The devil’s arms

You want to hear a story?

I will tell you a story – just don’t expect a happy end. That’s not how it goes. Because as always it started with a bottle, finished faster than it should be. Which is a sign that something will happen – either you remember, or you don’t, but something will happen. And the need for adventure starts running through your veins. Whatever common sense you were holding on to, you are suddenly willing to let go, and see what happens.

That’s when the danger starts. I put on black eyeliner and greeted the devil. He gently laid his hand upon my shoulder. I smiled at my reflection.

And into the darkness we went. Darkness dances best, and we only drank more – of course. I like that atmosphere of disappearing into yourself with the excitement in your veins and muscles. It crawls upon you and holds you tight. It points at the world around you and tells you you can do everything. Do it. Do it.

Then he came along.

I held the devil’s hand as he slowly started leading me further and further away from where I used to be. My vision got worse and worse, to the point where everything was blurry. Away from the lights at the other side. Wave goodbye to what is good and reasonable.

He kissed me, clawed his hand in my hair and kissed me. I closed my eyes and let it happen.

Don’t let go of me now, you were leading me somewhere. Beyond many points of no return – but with my eyes closed, I couldn’t see them anymore. They were humming, I could feel them, but I kept my eyes closed. Touched them goodbye. Didn’t let go of the devil’s hand, leading me away from all of that. He led me to somewhere deep, a place where I could curl up and fall asleep peacefully. He covered me with a blanket and kissed me goodnight.

I lost everyone, and I started feeling not well. I pushed myself up on the sofa, where we were sitting, almost alone, and tried to inhale deeply. For a moment, it was overwhelming. He took my hand and said: “We should go outside, maybe that will help.” So we went outside. There was a bench right in front of the door, which made me so happy at that moment. There was nothing more delightful than sitting and waiting for it all to pass by. I did start to feel better, slowly. Somehow, we decided it was time to go home though. And home we went. My home, to be specific. With one eye open.

I wished I could sleep. I shouldn’t, because it would make me hung over, but I wished I could sleep. Forever.

He said I should go lie down. He said nothing would happen. For some reason, I let him in. Vampires cannot enter a house uninvited. How did I even manage to open all three doors? He sat down, I moved around the table and sat down next to him. It was getting lighter outside already. I had lost all track of time. I had passed too many points of no return, and I would only come to regret that.

With my hands bound, my head down, my eyes closed, my throat wide open… The song got stuck in my head.

I lay there naked and cold, too tired to move. He stood next to me and covered me slightly with the blanket I was lying on. To my satisfaction he lay down next to me.

I slept in the devil’s arms that night, and no one ever held me tighter than he did then. With a soft breathing in my hair, his strong arms enfolding me and letting me fall asleep peacefully. Deep inside, I curled up and fell asleep forever. Just a soft, sweet silence.

I don’t remember much more than his voice, “I have to go home”, and the sound of the front door closing. It woke me up and made me run to the window. There he went, walking away. That was all.

Tear my rib cage open. Drag my heart out. Hold it for a second, and then let it fall.

His strong arms dragged me back to sleep. I curled up, in anticipation of the parting. I stood at the other side, held the devil’s hand and watched the lights. Silently I sighed and asked him if there was a way back. He shook his head and kissed me softly. There was a time I was on the other side, I told him, and you can still see the good one standing there. But he’s too far away now, the devil answered. You’ve followed me here. You followed me to the darkness, out of free will. Now you will always be the bad one. But I will hold you, and I will kiss you.

I know I have made too many bad decisions to return to the good side.

He let my heart fall.

The devil and I stood there and watched it happen. His hands were heavy on my face, and my ribs were broken. I crawled my way inside, lay down and watched the blind darkness. There was nothing but me. And there, isolated, with stones on my chest, I dropped on my knees and for the first time,


I begged.

*The song is Prison Sex by Tool. Yep, that’s the actual title!*

That One Night

“You’d better go home.”
“No. I don’t want to.”
“Really, you should.”

She turned around to take her jacket, confused at why everyone was trying so hard to make her go home. The bartender removed more glasses from the table behind her, the one she was sitting at just a while ago. This wasn’t the first time he had to do that. She and her friends had been sitting here a long time already. Being in a bar for a long time quite explains the situation.

When we first met her, she seemed all too innocent. Tall, blonde, first year at university. Didn’t drink that much. Didn’t go out that late. That all changed during the following months. But she was always the sober one, the smart one, making sure she was in class everyday again. You couldn’t say that about us. This time though, I wondered if she would make it. It was five o’clock in the morning and according to what she said, she had class at nine. And she wasn’t planning on going home. She made that clear.

I know what she would do instead. My friend stood at the door waiting.

This time she was so different from what she usually was. I remembered that one time I brought her home. I was driving her bike and she sat at the back. “Please don’t fall. Are you sure you’ve not drank too much?” We made it home safely. I even had the guts to invite myself in. I don’t know if she even hesitated. She let me in. But as easily as she decided to let me in, she made me go again.
At that point her reputation was already made: she wasn’t easy. Even my friend never got what he wanted. Not with this one. Perhaps she was too stubborn. Perhaps she realized my friend would only use her. Maybe that’s why my friend kept trying and why I couldn’t help but being a bit jealous.

What about now though? She put on her jacket, made sure everything was still in her bag and convinced a friend of hers that she would be okay. I wasn’t all too sure – she’d better go home. But my friend opened the door and they went out. We followed and I could hear her talk to her friend.

“I’ll make it home, don’t worry. I know I’m repeating myself, but everything will be okay. Don’t worry.”

My friend was still waiting there, talking to someone else now. I asked him what he would be doing.

“We’re going home.”

He wasn’t really treating her well, but I think she knew – there must have been a reason she was stubborn. They both seemed to circle around each other without ever getting closer to a relationship, nor to a sort of breakup. I knew he didn’t want a relationship, I knew he was mostly trying to use her. But I didn’t understand what she wanted. She did realize he was a jerk, right? Then why would she give in now?

Everyone started to leave. She and my friend were left. I wish she knew that I would be better for her. She smiled at my friend, not completely aware of what she was doing. Or at least, not caring anymore. This was bad and I knew it, but I couldn’t stop it. It was too late to get her out of his grip now. They were hugging again.

“Shall we go?”

She threw one more look in my direction. That innocent blonde girl, seemingly unaware of what she was doing, of what she was getting herself in to. That nice blonde girl I would like to come with me instead of him.

I turned my back and walked away.


This is a dramatised version of that night. My reputation of not being easy only got stronger. I made it into class at nine. I promised myself that this would never happen again, and it never did.

I wrote this for the Weekly Writing Challenge, after reading both this and this post. They did a way better job, but still I decided to publish this. Just because.

Life Choice # 6: Day or Night?

Up here, there’s a saying that can be roughly translated to ‘mornings are gold’. It’s the saying people use to get you out of your bed in the middle of the night… At least, what I consider to be the middle of the night. But I’m a night owl. Every morning I struggle to get out of bed, especially when there’s nothing fun to look forward too, or nothing as stressy as an exam. I need a really, really good reason to obey the alarm clock. After having the same alarm clock for 7 years or something, I still wake up quite often thinking ‘what’s this noise? What’s that? How can I stop it? I want it to stop! But how?’ Then I realise it’s the alarm clock, and I push a button, sometimes multiple buttons before I hit the right one that releases me from the annoying sound (which is just the radio, not even the annoying beep thing).
So yeah, mornings aren’t really gold to me… On the other hand, nights are my habitat. As often as I wake up disoriented, I can feel myself really waking up at 10 PM. And why go to sleep when you’re not tired? Having class all day and then going out until the sun comes up again – no big deal. I even managed twice to do this, and then without having slept I went to my morning class. I was pretty dead afterwards, and I sincerely promised myself never to do it again, but still I survived and really did that.

Mornings are made to work, you have to get up early because there’s stuff to be done and you should start with that as soon as possible. But nights are made for fun. You can either dance ’till sunrise or watch a movie, or listen to music before you go to sleep, it doesn’t matter – nights aren’t made for all duties you have to do. (It’s different when  you have an exam the next day, or when you do night shifts.) They have some kind of magic as well. You can dress up, put on makeup, lots of it because you won’t see it that hard, and become your ‘nighty’ self. When you don’t go out, nights still have this kind of ‘coziness’. Light a candle, close the curtains and enjoy your little cave. If you don’t even do that, remember that you sleep at night. Nothing feels as good as a warm, nice bed when you’re tired. That’s also a part of the night-time.

I guess it’s pretty clear I’m a night owl. No, I don’t like the idea of getting up because there’s too much that has to be done, too much that can bother you. No, I don’t feel well when I leave my bed so soon. It makes me nauseous instead. Just let me run around in moonlight and me is happy.

Kind of true sometimes. But still better than days.

What about you? Do you prefer day or night?

Life Choice # 1: Beer or Wine?

In life, we’ve got to make plenty of choices. Will I go to university? Will I marry him/her? Will I have children? What will I order at the café? If you are like me, you’ve got a hard time making decisions. Every and each of them could lead to regret. That’s a scary thought.

But, luckily, we can always ask for other people’s opinion and see if they’ve got some wisdom to share. So let’s see what choice you make!

Today, the choice’s between beer or wine. There are two other options as well though – the hard stuff like rum and gin and wodka, or no alcohol at all. I don’t want to make it seem like everyone should drink. Let’s first say that all of this can be delicious, but not if you drink too much of it, obviously. But we’re never drunk or close to drunk, are we? Good.
Personally, I totally prefer beer. But hey, I’m Belgian, and we’ve got the best beer in the world. Besides that, there’s a lot of different sorts of beer. Very different of the Heineken you probably get served in your country (unless we share our homeland). Especially the dark beers have my preference.
Wine is different. White wine is okay, but red wine doesn’t always taste that well. It also turns your lips red. Somehow, such coloured drinks immediately leave marks on my lips. Don’t know why. Very annoying.
When I started drinking though, I was totally ‘wodka-red bulled’. Probably because it was so sweet. But it’s also expensive, and well, I don’t know, I just don’t drink that anymore. It seemed fancy when I was 16 (legal age in Belgium to drink!), but now I feel more casual when drinking beer. And you can be assured of some surprised family members when suddenly drinking these ‘heavy’ beers. But it tastes so well…

So I’m choosing beer. What’s your choice?

Beer – Leffe


Fancy wine picture

Sober (part 1)

Have another glass. Drink some more. Here it is, my dear. Drink it all.

I’ve never cared about you, really. You were there, that was all. Another face. Another pair of eyes, staring at me. Another hungry look. You were starving, weren’t you? On the edge of dying for attention. I saw it and I answered your call. I gave myself on a silver plate. Trust me.

“Why can’t we not be sober?” you murmured, drunk.
“Because I pay”, I answered. You laughed. You grinned. Have another beer, my dear.
“Stop doing that. Tomorrow I’ll be so dead”, you sighed.
Yes, you will.
I smiled. “Does the world not look better with a touch of alcohol?”
“Sure it does, but the next day everything has turned black”, you sighed. You started sighing as if you knew your fate. Fate is nonsense. Fate is like clay. The future is what you mold and pinch.
“The next day is horror.”

Horror, that’s true. I’ve seen so many other faces just like yours, and all of them reflected that horror. It’s not me who made this world what it is. You created it yourself. It’s all in your hands, but you throw it away. That is what you do. And the difference between us that I don’t do that. As I said I start molding. I start molding men like you until I get them where I want them. Until they tell me I’m beautiful.

“You’re so beautiful”, you babbled.
“Am I?”
I lit a cigarette and blew the smoke in his face. What to say when someone compliments you? I breathed slowly.
Ask it.

Ask it.

But no, you just took another swig and started avoiding my eyes. Don’t ask me why they always want to tell something. There’s always something. Ever and always.
“Once, I knew a woman as beautiful as you”, you sighed. “She was just so nice and perfect…”
“Of course she was.” They are always nice and beautiful and perfect. They were the one.
“But she didn’t know. And one night, I hadn’t even asked her if she wanted a drink of me or anything, one night, she walked to the railway station and-”
“And what happened then?” I feel no mercy at this point. Just tell, let’s get it over and done with.
“Then there was a train.”
“Who knows?” you said full of misery. “Who knows why beautiful women die before-”
“Before they live.”
Another swig. Silence. You are different, aren’t you? But trust me. I will find the centre in you.Trust me.

“It’s so spoiled and tragic-”
“Drink another beer.”
“No”, you pushed my arms away, the glass away. Shaking head.
“It will only make things worse.”
It will indeed.

“Do you understand?” you asked, suddenly ardently speaking, in a sad way.
“No one deserves to die in such anonymous way.”
Maybe you do, my dear. Maybe you do deserve to die that way.