THE ENDOWMENT THAT WAS...

[Mark Lester Soliven]

PROLOGUE
my blue silvery button switched on
exhaust of the jagged pipes started to hum
heatwaves of the invisible nebula intensified
my left wing burned the raw egg to ebony
and the liquid crystal display displayed the luminous Haley’s tail
marveled me…
i’m lost.

I…BIRTH OF THE POTENTIALLY WICKED?
had the pollens wept and cried the twilight out
had the ovary of fertile Castora sparked pheromones
that attracted fleet of caskets of undead elemental sprites, all horny
a distant requiem melody away
with inaudible decibels of massive hypersonic rhythm
drove passed the cylinder that barricades the clashing point
of a halo and a couple of horns
…ground zero, where “freezing Sub-zero” met “melting Fahrenheit”
from there, the seed of undetermined character sprung
could it be dominantly evil?
recessively just?
or a fixation to a neutral territory.

II…STORIES TOLD TO THE OFFSPRING OF CASTORA
step forward, oh so slowly now
curious and anxious of what’s there? beneath the cloak of your mother
a boxful of burdens and godly wonder
take a peep once you’re a man of comprehension…the blunder
in itself is the truth of all the world, now go closer
then halt, if you hear her hiss
her glass of wine of burgundy, to the last drop she kisses
silence is what she holds and grips in her iron fist
the same silence you’ll render your tongue to verbally twist
say not of what your inner breaths want to dispel
once the truth is made known to you, all good in your mother shall be repelled
then she’ll be evil, her beautiful face, as you know, is only her veil
fear my dear, is pertinence
hasten the transience of your innocence
collect your composure, let hysteria have its abstinence
whistle for air once more, calm and serene, but surely it’ll cause decay
look up, the stairs to your nemesis is still a heaven away
one day, you’ll know, one dreadful day.

III…MEETING AMIGO
aloha greeted the morning
the sunshine was fair, a little walk was a little show-off to the birds
the breeze was so attractive that flying was like an unnecessary impossibilty
the grasses below were half-douched by the sweet dawn’s nectar
butterflies and the pattern on their wings formed mirage of the coastal tides
on a fortress situated atop a haunted forest, the sea and the lunar occurrence
were magic worth seeking.
this place came as ugly as thunders to a storm, when a first-born cried.
as the baby turned to a lad, the beauty buried deep, surfaced like maggots.
basked around…paraded the whole backyard of the fortress
it was boundaryless, though unbound, it was still a prison
the neighborhood was as empty as ghost town.
but there were creatures, insects of day job, twas enough…
enough to unleash a bit of happiness in its dusty burial.
contentment was scarce.
no friends found.
bad outing for that once-in-a-lifetime break.
walked back in, lips shut as the creepy gate closed
made way for dusk and nocturnal inhabitants outside with the cold…
no amigos, no one.

IV…DOMESTIC HATRED
beatings,
wounds,
blood spills,
scars…
the masochist in him equaled the masochist in her!
sadness,
madness,
monstrousness,
filthiness…
done damage the imperiled has reached the level of numbness
and she, the whipper, reached halfway the state of ultimate self-gratification
find morphines,
seek for a calming potion,
draw back the scourge,
stop the pain!!!!
her son had it!
hated him so much,
watched him like a hemophilic being drained of his liquids out
bits of life gushed down the floor
was it because he had the gift she hadn’t received?
lucky him!
poor her!
chain he wore for the rest of his childhood
the same chain she’d wear on the coming of the man with the black hood.
echoes bounced on walls,
groans filled the undesirable abode,
pestilence mirrored the blood-carpeted floor,
evil splattered on her face.
despite all that, there was no cry heared from him.

V…THE WOUND AND THE WOUNDED
heaven, why does it feel this way?
what good does a mother get for being unmotherly?
she can’t seem to find herself around the bind which surrounds us
neither i can ever find a way to cut the bind that ties me to her
sometimes the fear is greater than existence
the fear that makes me say, “I’d rather die…”
but often the pain is soothing
i don’t know for some reasons the wounds dig not holes of mortality
but scars of subdued treachery and god-denied victory over the same bouncing foe
the thing that saddens me is the redundancy of the pain
nights of bloodshed
infinite flow of hemoglobin from this overly beaten body
the perversion is making the pervert more of wicked
and that perversion makes me feel i am a pervert
the abnormality occurs after the beating of the one-woman cult
its taking only hours for pain to inflict its sting
a few exhalation of sighs…
and magic or the gift solves the riddles of pathology
heaven, what is this?
it both scares and amazes me, but i still fear
fear of the unknown
its beyond my grasp for explanation
why does my mother hate me that much?
what’s in me?
i am in need to visualize my blueprint
coz i know i am someone…

VI…HER YEARNING, HIS GIFT
let it rain
let it flood
let it bring big water of the drowning
let the lightnings clash
let electricity vaporise the fortress
let it crumble down unto the dwelling
her heart heavily laments for a single wish she has not received
her chants pleased not of the fairies of the make-believe
her prayers layed volatile on the caves of the deceived
let mercenaries of ill-will tranquilize the woman in her
let unsuspicion caress the beast-spell on her shoulder
let that hate bid farewell
let something of the astral come closer
let this something sneak in her cloak further
let her cloak be snatched once she fell
his is the other box
his is the gift that defies the law and effect of the ticking clock
his is what she wished.
let the two boxes weigh
let their powers come to play
let them chase what’s in store for them as they seize the day
his life a tattered grace, wasted youth, not a single peer
his box buried in his skull, all queer
his gift he doesn’t know til he’s eighteen, ready to smear

VII…CASTORA’S BOX RE-OPENED
once upon a time, when wishes were made
a couple of years less of a couple of decades
a lady had a wish aside from the wishes-came-true inside her box
she had it casted on a full moon, stood on a steep rock
an incubus of the extrasensory gave an ear
willed to grant it, just agree to bear his son so dear
took the chance and her womb was filled
her wish, unsure fulfilled.
the box was opened for the new granted wish
due to be reopened when the child on a certain age he’ll flourish
one night a spirit whispered in her dream
that her child one day, her wish will be directed to him
coz it is in the rules of the of free-floating beings
that their offsprings take what’s the greatest thing
to her dismay, hate enveloped the whole of the fortress
a structure of desolation part of her earlier wishes
from then on she despised the child
not a mother, not a care, not a look of being mild
made herself a cloak to hide her beauty
for never again she’d appreciate that other gift
without that one thing, everything she has all will go to drift
lost her ego, a witch grow as her entity
a mischievous parent, such a rarity
she thought, i wud lose everything, sooner or later
why this child stole the gift, he shouldn’t be the bearer!

VIII…18 AND IN BLOOM
“my head is luminous!
like a thousand fireflies stuck captive inside my skull
my brain pumps radiance out from its source to the external
im shedding my skin
a golden ink etches a Horizontal 8 on my forehead
i can feel my bones tighten hard
a shot of adrenaline
like a rush of Hercules’ vest in my skeleton
is this invincibility?
why do i feel this way?
is this the answer to all my questions i hid?
the literal depiction of superhuman powers
show me a proof i am”!!
…a wave of red ray from above burst straight unto him
his body burns, but there is no effect on him
no scratch, no marks, this time, no wounds
nothing of the inflicting
is that all that you’ve got?
tell me who i am!!!
…a monotone voice of the archaic blasts…
“you are the bearer of the gift your mother wished for 18 years ago
a son of Royal Incubus, your birthright states that you, at this very moment,
receive that wish instead of her, and that is…Immortality!!”
silence overwhelms…

IX…NEMESIS AND HER NEMESES
on the pinnacle of the fortress lay the immobilized mother
chain on her hands and feet, as the souls of justice read the verdict on her
guilty of maltreatment of a royalty
sentenced to die the way she made a pity out of her son
thru whipping and beating
not by scourge, but by plasmic resonance of high-pitched groans of the undead
causing total aneurysm.
every vessel in her body burst one at time
screams beget screams
one by one.
burst by burst.
pain after pain.
tears and blood…
all on the floor.
once again, the horror reassembled itself from the scattered gore
of the greedy
of the unkind
of the fallen.
the beauty that was…
pathetic she is
gone she will be.
and justice is served.

X…A BOX IS SEALED
up the stairs he hurried
a thousand steps,
one hope,
to see his mother,
alive.
doors slammed
rapid gasps,
one sight,
he saw his mother,
lifeless.
for the first time
he held her
one dreary moment,
a lifetime wish,
came true.
held her,
did she held back?
no.
the only being he knew.
no one but her.
he can’t face the world unless its she he’s looking at.
though she had been cruel
she’s his life.
he was the reason for what had become of her.
just because of one wish.
and one wish he has more.
he wished,
the sprites to breathe life once more to her
and bargained his gift of immortality
he revoked the gift in exchange for her life.
they agreed.
she woke up from death.
he sublimed.
she woke up anew.
not of wickedness anymore,
she whispered unto the blank room,
“where’s my son?”
but there was silence.

EPILOGUE
my blue silvery button switched off
exhaust of the jagged pipes ceased to hum
heatwaves of the invisible nebula cooled off
my right wing rested its feathers of ivory
and the liquid crystal display displayed a blackhole
satisfied me…
i find my way at the lost and found section…


CHARACTERS:
(for the readers)
Castora–my grandmother’s name
i used Pandora as i started this piece, but changed it to Castora as i
progressed. She’s not, in any way, as cruel as the one in the piece, she’s
the opposite, i should say (safe mode)…
The Son–nameless. I intented not give him a name, but if I were to give him one,
it’ll be Seb, a name i’ve always wanted for my unborn…
---inspired by my wife, who happens to be my greatest fan. though she oftentimes
asks me for explanations about my pieces, line by line...(weh, she'll get even with
me, lagot....wehehehehe)