SNUFF (h.s.)

Chapter 11

L' appel du Vide

The dawn was deep blue. The skin reflects the shining of the night sea this hour.

Harry was leaning on the bed banister. He was standing there for hours and staring outside the window. His silhouette was dark, an undivided mass where you couldn't tell the eyes from the mouth. He was no different from a shadow.

Most of the time he'd stare outside the window with the open jalousies only to turn and look at Nora when he'd hear her move. She opened her eyes for a moment and was startled to see him there. She searched on the empty bed and waved her hand, "Harry..."

"Sleep, Nora", if she could see his face, she'd recognize a glassy and lifeless gaze struggling to discover an inexistent horizon. And even though he'll never manage to come across his imaginings, he strives to discern something – something poor and vague, an illusive shining at least.

"Come and lie next to me...", Harry had crossed arms, his bare chest was cold. The air blew through the window screen. He looked at her. Her resting arm was waiting.

Harry went back to bed. Nora didn't know how much time he'd spent standing there still. He must have been there the whole night through, now that he was lying in from of her she could sense it. He had half-closed lids but he wasn't tired. Harry was never tired. He was sleepless for peculiar things were happening. This time he was staring at Nora with plane and idle eyes that terrified her.

The neglectful dawn revealed a horrifying infant on his face. It was this repulsive infancy that had seen God, that triumph of innocence in its absolute delicacy. If Nora could run to him, she'd run spiteful and eager to tear this vizard from his face.

Faces! Angels' faces! You hear? Angels' faces! Horrifying faces! Oh, crawl further, my beloved. Dare not to reach her and look upon your lover with eyes of ravenous greed. For she will not relent alight in front of your vigor. She doesn't sigh, she doesn't tear, she doesn't wallow in the abyss of your palms, my beloved. The sighs deep in her chest were devoured, the tears depleted, the darkness consoles her.

Mephisto disdains the myrmidons of hell for her. Wherever you may wander, my beloved, she follows you but at no time will you glance at her face for she lurks behind your shoulders and answers to your heartbeat. This echoing heart of yours she always follows and awaits to hymn.

Nora embraced his hands and brought him close. She didn't have to meet his eyes to know what troubles him. Nora had understood what kept him awake, she caressed his hair to lull him, to comfort him, "Speak no more now", she whispered, "Speak no more, my beloved", she kissed his mouth. The blue dawn was resting upon them, dense and impervious. Their skin was cold from the blowing wind, the sheets between their feet had a peculiar wave; an imperishable meltemi.

Fever and delirium, fervor and despair. It was evident. Nora kissed him and he became violent, lustful. Who is this woman holding him? What remembrance appears and lights like the dawn of roses in her sight?

This love was cruel and fateful, it ordered the lover to languish of only one dream. So this was Nora, this lady was holding him in her arms. Harry was certain now of the lover who let stride behind him and long for his skin. She was her who someday would become the memory of a love lost and lessened; a sorrow he could only bear.

He kissed her for this kiss was all he knew. He let her embrace him wondering if he could find rest on her body. Soon the day would come, Harry was decided that anything could be fulfilled if the mighty force alludes thy desire to be done. He had sensed it, Nora had inherited it in her body and he had sensed it. Ahead you wander! What are you waiting for, my beloved? Ahead you stride! Watch how your presence shines on the barrel! Oh, angel's face, submerge!