collections of short narratives, rewritten episodes, & jovial cynicism




Rise: a Prologue

3 doors.

3 separate openings; entries–call them what you will. 

To Eve, they were three doors to hell, each one as wretched as her current so called life. Where other more fortunate and happy humans saw doors as beginnings, Eve saw them at their end: closing, shutting, dividing her against everyone else. 

But this was her fate.

She was 18, of age. 

Brought to be sacrificed to the petty game of "pick your fate, as we choose for you".

Brought to a place inhabited by people with no knowledge of your existence but the four weeks prior to your Rise.

People with a nasty absolute power, who incredulously decide they know, understand, and are qualified to control your life. She might have, could have, respected them–had they simply acknowledged this as facetious, but they were already so audacious. 

She knelt before them now: the Five. 

The wisest, calmest, maturest of Loitier. 

The original Risen. 

They sat on their respected high asses, on their respected high chairs, peering at her, through her, over their respected high noses.

Eve willed them to shrivel up and die.

The Five looked as happy to see her as she them. Blood dribbled down her arm, caked in her hair; pooled on the floor. Remnants of a fight. The heavy breathing, deep intakes of breath, and the uncontrollable grunting emitted from the guards reminded her of how hard she fought. The anxiety, the anger, and the palpable loathing Eve had towards those fucking doors reminded her why she would never stop. 

She couldn't help it–as she looked at each one of the Five, she started to smile. Bigger, and more smug it got as she went down the line, admiring her power: the higher the corner of her lips turned, the lower theirs went. At a feeble attempt to compose herself, before she gave into delirium and burst out in laughter, Eve glanced down at her current state. Her legs bound and covered in cloth colored by snow, stark in contrast to the beautiful black floors beneath her knees. 

They had her kneeling now, before them.

But this, just like all of this, was temporary.

For Eve would soon rise. Oh how she will Rise!

And oh how they will all pay. 

Tatyana Mann