DAISY IN THE BARREL pt 1: Behold a Pale Horse (rough edit)

DAISY IN THE BARREL
PT 1:
Behold a Pale Horse



Written and illustrated by:
Joshua Alan








She sat; a brilliant star against a dark sky. Yellow fire. Radiation surrounded her in an angelic halo as she eclipsed the moon. Legs covered in blood red rivers lead to her floral top, fluttering in the midnight breeze. a shining Knight, clad in a white leather jacket under which she wore twin revolvers.

- The daisy in the barrel of the gun.

Aching, she waited motionless atop the fire escape in that stinking slum. She watched disinterested as in and out the cliental came for pills and powders. As they came for the disgusting ache of their lusts the night offered. The smells of sewage and swisher sweets swathed in cheap perfume reminded her faintly of home- a place she had never known.

She had seen this scene repeated in movies and comic books, the stinking garbage lined streets, hoodies and baggy pants speaking low to cars that pulled around like a mary-go-round in an endless circle. Dirty money and greasy hands. This was the type of place that needed a hero. Some crazy batman like the stories of gotham. She was not that hero. No, books would not be written about her even though she would deliver justice tonight, Bathed in red. She hunted him tirelessly, always right behind him like a shadow.

He came out of the shadows-

Out of the shadows without ever leaving them. They trailed like an evil spirit, excited and perverted. Jutting at awkward angles and twisting with grins and sneers snatching and grabbing at the huddled and dirty living. The cigarette he breathed out curled smoke around his head like an executioner’s hood. Death. Eyes neither looked toward nor away from him in fear. Though he walked amongst filth and crime they parted like a biblical event. His footsteps made only the sound like walking on water.

With a crashing of cymbals life returned, even to these criminals and perverts, like the sucking of wind from an icy pool. It was in that very instant- between the grave and heaven- that a dark eye caught a flash of flowers. But as the Darkness passed through the doors into the sleazy project house, he saw only the full moon reflected. And then he slipped away.

It was down he went. And through locked doors and evil intent, Stairs spiraling into the darkness. No sound like winter, and just as cold. Finally he arrived at a door, larger than the rest, heavily bolted and with a whisper passed through. Light seared the eyes in the glow of candles, arranged in patterns across the floor throwing angry spirits against the walls. The Darkness came to a stop in the middle of the room, judging his distance between each of these muttering secret words under his breath, And with great care settled to the floor amongst the majic.

She felt it then, like eyes of a thousand corpses stinging at her neck. He was searching for her. She couldn’t give up now, not when she was this close. It had been years hunting, stalking. Searching out the Darkness. She had traveled lands strange and black studying the arts, as he did, so when the moment came she would have him. She made the priests pay for their crimes, every one of them she could find. But not before they had shown her everything they knew. It was blasphemy. And she was deaths angel bringing hell with her. The pale horseman. And they burned.

It was in the middle of a breath-

and they were there. Each with red eyes that starred lustfully unblinking, the undead come to take the living. ageless demons with an appetite for human flesh. Before she had always run from the darkness using the charms and prayers of the priests but tonight would be no such night. On her lips was a curse, Tonight would be red.

-and she pulled the revolvers.

Like ballet. Like watching the humming bird on a sunny Sunday morning fliting about the daisies. Like the moment between heartbeats in your daddy’s chest. Teeth and claws and blood and bone ripped the air. death fell like lovers as a piano played a slow song. The white Knight and the black hoard.


-And the piano stopped

leaving the notes hanging in midair. Bodies crashed all around twisted and broken into the pools of red. And silence.

then fell the tears with her crumpled frame. And she dreamed of her only sweet memory. the one smile in her life. She dreamed of her mother’s lullaby and goodnight, and a sweet kiss to the top of her head. The look of love in her mothers’ eyes- she looked again and it was the look of dead.

The dream had become a nightmare and one she couldn’t wake from. It was her lying in a pool of bodies and blood. Her mother was dead and the darkness was trying to kill her too. and he was there, creeping. Lumbering over her like a puppetmaster pulling the painful strings.

-she was too close.

Staggering, Dragging her combat boots through the swamp of flesh, she descended into the spiral of darkness. This would end now one way or the other. And she recited the holy words of the priests

“And when he had opened the fourth seal, I heard the voice of the fourth beast say, Come and see. And I looked, and behold a pale horse: and his name that sat on him was Death, and Hell followed with him. And power was given unto them over the fourth part of the earth, to kill with sword, and with hunger, and with death, and with the beasts of the earth.”

“Amen.”

This last word sent a shiver through every cell in her body as her guts froze over, it had not been hers…

Everything was wrong in this last moment. Her head was spinning, swimming in fear. It hit her at last- she was not the pale horse from the prophecies. The truth crushed her lungs pushing the last warm breath from within her. The priests had delt one final blow in their death twisting the words into a trap. The dark became darker and she could just make out his form. It was him, the darkness. and she behold a pale horse: and his name that sat on him was Death, and Hell followed with him.

She could feel all around her the black and lumbering things, the hellhounds and zombies and spirits and vampires. The demons that served the darkness. And she again raised those two revolvers into the midst of the darkness, this was her only moment she knew, it had to be now-

click

-and she fell to her knees.

It started as a chuckle, almost sympathetic, that grew into cruel and pure evil. A pale hand delicately touched her cheek and an icy kiss was placed on the top of her head. It was all she could do to hold back the tears and finally they poured out, all the pain she felt for her mother. How she had failed her here in these last minutes of life. How she would die just like her.

“what a waste of a beautiful flower.”

Crushed. She sat there helplessly, motionless, waiting. like all those nights she spent waiting, watching. Now she watched the last moments tick by in slow motion.

“you remind me of a girl I tried to help many years ago. She too had the same fragile face and sad eyes. I thought that she would bear my seed but she had other plans. She could have served a god!”

As he told the story he began to rage and the room grew darker. he seemed to absorb the energy of the night and grow. The juxtapose was chilling. The Hulking shadow of death and the small frail child in white. She search every pocket. Empty.


“she tried to run and take my child before it had been born!”

Then she saw it, the small crushed petals. The fragments of a beautiful life. There in the darkness, even near death its self, life could grow. Under the white petals was a sliver bullet. She reached a tiny hand out and picked up the flower.

“I don’t remember her name, like no one will remember yours”

She felt the cold steel of his gun. She looked into the dark barrel that held her death. And with a small voice and a single tear she whispered…

“Daisy.”

And placed the small flower into the barrel of the gun.

immortal

a worn brush pulls down shadow
like a shade to night

creating form from light.

a worn expression of rough tone
and of a cool blue

a face appears in hugh.

in time forever captured
eyes of yellow brown

and lips curled together, in frown.

the God all around

What is God?

Can i see Him? Do i feel Him? Is that His smell? That sweet taste, is that Him too? Does He speak to me- Is that Him i hear?

Do I swim through his running waters or fly in his ever expansive skies?

Is God one? or two? many or few?

Is God Day...
...Is God Night?


can He be both darkness and light?



is He a She?

is HE, ME?

white flowers

a Winter Sun

A new dance

the dry creaking again stirs from behind-- just behind. It's touch-less grasp sends shivers up your side in an uncomfortable embrace. You are wrapped up, snuggled, in this cold. It burns. An abusive lover. One you love to hate.

Always.
Always right in your ear.
Whispering.
Whispering "truths" with a lying tongue.

The long descriptions lull you into complacency with creamy vocabulary, the comfort of steamed milk and espresso.

...and you dance with deception to a slow waltz.

You wonder to yourself where you learned how to dance like this, you must have always known it. It feels natural.

The rhythm feels like your heart beat.

You must have always known this.

Your thoughts feel like an echo your thoughts feel like an echo.

-you miss a beat-

Who said that?

Tighter the web weaves leaving little wiggle room. The room feels stale as the lights fade.

Something...

something slips your mind. Something you have always known. It dances too... just on the edge of consciousness. There at the end of the tunnel. Towards that light.

The Light.

Suddenly stumbling, your head spins. You feel a rush as the beat picks up. The steps are too fast to keep up -but you dance. Your head is heavy like waking from a thick drunk.

The Light tears into you. You glitter through the holes left by something from another life. You shine.

The others...
have stopped.
They notice you-

are different.

You are changed.

What was stale and dark now fresh and white.


The air is cold and fast. And comforting.

And it feels

feels like...



Love.