Sarette's Reve De Mort: And Other Stories Of Not Quite Magical Realism

It is the year twenty sixteen.

Life has never been like a crazy girlfriend, twirling around with your book. And then tripping and falling into your chest. It's really more like her tripping, falling into chest, and trying to hide away her tears.

So few delightful memories of earlier times, except in the small period of children's rhymes. The old crone who watches the young, moving onto to younger children. And her trickster cat tap dancing on a mocking tap dance, hammering the floor with its cane. "This is the life, quite profane." And in the darkness, so few live to thirty two. So begins the story of a young woman, who never dated. Though she had many a desire to do so, she simply never really found the time.

Michaella found herself constantly busy grading papers, and reviewing books when she was on her off time. The very desire to quite and sail around the beach of Seattle was something she had held off for a while. Partially from the memories of her father taunting her about sailing around the world, but partly because she had wanted to settle in some other part of the country, with a lower living expense. But since her hours had increased, she had gotten rid of the idea since, and now only the vague promise of a better life that grew steadily fainter remained the thing that kept her going.

She worked every hour she could to pay the motel rent, even knowing living an apartment could be cheaper. She resisted her temptation to be a sleeper, but was a chronic weeper. Sometimes she would feel sad for no reason, and yet at other times knew all to well the reasons she cried.

It was since the girl that loved her went away.

She left the world, and died.

When they were in school, they would sometime come across each other. Michaela had always been the one into computers. So she spent very little time, much as she does now, actually finding time for love. Her life was the draw of the monitor, and how it looked inside its enclosing. And the various JRPG ports she used to play when she was a teenager. The girl she knew was a cheerleader, so the idea of them dating was largely hopeless from the start.

One day the girl tried asking her out. I'm not ready, Michaela said. Because she knew that in dating her she would someday break her heart. It was a kind of self-fulfilling about this from the very start. They would from time to time see each other. And you had to admire the cheerleader for her determination. But by this point Michaela had drawn herself into the net, and began to snag pictures of media girls. She felt heart broken whenever she lost the power supply.

Then the girl that loved her lost hers.

Her electricity went out in her brain when she was ran over. And from that point Michaela had sub consciously tried to date dispassionately.

Michael didn't see her life going anywhere.

She didn't want to see anymore at all. So she waved to the world goodbye, see you later world. And then jumped herself in front an eighteen wheeler.

The next girl had had crushed on her, a coworker, remembered her fondly. She became the children's story of nursery rhymes. She told gentler versions of the life of Michaela.

She wanted to see Michaela smile.

It is the year eighteen ninety eight across the pond North East.

The feeling of a final caress, the feeling of a lady in complete undress. The feeling of everything at peace, despite the rot. She didn't think she'd want to see her go, yet it was better than them together in misery in the snow.

She remembered the first time they came to the residence. Their wooden shoes were warmed by the fire place, after a quick brushing. Neither of them wanted to leave each other, despite minor political disagreements that could be resolved. One was pro death penalty, the other anti-death penalty. And yet this conflict only came up during conversations of other hostility beyond the scope of this final account of their eternal embrace.

Haley wasn't used to the idea of being truly alone, though at times she had considered the idea do to underlying trust issues she had with her parents. And now she began to regret the last statement she made to her, how she would rather never talked to her again. She had always been one to want any noise what so ever, and for many years she would do anything to make this noise–to fill the silence that filled the room. And yet for the life of her, she also preferred the idea of someone else talking while she peacefully reflected about quieter Summer's evenings. An idea that was very far from the present moment, when they move to higher provinces.

She had not considered the idea of eating human before. Her father had been part of a science team in genetics, and would discuss the problems of eating people at times. All this to say, despite how much like pork men may taste, it was never a good idea to have a steady diet of them. And yet she also did not want to see her body rot in isolating in the snow forever. Haley had feint tear drops from the idea of her lover being torn apart by wild dogs. Even as she would kick her with her clogs, they would tear her apart viciously like wild hogs. And unlike pigs, were wild and were not trained by men and kept largely as the official other white meat.

And yet Haley could resist. And yet she always found that what she loved about her girlfriend lied inside her heart. So she plucked it out, and kept the body with her always despite the stink under the house.

She consumed her heart. Made it part of herself.

And she was careful not to tell the guests. If they asked, she would just tell them that they were mistaken. It was also simply a natural gas.

The year was twenty seventeen.

The thing about the death penalty, is it is rather inefficient, cruel, and expensive. The only reason the death penalty even exists in the modern world is that religious people cling onto the idea as some means of gaining closure.

Yet the truth of the matter is that no matter how cruelly you decapitate a woman, and allow her to strangle to death, there is nothing like allowing her to life with the slow realization that she had just murdered someone she loved. Yet in this context, the society did not understand this aspect. They just assumed that because she took off her girlfriend's head, that she must be an absolute monster.

Joana did not intend to kill her girlfriend, but she was caught in a kind of crazy were she legitimately thought it was more merciful to take off her girlfriend's head than have her secrets revealed to all. She had promised to her that no matter what awful memories she kept secret inside, that her secrets can follow her to the grave. So she chose to give her a slight shave under her shin, which soon escalated to her sawing back and forth, and then eventually removing the head of her beloved. She tried to calm her in her soothing voice, and her girlfriend's eyes bulged. She had known her girlfriend had secrets from her childhood she wanted locked away forever. Secrets about hyper sexuality that had plagued her throughout her youth.

And yet now that the deed was done, because she loved her sweet heart to much, the total realization was in front of her eyes. And then so silently she tried to scream, and never went outside of her house the following week. But when her employer tried to ask about why she didn't come in for work, she found out that she was apprehended by the local police department.

It was a short trail, they didn't even consider mental health. Or the effects on the victim's family as the both had none. So it was a simple affair.

She was taken outside the courthouse, and then shot with a guillotine gun. Her head was kept for mental examination, and allow to stay alive long enough to feel the sheer impact of severance. To extend the length of time for her to die, do to the nature of her criminal act.

And yet, Joana did it out of love.

She had loved nobody else. The little storyteller that her girlfriend was, came to her as if from a dream, caressing her head gently in a final kiss before the dark consumed her completely.

The kiss of death.

Sometimes in the darkness, one doesn't realize they are dead. Yet at other times they amount of time they tap dance through the darkness, the amount of time between one incarnation and the next is rushed into the next life.

Lives scatter about on dimensional planes like government databases. Some say there are markets for different kinds of lifetimes, yet most are to poor to be able to afford the life of their choosing. And so it becomes a continual cycle of abuse over the ages of mankind.

Thus Michaela expected to be called Michaela again.

Beyond the light, she found herself young again. Yet it was an earlier period in human history. She found herself among peers of fairies, goblins, and elves. They wanted to read stories to her, and make simple jokes. And yet the years of incarnations have made her weary about anything. Michaela saw many points in time: past, present, and the future time. She found herself recollecting conversations between cyborg men, people with wearable computers, and other girls in wooden shoes more sinister than she about to hang from the rope. Their neck snapping mercifully. Yet there was always the thought in her mind why we really need to take human lives, however merciful. Her body was thirteen, yet her mind was ageless. She wanted to bless people with herbs and spices, and make them pumpkin pies.

And yet instead her world fills her with lies.

No children's rhymes and cherry pies. She felt uncertain what this new life may mean for her, as she had only reincarnated in the past once before. At the time she was the thief among thieves, the murderer among murderers, and longed to stab the throats of angry law enforcement men. And yet at this point she found lifetimes to short.

She hung herself all o'er again.

Because this was the same world she had reincarnated in, and she wanted have a normal childhood again.