Harry owns a cabaret called Paradise with his dancing angels doing their magic. But not everything is as angelic as it seems to be. When you have the whole world in your hand everything starts to fall apart easily. You can't always have fun in Las V...
The weather outside could make his hands need the warm touch of his lover. The clouds had gathered once more for the goddesses. This time it was for Deo. This dark hour her precious daughter, Persephone, left her for the underworld. Deo did not even make it to hold her sweet child one more time in her arms, she was taken down by the dark dead souls. They came with their gossamer gowns and melancholic faces, eyebrows so curvy. They took her from the hands of her lovely mater. Persephone was taken to Hades, and as he held her by her hands they sat in the black boat to cross the river of the souls.
Persephone knew her torturing curse and did not weep. She watched amazed by terror the great gates for the entrance to The Underworld opening and letting come out nothing but deep darkness, the red eyes of Cerberus was the only light down there.
Doe's heart was bitter, rotting so much that Hades' darkness seemed like nothing in front of her strong grief which she carried in her black sad tears. Deo went up to the clouds and started a war along with Zeus. He threw his blue lightnings and after a sort moment Deo screamed so loud and her crying reached the ears of her daughters, announcing her craving to have her back as soon as possible.
Harry saw the glorious rain. He was sitting in front of his grand window, watching the goddess crying, her shinny tears fell on the earth like gleaming stones and rose gardens bloomed. Harry's garden was beautiful like a diamond. All these wonders reflected in his raging eyes. Loretta, his precious pink powder, made his nose bleed. A drop of blood slid slowly up on his dark thin lips. His nostrils were red. Harry tasted his own blood. He let a couple drops to fall in a little antique ink container, he had enough now to keep writing his letter. There was not much space left on his paper. So sad, he had so many great things to write.
He shared with her all of his deep and dark secrets. Every little thing he could feel or do, Harry wrote it on those empty pages. He could see them happening all over again in front of his eyes like a broken record.
He used to read her letters curled up, naked, up on his soft bed. He sat like an angelic baby, so still with the pages in his hands. When his hands were sweaty, a couple words became blurry, the ink was fading away at his fingertips. Harry was lost with them. He was smiling. He was gentle, calm, in peace. He might even cried sometimes while reading. Harry was happy. After the reading, he went and sat at his little table or the big living room to write to her.
The cool wind sneaked inside the house from the open window, it cleared his mind. His hands were free, nothing stopped him. The absinth was next to his bergamot, soaked in its yellowish syrup with a shinny antique fork, having golden designs, on the side of the porcelain plate. When he finished the writing, he sat back to eat the moment he was gonna close the envelope by licking it, the sweet smell and taste of the bergamot would stick on it forever. Aunt Julie had such lovely hands when she made those sweets.
Harry used to write a lot, he could fill pages so easily. The blood in the crystal bowl never ran out. His pen was always full. Harry was filled with sorrow sometimes because Norma's letters could be so small, sometimes just one line. But, Harry never complained, he respected each letter the same and studied them word by word. Again and again, he read and learnt them by heart. He used to read them to others like poems. The world was his as long as he talked with such graphic language. The words were slithering out of his lips like it was the bergamot's syrup that remained in the crystal plate.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
