Lucrezia Magazine

  • Photobucket


The Cozy Spot

5 posts categorized "Metamorphosis"

March 31, 2007

Metamorphosis - V

This is the continuation of Metamorphosis, which is likely to continue for a little while yet. This section is aptly titled, Becoming, and relates a different kind of defloration. The previous parts can be found in the Categories section under Metamorphosis.


The old servant quickly returned to pick up the remnants of her worldly possessions; Meremptah turned, gazing at the wall opposite.

“Return with the instruments,” his voice reverberated.

“I shall.”

Her nakedness did not faze him; anticipation crawled forth from the recess of her mind, to pool at the lowermost portion of her belly. Thorns of fear, curiosity and embarrassment, prickled her skin.

“You won’t be needing any robes,” he turned, and glanced at his servant.

Continue reading "Metamorphosis - V" »

January 11, 2007

Metamorphosis IV

The Seventh Day

“Nice to have you back David,” Matthew sat, one leg over the other, on a metal stool.

“You won’t think so once I break through this. I’ll kill you…slowly,” David rasped.

“Thought I’d run through Icarus’ latest achievement, all thanks to you David. We’ve reversed AIDS in a rhesus monkey. We’re moving onto human trials as soon as the FDA approves my new drug,” he smiled, “ something they’ve fast tracked after the president gave the nod.”

“You’ve aged,” David said, sinking to the usual dagger compliment.

“On the contrary. I’ll remain fifty for the rest of my natural life. It’s interesting don’t you think? What would Alexandra say to that?”

David swallowed and searched the room for a way out; his eyes settled on his bonds.

“They’re quite secure, we patented the mechanism; I’ve magnetized you.”

He watched the man, a man he once knew as a handsome graduate. Matthew had grown into a withered hippy. His lustrous hair receded; each stringy gray mass was tied into a loose, half dead ponytail.

“You’ll have to dye your hair Matthew. This isn’t a movie, you won’t return to your younger self and Alexandra’s interest ceased the day she terminated your contract. Mind you, she’d be shocked at what you’ve become, a wrinkly old geezer…”The first slap stung his right cheek. Matthew panted, and stopped as David bared his teeth.

“Trying to bait me David? Think you’ll bite me and be set free?” he pulled up his sleeve, pulled off the adhesive strip off his upper arm and described the new vaccine.

“You think you’ll live forever?”

“No one can kill you. You said so yourself,” Matthew said, returning to his seat.

Did he say anything? He couldn’t recall.

“I forgot to mention that we’re able to map your dreams. Alexandra’s always got on your back about knowledge. You should’ve listened to her David,” he sweetly said.

“That’s nothing,” David began, viewing the dark pit before him, “I’m nearly closing a century. Alexandra has walked the earth before your savior was allegedly born, and you’ll never know the full story through my thoughts or dreams.”

“I’ve arranged for a meeting. She’s accepted my invitation David. What do you say to that? You’ll soon have some company.”


“Yes David.”

“Alexandra taught me one thing. You’re only as good as the army you command, and she has an army that has seen most documented wars, ancient and modern,” he eyed the scientist, the salty taste of victory coated his tongue. Matthew turned and gazed at him, uncertainty creasing his forehead into five horizontal lines.

“I may not have an army, but the World Council commands an impressive army David. We’ve whipped the world into shape. The New World Order of the 20th and 21st centuries has become passé. You’re aware of that aren’t you?”

“There is no experience like the genuine article; your technological army of clones and androids are programmed by people who’ve hardly set foot in the outside world, let alone seen a real war,” he said, remembering Alexandra’s previous warnings.

Continue reading "Metamorphosis IV" »

Metamorphosis III

When does sex enter a story? Lately, I haven’t really been focusing on making sex a story centerpiece, haven’t been in that frame of mind but there’s a bit of sex in the third part of this story. It just happened at the right moment or interval, which worked out for me. As for my daily life, I was supposed to be packed for my interstate trip on Friday to see the rellos, and I haven’t done anything. There’s a lot of stuff going on upstairs like how I’ll deal with being that person who walks right into a reunion of sorts. So it’ll be another late night for yours truly. I think I’ll start by packing up the girlie things I need, makeup and whatnot, and I’ll go from there but for now there’s part III below, and tomorrow maybe, I’ll post part IV as a bye-bye gesture.

Metamorphosis III

Journal: 5 December 1944

The two men ruined everything; they remain embedded in history as steadfast generals, and she was demoted to being their tartlet. The first, a ferocious animal is hailed for his military acumen, and the second is classified as a notorious lover, even though his ambition equaled that of his mentor. The first entered their arena, and brought his empire with him, smashing down centuries of knowledge and the other lost his nerve at the opportune moment. We couldn’t douse Alexandria’s flames. Their avid followers pummeled wisdoms passed down by the ancients; fragments remained, the irreparable damage would echo through the times, teaching fanatics to thrash, main and silence those who dared to explore, create and expand their inner, and outer worlds.

How can a man sire the cosmos? Is his prick long enough to fertilize his womb; is he a hermaphrodite? Where is the evidence?

Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. The devout man expects a confession; in this way I’ll reserve my hallowed seat at the Gates, and wash away my sins.

Sieg Heil, they all scream, and the inquisitive prisoner looked on, evaluating his chances, like millions before him. I’m not sure why I chose him. David seemed like a good candidate.

“I can’t save you all,” I say, “I buy you time, and hope for the best.”

“But you can do more, you said…”

“Do you have what it takes?”

“What makes you think I haven’t? I’ve endured this,” his eyes swept the room.

“I’ll need time, David.”

“What for? It’s a simple procedure,” his downcast eyes betray his sunken soul; a couple of years in here will do that to a person. The rigorous regime, honed over the years, doesn’t stretch to accommodate the human soul. There is no wisdom here; the books were burned long ago, and the little man only approved works that sat on his pristine fence. The room shrinks, and David’s veins pulsate with uncertainty; the tenacious scent of survival holds him together, offering nourishment I miss.

“It’s not that simple,” nothing ever is, “I’ll speak to you later.”

Two officers stopped me in the hallway; there will be another load tonight, they said. The wounded men arrived by train to be transferred to the infirmary; their bodies are mended, and their hearts are fed with pints of blood. David’s idea of immortality includes a rash revenge plan; he doesn’t understand the common thread within us all. The beast lurks within every human; the way some of the prisoners treat each other turns my stomach. Dictators may as well grow on trees. They may not rise from the same plot, but they’ll reappear swathed in different colors, worshipping different deities and speak other languages. I should have sheathed the knife; I plunged it through my sternum, and David choked, bringing up his weak tea.

“How do you do that?”

“Do you have what it takes?”

David’s eyes widened as I withdrew the serrated blade. Fear overtook him for a moment, and he pondered my origin. I had to be a demon for only a demon would work in this hellhole, he said. He’d have to ask the priest who got me into the mess – world - I am in.


Continue reading "Metamorphosis III" »

January 09, 2007

Metamorphosis II

The First Day

You’ll never learn if you carry on in this manner. It’s imperative that we progress, and adapt to the evolving world. The first step involves updating your knowledge. You have all the time in the world, and you spend more time hunting pussy and sailing down red carpets. It’s not the Zone, you’re starving yourself and it’ll get you into trouble.

He stared at the white ceiling. Added to the other three surrounding surfaces, it totaled four walls of fear. His languid limb ignored his conscious request to flee the scene.

Need to get up, and out.

He couldn’t fool himself. No doors, windows or air-conditioning ducts; he’d die in here, he thought. His eye followed a red tube that entered his left arm at the inner junction of his elbow. Blood. He hadn’t felt that good in a long time; he wriggled his toes.


His hoarse voice bounced off each wall. The eerie emptiness found a familiar home within him, taking him to a place that altered his life. 1944 was a bad year for some, and an eventful year for him.

The room was similar to this one, except the furnishings matched the era. He’d shuffled toward the chair, his spindly limbs amazingly held him up; he attributed his longevity to his adopted faith. When one hit the absolute bottom, there was no other way to go so he believed that he’d fly aloft. What else was there to think about in Auschwitz? God? The woman behind the desk shuffled a few papers, none of which bore his name. She averted her eyes, kept her mind on the matter at hand; the oversized, off white laboratory coat failed to diminish her ample breasts. He was a number and she was there to assess his health; they needed blood for the wounded soldiers, and she calmly described the procedure, mentioning the added benefits. Three balanced meals a day; he’d be relocated to another section, away from his friends and he’d be returned without notice, once the need diminished.

Continue reading "Metamorphosis II" »

January 08, 2007

Metamorphosis ~ New Story

It’s difficult to explore a vampire story. There seems to be a traditional element concerning the traits of the vampire, most stories adhere to Stoker’s original character (even though there were discrepancies when Lucy had to receive various blood types from donors.) and there’s always the ongoing theme of good versus evil, in the form of Christianity being threatened, and prevailing over the evil represented in Dracula.

So it’s difficult to explore a vampire story where I didn’t want to churn the same stuff, and explore the same themes. Good versus evil can become too long in the tooth, but it also poses the question of whether the vampire loses its romance or appeal if the story takes a detour, I eliminated Christianity (crucifixes, holy water, etc) from the picture because I wasn’t interested in creating any Von Helsing type characters. I’ve never personally been interested in the good versus evil concept in vampire stories. I’m more interested in the eroticism, followed by immortality and the problems surrounding these two concepts. Sometimes I think that Christianity serves no purpose in the modern vampire story, stories evolve as does technology. What I do like about vampire stories relates to their outlandish characters. Come on, a vampire that can live for eternity. It’s as weird as anything out there, and that’s what makes it fun to explore. The other thing that came to mind was the eroticism: how erotic would a vampire feel after roaming the world for centuries, having so much sex; wouldn’t they be bored? There’s that too. Metamorphosis is something I began playing around with last weekend. It looks like a lengthy (for this blog) little story. I think the only traditional Stoker element (so far) I have is the diary/journal entry. Most of the story is in the form of first person, or third person, generally told from different perspectives (sometimes first person grates on my nerves, and third person offers more room to move), but the first installment is first person, introducing the central character - a female - on the hunt.

I’ll be posting more parts toward the end of this week, as I’ll be away for six days from this Friday onward, and I have a lot to organise (packing etc).

Metamorphosis - I

What if I told you that a vampire’s immortality is unaffected by human hands, that a wooden stake is an ancient salve designed to calm the terrified masses? If you glance at my skin you’ll see the Bahamas with a pinch of St Tropez; the sun is like an old friend or travel partner. We’re supposed to shrivel up, die and for our desiccated flesh to merge with the blowing wind. The poignant end, a cinematic mainstay, offers much amusement; moviegoers leave the theater, to return to their ordinary lives and hardly discuss the legend they’ve watched. It’s all about the hotness; the leading actor is a dreamboat, played a hot vampire and boy, would they love to have his shoes under their bed!

I tend to hunt in the morning, preferably when they’re performing one of life’s mundane tasks; the harried man is pushing his overloaded shopping cart toward his car, content to have made the pilgrimage just before the busy period. A person’s mind is focused on completing the mundane task, like a rodent in the maze of the undercover car park. These places change by day. By night, they take on sinister notes. One is told to avoid such places. Come day, the guard will come down, and they’re incredulous, often speechless when I pay them a visit. Their minds fashion a film montage showcasing Christopher Lee, Bela Lugosi and Tom Cruise (some prefer Brad Pitt, and I cream them over Antonio Banderas).

I’m equal opportunity; a smattering of cellulite or a beer gut makes little difference to me. I’m a professional; nourishment is essential. If I stopped to consider the prey’s image, I’d starve to death. I’m more concerned with the inner workings than prêt a porter.

Their frightened eyes scream; he quietly began loading his bags, and I ask him if he needs assistance. The question alarmed him; he’s accustomed to uncaring pedestrians, superficial women and opted for a cautionary, monastic existence. He smiles at first, and greets my tits, seeking out the nipples he’d like to roll in his mouth. I lean into him, expose him to my aroma and his lips part. When his genes awaken, and I smile, he begins to panic. I seldom hunt. The occasional prey keeps me on my toes; a hunter needs to hunt. A blunt knife is useless, and life continues.

You’re not supposed to strike during the McDonalds breakfast hour!

That’s what they’re thinking; it’s what he thinks.

Au contraire, mon ami…

Continue reading "Metamorphosis ~ New Story" »

Enter your email address:

Delivered by FeedBurner

Sponsor -

Premium Space


Visits n Things

  • Readers Online

  • eXTReMe Tracker

  • Photobucket

  • Personal Blogs - Blog Top Sites


Reviewed By...

© Anastasia Mavromatis 2005 - 2008