The recipe for power

Story

The Recipe For Power may be performed in anyway possible, and it goes as follows:

Heartlessness

Bloodlust

A biting wit

Thick skin

A chilling breath

Money in mind

A tough stomach

Purple (for royalty)

-----------------------------------

The perfect night is one that's dark as a shadow, quiet, with the moon hanging full in the sky like a street lamp that blinked in and out behind clouds spread gray and thin. The stars hung like crystals in the haze, suspended, twisting in a foreboding breeze. Not a sound was made. It was the perfect night.

I ducked into a tattered shadow, eyes flying over the list in my hand. I'd done it no justice; the recipe was scratched onto the back of a church flier I found under my morning paper with a purple sharpie. There were about three coffee stains and a ripped corner. But that was no matter. It was the perfect night.

You, dear people, may call me Man. I like that name now. It's always helpful to remember... Whatever. Just, that's what I'll be known as. I mean, God, if it's a problem just call me Steve or Bob or whatever you'd like. My name doesn't really matter. It was the perfect night.

The Recipe For Power was held in my hand. A rather simple recipe, in theory, but I knew it was so much more. I finally collected all of the ingredients I needed to achieve it. And tonight was the night. It was the perfect night.

I pushed into an empty old Victorian. Or maybe it was a Gothic; something dark and flat and old on the outside, illuminated on the inside with large broken stained glass windows. The whole street had been abandoned during a freeze-over two decades ago. It was easy to see that, with all the rot and mold. The moon bled streams of light against the splintering floor, catching the dust in the air. It was like a tiny snow storm. I caught raven hair and a sparkly dress in the center of the room.

Two girls stood together: one invited, and one very much not. The one invited was a bit taller, with the familiar pretty dark glower stuck on her face, all framed in long dark hair. Her eyes were the same flat brown as always, done up all nice like this was going to be an occasion. And it was, really it was. It was the perfect night.

This was Lamia... or something... Ya, that was it. Lamia Or Something. She was an old ex of mine, but the one I remembered the best. She was the first step in the recipe.

The girl beside her was small and very light in color. Pale, blond, and blue eyed, with a stupidly sparkly dress. I call her Angel. I mean, you can call her Dove or even Sunshine and it'd make the same amount of sense. God she infuriates me to this day. I'd love to just ring her pretty neck then maybe Lamia Or Something would see that I was the best she could get. But I wouldn't because I needed her. Whatever. It was the perfect night.

"Thank you for coming, ladies," I chirped as if we were just meeting for lunch. "I'm glad you decided to help me Larissa."

"Lamia."

"Whatever."

I dropped my tote on the floor in the corner, careful to keep it from any holes in the wood. As if I was going to venture into a dank old basement. Just plaster me on a horror movie poster, call it "Stupid White Guy Who Gets To Live In The End."

I approached them at arm's length, staying only a toe into the light. I tried a smile, handing over a hammer.

"You know what to do," I said simply.