The Emperor Scorpion

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter (6):

The Emperor Scorpion

  

Last night, I dreamt that I was breaking pieces of charcoal into tads and ashes. Many of them had already lost the red glow. So, I searched for a fire in the wasteland before remembering I could have simply wished for and lit an imaginary stove.

 

The next train of dreams trickled into a blur of nightmares, some even too embarrassing to recall in my own head.

 

 But the most unpleasant visions are the ones that remind us of real people we no longer wish to think about.

 

My eyebrows twitched. The sunlight was too strong, as if it was laughing in the face of yesterday's rain. Either that or Demon had pulled up the blinds earlier that morning.

 

His bed was empty again. And the sheets straightened and folded by the pillow. Surprise number one.

 

"Aaron?" his head peeked behind the door, "You're awake."

 

He said it so pleasantly it made me imagine that his previous roommates frequently died in their sleep.

 

"Yeah." I pretended to rub my eyes, "I'll be there in a minute-just tell me what you wanna eat and I'll--uh, W-when are you leaving?"

 

He had promised to start hunting for a job in exchange for taking turns everyday in making breakfast.

 

"I left and came back." He slowly grinned and the door creaked, "Now go wash your face. Breakfast's ready."

 

"Yeah, fine."

 

Today's menu special: Brown Cereal and frozen strawberries, for the hundredth time this month…

 

I jumped out of bed and worriedly studied my face in the mirror by the wardrobe with the broken door. I hoped it wasn't that obvious, the swelling beneath my eyes.

 

"And don't worry," his head reappeared by the door opening with a new sleazy grin, "I tried not to listen to you cry last night."

 

Damn it…

 

"Tada-da-dum!" He spread his arms welcomingly before revealing the small glass table. Surprise number two.

 

My eyes glittered in disbelief and subtle instrumental music played in my head. I could have sworn I smelled mint and fresh cucumber a minute ago. But I chose to believe it had drifted from the neighbor's open window.

 

There were triangles of warm pita bread in a basket, cuts of garlic-soaked eggplants, green and black olives, circles of vivid red tomato and cucumber, Labneh cheese and veta ringed with olive oil and a touch of thyme, two plain scrambled eggs and a jug of cold orange juice; zestful platters and bowls sitting on the glass surface like an unreal picture in a cookbook.

 

The last thing I recalled we possessed was a nearly empty refrigerator.

 

"Don't just stand there with your mouth open. Let's eat! Come, sit."

 

"Where did you get all that?" my eyebrows cringed, "You don't--the money we ha --"

 

"I found a job this mornin'." He tore a morsel of bread and swept a mouthful of strained yogurt, "So, eat up, kid. And don't worry about the money. I was already rewarded in advance." Rewarded for what? Breaking the world record at sitting jobless?

 

"That's great." I said slightly doubtful, "Congratulations, I guess."

 

"You guess?" he exclaimed reaching across the table to scramble my hair, "You better show more appreciation from now on. I'm do--"

 

"Ah-your hands were in the food just now!" I complained brushing his arm away, "Don't touch me like that. Freakin--you're practically asking for lice and other s**t to invade my hair."

 

"What do you mean invade?" his nose scrunched, "Kid, why do you make everything sound like a sci-fi movie?"

 

After arguing over fundamental hygiene, snickering over how appealing soggy cereal and oatmeal seemed yesterday morning, Demon briefly described the nature of his job at the new chocolate factory. And he mentioned having accidentally stepped over my dream/sketch journal. I had forgotten it in the living room yesterday and I did not expect that he would consider turning its pages.

 

"It was amazing! The labyrinth and all those monsters. I saw the drawings too. Wait--How come you never showed these things to me? You're a talented kid…with crazy dreams!" My lips parted and closed again. I was lost in a dozen possible answers.

 

"Aaron, your face is red. Are you oka--"

 

"It's not red, you just keep staring at me."

 

He nodded, "It is red--"

 

"Enough." I was getting irritated.

 

"Are you angry with me? For reading it without your permis--"

 

"No, not really." I stared at the glossy black olives before meeting his eyes again, "It's just that you don't seem like the type that reads." There were dark pockets hanging beneath his dull, brown eyes, almost as if a month had passed with him wide awake. Why haven't I notice that earlier?

 

"Well, you don't seem like the type that writes. No, actually, you do, since you're a little quiet and unsociable. Hey, remember when I once asked you…" he prattled on as I internally breathed with ease:

 

Thank God I never considered recording my sexual fantasies.

 

Demon had decided to extend our celebration and search for a nearby art gallery he had driven by a couple of days ago. He was still unsure weather it was actually a gallery or a furniture store.

 

  We passed by a quiet neighborhood to the east. It reminded me of hand-holding societies I've seen in films back from the 1960's. Not far from a bookshop's façade, on a wooden bench, two men in aprons lively chattered with wide grins, and three guitar players, opposite the park with the chipped fence, lightly tilted their heads almost in coordination as they strummed a lazy tune. I could hear children shout, laugh and hoot as we drove by the shaded community swimming pool.

 

"I'm still not sure. So, don't be disappointed alright?" he unfastened his seatbelt and the engine died into stillness.

 

My head lifted upwards as I traced the huge, vertical letters of the logo stamped on the left of the building:

 

JAREER ART GALLERY

 

"Are you an idiot?" I slammed the door shut.

 

"What?"

 

"You've been debating yourself in the car for the past half-an-hour and you're still not sure if it's a gallery? Even the blind couldn't miss this sign."

 

He shrugged with a sheepish chuckle, "Eh, they once named an Oriental restaurant: Kyoko Gardens or some other s**t, so, it's often confusing."

 

"Oh." how was that supposed to make me understand?

 

The ground floor led to a reception desk behind which sat two crabby members of staff, and the first floor led to a wide section dedicated to the most significant events and wars that transformed Cyan's history until the recent present.

 

  The second floor was built of faded walls that held a million shapes of inspiration, the hallway seemed endless at first and hard to properly grasp from just the first look. Come to us, Aaron, one oil canvas secretly whispered. I shook my head to expel remaining echoes.

 

"Aaron, kid," His hand landed on my shoulder from behind, "I've changed my mind, look-- the gallery wasn't such a good idea after all."

 

"What! Why? Weren't you the one who offered a visit t--"

 

"I know, I know," two of his fingers rubbed his temples, "It's painfully boring. It's agonizingly- I mean, honestly, I'd rather suffocate inside a submarine's vault--"

 

"No. We're already here after a long search." I brushed his hand away, "You go home if you want."

 

"Aaron, please." He caught my shoulder again before I could march away, "I can't leave you alone here, you're still not familiar with the streets--Look I'll buy you a chocolate-mint swirl. If we leave right now."

 

"You can't bribe me with ice-cream," I mumbled after a pause, "I'm not in kindergarten anymore, remember?"

 

"With nuts. And extra fudge on top." he improved his offer, "And a sprinkle of rainbow colored, ah…stuff." Silence, "Also, I'll let you drive around the house for a few minutes. I won't even readjust the steering. Whad'ya say?"

 

Another pause. Demon's situation was getting more stressful and the bags beneath his dim brown eyes seemed to have doubled in layers.

 

"Deal." We shook hands. He breathed in relief, "At least let me take a quick look at the photographs over there."

 

"Alright," he said still half-digesting my response, "Don't--Just don't take your sweet time over there, eh, kid?" he called as I drifted further. I made a little wave with one hand and rolled my eyes.

 

At first, I regretted wasting my last few minutes over a horizontal collection of photographs exhibiting women harvesting crops in the brilliant daylight. But the second last frame easily caught my concentration; the rustic mother and her child stooped on their knees among the string-like shrubbery around the lake. Their eyes had hovered beyond the hazy hills. Something waited behind the final orange and violet threads of sunlight.

 

Within four thick borders of silver, a top-view shot of a young woman lying on her back over a blanket of sun-peppered green. Her long hair was streams of gold in between the mellow grasses and her blue eyes that chased a dream twinkled in an earthy smile.

 

Strangely, the part where the artist's name was supposed to be plastered was torn out, and I could only make out a 'd' and two vowels. Below that, the title of the photo read: Kylie's Cloud.

 

It was the last piece of work that caught my curiosity before I reached the weird section.

 

A group of spectators in casual attires and a variety of funny hair, probably some university students, slowly dissolved from the flock they'd been upon their entrance and scattered not too far from the bulletin board by the compilation of minuscule sculptures.

 

One woman from the same group seemed especially absorbed in a painting of a cottage on a snowy hill top. She mumbled out loud about how she had been inspired to begin a story about an ancient hero with a 'mountain accent'. Her foggy glasses and the mischievous 'I'm-in-love-with-my-fictional-character-already.'; grin was basically a warning sign for me to slowly shift away from her.

 

I wondered if I looked like that whenever I had the urge to write or draw something.

 

I might have taken a bit longer than Demon had in mind, so I hurried back in reverse, but not before taking a quick peek at one more photograph.

 

The last yet probably the most puzzling of them all; a plain, cream wall smudged with shades of aging, against which a black sealed container with wheels represented itself nothing more than what it really was.

 

"But why a garbage can?" I mumbled to myself.

 

"Em, that's what most people fail to see." a voice entered from behind, "It keeps our waste and crime a secret. If it weren't for this garbage can, our streets would have been crammed with what is unwanted." I turned around, readjusting my guard against a possible stranger only to let it down a moment after.

 

"What a nice coincidence. Meeting you here." Yara said. The hair on my arms stiffened before I recognized the safety of the glass aquarium, cradled in her arms, separating me from the dark brown, lazy scorpion inside.

 

Her father had always given her a strong 'no' since he thought they looked more like damned cockroaches. And now that her parents were separated, she finally made her wish of buying an African Emperor Scorpion come true. However, soon after, she felt a twitch of guilt for brining something her father despised into the house he used to live in, so she'd decided to surprise him with a visit at his new apartment in the western district.

 

"I might stay at his place for a while, though if he appears to be welcoming." She slightly smiled with a shrug, "The gallery agreed to feed and care for Kratos if I allowed them to exhibit him at the Ecosystem section."

 

"Isn't that great? My baby is going to be a museum star!" my heart skipped a little beat at the thin waves of her red hair that fell and shook as she cooed and tapped the glass aquarium. Why was I tense?

 

"I would rather keep him at someone's home, though." She explained, "If only not so many people were intimidated by this little guy."

 

  There were still two weeks left until the beginning new academic semester. And a sudden fear of not seeing her again washed over my head. I could offer to take the creepy b*****d in, I thought to myself. Then we'd have a reason to exchange phone numbers. I could tell her I'd already raised six or seven scorpions in the past and that it would be no problem at--

 

"And what are you doing here?" my eyes dissolved back into her shy round ones, "I never knew you liked art."

 

"I uh…Well, we were just--" These overlapping murmurs and sarcastic chuckles I'd been ignoring had begun to boom more clearly in the hallway behind.

 

"Poor thing. He probably doesn't have enough money to buy a bed." A passerby remarked.

 

  The source of those voices led to the twofold sofa beneath the mosaic royal family tree where Demon had been sleeping soundly with a weak snore despite the growing clatter and fuss over his exquisite display. And I wondered why he was waiting there so politely...

 

  I waited for the crowd to break up a little more before even approaching the sofa and angrily kicking its curled wooden leg. My nose instantly scrunched like I'd chewed on a bare lemon. It hurt more than it startled him. He slowly sat up and rubbed his temple as if it was his own bedroom I'd entered by force, and Yara eyed my stubbed foot with worry. That chain of embarrassment was enough for one day. I would murder him later.

 

 

"Thank you so much, really." she hesitated, "A-are you sure you're not driving a completely opposite direction just for my sake?"

 

"Waddya talkin' bout? Our house is right there." He pointed at a plaza of barbershops and accessory stores. The faded print of the sun on his left shoulder was visible today.

 

"No, it's not right there." I dryly said and Demon grinned in Yara's direction for having his complimentary lie exposed. His honey-brown eyes reflected the sunlight.

 

I could see a faint blush surface her cheeks. Maybe it wasn't a good idea letting her sit in the front passenger seat. Despite his carefree, social nature, Demon began to wonder if he might have said something that upset her, and I tore away through the fresh awkward silence with a few questions about the unfriendly-looking Kratos within the glass aquarium sitting beside me.

 

"I wanted to get him a brother too. You know, to keep him company." She revealed, her confidence leveling back to normal, "But they'd probably fight all the time and-and one of them would end up being eaten."

 

There was a heat mat I was supposed to install underneath the shredded cork bark. And a level of humidity to be frequently checked and regulated by using the 'hydrometer' among other tools in the plastic bag she gave me. 

 

"If he's too hot he will roll over and mope about it." She further explained, "If he's too cold, he won't eat. And when you clean the inside, don't ever ever move his furniture around or he'll get stressed and picky." She was probably talking about the lone log of wood and gooey platter in the corner of the container.

 

"Okay." I blinked at her once. I might have stared for too long.

 

"You must think I'm a weirdo." she thought out loud.

 

"No, no. Not at all. It's perfectly normal. I mean I-I know many people who-"

 

"Aaron," she said in a grim tone, "We're friends, aren't we?"

 

I accidentally swallowed whatever I had planned to say.

 

"Friends don't lie to each other. Just say it and make me feel better."

 

"You're a weirdo." I sheepishly said, then a bit more boldly "A heck of a one. Happy?" Yara laughed a 'thank you'.

 

  I could see Demon's smirk in the mirror. He made a slice motion around his neck with one finger as a way to say: That was close. I made one move, in return, with my middle finger as a way to say: Mind your own business.

Author's Note

Image Title: Painting
Artist: Rizn-F
Link to Original Image: http://www.deviantart.com/?q=painting#/art/Painting-44653778?_sid=1de416cf

Reviews

[TL Boehm]

great exchange in the dialogue here. love the humor in some of the lines I accidentally swallowed whatever I had planned to say. That line sticks with me. Well done.

[StarNinja]

Demon and the Chocolate Factory! Another well written chapter. I noticed a few grammar glitches here and there like "I might stay at his place for a while, though if he appears to be welcoming,”. The comma should come after though; otherwise the second half of the sentence sounds like an incomplete thought. Though if he appears to be welcoming… what? What happens if he appears to be welcoming? I am confuzzled!
Anyways, story elements were solid. I like that I don’t know where the story’s going. Not that the story doesn’t feel like it’s going anywhere, just that I don’t where that is. And I like that. It ain’t predictable. It’s not like other stories where the foreshadowing hits you like a freight train.
And then Mr. Dark looked at Hero with a look of anger which hit Hero with a sense of foreboding. Who is this mysterious man with glowing armor and large sword talking to the King? And why does he look like the man who killed my parents 15 years ago? Hero thought.
Argh! I hate it! Just put it all out in open if you’re going to do that! But you, Rain, you are weaving a tale whose threads I cannot yet discern, and it intrigues me. Not bad at all. Very well done! 5 stars!