note, the evening did not scare him like the night ahead. It’s not that he was afraid of the dark. More that he was afraid of the whole night, well maybe not the stars, moon or cicada song. Yet, something about it caused him to sweat and strain. Very strange though, I find at least, considering he was an insomniac.

2

It was day, which day, it doesn’t matter. (I must say I am glad though, because it is hard to tell a story when it is too dark to see what is happening). And, just like any day, he would make his way into some office building where he would spend the rest of the day’s sunlight. York Street comes to mind, but instantly disappears again. Never mind, all that matters is that it was almost certainly across that endless vault of blue, crowded in on all sides by the sorry cliffs, each and every gazing off into the hazy distance.

He would take this path everyday, and everyday the look on his face became more and more like the frayed edges of a well used book. So that the pinstripes in his suit could be seen extending from the lines that traced their way down his face. Sitting in those recycled places, that lined the bus, he would attempt not to stare. While dodging the eyeballs from all those dappled, sun stained faces. Faces, he would consider wordlessly, not that he was a considerate man though, far from it.

His thoughts passed over to a seat near the front and a pretty young thing, and it is probably better that I don’t mention his thoughts, they were hardly pure. A pretty girl with fair features, maybe twenty, and she probably was someone’s daughter, but even I can’t be sure. In any case, I do not believe you should worry over it. A glance left to notice a young man standing, a man much his junior and with swagger that could be felt right at the back of the bus. That knowing smile, the one that hides more than it reveals, passed from the young man to the pretty girl.
“Was I once like that?” he thought, “How I have changed.” His face coming as close to a tear as it had ever come. Yet, at once it was gone, with the sight of even a homeless man trying to get into someone else’s pants, albeit for entirely different reasons.

Stop. Just for a second he noticed it. Yes, it was definitely there. He had noticed it before, but paid no attention to it. But make no mistake, it certainly was visible for a split second at least.
“Ah ha, so it was behind me, I thought I noticed something last week!” he thought, almost grinning triumphantly, “I wonder what it is? It can’t be a person, surely it’s not. No, no, it must be.”
Glancing quickly round, but it was gone, a cloud passing overhead.
“I had better tell the police I am being followed if it happens again. Ah, but I’m being silly. Ah, never mind!” And again he dosed to a blank glance out the streaked glass.

3

Atop a hegemony of toaster-like shapes arching off into the grey, echoless sky, each with their tops barely visible to the naked eye, he stood. Weeks had passed, and he couldn’t stop his mind from meandering to whatever had been following him. Even his wife had noticed the concern on his face, and she never noticed anything! He had surely aged with every word I have written, the years gathering with every fleeting glimpse of that black outline that would make but the briefest of appearances behind him.

“Why am I being stalked? I don’t deserve this!” he pondered, “By God the Police are useless, telling me I’m mad. I’m not mad! I’m being stalked for Chrissake!”
“I know I’ve made enemies, work, it’s, it’s do or die. Yes, yes. Somebody I’ve surpassed is trying to get revenge, get me to quit, to lose it and have to retire. No! I’m not going to do that, never, I’ve worked too hard… done too much… yes!”
“I’ll get them back. Damn those useless detectives! I’ll do it myself. I’ll catch them in the act. Evidence, yes evidence and I’ll get a restraining order … teach them a lesson!”

His eyes travelled a path down to the streets below, the streets where only this morning he had caught that shady figure hiding, sneaking behind him once again. Following, so quietly I might add that no one else noticed them, in the low growing bushes of the park, some park, Hyde Park perhaps, but maybe not. Yet, the moment he had turned it was gone, light blocked above.

4

Nothing had calmed him, and sleep had stayed well away, more frequent his insomnia. He had seen it, softly creeping all the past week, not once, never, had it taken rest, even on Sunday it chased! Damp, the glimpses through the mist, as broken darkness chased, unrelenting. He had seen him, touched him, well almost, that blackened image, whatever he was named. Always a step behind, slinking, placing feet with feet, colour with shade.

It had followed him here, as he had hoped; how he may have planned it in his mind.
“Yes, yes! Fool, idiot, follow me here. Ha! I’ll get you back… all the hassle you’ve put me through… Goodbye!” he whispered.
The salt breeze played its way across his body, cooling, maybe even gentle. A long sigh travelled from his lips, as he stepped out from the stone pier.
“You’ll drown fool… you’ll drown…” he thought, body limp, eyes slowly, fragilely enshrouded by the cooling, sapping waters, clasped into the grey, until there was no pain. Sad, that I did not know him.

[Monk]

Untitled.
By Stephen Asen

He was slowly moving in the ill-lit corridors of the monastery. The staff he used to support his body methodically echoed as he made his progress towards his aim. The pain was growing but his determination was also increasing. He was not alone. Trusted guards were coming with him.

He was approached by a monk. The long white beard of the monk was not only a prescription of the Holy Orthodox Church. It also seemed to be a proof for his wisdom. The monk did not object. No, he looked up and stared under his hood. He saw his face getting slightly pale and his eyes opening widely. The clergyman had recognized him, the megas logothetes Nicephorus Doukas. The monk made a step back. Nicephorus continued his slow advancement at the bottom of the corridor where single door was situated. A moment later Nicephorus made a sign to his men to wait and nodded at the guard at his right. Constantine Matsakes immediately understood it and followed his master into the cell. Having his rear secured Nicephorus concentrated on the man he had come to visit. The cell this person inhabited told much about him. It was small and had almost no furniture. There were no stools – the man expected no guests. The food on the table was almost untouched. The air also told a story to the experienced senses of Nicephorus. The monks had tried to air the room and to prepare it for the noble guests. In vain. It still reeked of death.

Nicephorus approached the sick man who was lying on the bed. The face was puffy as a result of his kidney insufficiency. The eyes of the man were opened widely. He was not dead, though. Not yet.

“Nicephorus -” the man uttered. Probably he expected that visit. Or simply hoped the hooded figure was not someone else. But he was right. Nicephorus removed the hood from his head and replied,

“You are right, Alexander” All formalities fell. They knew each other for a long time. “I came to see you”

A forced smile appeared on the face of the sick man who made an attempt to bend on the cushion.

“Thank you, my friend. I really appreciate that – “His final efforts to raise his weak body interrupted him but this time he was successful in taking a more comfortable position. He was smiling no more and his eyes were focused on his guest. “I had the strange feeling you would come to visit me before the end, my fellow. “ The ends of the mouth of Alexander shivered under his short and well cut moustaches. The monks had been taking care of him well, Nicephorus thought.

“I am not your fellow, Alexander, “he said. He was satisfied to see that the sarcastic smile of Alexander faded away.

“I thought you would show more respect in the face of a dying person. Alas, I overestimated you,” the man said with a weak voice.

“No, you did just the opposite. I outsmarted you”

“Did you come to relish the last moments of my life? Or did you come to see your poison eating my body and my life ebbing from my remains?”

Nicephorus felt his thin lips curling into a venomous smile. He made a step further and focused his dark eyes on his victim. He had crushed Alexander once in the prison of Constantinople using only his words and his enemy fears.

“It seems the illness had darkened your mind, Alexander”

“You are either too arrogant or too cowardly to name the truth, Nicephorus. But I have accepted my destiny, Nicephorus. The problem is how you would meet yours “

The man was mocking him but he would return his irony. He only had to be patient. Alexander would make one final effort to hurt him. But Alexander’s body was very weak. Contrary to what many clergymen said body and soul were intertwined into the human personality. Broke the body and the soul would collapse. And he, Nicephorus Doukas, would receive what he wanted. The truth. Then he was useless. Constantine could finish him off with his poisons.

“At the time this happens you will be burning in hell for many years.”

Suddenly Alexander’s sarcastic smile died out as he was stabbed with a blade. For a moment the sick man hesitated but he finally judged there was nothing to be lost. He was ready to do anything but to make his enemy suffer in front of his eyes now. Nicephorus read all this in his eyes.

“I see the bruises on your face. My friends had avenged me. You are not invincible”

Nicephorus laughed nervously, “I know that “

“No, this is only the beginning. Your power will start fading. Your methods will not save the Empire. And then you will follow the fate of your father”

“How do you dare to mention my father “

“I dare because I have been a friend of your father. And I think he made a mistake: instead of thrashing you like an animal he had to simply cut your head. Thus the snake that betrayed and killed him could have been stopped. “

“This is non-sense”

“It is not. For you copy him. I see your own family. Your wife is dead probably killed by your own hand. Your single daughter hates you and wants to marry away as soon as possible. Your youngest son Alexius will grow as a cynic and he will not love you. And of course Manuel… the heir. He is nothing but a ruin. Drinking, whoring… and who knows what else… people often do not restrict themselves with spoilt women…”

“Shut up!”

“ Men… animals -”


For a moment Nicephorus forgot about his rank and pride… he wanted to put his bleeding hands on the throat of that scum and to shut his mouth forever. He forgot about his own aching body and tried to rush at his victim. He intended to grab his cushion and then… But instead the softness of the cushion he felt the strength of his guard’s body. Constantine Matsakes had interfered dragging his master’s body towards the wall. The staff fell on the stone plates and Nicephorus was completely helpless in the hands of his servant. Then he felt pain and the salty taste of blood in his mouth. He had bitten his tongue in his attempt to protest… Then he heard the giggle.
Sense swiftly returned to his head. Once again Constantine Matsakes had proven his loyalty towards him. He had saved him from a scandal that could cost him much in his delicate position. He, Nicephorus Doukas, had not lost his temper for years… Constantine had always been like his shadow and a strange mixture between a pupil and a friend…and a guard… and a teacher… They were almost like brothers. Lovers… almost… Yes, he, Nicephorus Doukas loved no women but preferred to sleep with men… but no, despite his strong body and charming face, Constantine never became one… But they were soon to separate… He could read it in his eyes, he could see the hints in his movements… Even now when he fulfilled his duty, Constantine seemed slightly unwilling to approach his master… He feared to feel his breath… Because he knew he was a leper… It was a stupid mistake of his or probably a punishment from the Providence that mixed his blood with that of a dying leper - Christakis, an old ally of his father and then of his son. His father was poisoning his life during all of his lifetime… and even beyond.

After this moment of weakness, Nicephorus focused his dark eyes on the sick man.

“Drop me, “ he hissed at Constantine who reluctantly obeyed. His wounds from the attempt were hurting but he could afford no weakness. His gouty feet were also aching… And Alexander finally stopped giggling. He looked exhausted.

“You dared to mock me and my family, Alexander,” Nicephorus hissed emphasizing on each word. He removed a lock of hair from his face and put it behind his ears as he wanted full contact with his victim. “But hear my last words. Your children are defenseless”

“You won’t dare – “ Now it was his turn to look pathetic. Nicephorus almost thought the man was going to faint

“No, I will not kill them… For I know what is worse than death. I will take their souls… Corrupt them, humiliate them… destroy them “

The man was shocked choking for air as if enchanted by Nicephorus’ killing sight. At the same time Constantine gave the staff to his master and the megas logothetes slowly made his way to the door without turning back… The days of Alexander Raoul were not numerous… It was a waste of time… He did not learn anything new. This was simply an attempt of his conscience to save what has left from his soul… Waste of time…