Short story!

Short story!

A painful feeling, pulls me from sleep. Nothingness dissolves slowly, and my mind gradually be restored. The unpleasant feeling states, turns into a slight headache, which intensifies. Already, I want it to stop, return to the sweetness of sleep. But the problem is even more insistent, and leaves me no hope of return.

The pain gradually gaining the entire of my skull, and soon she will not let me break. It seems to me, hear a slight noise of waves not far from me. Tiny waves of a river that seems calm. The sound is really nice, I let myself be lulled by the sound, but I feel too weak, too sore to enjoy.

I'm lying, I hurt everywhere, my head still throws me a bit more now, and this evil grows. Always these top-the-heart. I feel insignificant, front to evil that invades me, and I obviously know that I could do nothing. Then, finally resigned, painfully, I open my eyelids.

(...)

I had time to calm down. Let us say that now, I am conscious that in my inner sleeps something. A brute, a madman, I do not know ... let us say, a kind of wild beast, ready to screw up! But in parallel also, I think that each of us kept this animal from within him. Human Being? Oh! A big word! Let us say rather, a monkey talking, with car keys!

(...)

A night I was talking with a friend and then he told me a phrase that impressed me. He told me we do not Choose our personality, and the only thing we choose is to assume it and to live with ... he probably does not harm.

Karole McDowell 2011 - (c) Reproduction is prohibited without permission from the author.

Petite histoire, mais c'est mieux que rien!

Petite histoire, mais c'est mieux que rien!

Une impression affligeante m’arrache du sommeil. Le néant se dissout lentement et ma pensée renaît petit à petit. La sensation déplaisante se précise, se mue en un faible mal de tête qui va grandissant. Déjà, je voudrais que ça s’arrête, retourner à la douceur du sommeil. Mais le trouble se fait plus insistant encore et ne me laisse pas l’espoir de revenir en arrière.

La douleur gagne graduellement tout l’avant de mon crâne et bientôt elle ne me laissera pas de répit... Il me semble aussi entendre un léger bruit de vagues pas très loin de moi. De toutes petites vagues d’une rivière qui me semble calme. Le bruit est vraiment agréable, je me laisserai bien bercer par le son, mais je me sens trop affaibli, trop endolori pour apprécier.

Je suis étendu, j’ai mal un peu partout, ma tête me lance encore un peu plus maintenant, et ce mal qui grossit. Toujours ces haut-le-cœur. Je me sens insignifiant face au mal qui m’envahit, et je sais évidemment que je n’y pourrai rien. Alors, finalement résigné, péniblement, j’ouvre les paupières.

...

J’ai eu le temps de me calmer. Disons que maintenant je suis conscient qu’en moi sommeille quelque chose. Une brute... un furieux... je ne sais pas… disons, une espèce d’animal féroce prêt à tout bousiller! Mais parallèlement aussi, je pense que chacun de nous garde cette part animale au fond de lui. Être Humain? Oh! Un bien grand mot! Disons plutôt un singe parlant avec des clefs de voiture!

...

Un soir, je parlais avec un ami et là, il m’a dit une phrase qui m’a marqué. Il m’a dit qu'on ne choississait pas sa personnalité, et que la seule chose qu’on choisissait, c’était de l’assumer et de vivre avec... il n’a probablement pas tort 

Karole McDowell 2009 - 2011 - (c) Toute reproduction est interdite sans l'autorisation de l'auteure. 

Gig-hologram

Gig-hologram

I'm just a carcass, a skeleton embellishing, no life out of me, no soul undulates between my ribs melted, destroyed in by fragments. My skin is cold and milky. No pain when my blood flows, just tingling along my arm.

No emotion, no feeling, just my eyes who watch the sky. No pain, when my head will fall, just a mouth who twists, barely a murmur through my heart, breath that will be lost among the others.

A breath will succumb, a semblance of cadence in my empty viscera, what advantage the life that keeps me up if one day I fall, never to get up.

The smiles in lying words sickly sweet, take the possession of the being whose heart is ready to give everything. These people do not exist, they have no memories, they are only ghosts symbolized on Earth.

This rage, than I wait that I appeal. This rage that eat me, I hate this rage, which I watched. Too late, I can not close this passage. The devil that follows it, makes me jump like a puppet, who is watching me, and entertains itself.
 

Why have I left to penetrate in me, to rise in me like a tsunami? I'm going of dislike, in disgust, I am drowning in the pugnacity, and apprehension. I hate this goodness, which I thought was exquisite.

Deliver me from this obscuring. Never Invite the negative in you, because it never appears, alone. It hangs out with his servant, the devil. They will proclaim be your friends, but they will amuse with you. And you will be isolated, sequestered by your anger.
 

Karole McDowell 2006-2010 (c) Reproduction is prohibited without permission from the author.

Manes censored

Manes censored

There is always some madness in love but there's always some logic in the madness.

(some parts may offend sensitive people)


 

Everything is so black. A black immaterial, black with ink jets, to taste ground lifeless. Darkening who breaks out of the reach of my sight, where nothing starts. Any decay is the decline of my eyes. Nothing stopped shivering, no longer breathing. How the rotten fruit of all wills were altered as a rose that too often breathed? Without you nothing lasts, nothing shines except possibly, death is no longer the promise of peace of yore.

Sitting naked on the cold stone and rough immortal your bed, I dream. In all these nebulosities that have dimmed, we opened the doors of Deprivation, we swore, perverse pleasure without complaint, without regret morale. Extended refrigerated skin, I remember the sounds of atmosphere, those of the facility, requests pleading. The sound of leather biting the skin already reddened, lightning blade, piercing the soft skin that stretches feverishly, making it, a gaping mouth, who has fasted, wishing, just swallow. Oh! I still like that, we still pours on each other so much passion liquefied torrent! We enjoy a few moments, time to absorb our thirst corrupted, barbaric mitigate fire, burning our thinking, we in the consumption of pleasant madness. And blood ...

Flowing life, angelic nature, a guarantee of perfect largess. Join in the obscene, coral, silver, bright. One more time.

Standing at the side of your body slightly pale complexion, sleeping in your prison of granite, I contemplate you, as so often, I did when you were hot, and your smiling face to life. But tonight ... you are so beautiful in your sleep. Serene and calm, peaceful air. I hope you open your eyes, and with one hand you caress my face as of old, beaming, as you had always been. The upright member, I see you there in your bed of stone, putting pressure on your neck, raising your head a little thin, surrounded by your dark hair colors now faded, with the intention of a kiss. Your mouth opens onto an abyss, a bottomless lake, cooled and dried.

"Can I, my beloved? Can I undress you as before?"

I sit down, only your indifference, balance a challenge, when I pull, your dress.

Slowly, a slippery tissue noise in the silence, you never, never tell me. Your legs until your thighs, are blackened, which are slightly lighter. Your garden is lost in the pleasures of purple and green colors. Your head on my shoulder shaking, when I release your breasts, and every time you assign an organ. You undress completely? No, I'll rest, all recovered to above the chest, as if we wanted too much, without worry about this kind of frivolity.

Standing at your feet, the yard flooded with excitement, I raise your legs to the texture of a bananas, overripe, and I supported on the edges. The smell abject caress my face, enters forcefully into my orifices. So attractive, totally abandoned to my care, I expect the echo of your "take me". My tongue pierced my lips, moving towards your mouth. I reject your lips, liberating scents that empoissonnent my senses burn some humanity who still survived in a corner lost my reason. Thus deprived of coherence I kiss you with envy, will open your wide, wild in my mouth. The lapping of your remains and sickens me hypnotized. I hold back at the last moment to enter the grotto of my fingers promising viscosity because you deserve better and I can now live to worship you.

Without delay but gently, I lay on you. Finally reunited in a physical contact beyond death. The strength of your garden against my weapon is joyful pleasures. I'm sinister, disgusting, a perversity that I know would have you shudder with envy. My intense lubrication overcomes my way up ... your entrails.

My yard bathes in a mixture of decomposed skin, thick juice and a little nauseous escaping to my every movement.

Your body move at each of my shots. I fix your face, until your arms touch me, digging your nails into my skin, or beg me a more accelerated cadence. But nothing ... Kneeling before you, or chaos reigns in the form heavier, I explore slowly and emphatically, with my vein gifted for create life. Without waiting, I hide in you excommunicate me to each heart beating. Your face covered with blood, seems to revive, I feel faint, your eyes, half open, looking at me, languorously.

I explode in you, my ears are invaded your encouragement, who are begging me to come in you. My arms are trembling, my strength fails me, I rest peacefully on you. My breath goes out, I heard the echo of my heart beating in your body empty. Is it yours or ours? Under my last spasms, your basin collapsed under me. Air is a symphony of light crunch and spongy, wet trying to flee. But nothing else matters now.

My eyes are closing on your profile, just when you turn towards me smiling, bright stars in their eyes, and a hand on my face, welcoming me forever on your side in your death, as you had it done, in your life. We'll be together forever, and nothing more, nothing can separate us. Death is sweet to your side, this death who I was so afraid, fill me with happiness. Again, you open your arms to receive me, we will never separate.

Karole McDowell 2007-2011 (c) Reproduction is prohibited without permission from the author.

Mânes censurés

Mânes censurés

Il y a toujours un peu de folie dans la passion mais il y a toujours un peu de logique dans la folie.

(certains passages peuvent choquer les personnes sensibles)

Tout est si noir. Un noir immatériel, un noir aux jets d'encre, au goût de terre inanimée. Assombrissement qui se rompe à la portée de ma vue, là où commence le rien. Tout est décadence au déclin de mes yeux. Rien ne frissonne plus, rien ne respire plus. Combien le fruit pourri de toutes les volontés se sont altérées comme une rose que trop souvent respirée? Sans toi plus rien ne dure, plus rien ne brille excepté, probablement, la mort qui n'est plus la promesse de paix de jadis.

Assis nu sur la pierre froide et rugueuse de ton lit immortel, je rêve. À toutes ces nébulosités qui nous ont grisés, nous ouvrant les portes de la déchéance, nous jurant délectation perverse sans doléance, sans regret moral. Étendu, la peau frigorifiée, je me rappelle les bruits d'ambiance, ceux de la facilité, des demandes implorantes. Son de cuir mordant la chair déjà rougie, éclair de lame perçant l'épiderme tendre qui s'étire fébrilement faisant d'elle une bouche béante, avait jeûné, désirant tout ingérer. Ô! Comme j'aimerais encore que nous déversions encore l'un sur l'autre tant de torrent passionnel liquéfié! Nous savourer quelques instants, le temps d'éponger notre soif corrompue, d'atténuer le feu barbare qui brûle notre pensée, nous plaisant dans la consommation de la folie. Et le sang…

Coulant de vie, essence angélique, garantie d'une largesse impeccable. Joindre dans l'obscène le corail, l'argenté, l'éclatant. Une seule encore.

Debout au coté de ton corps au teint légèrement blafard dormant dans ta prison de granit, je te contemple, comme si fréquemment je l'avais fait lorsque tu étais chaude et ton visage souriant à la vie. Mais cette nuit tu es… si belle dans ton sommeil. Sereine et calme, l'air paisible. Je souhaite que tu ouvres les paupières et que d'une main, tu me caresses le visage comme autrefois, rayonnante, comme tu l'avais toujours été. Le membre bien droit, je te vois là, dans ton lit de pierre, faisant pression sur ta nuque en élevant ta tête quelque peu amaigrie, entourée de ta sombre chevelure aux couleurs désormais ternes, dans l'intention d'un baiser. Ta bouche s'ouvrant sur un gouffre, un lac sans fond, refroidi et desséché.

"Puis-je ma bien-aimée? Puis-je te dévêtir comme jadis?"

Je t'assieds, seule ton indifférence me balance une contestation lorsque je te tire par ta longue robe.

Lentement, dans un bruit de tissu glissant dans le silence, tu te dévoiles à moi. Tes jambes sont noircies jusqu'à tes cuisses qui sont légèrement plus claires. Ton jardin des plaisirs se perd dans des teintes verdâtres et violacées. Ta tête tremble sur mon épaule lorsque je libère tes seins et chaque fois un organe en toi cède. Te déshabiller complètement? Non, je te repose, le tout remonté jusqu'au-dessus de la poitrine, comme lorsque nous nous désirions trop pour se tracasser de ce genre de frivolité.

Debout à tes pieds, la verge inondée d'exaltation, je relève tes jambes à la texture d'une banane trop mûre, les appuient sur les rebords. L'odeur abjecte caresse mon visage, s'introduit avec force dans mes orifices. Si séduisante, totalement abandonnée à mes soins, j'attends l'écho de ton "prends-moi". Ma langue perce mes lèvres se dirigeant vers ta bouche. J'écarte tes lèvres, dégageant des effluves qui empoissonnent mes sens, brûlent le peu d'humanité qui survivait encore dans un coin égaré de ma raison. Ainsi privé de cohérence, je t'embrasse avec envie, t'ouvrant toute grande à ma bouche sauvage. Le clapotis de tes restes m'écœure et m'hypnotise. Je me retiens au dernier moment de pénétrer de mes doigts cette grotte prometteuse de viscosité car tu mérites mieux et je ne veux désormais que vivre pour t'idolâtrer.

Sans tarder mais avec douceur, je m'étends sur toi. Enfin réunis, dans un contact charnel au-delà de la mort. La résistance de ton jardin contre mon arme de plaisirs est jouissive. Je me sens sinistre, écœurant, d'une perversité qui, je sais, t'aurait fait frissonner d'envie. Mon intense lubrification vient à bout de me frayer un chemin jusqu'à tes… entrailles.

Ma verge baigne dans un mélange de chair décomposée, de jus épais et nauséabond qui s'échappe un peu à chacun de mes mouvements.

Ton corps sursaute à chacun de mes coups. Je fixe ton visage, attendant que tu aspires de façons irrégulières, que tes bras s'accrochent à moi, enfouissant tes ongles ou m'exigeant une cadence plus accélérée. Mais rien…

À genoux devant ou règne un chaos de forme alourdi, j'explore doucement et énergiquement ma veine douée pour engendrer la vie. Sans languir, je me cache en toi, m'excommuniant à chaque battement de cœur. Ton visage couvert de sang semble se revivifier, je me sens défaillir, tes paupières s'entrouvrent et me fixent langoureusement.

J'explose en toi, les oreilles envahies de tes encouragements qui me supplient de venir en toi. Mes bras tremblent, ma force m'abandonne, paisiblement je me repose sur toi. Mon souffle s'éteint, j'ois l'écho de mon cœur battre dans ton corps vide. Est-ce le tien ou le nôtre?

Sous mes derniers spasmes ton bassin s'effondre sous moi, L'air est une symphonie de léger craquement et de matière spongieuse et humide cherchant à fuir. Mais plus rien n'importe maintenant.

Mes yeux se ferment sur ton profil, juste au moment où tu te tournes vers moi en souriant, étoiles brillantes dans les yeux, et une main sur mon visage, me souhaitant la bienvenue à tout jamais à tes côté dans votre mort, comme tu l'avais fait dans ta vie. Nous serons ensemble pour toujours, rien, plus rien, pourra nous séparer désormais.

La mort est douce à tes côtés, cette mort qui autrefois, me faisait tellement peur, me comble de bonheur. Encore une fois, tu ouvres tes bras pour me recevoir,jamais plus, nous ne serons séparés.

Karole McDowell 2007-2011 (c) La reproduction est interdite sans l'autorisation de l'auteure.

I am a witch...

I propagates terror among humans. I do not want to be disturb by what I think, the way I think and what I say and way I say. I wear my cross myself. I forgive, but sometimes, I can't to forget. Yes, I can stay silent, but I write what I want and the way I want.

I am able to change, but I live without regret, without remorse. The paradise does not want me and the hell is afraid, that I take control.

Don't holding onto to the idea of censoring me, or to shut me up, because, it does not work. For some, I'm intimidating, sharp and cold. But I manifest this beautiful part of me, only to those who deserve it.

You find me so hard to understand, you find you so normal that you find me abnormal. I'm weird, disdained. But I'm Me. I know exactly who I am, what I am. The anger that I create. I traveled among love, the resentment, the truth ...

By the past, I have been crucified, found innocent, and chastised by my behavior, both female and male. I am the contradiction and the proximity.

Karole McDowell 2003-2009 © Reproduction is prohibited without permission from the author.

Metamorphosis

She is sitting, full of exasperation.

I'm... a scandalous woman. A pencil in hand, and I kill you. Destroy me with dishonor, gag me... of your own hands. But I do not guarantee that you will reach to your goal. It's true ... I have demons in me, and often, they need to express themselves. My dark places give me, a feeling of deformity. To listen people, I'm sick as seen on the TV or maybe worse, I have not verified!

- Please forgive me for not be sweet, not to be crybaby, not to be jealous and of not be dependent. Once again, my mouth is brutally honest. I'm exhausted to comment, how one feels when one is censored? I can not confide to you, it's not it will happen tomorrow.

- There is no place to hide me. Can you see beyond my skin. I have something other than my forms, my ass. I'm not to you, I'm not what you think. I do not want be a possession, I want be a juxtaposition.

I'm just a woman. A woman, they love to hate!

You say that I'm sad ... I guess I am. Even if I don't know, this feeling. Because it makes me feel happy, my mind is shuddering ... That for me, is impressive. Impressed, I suppose I could be, but rarely this is happened, but it depends on what you propose to me.

They say I'm scary ... I suppose I could be. Because when I speak, I'm fear. My mouth, my pencil, my paper, my writings are dirty ... I suppose they should be. Just declare that you don't hear me, you don't read me. Love me or hate me. I don't care about you. Crucify me or save me, but of what, do you know it? It doesn't matter.

You are not as clean as you claim. Do not tell me I can not make you want to scream, run. You're so beautiful when you lie to me, criticize me. To love songs, never makes me cry. I do not think you have the choice, there is more truth in your voice. Fill your hole, which serves as your mouth with mud. My writings define my desire. You're nothing to me.

Welcome to my world, dirty raptors. I welcome you in my world, it's as you had hoped? I'm not trapped in this bloody princess. I have the devil in my hands, and that I can not help it.

- Please, would you not touch me? Please, can you don't watching me? Please, could you, don't to see me, like of your prejudices, you have learned? Please, could you just for a moment, look beyond what your eyes, can see?

I'm not unsympathetic, I am not an object on a shelf, that you can manipulate to as you wish, and return it to its place, as you want, there is a difference.

- Who do you love, the one who writes, or the one who thinks. Who thinks that what she writes, or the one who writes what she thinks. Do you want to love the one which is front you, or one that creates so much terror?

I am the woman ... who ... Ah! And then again. With this story, I feel like "abnormal"

However, if you could know ....

Karole McDowell 2004-2009 © Reproduction is prohibited without permission from the author.

The scam human

The scam human

 

Why did you want to arrest you for giving me that kiss?
Why did you put your lips on mine?
Why this kiss doesn't he produced me the desired effect?

I felt rising in me the need to belong to you.
I felt my heart would revive.
I felt that this kiss is for me night terrors.

Hidden kiss, kiss coveted whatever, your kiss makes me sick.
Hot kiss, kiss flaming it should not give it to me.
Offender kiss, kiss true, why did it take you to be so intransigent?

All your kisses, I admit I liked
but not this one.
All your kisses made me want to fly,
but this time it really is not.
All your kisses earlier, I keep in my heart, but this one I do not want.
All your kisses I have so ardently desired and gave me seizures, but it is not the last illusion.

Kiss freed without you worrying if desired
my heart has been soiled.
Kiss chills, kiss passionately, those were good before, but this one has put my feelings in prison.

Kiss of love kiss of derision, in you I put all my passion, it you ended our relationship.
Kiss laughing with you I've known such happiness,
but the latter put an X on my heart.

Karole McDowell 2010 - (c) Reproduction is prohibited without permission from the author.

The Montmorency stranger

The Montmorency stranger
The future, ghost in the hands empty promises everything and nothing! "Victor Hugo"

This story took place some twenty years after my sad metamorphosis. I was hanging in a bar infamous, dusty, with wooden walls were blackened by time. It served all the poisons that we might think. I sipped a verse of this poison has been an hour or two, silently weeping over my sad fate. The music was just as sad, speakers suggesting a cacophonous melody infernal very uninspiring. In the light of a dying light on the ceiling and attacked from all sides, on all sides by the incessant flow of speech without purpose or reason for the barmaid without a degree, which incidentally, had every cow in this seedy bar, I would die boredom. It seemed that the horror would reach its peak when, to my great detriment, the waitress ran her fingers through her hair, but what would save me, that I could never have foreseen.

***
A man in his early thirties came into the bar in a gale, the barmaid and I were the only other people in this bar. We therefore returned in an instant. The boy was wearing a long black leather coat, a black shirt and black jeans slightly worn. He wore a stern face but still young, a disturbing and a long mane of hair, as black as night. He passed quickly through the small dark room in which we were. His eyes then turned to the barmaid who already bulged her false breasts, displaying her cleavage in this way too screaming, suggesting abnormally round breasts. Then his eyes fell on me. His gaze seemed to penetrate me to the marrow of my bones and probe every corner of my soul cursed. He went and sat at the bar, on the stool to my left, his step was unsteady and somewhat uncertain. He asked in a whisper a beer to the young woman who served him.

Fortunately for me, the young man in question was little more beautiful than me, and he was soon his turn to be attacked from all sides, on all sides by the barmaid and her endless illogical ramblings. If the barmaid had been endowed with any intelligence, she would certainly have been insulted at the highest point to see how this kind of lost interest in trivial gossip. Thus he remained for about half an hour as quiet as could be on the streets of Charlevoix, the town where we were at that time, three hours of the morning, and half say the least. Anyway, I remained silent also, I wanted peace for several hours already and now that I had, I was not going to break it for stupid reasons!

But at some point, the man turned his head slightly towards me and a cold voice uttered these words I will never forget.

"Do you believe in life after death?"

This question surprised me and it took a few seconds for me, to find an appropriate response.

"Why not, is it that all is not it possible? I could give you some proof that I had in my life, but, mind you, I don't think it's wise, to wake up darks memories. "

On this, the man turned to his bottle still half full, whereas I was expecting a pause, the stranger continued talking.

"What do you think can make a lost soul to get, the remaining time on earth?"

"Yes, he can come and drink in this bar rotten for another thousand years maybe ..." I replied.

I had to make a huge effort not to bury myself in dark and unnecessary ramblings about my painful destiny.

The barmaid who had heard my last thought hinted noise signifying her indignation. The man suffered a fatal hear, and also very short burst of laughter that froze my blood for a moment, then replied to my answer instead.

"Drinking and wander constantly is this?"
"Perhaps not." "I replied.

This discussion was already gone too far for my taste, and I decided to keep quiet. After all, why should I speak about this kind of a jerk came from god knows where?

This kind of scoundrel had the typical profile of a drug addict looking for a thrill. No I do not believe what I thought at that time, much less today, but I tried m'implanter this idea to myself to give me yet another reason to hide it all.

This conversation, though these buried memories dating back to the surface, I did not need it and I was already burnt out.

This man was there for almost an hour, and I knew that I could spend another hour in his company. If he no go out in twenty minutes is I who will go, I tell myself. As if this man could read my mind he swallowed a great feature that was left of his beer and left the bar as quietly as he had arrived! I watched him and looked one last time before he disappears forever turning left out of this bar.

The silence returned and the atmosphere was what it was, I ordered another beer and was a calm in my mind. Thank you, Brandy, poison that deadens the torments of my mind and dives into stasis so sweet. I was about to fall asleep finger directly on the counter sale of this bar when a man dressed as a police officer made an abrupt and awkward entry. He walked with heavy steps to the bar and his raucous way addressed the oafish barmaid.

"Good evening miss, I'm the Sheriff Franklin. I'm sorry to bother you but there was an accident on the road, higher and we believe that alcohol is the cause. I have a picture here, could you tell me whether you have seen this man before? "

The sheriff handed the barmaid has a photo and immediately resumed.

"This man was killed in the accident, there are about three hours that. You saw him earlier in the evening. We are looking for someone who could identify him at the morgue."

The barmaid was white as a sheet, chanting incomprehensible words, like.

"Tr. Three o'clock you say? Dead?"

I got up to throw a quick glance at the photo. It was he ... I could not restrain a smile when then got up and walked towards the door.

Before I turn to the left to disappear into the streets of Charlevoix Sheriff called me and asked me.

"You, saw you, man?"

I could not help but respond to him before leaving for good.

"Sheriff, do you believe in life after death?"

Karole McDowell 2010 - (c) Reproduction is prohibited without permission from the author.

Once upon a time...

Once upon a time...

My house is not a house ... It is only glass and stone. Those of others have a window, door, roof, mine is nothing like it ... But they told it's the prettiest in the county ... For me it's just a thing where everything is broken.

I'm a girl of 8 years old, I'm the best in my class. I am redhead, thin and marked. My friends ask me why I work so much and why I stay so long in school. I do not understand, my house is school. I have people who love me, I am welcomed and appreciated. Nothing like that exists at home.

As soon as I get home, all I feel is fear and hatred. My mother is there waiting for me in the lobby, where the blank is located right on the wall a leather belt. His iron buckle sparkled, I could smell the leather from where I stood, the odor smelled of pain, grief ... she helped me to grow up too fast.

When my father comes home from work, I take a broom closet room black, it saved me many times. Yet today it did not help me ... He came into fury as usual after a hard day's work. "Former officer turned politician was his job everyday, and he was my father too. Only one of them escaped him forever ... this scourge military was his shadow ... "He yelled, and he knocked my mother, a kiss of welcome. I expected, he stopped to kiss her so hard.

Suddenly, a silence ... a silence obnoxiously heavy. His steps, slowly climbed the stairs, the creaking wood folding unbearable under his weight. The wind blew against the glass frozen by the winter, whistling over the creaking only increased my fear. I wanted to put my hands over my ears when the noise stopped ... He was there ... Behind the door ...

"God, made him pass, let him pass and forget me ..." she thought to herself, but this was not the case.

"Rose, my lovely Rose ... Open the door just to say goodnight to Daddy!"

I could not answer my voice was stuck deep in my heart. Tears rolled down not only on my child's face, I can not, life does not allow it. A faint light seeped through the open door showing which left my eyes open to see that I am not a child anymore ...

"Answer Rose ..."

His voice was already beginning to rise and yet I forced myself to get up, resigned to listening to my father, too bad it was, it was my father and I had to believe in him ... I pushed the door and spent the head and half my body out of the closet.

"Good evening, dad ..."

A punch in the stomach, my kiss to me, my usual good night. Stars in my eyes, I looked at my father's floor.

"Why did you put so much time to show you? I expect a little more respect (respect, what poor word) of you! I feed you and lodge you! Do not look at me like that!"

A kick came my breath away, crackling inside, my heart was breaking again? My right knee was no longer one tomorrow ... I must tell the teacher that I fell down the stairs. True, because unfortunately pushed me. My nose was broken in my blood fall on my face I used to makeup my face, I became a clown.

"Whore's Child shit! No thanks! You're like your mother, good for nothing!"

Enraged, my broken nose might harm him. My father took care of us hit them where they could not see our wounds. What a smart man my dad ...

He continued to hit me, I swing from right to left ... until I feel nothing, finished, no more pain is felt by this little body. Any emotion emanates from me. I spent a total blank now beyond pain. I no longer heard her screams shrill ... I did not move under its pounding.

That night I died. My father had broken. I'm not in hell. Indifference has become for me a real pleasure.

"Childhood is to assume that with the Christmas tree and three snowflakes all the brutality of the land is gone."

Karole McDowell 1982-2011 - © Reproduction is prohibited without permission from the author

Just....

Just....

They say the prince charming exists only in fairy tales. They are not in mine, for sure. For a moment I will change my heart cold and distant, they say, it is not, believe me. Although I am not very edible, my heart is not untouchable.

When I close my eyes I see you in my thoughts. I'll draw, I paint you, and I will discern. You attract me like a magnet. By the simple thought, we have the strength to transform us. I allowed myself a few moments to love a body, in spirit.

For a moment, I want his kindness, I want reward him, my heat, I wish he fills his heart. This day ends, I want him to know, that he will be in my dreams.

Of his softness I would like him to cover me, his smile, I want him to get drunk, his tenderness I wish he rocks me, his beautiful eyes, my eyes became brighter, you attract me like a magnet , magnetic power or telepathic. Hex or Enchantment. How can a few moments they trouble me so deeply?

I tried to write in a way that is not mine. So much fear, horror and blood, wrote on my paper this for years. For a moment, I am carried away by this. How to say what I feel, given your smile so endearing. Consider what to take, give what is to give, I promise you not to run away.

- K. McDowell

Mirror

Mirror


It's indecent. I do not forget how lucky I am, to be alive. I do not forget to make choices, good choices. However, I happened to break, destroy, break.

A great magician, the great sorcerer me confidence. It's ridiculous, indecent to ignore those who look at me, I remained motionless, without any emotion at the words spoken, not by sincerity or kindness.

I can't think about the past, I have no need to feel reassured, I don't see the point of attach myself. Who, what? It's tiring and yet ...

I find answers and they keep me away from the worst. This is not humble or pretentious. Even if some try to prove to myself that I was wrong.

Mirror, I look at you, looking at me. Someone must love you! I stand there in front of the mirror, watching this woman who seems to live in the darkness. But do not worry, I will protect you.

I gave up everything to walk with you. It does not matter. You no longer believe in this world, you do not breathe any more, you will never get out of this place. You're locked there until I come before you.

You suffer from not being able to show your beauty. But you're a rose in sharp spines, once you were longing and fatal. Yet the myth collapsed today, you're nothing. Finally all your darkness, appeared, and the smell of their deceptions. Everything was an illusion. Traitor, mirror, you're a traitor.

Karole McDowell 2010 - (c) Reproduction is prohibited without permission from the author.

Il était une fois...

Il était une fois...

Ma maison n'est pas une maison… Elle n'est que de verre et de pierre. Celles des autres ont une fenêtre, une porte, un toit la mienne n'est rien de comparable… Pourtant on me dit que c'est la plus jolie du comté… Pour moi ce n'est qu'une chose où tout se brise et se casse.

Je suis une fillette de 8 ans, je suis la meilleure de ma classe. Je suis rousse, maigre et marquée. Mes amies me demandent pourquoi je travaille tant et pourquoi je reste si longtemps à l'école. Je ne les comprends pas, ma maison c'est l'école. J'y ai des personnes qui m'aiment, je suis félicitée et appréciée. Rien de tout ça existe à la maison.

Dès que je rentre chez moi, tout ce que je ressens c'est de la peur et de la haine. Ma mère est là, à m'attendre dans ce hall d'entrée où sur le flan droit se trouve accroché au mur une ceinture en cuir. Sa boucle en fer scintillait, je pouvais sentir l'odeur du cuir de là où je me tenais, cette odeur sentait la douleur, la peine… elle m'avait aidée à grandir bien trop vite.

Lorsque mon père rentre du travail, je prends pour chambre un placard à balai noir, il m'avait sauvé bien des fois. Pourtant aujourd'hui il ne m'aida pas… Il est entré en furie comme à son habitude, après une rude journée de travail. «Ancien officier devenu politicien était son travail de tous les jours, et il était mon père aussi. Seulement l'un d'entre eux lui échappait toujours… ce fléau militaire était son ombre… » Il hurlait et s'en prenait à ma mère, un bisou de bienvenue. J'attendais qu'il arrêtait de l'embrasser durement.

Tout à coup, un silence… un silence odieusement lourd. Ses pas, lentement montant l'escalier, les grincements insupportables du bois se pliant sous son poids. Le vent soufflait contre le verre gelé par l'hiver, ce sifflement plus le grincement ne faisaient qu'augmenter ma peur. Je voulais mettre mes mains sur mes oreilles quand les bruits cessèrent… Il était là… Derrière la porte…

" Mon Dieu faites qu'il passe, faites qu'il passe et m'oublie…" pensa-t-elle, mais ce ne fut pas le cas.

"Rose, ma jolie Rose… Ouvre cette porte vient dire bonsoir à papa!"

Je ne pouvais pas répondre ma voix était coincée au fin fond de mon cœur. Des larmes ne ruissèlent pas sur mon visage d'enfant, j'en suis incapable, la vie ne me le permet pas. Une faible lumière s'infiltra par la porte entrouverte montrant mes yeux ouverts qui laissa voir que je ne suis plus une enfant…

"Réponds Rose…"

Sa voix commençait déjà à monter et pourtant je me forçais à me lever, résignée à écouter mon père, aussi mauvais qu'il était, c'était mon père et je me devais de croire en lui… Je poussais la petite porte et passais la tête et la moitié de mon corps hors du placard.

"Bonsoir pa…"

Un coup de poing en plein ventre, mon bisou à moi, mon bonsoir habituel. Des étoiles plein les yeux, je regardais mon père du parquet.

"Pourquoi as-tu mis autant de temps à te manifester? J'attends un peu plus de respect (le respect, quel mot médiocre) de ta part! Je te nourris et te loge! Ne me regarde pas comme ça!"

Un coup de pied vînt me couper le souffle, un craquement intérieur, mon cœur venait à nouveau de se briser? Mon genou droit n'en était plus un… demain il faudra que je dise à la maîtresse que je suis tombée dans l'escalier. Malencontreusement vrai puisqu'il me poussa. Mon nez se brisa dans ma chute le sang sur mon visage me servait à présent de maquillage, je suis devenu un clown.

"Putain d'enfant de merde! Aucune gratitude! T'es comme ta mère, bonne à rien!"

Fou de rage, mon nez brisé pourrait lui porter préjudice. Mon père prenait soin de nous frapper là où on ne pouvait pas voir nos blessures. Quel homme intelligent mon papa…

Il continua de me frapper, me balancer de droite à gauche, jusqu'à, jusqu'à… jusqu'à ce que je ne ressente plus rien, terminé, plus aucune douleur n'est ressenti par ce petit corps. Plus aucune émotion n'émane de moi. Un vide totale je passais dorénavant au-delà de la douleur. Je n'entendais plus ses hurlements stridents… Je ne bougeai plus sous ses martèlements.

Ce soir là je suis morte. Mon père m'avait brisé. Je ne suis plus en enfer. L'indifférence est devenu pour moi, un vrai bonheur.

«L'enfance c'est de supposer qu'avec le sapin de Noël et trois flocons de neige toute la brutalité de la terre est disparue.»

Karole McDowell 1982-2011 - © Toute reproduction est interdite sans l'autorisation de l'auteur

Idolatry

Idolatry

I am a heart and I am more than a rocky soil acid.

I am a heart and I am more than a rocky soil acid.

I find it difficult to achieve, I think I'm dreaming, and then all these people moving around me I can not see and m'anesthésient and leave me no time. Maybe one day my owner will want to cry, I wish, she let her tears flow, it's heavy for me!

Of course it is not required to have the punishment for crying, but the day comes, I want them to. It is true that I feel guilty that she does not cry.

I remember some years ago an event. Without wishing to be too bad, I finally told myself, I'll serve something! It was what she held dearest in the world! Not a tear. The people told her, she was strong and it hurt her and sometimes I felt bad. And the man she knew since age 17! Being the most expensive in her life, the essence of her life, not a tear.

I know everything about her I know she has huge hidden penalties. Let the curse stops. Even today, I feel she is in a parallel life. She becomes silent, she avoids people and is contained on itself.

Since her childhood, she has cried only twice and on both times, she had, no tears. But it is true that there was someone in the room with us that made me dance hard, I was scared. But in all serious events of her life that occurred thereafter, she never shed a single tear.

She talks to herself, I hear it, she wondered if this is normal. People close to her, say it often as it feels good to cry but can not.

If I understand my landlady, she sees herself as if she saw someone other than herself, but with indifference.

I do not dare tell him, but I think it is a defense process that works very well! The disadvantage is that she don't removes it.

Do not tell him, but you know like me, what she does for a living, everyday. Maybe not, but I know. She takes refuge in a "fantasy world", with all these people who scare me. I do not know how to say it? But that goes along with the distancing of felt.

It's hard for me not to come to understand, I hit a wall, or should I say a big wall! Sometimes I tell myself that it would be better if she was just a pebble. For me, am love and I love her. Yes of course I dance in joy and sorrow, happiness ... But what I want is that she frees me, because, one day, my dance will stop, I'll cease to move ...

Cheers,

Heart to take it or leave it.

Karole McDowell 1996-2010 - (c) Reproduction is prohibited without permission from the author.

Exasperation II: Who are you?

Exasperation II: Who are you?



It is sometimes necessary, and often even look at yourself before judging others. The decision is mostly based on actions or attitudes that you see in others you have, but you refuse to see.

You "assess" the value of a person from what you see her, according to what she is proposing, but what you see that person is insignificant in that it is, you can not make judgments on trivial anyone. And who are you? YOU.

Who are you to judge the value of a person? Each person is unique. We're all the same, but the path on which we come and where we live, will make us what we are. Again ... What did you so special? If you take the trouble to know the person better, you'd see that very often in the guise, it is much more!

Judge a person is to give more value than it. "To judge, a person must claim perfect" ... Who does not make mistakes? Which is always nice and friendly with absolutely everybody in any context? To my knowledge, nobody! Even those I rub shoulders every day, have the pretension to think to know me, but not.

I do not try to conform to the norm, such person is, the standard does not exist... just an image that people are struggling to project in order to be part of a group of normality... But I have the wisdom to let you believe. What I do, with or without proof, will not change anything. You're too focused on yourself. How fortunate to have met someone who perceives me, the right way and then I told myself internally "There are still a few people on Earth, who do not imagine.

In summary, I do not care criteria to be considered "normal." Who are you? What are you so important to judge others? We all die one day, then stop to piss off the people with your tight ass... Good thing I'm here to make you shit, because with the tight ass like that, you are still constipated.

Those who love me I love them forever ... Other fuck you, I do not need you. You do not bring me anything. To those who judge me without knowing me: Go to hell!

Karole McDowell 2010 - (c) Reproduction is prohibited without permission from the author.

Exasperation

Exasperation

Sometimes, I insult those monsters sitting on my seat in this assembly of zombies staring at me oddly. When I speak of people with mouth closed, that these children suffer their fate without being able to retaliate. I burn in the throes filthy that only I seem to see in front of a Satan who dance his win.

These key decision makers are grave robbers, happy to discover the bodies of their martyrs, treasures they are satyrs, giving speeches cold ice with their tongues, chattering under the gaze of the mass. Jackals derogatory, unnecessary pests eat their power as morons.

Wanting prophets, based on low, reproducing them by making fun of people's pain. These monsters are indifferent, happy to exist, suggesting retarded to fight, wanting to domesticate the people at the point of no longer than the shit on a piece of paper.

I hate these people who watch the chapped lips of people who are not entitled to happiness. I curse the earth and human, this monster that is ignoring the sleep of these beings with body cools. While "they" ever, kill and run, not saving their miserable people, throwing all these bodies ignored the inferno of the beast.

You smile when reading my words. The frustration I was answered only by contempt. My private eyes with tears speak louder than my voice. Pray that I can fix these zombies. By ignoring these living beings, and by opening the meow of a cat, people suffer every day under your silence, you people denatured.

My fingers and my lips look like a faded Apocalypse filled with earth. I am a singer caterpillar in a cocoon, lips quicksilver fed swelling, spitting in offensive infusion steel vain pleasure out of the words of his large vase filled with insects.

Me and my freedom of expression set out in a crowd who would like to see me bleed. In my last gasps of agony, I will curse, those who hate it when I breathe. Trying to condemn me to the termination of my inspiration.

Pathetic, censorship is to present us drown under tons of advocacy groups of all kinds. Nothing justifies censorship of writing, speech and opinion... Proponents of censorship are capable of worse, so...

Karole McDowell 2010 - © Reproduction is prohibited without permission from the author.

Scream of distress

Scream of distress

You ancestors. give me the privilege of seeing him tonight, just a single night to numb my pain. I ask you one last complaint, remove this pain in me.

You ancestors who saw our love grow, look at me imploring the day arrives. The day that bring back, one I cherish and which will eliminate this tragedy forever. My heart is a cry of alarm, a cry of tragedy.

I curse this silence, this absence, he would have forgotten how much he was loved. Help me to forget because there is no longer suffering a heart with love. Erase this memory in me. Ask her soul no longer fly around me, because I have to forget that emotion.

Ancestors that I cherish, destroy all traces of writing on him, because of this love, I'm lost. All of you who by your help, helped me carry everything, I ask you all to make him understand that he must leave me. He left like a thief leaving only resentment. He left, leaving me with eyes that can not cry. I implore you destroy all trace of him. I must run away, forgetting it was a day ...

Ancestors, you who know me, you see that every night my pain, help me, please, because of grief in my heart is full, this grief is a gray cloud without rain.

Ancestors, you who can light up the sky, illuminate his way to take me back finally. In his presence my heart vibrate again, his caresses, I wrapped myself, his warmth, I will warm my heart to this day.

Ancestors help me, carry us, me and my beloved on our star off. That these moments become our means of escape they are our protector, they fly without stopping, without thinking to return.

If he could know my pain, he would not remain silent for so long. It would arrive by the shortest way!

So I have to rethink my life, again, to live day by day. I so loved him, his name is engraved on the heart that is mine. I love that our esteemed so great, I can not imagine that he can leave me without a word, would it not return?

There are just tender love him, to give joy and comfort, warmth and tenderness in my heart that can not stop thinking about him every day. His silence is suffering, his absence torture. All these news are tomorrows without rising within me sorrow, this sorrow, that a curse, I can not express.

The lone Star, you who bear his name, you shine dimly. It is and always will be one that will be by me, the most wanted, because of how much love like mine, death came to get!


Karole McDowell 1999 - (c) Reproduction is prohibited without permission from the author.

Corrupted Soul

Corrupted Soul

There was no suicide, there are only murders.

A horrible and piercing cry was heard, like a knife plunging into the heart of those who heard. A girl opened her eyes suddenly, alerted by the cry. She was looking where he came to be as atrocious, when she realized he had his own throat. Why had she cried so hard? Especially sound too ... striking, which you plug the creeps if you do not know who pushed and where it comes from.

She woke up, like every morning, at the same time, in the same room fatal. White room, rotting walls for good reason. Moisture. The same gray window with the same filter bars the same light. She sighed, still the same vision on waking, it gives you the blues forever.

.. As every morning, She advances towards her door and looks through the small window carved in the middle, with still the same bars. She watched the "white bitch" as she was nicknamed. White blouse, pink complexion, always with the same damn fake smile ...

Dolls that would crush to exit that cell. Always the same desires by seeing them serve breakfast to the Other. Yes, the Others, she was not alone to be locked in a cage.

Not allowed to talk to them, to see them, except when they go out into the hallway. She put her hands through the bars, calling a hooker that white came almost immediately.

"Oh Hello Chloe. What do you want?"

Always the same question stupid and uninteresting. Chloe wanted to strangle her whether she remembered what she wanted all damn morning.

"My notebook and my pen please!" she muttered between her teeth, watching the smile she was always misplaced, and scary, but certainly not very sincere.

Can you imagine? See the same people every morning, the same smile, a kind of clones ... Atrocity! She took her notebook slipped between the bars, then threw himself on his bed, pencil in hand ... See where I had stopped ... she told herself.

"Sitting on her feet, her head pulled forward, thinking of the crazy world outside. Yes. Outside. Us, we are normal. They lock us where they lead us to believe that we are crazy. Fully calibrated. But we are normal! That would be pretty twisted to lock up people who did nothing? Crazy! It's them, crazy.

He too was mad. He loved me so much that he had locked up during days and nights will abstain from all souls who could be lapped. She saw no one but herself. He told me crazy, insane. Just because she was talking to Satan, but she spoke, she promises. It was not madness. She heard him, mocking her, whispering that everything was bad, through his subconscious ... Madness behind the walls ...

This sentence reasoning for days in her head. As she walked around the house is saying that he had built. A dirty piece. Two square meters, it's called a beautiful house it? She called it a tomb. She turned in like a lion in a cage, until he opens it, he does something. His hatred rose slowly towards her. Whenever daylight seeped he entered, smiling, a few seconds later into a grin infamous. He attached the stroking, the dirtying of saliva, without taking account of his cries. He said no one heard her, that he alone could enjoy delicious screams. And his vile laugh, she still hears reason in her head, when he enjoyed it when she felt his hot liquid fill, she screamed sighed in despair.

Each week, the same evening, the parade took place fatal. When that day it opened, she smiled wryly, hid the knife in her back that he had forgotten the last time when he cut her ties. He argued, ropes in hand, saying sweet words, she was not even listening. Curious to know what she had in her back, he leaned toward her when she left the weapon of liberation and loss. She thrust it into his throat, turning it slowly, savoring the least noise, the smallest of complaints. "

Chloe heard someone knocking, she uttered a curse, going to see his door from his nose through the bars, she saw a nurse.

"It's lunchtime Chloe, you were still writing?" she said with a grin.

She growled.

"Yes I write. Give me my tray, I'll manage."

The nurse complied, always with a smile puppet ... Chloe took her plate while she opened the door and sat down at his desk, leaving the meal tray. So I had to ... Ah! Yes!

She removed the knife from his throat. She pushed it back, he fell on his back, holding his throat. She found it amusing to see him squirm like a worm. She sat astride him, looking grim with a smile, him, he smiled more, had he? Was he sad because he did not pull his shot today? She laughed softly, aware of the knife stuck in the throat of his tormentor.

Soft feeling of freedom, she loved the feeling that she had never tasted. She walked slowly from his neck, licked slowly, brushing her neck with blood. She began to chew, then planted his teeth. She loved the feeling on the skin torn by teeth, his blood streaming down his face. She whispered in his ear the things he could not stand ... It's so beautiful when she introduced the knife deep in his skin ... she so loves her soft pleated look that ... He so beautiful when she smashes his ego ... She murmured, he moaned ... she liked it, oh yes! She liked it! His whole body was burning. What excitement when the blood down along her skin. Shivers funeral he traveled, she loved this.

She undressed him, cutting his clothes with her knife, cutting it a few times. He was finally stripped, he looked with her eyes closed set, a blank stare. She smiled, then grabbed his gun, looking up and down, wondering where she would begin her work. His eyes fell on the genitals. He was responding, moaning, seeing her watching his sex. She denied, saying she would make him pay her unborn child because of his little games daily.

This child rotting flesh making each day a little more patient. She took his penis in his hand, throwing him a look, she began, slowly, to hear him moan as much as possible. Ending cut this filthy body, she threw away her sight in the meantime, he had already fainted ... She made a little face, looking at her blade, red. She decided to end it, he could not live after what he had done. He had kidnapped, raped. Slowly, for days, in "Her" house, she murmured his death, as far as her own. She planted the blade into his chest, then sat down beside him, watching him.

Now because of this despicable neighbor, she is confined. Condemned. Answer crazy. She thinks an end to this moment, for the last word explanation of this misunderstood. He was the fool, not her. But he too is trapped ... Six Feet Under. Well done, he had only not to impose it. She will kill the child of Satan that is changing in her, he kills her. It was Satan, she had recognized the Rex Mundi.

Chloe put her pencil, then closed her notebook. She got up, went to her meal tray. Looking vaguely attitude, she took the fork.

Chloe has to die because of him, as he died, it was his fault ... Hers is just ... she said.

She stuck her fork in her arms from side to side, smiling at each drop of blood fell to the ground, now surging. She thought that it was not enough to die ... Then she took the knife and thrust it into her throat, preventing her from laughing at this sumptuous pain.

She knows them, they say it is abused, but ... "You never know when the urge takes you die, you do everything to!"

So she walked, staggering towards her closet, opening it slowly. There was his jacket, which he put at the beginning when she arrived ... She took it, wrapped around her neck ... and pressed as hard as she could. The knife plunged even more, she fell to the ground ... A strange smile on her face tattooed ...

So? Do you really think she was insane? With what he had to live, just because she heard something they did not believe.

If you perceive crazy is normal, you're the fools, yeah you. You are blind to anything that you are out of range.

Travel a little. Free your mind and fly to unknown horizons for you ... Maybe you will fall into the trap of making ... She became different, so mad ...

Look at you ... And ask yourself ... Are you crazy?

Karole McDowell 2010 - (c) Reproduction is prohibited without permission from the author.

Your eyes

Your eyes

In my mind the most distant I remember your eyes.
I remember this brilliance that I could admire and desire.
The glow that had remained over the years and gleaming.
I remember the look that brought me into the secret unreality.

Your eyes are the brightness,
In your eyes have found there love the sensuality
It was tasty acquiesce.
When you close your eyes, it was only to stop time.

These gentle attentions they ignited in me an electrifying current
Making me obedient to an uncontrollable desire and unquenchable.

In your eyes there found enchantment and sorcery,
Nothing kept me eager to satisfy my appetite.

Your eyes had in them the love, desire,
Such as fire and water they could mingle,
But they could identify them.

They were both honey and venom, so why resist it.

Yes I wanted my eyes crossed yours and be embraced without delay.

In the glow of your eyes at that moment I loved flying
Moments of pure happiness of thousands of kisses and caresses given unto you.

To you who had these eyes I tell you this:
On my heart your name is engraved, Never shall I forget these feelings all these emotions that you have given me.

They say you're dead, I should forget,

I prefer to answer that you are absent for an indefinite period.

You are my snake... you restore your soul to return.

- K. McDowell

Affliction fr.

Affliction

Au ciel tout est bonheur, en enfer tout est châtiment ; le monde est voisin à l'un et à l'autre.

J'accomplis depuis quelques années déjà, un métier que j'admire énormément. Je fais visiter divers endroits imaginaires à mes lecteurs. Leur démontrant la beauté des mots, des histoires magnifiques. Cette histoire que vous aimerez ou du moins je le souhaite, calmera votre soif de péripéties…

***

Une guide dont la renommée n'est plus à faire, fut choisie, pour faire visiter les divers lieux de la Beauce*. Cette année ce fût des touristes américains et étant donné que ce trajet serait long et rocailleux, elle décida de faire voyager son groupe à dos de cheval. Ils en furent ravis, malgré que la plupart n'en ait jamais monté un. Ils quittèrent le bungalow et amorcèrent l'aventure, commençant par la forêt de pins. Sur un coup de tête, elle prit un sentier que, jamais auparavant, elle n'avait emprunté.

Ils aboutissent dans une prairie, comme toutes les autres qu'elle fait visiter à chaque année. Et elle leur fait poursuivre la visite. Mais elle se rencontre qu'ils descendent et arrivent dans une vallée. Une vallée aux herbes hautes, courbés par le vent, et envahit de gros rochers, trônant comme seul maître dans cette vallée inexplorée.

Voilà où elle en est maintenant, dans cette splendide vallée dérobée aux regards humains. elle continue donc à travers le buisson sans trop savoir où ils vont vraiment. Elle distingue un sentier qui lui semblait encore plus amusant. Enfin! Un peu de changement ne peut faire de mal à personne, se dit-elle. Elle pénètre alors ce sentier, suivit de son petit groupe qui a l'air de se réjouir des chemins diversifiés qu'elle choisit.

Au bout d'un moment, elle remarque que plus ils avancent, plus l'air lui semble lourd. Et, à voir les visages, elle n'est pas la seule à ressentir ce malaise. Elle s'arrête brutalement et fixe carrément le sol. Tous furent surpris par sa réaction. Ils n'aperçoivent pas ce qu'elle voit étendu devant eux, et cela la surprend. À quelques pas seulement, gît une carcasse de ce qui lui semble être un orignal. Ne voient-ils pas cette carcasse entrouverte d'où se déverse de gros et visqueux asticots d'un brun suspect? se dit-elle. Sans parler de l'arôme putride et écœurant qui s'en dégage.

Pendant qu'elle est incapable de détacher ses yeux du cadavre, un cheval effrayé s'emballe et fonce vers l'avant avec son cavalier. Elle regarde alors celui-ci disparaître pendant que ceux derrière s'éclipsent en toute hâte devant tant d'horreur, la laissant seule. Elle tente alors elle aussi, de revenir en arrière le plus vite possible, mais son cheval, figé refuse nettement de bouger. Prit de sautillement, elle n'arrive plus à le contrôler, elle descend alors de celui-ci sans plus attendre. Hennissant à s'en arracher le poitrail, écumant bave et sang d'une rage bestiale, il s'effondra dans une mare de sang.

Elle est effrayé et, ne sachant plus quoi faire, elle se met à courir. Elle court et jusqu'au moment où elle discerne clairement au loin des pleurs. Des sanglots ressemblant à ceux d'un enfant. Elle se rapproche des sanglots et distingue la silhouette de jumeaux. Elle franchit les quelques enjambées qui les séparent, ils ne doivent pas avoir plus de sept ans, et elle discerne leurs visages légèrement mutilés. Elle a l'impression de se voir, toute petite, avec les traits tirés et un regard aussi sombre que la nuit. Ils la pointent du doigt et s'enfuient dans le sentier.

Elle se fendit les poumons à vouloir les rejoindre, elle ne peut les laisser seuls dans cette forêt. Elle court très vite et elle arrive de peine et de misère à les suivre. Plus elle court, plus elle aperçoit une étrange masse devant elle. Un bloc géant qui se découpe sur un décor de soleil couchant pour enfin ressembler à ce qui doit être, une tour. Elle voit les jumeaux pénétrer dans la tour et s'y précipite à son tour. N'ayant pas fait trois pas, qu'elle tombe et ensuite glisse sur qui semblait être une trappe. Elle continue à glisser sans arrêt, dans une noirceur enveloppante tout en entendant les sanglots des jumeaux qui se faisaient de plus en plus puissants. Elle se sent sombrer, lourd et …

Elle reprend conscience dans une petite cellule déserte. Légèrement éclaircie, elle ignore par quoi, mais assez pour distinguer vaguement un spectre se diriger vers elle. Elle est paralysée à la vue de celui-ci. Les jumeaux, à ses côtés, la pointant d'un doigt accusateur, leurs yeux noirs et en larmes plongés dans le sien, la bouche béante, d'où s'échappait auparavant des pleurs mensongers, reste maintenant grande ouverte, ne laissant s'échapper qu'un cri imperceptible et sans fin de pure démence. Les ténèbres l'engloutirent au moment où les jumeaux sortirent de leurs gueules un petit cheval putréfié... et elle s'est réveillée...

Ne me demandez pas pourquoi, je suis insomniaque, la raison est fort simple.

Karole McDowell 2005-2011 - (c) Toute reproduction est interdite sans l'autorisation de l'auteure.

*Beauce : La Beauce, en Chaudière-Appalaches, située à 20 kilomètres au sud de Québec, longe la rivière Chaudière et s’étend vers le sud-est pour embrasser les frontières du Maine.

Gig-hologramme

Je ne suis qu’une carcasse, un squelette embellissant, aucune vie ne sort de moi, aucune âme ondoie entre mes côtes, fondues, détruites, en fragments. Ma peau est glacée et laiteuse. Aucune souffrance quand mon sang geint, juste des fourmillements le long de mon bras.

Aucune émotion, aucun sentiment, juste mes yeux qui regardent le ciel. Aucune douleur quand ma tête tombera, à peine une bouche qui se tord, à peine un murmure qui traversera mon cœur, un souffle qui se perdra parmi les autres.

Un souffle qui succombera, un semblant de cadence dans mes viscères vides, à quoi avantage la vie qui me tient debout, si un jour je tombe pour ne plus me relever.

Les sourires mensongers en paroles douceâtres prennent possession des être dont le cœur est prêt à tout donner. Ces personnes n’ont pas d’existence, elles n’ont pas de souvenirs, elles ne sont que spectres symbolisés sur la terre.

Cette rage que j'interpelle et que j’attends. Cette rage qui me mange, je la déteste cette rage qui me surveille. Trop tard, je ne peux plus fermer ce passage. Le diable qui la suit me fait sautiller comme une marionnette, qui me guette et se divertit.

Pourquoi l’ai-je laissé s'insérer, se hisser en moi comme un raz de marée? Je vais de dégoût en aversion, je me noie dans la pugnacité et l'appréhension. Je hais cette bonté, que je croyais exquise.

Délivrez-moi de cet obscurcissement. Ne conviez jamais le négatif à s'enfoncer en vous, car il ne se manifeste jamais seul, il se balade avec son servant, le diable. Ils se proclameront vos amis, mais se divertiront avec vous. Et vous serez isolés, séquestrés par votre colère.

Karole McDowell 2006-2010  (c) Toute reproduction est interdite sans l'autorisation de l'auteure.