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into them. And the Chimera laughs as he greets
them, down below.
    But the lost souls aren’t my problem. The
Chimera is my problem. We’re friends in a strange, make a deal with
the devil kind of way. Like I said before, he likes me. He’s a
fallen angel like the rest of them, still wanton in his desires. I
guess I fit with his image of a partner.
    He’s here to collect. Anytime, anywhere.
That’s our deal. I don’t have to go straight to hell. He possesses
my body. Gives a whole new meaning to burning desire.
    He knows that you’re most vulnerable when
you’re frightened. That’s why he sends in the demon first, to
soften you up. Like I said, he’s a true sadist.
    I do have a choice in the matter. God gave us
free will, the ability to choose which path to follow. My path is
forked, two roads less traveled. I can accept the demon’s proposal.
Go with him the next time he comes to me. It’s a toss up,
sometimes, which is worse. The Chimera or the demon. Love, or
death?
    I could just never sleep again. It’s not like
I get any rest. Every time I close my eyes, start toward that REM
stage, they appear. Never sleeping again is a comforting idea.
    I wish I could take back that night. The
Chimera was there; I didn’t know that at the time. I thought it was
just the two of us, alone in the alley. That no one heard my
screams. That I was abandoned. That I wrestled the knife away at
the last minute with my own strength. That my fingers grasped the
hilt. That my muscles forced the tip of the knife into the man’s
gut. That the blood spilling onto my arm, my torn dress, my shoes
was untainted.
    He could have let me die. It might have been
easier.
    It was ten years ago.
    The yin and yang of his world is too complex
for me to comprehend. Suffice it to say that while I was being
raped and strangled, he stood and watched. Waited. Knew that he
could give me the strength to overcome the man and stop the attack,
which he did, just not until after the man finished grunting and
scraping at me. When the knife appeared, the Chimera stepped in,
silent, transparent. He grasped my hand, grappled with the knife.
Using my strength, he stabbed the stranger in the stomach, driving
the blade in so deep that the warm spill of his intestines gathered
in my hand.
    He turned with that luminescent smile and
said, “You owe me.”
    As we were driving our deal, he had the
audacity to point out I should thank him for saving my life. What
kind of life is this? Labyrinth assassin, fevered dreams, the warm
copper spice of lifeblood pouring through my hands. The Chimera,
possessing me night by night, the length of him buried deep between
my thighs, his scorching desire blazing inside me.
    He comes to me, insatiable, unfulfilled.
Takes me, over and over. Drives me onward. Over the brink, where
the madness of climax allows me glimpses into the raging inferno
that awaits.
    He is the cause of my reckless journeys, my
wasted relationships, my never-ending string of dead end jobs. He
is in the drugs, the alcohol, the cigarettes. The lush, provocative
nights and the solitary days. He never leaves my side, but only
appears when I sleep. He and his demon familiars.
    I’m a lucky girl. I’ll never be alone
again.
     
     
     
    BITS AND PIECES
     
    Blog Short Story Project 3, March 5, 2007.
Sponsors: Dave White and Bryon Quertermous. Theme: The required
theme was something to do with blogging. What better than to start
one?
     
    The Musings of a Serial Maniac
     
    Monday, March 5
     
    Welcome back, mes amis. I apologize for the
long absence. I’ve been tied up.
    As those of you who have been reading from
the beginning know, the melancholy has begun. It’s just not easy
living inside a body that you cannot control. I didn’t choose this
path. The life chose me.
    This was treasure number five. She was
delectable, lithe and smooth, and over the next few weeks, we’ll
get into all the details. She was the finest triumph thus far, I
assure you.
    But mes amis, I