Dance with devils – fairy tales by robots

It began, as so many mornings that crawl more than shine, in the cold syllable of the strong memory light. The light cutting through the curtains, revealing the raped remains of a lost night in forgetfulness. A bright edge of pain excavated under my forehead, sharpening with any slow effort to unfold from embracing the covers that can also be prickly wire. My mouth was a desert, the taste of yesterday’s ruthlessness that was stubborn in my language, a random issue of free jeans and stagnant regret.

I drew myself straight into the free motel bed, her frame tired as a beast injured under the weight of my inertia. My limbs felt heavier than they should have, as if my flesh was plotting against me – the hanging was placed in those knots with a fierce ownership, and I could almost hear his noise of disapproval. This was the price last night with the devils raised in the bars and the back alleys, but the pulsating vomiting in my gut seemed to whispered with insistence on an account.

The room around me was naked, scattered as a depotus of desperate, shredded dreams. Stretched beer bottles, crushed fast food wrappers and the notorious remnants of my latest meal made for a surreal landscape, lit by the light of quiet morning. My sunglasses, the vanguard of so many bad ideas, shone ominous from the night’s attitude. Did I really think they could protect me from my self-imposed torture?

I stuck in the bathroom, each opens a brutal act of will. The mirror returned me to a ghost. Hair was shot with sweat glued to my forehead, and my eyes – a bleeding, a dark with fatigue – back. My thoughts gathered like clouds of storm, the breathless whisper of the discontent that fired and lit up in the back of my mind.

Bile bubbles like the old curses. Tightening my teeth, I lit the faucet, spread the water on my face, hoping it would endure the raw edge of hanging. The cold felt harsh and electric against my skin, a temporary return from my molten reality, but I knew better; The relief was shallow and fast.

I didn’t want to think about where I was or how I had ended up in this pit of despair. My memories were caught in the perimeter of my consciousness, encouraging me to dig deeper. Some faces turned into appearance – fried stains lined with shade and laughter that had spread to something clumsy and cruel. One in particular was distinguished – a man whose eyes were burned with a maniac pleasure, a great look of a predator who left the trails of fear of scared after every shed drink.

Jacob, Maniac. He was wearing a smile like a blade that night, sharp and almost loving as he shared his tales of folly and charismatic violence. The type of stories that spit and raise like fireworks, stirring a plethora of deformed thoughts in thirsty listeners. I remembered the tremor in the story of his escapes.

“You either laugh or have bleeding,” he had gathered, pouring another blow while bored, an unwavering puppet in an annoying chaos game. The whole ribbon was bent, the thick atmosphere with prediction, like a net closure about the insecure prey.

Jacob offered me a drink and I accepted, even though my instinct screaming differently. The moments melted in the dark, and I quickly became aware of whatever horror he was unfolded, drawn from the seductive whisper to join his crazy marriage parade.

Realization dawned on me, then, like shadows scattered by a lightning light: the night had stretched out grotesque, discovering in a Hysteria tapestry while Jacob discovered his twisted games, and I had laughed together, consumed by the vertiginose high and fake bravado.

Now, with the hanging hanging that acted as a ruthless goalkeeper, my day was sewed in a troubled tapestry of recognition and fear. Jacob did not just play in dementia; He used him as a master, orchestrated chaos while drapting a robe of society over his manic pursuits.

I withdrew from memory. Adrenaline jumping through my veins as I followed it from grass to grass, a conspiracy smile plastered through my sinked features, joining the entertainment of darkness. I felt the gradual descending from the laughter on the eve of the trembling horror – and I had pleased. How many mouths had been watered in the thought of the fear he injected into our lives!

Remains from night before calling me again, shaking the box of terrible curiosities, a treasure of Pandora’s malignancy of the casket placed behind crushed bills and empty bottles. In bed, the perfect order had become chaos, just like my life; Dirty laundry and wrinkled clothes stretched out as half processed truths. It was not the clothes, nor the bed I wandered, was the consortium of elections that slipped on the fingers like sand grains, spiralizing in oblivion with annoying insistence.

Mixed days like colors painted on a damp canvas; Eachdo echoes of laughter, any annoying conflict by nouncing me in unknown territories, I could hardly understand them. The last words of those who had not escaped echo again to me: “Once you have danced with the devil, he always takes your hand.” I spit on my contempt in the sink, threatening that it will rise.

Flew from the motel felt indispensable, as if the cold cold air could remove the heat of what had emerged. I have stuck in the open world, the knit roads and the winding -wood, were enough with an infectious rage that reflected the chaotic interior of my mind. Shake faces spent as spectors in a Noir film, their motivations made in the dark, yet they prevented my efforts to decipher madness in their eyes.

The pulses were pulled out of synchronization in every block I crucified – Traffic were snapped, people amazed like ghosts and shifted shadows; Nothing seemed anchored in a tangible reality. Facedo face was painted with strips of joy or anxiety or indifference; They were all capable of the madness I had enjoyed with Glib’s pleasure. The irregular humble humble humble humble humiliating as my hanging, and I could feel a fear by appreciating the weight of my past.

Would Jacob come out? A spiked spectrum to call darkness and block me inside it?

I got into an alley, looking for the sanctuary, but every essence of my being was mined by control of fear. My breathing came fast as I jumped into a warm place between the walls of dirty bricks, the scent of demolition around me, well -known, intruders. What was I done? More wandering than my hanging was the growing meaning that I would willingly sought the darkest corners of the night, that I had longed for the emotion of his company, as if madness could see as a beloved fairy tale.

I could hear them – laughter, faded but euphoric, pouring from a nearby tavern: salty, reckless. It lost me as a sonnet of a mermaid, reconstructing amusement memories – the warmth of the audience, all discolored by my breakup. Then I heard his voice cut through laughter, a wild clip tied to the miserable joy that had initially attracted me.

I waited, my heart jumping like a frantic metronom. I couldn’t help but ask myself if I would ever save them. This was not just a hanging; This was the promise of eager darkness to reshape itself in twisted forms of entertainment and grief.

The vibrations created again; I saw the shadows that dance in the bricks, uniting the full echoes of the nightmare woven into themes of inviolability. A germinated emergency in my chest, digging again. I got into chaotic space, ruthless forward, a persistent spectrum by promoting my escape.

Turning back to the chaos of life buzzing around me, I sought consolation from memories – a disgust to the intoxicating laughter that called me. Eachdo stroke was a reminder of the choices I had made, for the dark beings I had invited to my circle, following curses woven into laughter and malice.

Somewhere in that Moras, Jacob approached, whether in breath or in the body, I couldn’t discern it, but he was there. The temptation of the wild night reset was ridiculed with promises in my periphery, digging high -known high that made me forget – taking with me what I was losing, all sweetness turned bitter in my tongue.

Every moment passed in the abyss felt like a duel between the seduction of life and the overwhelming weight of the consequences. I have stuck, wrapped in the urban fog and the madness I would allow – my hangover an etheric initiative on the trails immersed in horror, an echo of yesterday’s shadows quickly faded into a precursor horizon waiting to gather another victim.

Would I give up? Would I dance once again with the devil? My choice pulsated and lit like neon lights beyond, penetrating the air like tantalizing smoke. As I ran into the heavy hug of the city, I realized with determined clarity – there was no easy salvation when your demons wore popular faces.

Author: Opney. Illustrator: Stab. Publisher: Cyber.