Let them burn: A short story (RP Based)

Here’s a little peak at Addison, something not included in the book, The Road of Darkness. Just a little bit of the things she does with her idle time.

hqdefault

Usually she practiced her prayers and invocations upstairs in her attic. But tonight was different. Tonight was for special things. Special people. She needed a good old fashioned dirt floor, the wine cellar, under her bare feet and a small wooden work table, the wax of hundreds of previous candles hardened from top to bottom to look as if a multicolored frozen waterfall.

For tonight’s workings, Addison chose green, black and white candles. And a single gold in the center. They were already dripping as she started her workings. On the work table she had several fetishes set in a line. She couldn’t use her usual voodoo dolls, because she couldn’t collect everything she had needed. But the fetishes worked just as well.

She knelt upon the ground in front of the table and took pen in hand and started writing names, over and over and over, names, names, and more names, all on their own slips of paper. She would write someone’s name on a single slip of paper as many times as she could fit it on there. She then picked up the gold wax and placed a single drop on each and every slip of paper.

She said a small incantation and blessing to her gods and goddesses before reaching for fetish after fetish, stuffing a named slip of paper into its folds of fabric, tying it off with random old keys and bailing twine. There were over fifty of the little fetish dolls scattered over the work table by the time she was done.

Addison looked over her handiwork, giving a nod while blowing a long strand of hair from her face. She reached across the table and grabbed a jar of an unknown powder. She wiggled her toes in the cool dirt of the wine cellar and smiled, before moving a foot to smooth out the dirt once again. She got down on her knees, using her hand to smooth the dirt further, before reaching to pull her hair back, to keep it from obscuring her work.

She dipped her hand into the tan colored powder in the jar next to her, cupping her fingers slightly to pull out a small amount. From there, she began a design on the floor. At first, it didn’t seem like much, but after hours of laboring at it, it was indeed quite elaborate. A sigil for a particular god and goddess. A sigil whose lines crossed and intersected, because, as in this City, most everyone’s lives crossed and intersected at some point. But not hers, not anymore.

This was her revenge. This was her spot of fun. To many, she was a harmless little fool. To some, she was no one at all. What a mistake.

Voodoo can push and pull odds. Payment to the proper gods and goddesses can earn you favor, or, shift odds where you seek.

And there were many now, who Addison though needed a little push off the ladder, so to speak.

When bad things happened to bad people, she could say…’I had a hand in that.’ And when bad things happened to good people? She could say she had a hand in that as well. No one was making an effort anymore, why not fuck with their luck.

Oh, some would say they didn’t believe in what she did…her little voodoos and hoodoos. She didn’t care. What mattered is that their name was within a fetish, now connected to a grand sigil and she was offering gods and goddesses tokens of cigarettes, wine, bourbon, peppers and other little things.

No one would really know it was her. They’d just think ‘well fuck, how about that? Damn my luck…’.

This was almost more fun than throwing Holy Water, for the mere fact that the victims don’t see it coming. And she had so many in her intricate sigil, crissing and crossing.

She gave a bow of her head, striking a match on an old matchbook. She watched her little world burn for a moment before setting the sigil on fire, watching as the small flames moved, as if they had a thought of their own, taking their own direction, stalking its victims in order.

The small traveling flame finally died out after it ate away the powder. When the incense created by the powder hung in the air, Addison picked up a seagulls wing, using it to swoosh the plumes of smoke over the fetishes.

She knelt down on the floor once again. Daybreak would arrive soon. This had been a good night of ritual. Addison drank a shot of bourbon and said a prayer in thanks.

She left the cellar, off to bed for her. Addison petted and baby talked to her herd of cats while she made her way up the staircase, off to a void where she could watch the world burn.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s