Hair & Hunger

I am hoping to finish this piece at 5000 words. I am close but I want to get some feedback on how to make this better. Please comment with what works for you, what didn't, what I can improve, and what should be destroyed. I eagerly await feedback/comments/contructive criticism.

-BenevolentDCC

*****

Once I had been a healer beyond repute, sought far and wide for the miracles I and I alone could perform; things have certainly changed. My stone and mortar cottage looked out on lush green fields and the settling dust made the horizon look to be afire as evening claimed the world. Now, the only safety is in solitude, the only peace of mind available is loneliness.

The stones at my back are cooling off, a sign that the Sun is setting. The wind whistles through cracks in the aged walls which surround me and I long for days when I may have been able to repair the damaged areas. To think, all the destruction beset about me because of one beautiful dead girl and the fool of a woman who tried to bend the natural balance at the request of grieving parents.

I was little more than a girl when I was approached by the sorceress. I had opened the door of the cottage my mother and I shared, the cottage I now sit inside, and there she was upon my doorstep. A woman of tremendous power with an age lined face and travel worn clothes. She told me that she had been called to my visit by the voices of the gods. She told me that I would change the world. She was right.

Under her careful and meticulous tutelage I learned to call the names of the ancients, to harness their power for miracles, spells, and incantations. I became a sorceress in my own right though I far preferred the calling of miracles as opposed to other magics. My body changed with age, the crimson tide following the same lunar cycles as other girls, but I was respected for my gifts and abilities.

The first time the king (do you know, I can't seem to remember his name) came to me he requested my powers but put to the task of helping his wife conceive. I bid him leave my doorstep for his self-serving request. He fell to his knees, his fingers clutching at the hem of my dress. Tears filled his eyes and I saw that it was love, not selfishness which motivated his request. I told him then to have his wife bathed by seven maidens in the river by the forest.

I dressed myself in my finest robes and walked barefoot to the river bank. I chanted and recited the names of the ancients, enjoying the taste of strawberries bursting on my tongue with each pronunciation. Power coursed through me and I let the spirit of the gods fill me to the brim. I placed my hands upon her sex and watched in awe as golden light shone from the tips of my fingers to be absorbed by her body.

She wept in the arms of her maidens as the power healed her, restoring to her what fate had denied. When she was dressed she hugged me and placed a kiss upon my brow. When the announcement of her conception was made the town bloomed in a flurry of activity and celebrations were held throughout the night.

A beautiful young girl was born into the kingdom and her name will be the last upon my lips. Her eyes sparkled with laughter, her footprints marked every path within the city. The beautiful curls of her shimmering blonde hair were like sunlight upon her brow. She played with the children of the town, learning to run, and jump, and skip, and climb. During these joyful times the stories of my miracles spread. I gained fame, renown, and respect. I had forgotten that these powers were not mine, I had forgotten that it was the power of the gods flowing through me which made these things possible. I grew arrogant.

Then the king and queen of the land came to me one evening, tears streaked their faces and blood stained their hands and clothes. They fell to their knees before me, "Gabriella," they cried, "Our little angel has fallen from the lookout tower! You must come immediately." I swelled with pride at their prostrate forms, gathered my cloak about me, and followed them to the scene.

Blood pooled in the dirt forming a brackish mud and the tainted soil bespoke of death. The princess, a girl of 9, lay twisted and broken in the shadow of the ivy covered spire. Her eyes were wide and unblinking, her chest as still as a lake on a windless day. I knew in that moment there was nothing I could do, I should have turned away. 'Pride will kill', the saying goes, I should have heeded this sage advice.

Damn it all! The scratching sounds have begun again. Nails as dry as the ground which refuses to claim them scrape against wood too old to take the abuse. Dry, splintery snaps fill the night air. The chorus will start soon, the guttural, halting, choking, mangled cry of her name will carry me through the night, filling my mind with nightmare images of all that I will suffer before it is done. Now, where was I in my tale? Ah, yes, I see it as clear as the door in front of me.

Standing before the king and queen, the blood of their daughter soaking into the ground, a dark stain which can never be cleaned. Their pain moves me and in that moment the end began. I let my cloak fall to the ground, the evening wind causing my hair to billow around me. The ancient names - forgotten to all but my teacher (Gods rest her) and myself - dance from my tongue and power courses through my veins.

Golden streams of light flow from my fingertips, their paths an echo of the ivy upon the tower, twisting, curling, crossing themselves before flowing into the mangled body before me. 'There is no way this can work', I think to myself (maybe I hoped it wouldn't work) but there is power in the names of the ancients and not even death can stand before them.

The girl's eyes twitched and her body shuddered as the golden light flowed into her broken body. The king and queen stood off to the side, holding one another tight, drinking in the spectacle before them. I continued to mutter the names, the intricate syllables spilling from my tongue like oil. A foul taste filled my mouth, the flavor of putrid meat consuming my senses. Even as I speak I can feel the girl's blood soaking through the thick leather of my boots, soaking into my skin. I feel as though my stomach is being turned inside out. Still the names flow.

The girl untwisted her body, sickening snaps and cracks ringing out as her mangled body re-assembled before our eyes. The golden rays no longer flowed through me, the names no longer trailed from my mouth. I gathered my cloak from the ground, wrapped it once more around my shoulders, and ran back to my cottage as fast as my feet could carry me. The king and queen's thanks and praise chasing me as I fled from the horror only I could recognize.

The praise faded and shrieks of horror followed. I could see in my mind's eye the terror spread across the townspeople's faces as the empty little girl snarled and snapped. Her teeth gnashing together as the hunger began to fill her. Blood spilled from her mouth as her teeth cleaved the muscle of her tongue, the chunk of flesh disappearing down her throat in a squishing, squelching, roiling mass. I shuddered from the images but you cannot hide from what you create.

You were so happy that day, Ashes, springing from floor to sill, sill to bookshelf, tail swishing behind you. I've not completely lost it, I know 'tis only your corpse I hold in my lap, but if not you who then would I tell my story to? When my fingers move over your bones I can almost feel the silky fur once shimmering in the sunlight.

I went to the king and queen the next day, my heart full of remorse. I begged them to end her life, to steal from her the gift I had so wrongfully bestowed upon her. The king and queen smiled at me like I was mistaken. He placed his hand upon my shoulder and ushered me from the room, whispering sweet praise and thanks in my ear as his boots struck softly on the marble floor.

They sequestered the princess to the very tower from which she fell and life resumed as if nothing had happened. As if, I had not welcomed Hell onto our doorstep. It seemed that no one could hear the sounds which haunted me at night. The snarling, the growling, the guttural coughs; mockeries of the words she might have said if she had not consumed her tongue. I knew that these words were meant for me. I could hear my name in the mangled 'deadspeak' and the hunger which fueled her was a knot of pain in my stomach.

I lay awake, hearing her call "Gabriella" while all the world wondered what the strangled cries of "Gothel" could mean. I had birthed a nightmare, a never-ending, life-consuming monster. The hunger she felt, the hunger for a soul lost in death, could never be satiated. The monster lusted for chaos and destruction, was gluttonous for the flesh of the living, the flesh of the pure.

For 9 years the cries continued, growing loudest at night but only I seemed troubled by the sound. Livestock disappeared. The king and queen blamed famine, disease, poor nutrition, for the loss of animals. I suspected a much more nefarious creature. One locked in the room of our tallest tower, the floor covered with years of shit and piss, the oppressive smell of excrement saturating the stones. My mind conjured images of cattle being forced into the room with the girl, one at a time night after night; alive.

I midwifed Death incarnate into the world through my hubris. I knew it then just as powerfully as I know it now, though I have proof now. Proof in the form of the masses which gather beyond these walls night and night again. Ha! My last boastful claim is that I am responsible for the end of days!

Last night I dreamed that I opened the doors and walked out among them. They spread before me like a sea crashing against the rocks. I could feel the mud squishing beneath my feet but when I looked down, it was not mud upon which I walked but the organs and bowels and masticated flesh of those I once knew. Blood soaked my feet and the smell and taste of copper filled my nose and mouth. I walked to her, she was barefoot, unblemished by time or the chaos around her. Her hair was golden and luminous beneath the moonless sky, her eyes were bright yellow like the golden rays which allowed her conception. She beckoned to me and I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. This was no little girl such as my senses tried to convince me. The girl before me was a predator. I watched in horror as my feet followed her commands. She pulled me into her arms and I felt the stings of millions of teeth upon my skin.

I awoke that night with a scream so loud I'm sure I woke the dead. . . . Woke the dead! Ha, Ashes, I forgot what a talent for humor I once possessed. No? You don't think it's funny enough to laugh? Not even a meow? Silly beast, I'll explain it. It is funny because I DID wake the dead. I remember that I could not go back to sleep (only in part because of my nightmare) mostly because those damned creatures started in with their scratching, and moaning, and feeble attempts at normal, decent speech.

Where was I? Sometimes the racket is too much to think over. Sometimes fear steals my thoughts. Tonight, oddly, it's hunger. Hear their cries? Gothel, Gothel, Gothel! Gabriella is my name! Gabriella!

I don't know how the stories spread or even what the rumors were. I didn't care about the riders as they came into town. Dread filled my bones. You remember, don't you, Ashes? My beautiful cat. That was the night I held you in my lap, knife concealed beneath my frock. I stroked you from nape to tail and when your delighted purr filled the room, I slid my blade into your heart. Oh! I'm so sorry about that! I could feel what was to come and I knew that I would need food. The loss of your company has been unbearable and your bones leave splinters in my gums.

If only he had slipped, as she had, when he climbed her tower. But he did not. If only she had consumed him entirely when he stepped through her window. All might have been avoided. Instead she succeeded in only biting him. He shoved her to the ground and climbed back down the way he came. I was the catalyst, he was the change.

The stench of the infection clung to him. His skin developing boils and sores. A hunger which could not be satiated filled him with pain and rage. A fight broke out in the tavern. Many were wounded, many were bitten. There was nothing I could do to stop the coming storm. I huddled within this cottage, barricading the doors and windows and praying to the gods who now abandoned me, that the walls would hold.

I could hear the squelching attacks as teeth pierced flesh. The screams of confusion as loved ones became half-rotted monstrosities which refused to die. Above it all, I could hear her, still in the tower, still calling: 'Gothel, Gothel'. With one bite, one wounded prince, she had created an army to gather at my door.

The king and queen, too late in their actions, sent men to kill her in her tower. I could hear their screams through the boards on my window. I huddled in bed as she tore at their flesh, the sounds of spraying blood consuming me.

The last time I dared glance through the dusty beams which criss-cross my would be window, I viewed a world mostly unaware of my plight. The events which had transpired, transforming those I once knew into unspeakable nightmares, had not changed the landscape. The same rolling hills and fields (though now they lay un-sewn) rippled in the breeze which traveled the world as they did when I was a girl. The clouds moved unendingly onward. Insects buzzed, flowers bloomed. The end of the world was, as I remember, surprisingly quiet and beautiful. Almost peaceful save for the staggering creatures walking, limping, or crawling across the ground waiting for the doors to the cottage to give way or the walls to crumble down.

The door has broken open, I will not cry, I will not scream. Their hands grip my arms and I'm sure your skull, still bearing my gnaw marks, lies forgotten upon the straw floor of the cottage. Their bodies smell of must and decay, flesh hanging in flaps. Some are missing eyes, some whole chunks of their bodies. The worst are the ones I can still recognize.

Katerina, her left eye missing and a gaping hole where her lower jaw once was, carries the head and shoulder of her infant child. He suckles at her breast, tearing her flesh with the little chips of teeth just breaking through his gums. I want to turn my eyes away but I can't.

Benjamin, the baker who brought me fresh bread every morning, gaped at me with wide lidless eyes. His fingers were missing, his hands bloody stumps at the end of gray gangrenous arms. I turned my eyes from him, only to have them fall upon his daughter; Sasha. She stood naked in the cold, feeling none of the wind that played through her hair. Her breasts were putrid sores dripping puss down her stomach. Scabs covered her sex and one leg was absent from the knee down.

On and on the army of nightmare creatures, the carnival of horrors, stretched. The contents of my stomach: your barely digested bones, rise in my throat. I try to choke back my revulsion but the acidic taste of bile fills my mouth and I vomit down the front of my dress. There is no escape.

The masses spread before me, they are taking me to her, I know they are taking me to the base of the tower. I recognize my dream for what it was, not an errant conjuration of a fearful mind, but a premonition of things to come, of terrors which wait for me alone. The hunger that fills them all, the terrible pain coursing through their insatiable bodies, can only be satisfied by my death. I begin to shake, my fear consuming me. My tongue trips over the spells and incantations I once knew so readily and despair steals the air from my lungs.

My bare feet drag through the mud, unlike the dream only mud lies beneath me. Growls and shouts fill the air, taunts I do not recognize. Teeth snap together and my progress comes to a halt. They throw me to the ground and the mud swallows me. I lift my head and see immaculate bare feet. Delicate toes upon the green grass of the field. I pull myself to a sitting position and find her standing before me.

She wears the same dress though it is stained with dirt, blood, and other unidentifiable substances. I can feel myself shaking, I know what is to come.

She twitches. Her head cocking to the side in a violent movement of uncoordinated muscles. Her eyes meet mine but there is no warmth, no hope, no life. Her hair, once a tangled mass of golden strands, stretches behind her in mud caked masses of brown tangles. Aside from the tongue missing in her mouth she remained as perfect and beautiful as the day I revived her. Her flesh untouched, pore-less, like the skin of a doll. Her skin was pale from lack of sunlight but there were no discolorations, no bruising, no decay.

I had thought it so long ago, the moment the power flowed from me. Not even death could stand before the power I had released.

"Gothel?" the pitch of the choking noise makes it seem a question.

"Rapunzel." I cannot help but utter her name.

I force my tongue to speak the ancient names but the flow of power does not come. I look to my left, the hand of the queen is on my shoulder. There is very little of her skin left but the fabric clinging to her identifies the royalty. My hair is pulled viciously. The king reprimanding me for raising my eyes to his wife.

A hysterical laughter breaks free of my mouth. The monsters standing around me take no notice. I am the architect of my own destruction. I have changed the world with one action and now I face the wrath of the new regime.

As her teeth bite into my shoulder I scream. My blood, hot and thick, flows down my chest in little rivulets. She pulls her head away from me, tearing the skin and meat from my bones. My voice cracks from the pain. The smell of copper from my blood is overwhelming and the world spins before my eyes. I struggle to focus but I can see nothing more than her mouth chewing, up and down, up and down, her eyes never leaving mine as she consumes the flesh from my shoulder.

She steps back from me and waves her hand in a dismissive manner. Her prince steps to her side and looks at the blood on her face greedily. His lips are missing along with vast portions of his face, neck, and arms. He moves from her toward me. His footsteps mix with those of the approaching mob, the hungry denizens of the world I created.

It takes an eternity for my life to leave me. They start with my extremities, pulling flesh from bone, chewing the ligaments and tendons, drinking the marrow from cracked bones.I feel the agony of every tearing pull of teeth, hear the snap of my skin shredding in their mouths, feel the pressure of their hands holding me in place and above it all the watery wheezing of my panicked breath. They are upon me, a writhing sea of arms and legs, mouths and teeth. The army of the princess, a rotting wave of corpses animated by hunger. My screams fill my ears as my body fills their stomachs.