Angel Dictator x Happy Democracy 2010/#5

Chapter Five- The Divine Comedy

“Avarice, envy, pride. Three fatal sparks have set the hearts of all on fire” –Dante Alighieri

    For a long while Luxor stood regarding her reflection lit up by bright lights in the small washroom adjacent to Clark’s bedroom. She sighed, slowly turning the silver knob of the tap; so that she could hear the relaxing sound of a thin stream of water splashing into the porcelain sink. Not one could argue that she was not beautiful. Her dark blonde hair framed the petite features of her face; the most distinguishing being her cobalt blue eyes. She still wore her uniform- a short black lace skirt and knee high leggings with shiny black shoes with bronze buttons, light blue blouse and a thick black silk ribbon tied around her neck to match. Luxe pulled off her ribbon and weaved it into her hair just behind one ear. She pretended to yawn, not quite sure that she remembered what being tired felt like. Luxe scratched her back, wondering where her wings disappeared to when they were hidden. After turning off the lights and turning back the tap with a metallic squeak, she tip-toed down the hall towards Clark’s room. Kingston was already snoring, and Luxe imagined hearing Clark’s dad’s snores mixing with them in some sort of nasal symphony. Clark was already sleeping when Luxe entered, in a position of being half on the mattress and half off the mattress. Hesitantly, Luxe lifted the sheets and slipped under the covers.

“Sure took you a while” muttered Clark

“Y-you’re not asleep” stuttered Luxe, patting down the pillow on her side.

“Why would I be sleeping?” asked Clark

“Ah . . . sorry!” Luxe gasped.

“What are you apologizing for?” Clark sighed, turning towards her

“I feel bad about everything. And so very strange for having been a part of it. Here I come, a girl you barely know, a girl wanting to talk about politics no less! Asking to stay with you. Invading your privacy like some kind of desperate lady of the night! You must think I am an idiot”

“Lady of the night?” asked Clark in confusion.

“You know what I mean” whispered Luxe, staring at the moonlit ceiling.

“A prostitute” yawned a voice coming from the floor.

“W-who is that?” Luxe exclaimed.

“His brother” answered the voice in exasperation.

“Lars! What the heck are you doing down there?” asked Clark, sitting up to poke a shadowy mass protruding from underneath the bed. It moaned.

“I told you my name is Larcom. Lars sounds like a Russian polar bear’s name”

“Larcom? What is that supposed to mean”

“It’s my new name”

“You have a new one every week. How do you expect me to keep up?”

“Excuse me!” cried Luxe “What is going on here?”

At the same moment the head of a scrawny shaggy haired child appeared looking over her feet.

“You never ever have had girls in your bed” he complained to Clark

“You’re not as promiscuous as I would expect” he pointed at Luxe.

“I am not a prostitute!” hissed Luxe. Lars/Larcom stood up, stuck his tongue out at her and walked out of the room, slamming the door.

“That was my brother” sighed Clark “He’s twelve”

>>><<< 

That night Marx reclined in the luxurious bed of the presidential suite. It was nearing midnight, and Marx was reviewing paperwork on economics reports, social agendas and the like. So many people had been fired that day. All by his request of course. Anyone who was too strong willed, to opinionative or too thought driven was removed from his building. They would not find a place in his new world. Thinking was far too dangerous. Free will and all of its encompassing rights were nearly lethal. Marx threw back his head and laughed, wondering how the noise echoed past the door and around the white house hallways. He stretched out his feet over the smooth silky sheets, which were clean and cooling to the touch. His boots were hanging loosely off the bed posts. Something however was not right. There was a strange tawny mass curled up between his feet, making a wheezy snoring noise. It was Sakura, Marxie’s guardian spirit.

“Scary thoughts Carson-chan” cooed Sakura, licking his lips.

 “Ian Carson-chan . . . do you want to come to heaven with me?”

“T-there is such a thing?”

“Heh! Why not right? Come on its real fun up there”

“Well, what do you want me to do then?”

“You don’t have to do anything”

“H-hey what’s . . . what’s your name?”

“Sakura. I am your guardian spirit”

“Stop reading my mind dammit!” exclaimed Marx, trying to kick the demon-monkey creature onto the floor where it belonged. Sakura made a growling sound.

“Carson-chaaann why did you leave heaven without meeee?”

Marx scoffed “Why the hell wouldn’t I? You’re pretty annoying”

“That’s not very nice for an angel like you to say hmm?”

“Since when did I ever care what you thought Sakura?”

“Marxie Carlyle” hissed Sakura, flicking his ears towards the angel “you should care”

“But why!” moaned Marx staring up at the ceiling in frustration.

“Don’t ask why silly!” Sakura winked, crawling up the bed to sleep beside Marx’s head.

Marx shoved Sakura away, causing him to whine as he hit the floor with a muffled thud.

“Carson-chan all angels have a guardian spirit. You are lucky enough to know yours hmm?”

“H-how did you find me?” asked Marx as Sakura climbed back onto one of the bed posts, balancing with his skinny tail wrapped around himself like a heavenly raiment. His bright black eyes seemed to shine like mirrors and held hints of dark blood-tinged red.

“I always know how to find you” Sakura pointed at Marx with one tiny paw.

“Hmph. Why can’t you leave me alone?”

“What are you doing here Carson-chan?” asked Sakura, landing on a stack of papers with all of his weight on one front paw. Sakura smiled, a very un-animal trait. His teeth were bright white and needle sharp. He made a purring sound as his tail curled affectionately around Marx’s foot. Sometimes he was more cat than monkey, and other times more monkey than cat.

“Please. Call me Marx. I’m not Carson-chan or Carson anyone anymore okay?  What I am doing here, you are free to watch. But you can’t do anything to stop me”

“Marxie-chan” laughed Sakura “I would never try to stop you”

“Marxie-chan is ten times worse than Carson-chan! Ten times worse Sakura!”

>>><<< 

4:00 AM—Luxe stares at the wall, thinking that she is seeing a dust bunny near the floor come alive. The moon seems bright. Luminous. Far away a voice is calling. It is the kind of voice that you would rather ignore. Because ignorance is so much more practical than pretending to be interested.

5:00 AM—Clark starts snoring, and kicks Luxe in the stomach while murmuring something. Luxe thinks to herself that it was completely an accident. 15 minutes later she starts second guessing.

5:15 AM—Luxe accidently kicks Clark back; he stays asleep. Luxe starts rehearsing a presidential monologue in her head. Monologue success! It’s going to be a hit. Love, love, love and politics!

5:30 AM—Luxe wonders what it would be like to sleep so easily. Her body begins its customary shut down routine. Angels do not sleep. At least not in heaven. In 2.5 minutes, Luxe starts snoring. Louder than Clark. Love, love, love . . . love and dreams. Real dreams.

7:00 AM— “That girl sure knows how to sleep” yawned Kingston, scratching under his armpit.

“I think I have a bruise somewhere” answered Clark, prodding Luxe in the side.

Luxe suddenly woke up and screamed like she was being attacked by a pervert. An older woman’s voice could be heard coming from the kitchen downstairs. She seemed concerned.

“Clark! Kingston! What’s going on up there?”

At the same moment, Lars walked into the room.

“Some kinda party in here?” he asked.

“Is that what it looks like?” answered Clark sarcastically.

“Hmm” muttered King, holding one of Luxe’s bare feet in the palms of his hands. “You have lovely feet Miss Luxor! Very princess-like. Elegant. Beautiful. Befitting of royalty. You know, I once knew a girl who looked just like you. She was pleasant to look at, but was rather plain in personality”

Luxe kicked King in the face “What is your problem?”

“Honey, you should get used to that” sighed Lars, sounding much older than a 12-year-old.

Luxe heard footsteps pounding against the stairs. A tired looking grey haired woman peered around the doorway. Her eyes widened when she saw Luxe.

“Luxor,” started Clark “this is my mother Elizabeth”

Elizabeth took a deep breath “Well he is eighteen. Suppose it’s perfectly normal and all . . . but still . . . already . . . and so soon too . . .”

 “She’s talking to herself again” whispered Lars.

King grumbled something and rubbed his nose.

“Ack! It’s very nice to have you here Luxor dear” exclaimed Elizabeth “would you like to stay for breakfast? I’ve started some cooked eggs, toast and tea down in the kitchen”

Luxe nodded “I would like that very much thank you”

>>><<< 

There was suffering that turned into silence. Screams that faded to nothing. Nightmares that turned into dreams. Dreams and memories all over again. Forgotten and lost. Gone. Exhausted. So tired. And sick. Dark blankets. Movement over stormy seas. Away . . . away . . . away. More screams. Drugs to suppress them. Hand over mouth. Covering eyes. No evil. This is all just pretend. This is all just a game. A game where you are fighting and drowning in a consuming black ocean. Swept away by its tides. This is not over. You have not won yet.

“Wake up Carson-chan! Your nightmares are making me nervous!”

Marx gasped. Once he realized where he was, he took a few deep breaths.

“How long have I been sleeping Sakura?”

Sakura shook his furry head and scratched his nose “Hmm? How should I know? Someone knocked on your door a while back. Said you were needed in the oval office. You were sleeping pretty hard. I was surprised, because I thought that angels didn’t need to sleep. Anyways . . . where was I again? Oh yes. So then I looked around in that dresser over there and placed some clothing on your bed. And then you were saying something along the lines of ‘five more minutes please’ and I was like ‘is this the same guy who was an insomniac in a hospital bed, all those years ago?’ because we both know that . . .” Sakura faltered. The look on Marx’s face was frightening.

He laughed. Not an entirely sane laugh. “Sakura-chan do you remember why I was an insomniac? It was because I was afraid to sleep. Do you know what happens in hospitals at night? They turn of all the lights, but there are still blinking eyes everywhere. They were watching me. I knew that they were. And every time I closed my eyes I was afraid that when I woke up I would not be able to open them. I was afraid of death at a time. This fear, so completely consuming, a heavy blank liquid fear clinging to your lungs, weighing you down. Having fun with you while it is slowly eating you alive.”

“Yes well, you have always been quite literal in how you describe things”

Marx smiled, hoping that it would make himself feel better “I was a fool to fear death wasn’t I?”

“Fearing death is natural for humans Carson-chan” yawned Sakura

“Heh . . . you know that now I am far from human. Humans . . . are pathetic”

“Marx, angels are humans. Why do you have to act so righteous? It must be unhealthy to have such a high opinion of yourself. They say that pride is one of the seven deadly sins. Love of self perverted to hatred and contempt for one's neighbour. That’s what Dante used to say”

“If we are to become technical Sakura, pride and all his friends: wrath, greed, sloth, lust, gluttony, and envy all have the potential of becoming sin. True, pride is one of the seven deadly sins. But why chastise pride? Pride in one’s self equates to pride in one’s country, in one’s achievements and one’s family . . . these are all good things! Religious fools forget that a little sin never hurt anyone”

Sakura was lost for words. Marx made a convincing argument. But did he have to right to call all humans pathetic? Though he was an angel, good, divine, virtuous etc. He knew what he was doing.

With this speech Marx slid off the bed, his mouth opening into a tremendous yawn. His wings folded to his sides like expertly crafted paper fans, each feather a crease, its own careful fold leading to another and another still. He scooped the clothes off the bed and walked into the en-suite bathroom, feeling his bare feet squish into the deep rouge carpet. Marx lightly flicked on the light-switch. He glanced at his reflection in the mirror and ran a hand through his fine brown hair which was the colour of cocoa dusted with flecks of powder white and highlighted with delicate strands of amber. He flashed a smile at the young man staring back at him with such an intense stare that could catch the eyes of every person in a room and make them never want to look away. Marx was immortal and perfect. He was a modern Dorian Grey; but far less self involved and the portrait which he set his sights on was already quite ugly. It was not the picture of himself however; it was the picture of a country with its paint spilling off the canvas because there was no frame. A frame of control would keep the picture whole. Freedom was a horrid disease, spreading its infection at a rate which could not be stopped. To maintain balance there would always be leaders and followers. Looking at history, that is how it always had been. Slaves and masters, empires and colonies, lords and peasants; it was the nature of the world. Humans without control were nothing. And that was where he came into the picture.