The Twisted Tales

While all my friends laugh still

              It is Friday night, in the pub and my friends have dragged me out to join them here. I never feel comfortable with them in the pub, as I can't laugh like they do. I sit there, uncomfortable, holding onto the burden of my lies I had to tell them. After an hour of being jostled by random strangers who don't seem to understand any concept of manners, I am done. I make a feeble excuse and leave the pub.

The street is cold as I walk slowly down it. This part of town is like a rats nest, with countless alleyways and rubbish piled up at every corner. A few stray cats barge past me, hissing and yowling as I walk towards the one place I feel comfortable. The building itself is not comfortable, nor the large doors welcoming, but this is my home away from home. I quietly let myself into the familiar building and walk towards the front pew.

The inside of the phoenix is not like the outside. Inside it is bleached clean, with the mould of the outside still trying to creep in around the edges. All of the benches are without cushions, though, they still bear markings that they once held them. The phoenix is full of a sweet lemon scent, provided by the many air fresheners strategically located around the rom. However, no matter how many bleach runs and lemon scented air fresheners they use they can't hide it. They can't hide the torrent of blood that brought this place back to life, just before it fully died.

They call it the Phoenix of Rebirth now, an everlasting community celebrating the miracle of rebirth. The sisters who work here know I am not one of their faithful, but they leave me alone in my silence all the same. The sisters raised me after they found me left here. They didn't want to tell me about my mother, but then again they didn't need to. She is more ingrained within the stones here then their new-fangled lies and lemony bleach. To be here is to be closer to my mother then I have been since birth.

The large doors open and someone else slips into the room before the door closes with a resounding boom. The boom echoes throughout the hall and reaches me all the way at the front. The footsteps of the newcomer, in contrast, are as loud as small raindrops falling into a puddle. The newcomer sits next to me and takes my hand. I know the person that owns this hand. I know how it feels to grip this very hand when in the throes of passion, I know what soft skin is attached to this hand more intimately then we let others know.

The other hand then cups my face, caressing every centimetre as I stare in beastly reverence at the statue in front of me. As the hand keeps caressing, I see the side door close as the sisters realise that the newcomer is with me. Once I hear the bolt lock on the other side, I allow the caress to pull me towards the lips that own the hands. This is our place of power, and the sisters know this. We are like two beasts with power gifted from below when in this phoenix, the one I brought out to life from the ashes. Now we need not hide behind a submissive guise as we are now krakens above these mortal fools.

A few streets away, a bunch of friends laugh still at another pointless joke, created by whimsey. They laugh and grin while drinking poison, trying to forget how pointless their lives are. But these mortals will always remember this moment, as this is when the lights all went out.

And they never came back on again.