THE TEMPLE - AS ONCE WAS - FICTION REVIEW ( FI-RE)

Our fate is doom. We know that, though as humans and our genetic error, we tend to ignore and resist this ultimate truth. Time is our only enemy and one should feel that he/she needs to make the most of it. Whether it be having a family, a career with a nice, comfy house and a few living quadropods, like my sweet dog or destroying the galaxy. That is a nice choice, if it is a choice.

I used to have a life like that. I was a decent man, a respectful and beloved man. But fate had other things weaved (as the future will reveal) for me. Every Sunday I used to go to the same Orthodox Church, with my family, along with other people of the congregation. Among them, there was a petite woman, with a fierce look in her eyes and a seductive walk that could make the gods cry with lust. I am sure you know where this leads. But I will disappoint you. My affair lasted just a few nights. It wasn’t the affair that brought me here. It was the place she led me. Underneath the holy trapeza, the square table at the top of the congregation for all to see, there was a steep stairway which led to an internal temple. A temple inside a temple. I have to admit, not without shame, that I let myself into the arms of the goddess and enjoyed infinite divinity for that finite time, defined by the confines of our mortality.

I was lost, between voices of despair and warming sounds bouncing of the stone walls. I trembled, like a wounded stray dog, at the adulterous but exquisite exploits of the body. Now, confined behind the steel bars of societal imprisonment, I yearn for my time with her. I sit alone in the dark and paint mindfully on my memories of her. My temple. The lady in white. She was the hippie witch I loved. I pray, enthralled in mystic dances of eros, with her blond hair falling upon my sword of doom, ordering me to bring fresh blood from the cemetery field. I prey upon the flesh of the ignorants, to appease my desire of her.

I was annoyed and still am, whenever she comes to me, by her soloing echo, reminding me that all of them are witches, enforcing hopelessness and sadness into my misguided soul. She stills sings to me in the night, when my eyes refuse to rest and I write this, with utter despair crawling out of my body. She told me that I was the only one she ever loved. She told me we were going to live forever and now I await my turn for the chair. I was fooled and now I am doomed before my time.

Maybe, I still have choice. Maybe I can still repair this wrong that was done to me. I am not feeling the green burning flame, as I gaze back along footprints she made and I am not dreaming of more than she has shown. She is not a foundation, she is not a stone. She is not a temple. I am. And I will be back.