The Devil's Chariot

Thirteen year old Louis stood at her window in an old two story farm house, her blonde hair blowing in the wind like a gust of golden wheat. Her brown eyes stared out from beneath her bangs, her mouth tight with emotions that were hidden away from the world. She was young, her body still looking very boy-like and without any curves.

Down on the floor below was her twenty-four year old boyfriend, his eyes hidden and secretive behind his head of hair. He was more beautiful than the sun after a heavy blizzard; more delicious than even the most decadent chocolate cake. But his expression was hidden behind dark cloaks, his tongue waggling as he urged the young girl on.

And so young did she seem then too: Her body lacked all curves, thin and small like a pole that had been prepared to be upright and straight. Had her hair been sliced off, her lack of breasts would have  marked her as a young boy, her face still rounded with the youthfulness that came before the mature cheek bones.

She ignored all warnings of the wind that night, placing her hand on the old window and heaving it open as it shrieked in her hands. Once again, softly, the wind blew. It was not a forceful gust, but it made her shiver once more with unease. Still she pressed on, ignoring all things said as the green grass bristled in warning.

An old willow tree was standing tall by the window, having once been proud but was now torn and eaten away by black bugs. The flesh of the tree looked withered and pained, the tree’s hands grabbing at the sky as if screaming. The hanging feelers that once used to embrace the world were now dry, cracking beneath her fingertips as Louis pushed against them.

Already she had her foot in the nook of the tree, the sound of creaking filling the night as she clambered down one branch after the other, not caring that her body moaned in pain as she dropped from the tree limbs, falling down, down, down. Right now she did not care how she was going to get back up again. And, like so many things, once she dropped to the floor it would be twice as hard to get back up again. Perhaps it was even impossible.

The older boy licked his lips in desire, his voice overpowering the wind’s gentle whispers. She could no longer notice the breeze gently licking her cheeks, tenderly trying to ease her back home. Her mind was gone already, thoughts on one thing alone.

Louis’s body curved around her boyfriend’s, her thin skeleton arching forward against his, their bodies so different but yet so similar: The bony chests, the hipless bodice. No curves whatsoever: The girl by her youthfulness and the boy by his gender.

Already a car was waiting for them at the curve, looking ready and dangerous like a chariot that was leading her far away from everything that she had ever known. She could smell gasoline and fire reeking from it, green fluid falling from its body like excretions: Drip, drip, drip. She shivered as the wind blew once more, pushing her back slightly, but it was not enough to keep her from coming forward.

And it was a smell that death was very familiar with. So thick, so heavy, swirling in the air like a beautiful woman’s sweet perfume as she planned to seduce a man. Already it was so substantial in the air that, even though the wind pushed it forward, it was still lingering like a bad aftertaste.

The girl climbed onto the seat, wiping away the cigarette feces carefully. Already black acidic marks could be seen on the cloth of the car, dark and small but still painfully vivid as Louis sat down. Her hands were shaking from the gusting cold outside, but she did not ask for a jacket and the boy made no move to offer one to her.

Talk occurred, but it was something that neither mattered nor would have any consequence to either of them. Instead Louis stared on at the boy, a flush filling her cheeks as she looked at his flawless skin, his lovely profile…And, of course, the dark eyes that were so alluring because they were curtains over windows. She could not see what was underneath, but she so wanted to.

The boy reached forward and pumped up the volume of the stereo. It filled up the chariot louder and louder until it chased out all thoughts that spoke of common sense. He flicked his lit cigarette out the window, ash fluttering in the wind like anthrax from an envelope.

Eventually, after the beating sounds had driven Louis’s thoughts to absolute stillness, they arrived in front of a small, dark house that looked like an average place. There was a welcome mat placed quite cleanly on the front, a wind chime in the distance that would have played had their been a breeze to carry make it. But there was not.

Instead their was stillness, the air cold and hushed. In fact, as Louis stepped outside the car, it felt so very chilly that she felt as if her skin was burning. Emptiness filled her as she looked at the house one more time, wondering how something that was so ordinary could look that prison-like. But she shrugged it off, stepping onto the pavement as she watched the floor with sad, distant eyes.

Her boyfriend paused beside her door, not helping her close it, but instead forcing Louis against the side paneling as he smirked. Instead, as his lips came down on her own, she could taste the thick, heavy flavor of speckled sulfur and something that was as sour as undiluted lemon juice. She gripped her pants again, but they were tight against her boney legs as she shook.

As the wind gave one more attempt at howling, trying to turn her back gently but desperately, she shuddered and wrapped her arms around herself. The closer she got to the house, the more she felt lonely, cold, and isolated, even though their was someone leading her forward the whole way. ‘Thud, thud, thud,’ her heart screamed, filling her up like a meal of frozen stew on a winter night.

‘Come on,’ said the boy, holding out his hand as he grinned at her, eyes giving nothing away as if he was hiding the world behind them.

Louis turned slowly just once. She looked at the chariot behind her, fingers almost reaching out to touch the boy’s, but she uncertainly put them in her pocket again.  Her mouth opened slightly, moments away from speaking, as she stood before the door of the house shivering. So close now. She was so close.

‘Come on,’ the boy said again, ashes on his tongue. ‘It won’t kill you.’

But Death stood behind her, not pushing nor moving, because that was not its job. And as Louis stood at the final threshold, death unknowingly inches from her side, she stopped for the longest moment, turning towards the chariot, then back once more.

To turn took so much effort, but yet again, so did moving forward.