The Tempest

previously published in Tears on Black Roses 1999

"...And in her most imitigable rage,
Into a cloven pine; within which rift,
Imprison'd, thou didst painfully remain
A dozen years; within which space she died..."

- Shakespeare, The Tempest

* * * * *

The sky to the east grew dark, as the clouds gathered and undulated like giant mammals swimming across the sky. Miranda sat at her desk reading Poe's A Descent into the Maelstrom. The dim light bled into the room from the street lamps outside a patio door. Her mood was restless as she reread the same sentence for the third time, still not grasping any meaning from it. It was no use. She sighed and placed the book down on top of a mess of loose papers. These pages stared back at her contemptuously, the black ink of her scribbled penmanship mocking her inability to write. The unfinished novel lay obstructed at the climax, because she could not bring herself to complete it.

She gazed out into the twilight as the ponderous clouds drank from the sea saturating the air with moisture. A lethargic fog crept down naked streets, writhing with tendrils of grey that seemed almost to breathe. Drizzle began to fall and the moon's bloated face peered out of the gloom, tugging tides from the deep. The tempest was born.

Her inadequacy plagued her. During the short summer months she had churned out page after page of the most exceptional writing she had ever accomplished. Days had transformed quickly into nights, and still she had sat without concern for her lack of sleep or nourishment, as words poured easily from her pen with the exquisite transcendence that came as if from an airy opium-dream. She had felt euphoric. Never had she written with such passion, with such simple ease. And, then suddenly, as the late September leaves had begun their metamorphosis, it had all stopped. The climax lay on the brink of completion, stagnant, wanting, unrealized.

At first she had imagined her lack of inspiration to be a temporary obstacle, one that would swiftly and easily be overcome. But that had not happened. Instead, the well-spring of creativity that had gushed from her earlier had turned to drought. The thought of it now turned the frustration inside of her to deep despair.

Rain beat a steady rhythm on the patio glass and ran down in a shroud of obscuring rivulets. It stained the earth like spilt blood and polished the cobblestone boardwalk to a slick oily sheen. The small room was oppressively close. Miranda's nightdress stuck to her like a second skin. She rose from the chair, wiping the sweat from her upper lip and walked to the door. Her flesh was feverish as she pressed against the cool glass. She could feel her nipples harden through her flimsy nightgown as her soft breasts flattened against the smooth pane. Outside, the street lamps quivered like candle flames about to be extinguished. It was as if she gazed up from the depths of a pool at wavering lights, yet that light seemed hesitant to invade the shadows.

She unlocked the latch and slid the door smoothly open. The rain misted her dressing gown, pasting it to the curves of her body. It became transparent, enhancing the swells of her breasts, the shallow arch of her waist, her long slender legs. She loosened the ribbon from her hair and ran her fingers through the auburn lengths. Her ashen eyes searched the darkness, for what she was unsure. Somewhere within those obscure mists, she thought, there must lie her salvation.

She felt a strange, slippery queasiness in her belly, as if her intestines where slithering around like an infestation of eels. For a moment she thought she might be ill as the darkness expanded to swallow her whole. A chill crawled up her spine and she felt an ominous sense of dread invade her awareness. She felt certain that something was out there, concealing itself in the shadows, watching her, waiting.

Lightning strobed, splintering the evening into dissected fragments of light. There! She was sure she had seen a shape, silhouetted against the sky like a barren tree stretching its limbs. Had it shifted, or had the light merely been playing tricks with her eyes? She felt positive that it had moved. Her hand hesitated against the door, yet something stopped her from closing it. Thunder shuddered through the night like angry laughter.

Miranda stepped out into the rain, her bare feet against the cold, slick stones. The wind howled, whipping her rain-soaked hair against her face. A patch of darkness rippled slightly. Then she saw it; a fluid apparition glowing dimly against the grey. Slowly, it materialized, like a photograph developing before her eyes, gathering light into the rich fabric of flesh.

It had a feminine form, lithe, delicate and seductive. Miranda was reminded of the water nymphs in Waterhouse paintings, for the being had the same soft quality of light, the same innocence and magical beauty. She was completely enchanted by the creature and felt a mingling of desire and curiosity ripen inside of her.

The water nymph floated closer, wearing the mist like a bridal veil about her. The creature glowed with a pale, viridian iridescence, swaying slow and graceful as if it were born of wind and rain and sea. A mossy gown clung to the curves of its feminine form. The hair was magnificent to behold: a waterfall of rivulets that cascaded over the long neck and back and shone with a mother-of-pearl luminescence. Entwined throughout its mass were pale tendrils of seaweed.

The nymph shifted closer until it hovered in the air before Miranda. Its eyes were like deep green tide-pools, lashes sprinkled with dew. Miranda felt as if she were gazing into the depths of the ocean, and felt the lull of waves luring her closer. It raised a slender palm towards her, reaching out to graze her cheek with a perfect oval nail. Miranda noticed that the fingers were slightly webbed. The touch was cool, nurturing, reassuring. Miranda closed her eyes and pressed her face against the palm, moving her lips over the smooth flesh, slipping her tongue out to lick the rain that had gathered in small droplets. She could taste the flavor of watery currents shifting lazily inside her mouth.

A light melody played softly in her ears. It was a chorus of wind and wave, hauntingly sweet yet filled with such longing and sorrow. The nymph swayed, sweeping Miranda into a slow waltz. She could no longer feel the ground beneath her feet, and the rain was cool against her face. They spun in circles, arms embracing, bodies melting into one.

Miranda heard the wash of waves against the shore. She opened her eyes and saw that the nymph had lead her to the beach. She stood at the edge where water and sand met, dizzied by the pull of tide that shifted with the ever changing moods of the moon. The waves lapped at her ankles, sucking the sand from beneath her feet and drawing her into the watery womb.

The rock and reef jutted from the waves like jagged teeth waiting with sinister intent, ready for the opportunity to tear flesh from bone. The water was inky and moved with majestic denseness and strength. Miranda shivered as the windswept rain drenched her body. Out in the distance she thought she saw a schooner rocked by lashing waves, its tall, naked mast teetering to and fro like a huge pendulum ticking away the seconds of forever.

The nymph gathered her close and soothed the cold from Miranda's flesh, slowly peeling away the wet clinging garment that she wore. It kissed her cheek and then her mouth, the lips cool and wet beneath her own. Miranda looked deep into its eyes, and for a moment, a horrible vision beckoned to her. It was as if a veil had lifted from her sight, and a deep abyss had opened to suck her down into emptiness. Then, those warm tide-pool eyes smiled at her, and all was forgotten. She didn't notice the cold, predatory smile.

The nymph led her into the waves. Soon the sandy bottom fell away and they floated on the ocean's current, buoyed by the swell of massive whitecaps. The nymphs arms were strong as they cradled Miranda against the prevailing winds, the body as fluid as the water itself.

Soft lips, smooth and seamless, pressed against her mouth. Slowly, her lips parted to allow the nymph's silken tongue entrance. The tongue explored deeply, entwining with her own. Miranda's thoughts drifted. She allowed herself to be carried away with the rhapsody of the tide, the moon tugging her heart, the kiss deepening. She drifted on the sensual current of abandonment, the water rippled against her in cool silvery eddies. A ballad of eerie music, echos of whale-song low and moody, washing over her in waves, like the mournful voice of the wind.

They drifted upon the current, two embryos cradled by the sea's expansive womb. Miranda felt the nymphs mouth upon her own, liquid tongues fondling, cool watery breath engulfing her. She felt herself being drawn down under the waves. Inside of her a fissure opened, like a sea lily blossoming, spreading wide its feathery fronds of rapture through the web of sensation that held her euphoric in its weave.

The tongue lengthened, like an eel slithering down her throat. Panic struck Miranda, deep into the core of her being. She struggled against the nymph, desperately trying to push it away. But the nymph had fixed its orifice securely to her mouth. With each breath, she drank mouthfuls of salt water, inhaling the burning liquid through her nose, as the air was sucked from her lungs. She thrashed madly, her nails digging deep to gouge the nymph's flesh, that was now pulpy. The eel-like appendage thrust deep inside of her, coiling in the pit of her stomach. It snaked up under her ribs and lodged itself into the open fissure, beneath her solar plexus.

Wisps of memories came back to haunt her, the things in life she had cherished, fleeting by, as the nymph nursed from her soul. She realized with a vague awareness that she was being drained of life. All panic had left her. She felt herself falling down into a watery graveyard of darkness and blunt shadow. The cold was terrible now, chilling her from the inside out. Her thoughts drifted by in shades of grey, becoming more obscure, and lacking any emotion. The drum of her heart slowed and, then it stopped all together. She felt the last drop of her essence seep like water through the pores of a sponge, leaving in its wake a dark hallow void.

The woman known as Miranda perished. From her empty husk a new, loathsome creature emerged. The creature saw itself in the eyes of another. The thick aqua membrane slid back from those eyes to reveal dark, flat pools of emptiness that reflected only blackness. The eyes of a predator devoid of reason. The eyes of a soul-less parasite whose only purpose was to drain the life from the living.

The newborn felt only revulsion at the sight of this other, that was so like itself. The other turned swiftly and dove into the great green swelling shadows of the depths, leaving the newborn to it new existence. Alone. . .

***

Time is ageless and unseen. It passes with stealth, obscuring years into decades to those creatures that linger in the depths of darkness and despair. And, so it did for the newborn. Time spent uncomprehending, oblivious to the watery realm that held it captive and to the other creatures that shared its expansive prison. Time spent waiting as lifetimes in other realms fled by. The darkness was cold and void of hue. It held no comfort, and offered only an emptiness that could not be filled. The newborn did not think of why it waited, or what it waited for, it only longed for something it could not remember, something forever beyond its grasp.

The newborn did not know emotion, but felt a deep primal pain at its core. This pain was far worse than a feeling, more instinctual, more complete. With the pain came suffering and a deep internal yearning. It swam in the depths of a desperate emptiness, always hungering for a sense of something that it lacked and was forever lost. It was haunted by some obscure suggestion that something else existed, something beyond the fringe of its awareness, something that its rudimentary intelligence could not conceive. Endlessly, it waited for some nameless entity to reclaim it, and to fulfill its need to be filled.

The newborn was summoned by the sound of waves crashing far away. A pale luminescence seeped through the murky darkness from above as it swam near. Green and violet swelled in its sight. It broke free of the water and felt for the first time the air probing at its membrane. Dark clouds loomed low in the sky highlighted by the occasional streak of jagged, white light. The tempest had finally called it forth and sang of resurrection.

It saw a shoreline off in the distance, the smooth curving line of beach and water beaconing. It was drawn there, knowing instinctively that it would find what it so desperately needed.

It emerged from the sea, a membrane of slick flesh that oozed darkness and mist. It saw that the membrane was pliable, and it shaped itself into a likeness locked deep inside its memory, a likeness it had all but forgotten. Limbs slid out of the membrane, limbs with which to carry it on the mists, and those used for grasping its prey. A head emerged, and a mass of seaweed sprang from the crown. Sea-green membranes slid over the dark voids that were its eyes. The eel-like appendage recoiled into the orifice, behind new-made lips, hissing.

It listened to the night, to those pathetic cries behind the storm, that called out to be taken. It listened carefully, keenly, separating the swell of voices until it heard only one. This one cried louder than the rest, cried with pathetic hopelessness. It cried out with the need to be emptied, to be sucked dry and cease to exist. It was this one that it hungered for.

It glided forward within the tempest, slow and liquid, towards the soul that called to it. Behind its cool, watery smile, the appendage stirred in anticipation, slithering around like a nest of snakes. From a distant window, a light flickered, and a shadow of a figure could be seen. The aqua membranes slid back to reveal the void, for one spit second, the hunger overwhelming. The appendage snaked out to taste the essence of the flesh and blood creature, that hung in the air, then slithered back behind the smile. It was time. . . time to fill the void.