It was a dusk of a cold Thursday when she stood before me.
A backless red wrapped around her body, making her more beautiful than she already is.
I felt her presence changes again and again, until she finally breathes weather so steamy yet bizarre; I can now gladly say that I had cigarette with a succubus.
She was in no chill, as I couldn’t even feel my toes.
A fine evening, she said.
It started from the toe, but in a single millisecond my whole body froze in the presence of its voice.
A little too cold for me, I decided to use words to melt my freezing body.
Unlike what most people think, I am not a soul-sucking Satan.
We don’t actually call you ‘Satan’. You have different names. Some of the epithets are even mythological.
I assure you, I am none of that name. Those wicked things are mere minions, even some of them are just personifications. Some of them have wings for god sake.
So what are you?
Red lips opened, as she seemed to savor the sudden silence. I hate those lips. She manipulated the very scene, knew that beauty only lies between words, within silence. So instead, she inhaled the white smoke out of a stick of tobacco, making every burnt chunk she sipped through her lips seems to be scrumptious as hell. She did it in a very slow manner.
I am the goddess of night rituals, The Beguiler of fornicators and the author of the term ‘abortion’.
You are also what rapists and molesters worship.
Sometimes I answer prayers, but not necessarily from them.
And now you’re answering mine.
She bit her lower lip, and then kiss the tip of her cigarette again. That single moment happened in mere seconds yet it felt like a lifetime to me. That mouth quenched me, conquered me, grant me ecstasy no woman could ever bestow upon me before. Until I noticed what’s between her lips is nothing like a cigarette. It was so thin; no factories could possibly create such. Its scent was way too powerful; no perfumery could possible fabricate one.
No. This meeting here, It is just a coincidence.
Isn’t that scenario way too romantic for you? I thought romance belongs to your sister?
We’re almost twins, don’t you remember?
I ran out of cigarette.
She gave me one.
Or should I call you Rotia?
No, from erotica.
Now that’s very creative, way too vulgar actually.
Vulgar? I say you are the most banal of all.
Me? What about brother blud?
She leaned her face towards mine, putting her mouth half an inch from my ear.
He even invented fire, she whispered fiercely.
I finished her cigarette. It was ineffable. And as we are almost fallen to the abyss of silence, she asked the one question that would change my life forever.
Do you like the cigarette?
I love it actually.
My, my… I guess you are better than I expected.
What do you mean?
I was shocked. I know she is cunning but cigarette is such a cheap trick, I never thought she would go for that.
Congratulation, you have successfully took away my virginity.
She smiled. I will never forget that smile.
Walking away, she turned from red to blue, then to purple and to yellow, and on to different bursts of colors my eyes could not catch. She was a rainbow and a devil, the blinking sign in red light district and the moaning in feeble alleys, she is the harbinger of every heir, the shared sweat around midnight and the destruction of Troy.
She is one sin of a mankind.
Sadly, she is mine.
And this is the elegy of my curse.