Demons

 In a world teeming with shadows, individuals weave thrilling tales of vampires, demons, and witches, cleverly crafting myths to escape the relentless grip of their own haunting nightmares. Each story is a daring adventure, a breathtaking odyssey into the unknown, where the line between reality and fantasy blurs, offering a thrilling refuge from the fears that lurk in the dark corners of the mind.

Monrisa

Chicago

Monrisa was approaching the intersection. A car was waiting at the stop sign. From the side, another car sped in. Four men got out, drew their weapons, and began to shoot.

Monrisa maneuvered quickly, backing up. After a moment, she cautiously approached the scene. The driver was dead. Another man, sitting behind the driver, was wounded but alive.

"Can you hear me, sir?"

The man opened his eyes and tried to say something.

Monrisa leaned in to hear better.

"Hospital."

"You want to go to the hospital. Let's see if you have the money to pay for the trip." Monrisa reached into the wounded man's coat and pulled out a wallet. Plenty of cash. A driver's license: Matheo Barone. Several business cards: Matheo Barone. She took one business card. She loaded the injured man into her own car.

Monrisa stopped her car in front of the hospital, pulled the wounded man out, and dragged him to the front door.

The radio was reporting the murder of mob boss Matheo Barone.

Damn, I messed up again, Monrisa thought. Why do all the anomalies cross my path?

In the evening, she left the lights on in her house and waited in her personal car.

She saw the two men sneaking up and entering her apartment with their weapons drawn.

Her intuition had been right. It was time to leave town. She drove all night.

Flashbacks danced in her mind. How did it begin? Monrisa had lost her virginity when she was fifteen, and soon had a long list of sexual conquests. She always craved physical pleasures and felt that pursuing relationships was a waste of time. After all, boys were only interested in her for one thing. She didn't have close friends until she met John. They got along well. Probably because they were both interested in the same things. They had the same tastes in music, movies, and sports. John and Monrisa started spending time together at the gym and occasionally went to clubs. John was killed. Monrisa investigated on her own. She asked around, searched until she found out who killed John. It was two guys. One night, she liquidated both of them. One of them pulled a gun, but Monrisa was faster. She shot the man in the head. The other tried to run, but she caught up to him. She stabbed him in the back and left him to bleed to death.

The road stretched endlessly before her, a ribbon of asphalt leading into the unknown. Memories struck her like waves hitting sharp, treacherous rocks. It was no longer just about survival; it was about transformation. She glanced in the rearview mirror. She saw the woman she had become. A killing machine. Shaped by pain and betrayal, ready to face whatever lay ahead. Monrisa began to live in a world where she felt increasingly alone. Then she became afraid. She was no longer alone. The darkness was with her.

The Way Back

 

You were the best actress on Broadway, but never quite mastered hiding your emotions.

You walked out of the theater with all the confidence in the world, but then came those rare moments when you weren’t sure of yourself.

I could feel that your heart belonged to someone else.

No one should have known the terrible beauty of your tears in my arms.

I started the ritual I keep now: taking deep breaths, walking, and humming the song you loved.

It helped for a little while.

Now, nothing can help me.

If someone were to ask her where she went wrong, she would respond that she didn’t put in enough effort.

At the very least, she could admit that.

And yet, they say no one weeps over a mere breakup now.

And yet, I still dream of you coming home.

From this place, the only thing visible is the sky.

How many of those who made it here ever found their way back?

Side Door and a Midnight Train

 

Monrisa opens a side door. Lighted cigarettes, voices, a mix of stories and silly jokes, laughter, and drinking.

Someone spilled beer on someone else.

A good-looking guy, in a good mood after so many shots of tequila, starts yelling that the bar is closed and that he's a mercenary hero. All the drunks present agree, humming the same tune.

Monrisa wants to leave, but a man kisses her.

"Come back to me quickly. We are the lucky ones. I will wait for you at the train station."

She's gone on a train. Gets off at an unknown station.

The man stands at the end of the bench, staring into the darkness. Monrisa sits down next to him and looks at the night sky.

"You have arrived," he says.

"Yes, I got off that train earlier."

"We are the lucky ones, he whispers, leaning closer to Monrisa. That train will crash into a deep grave. Are you wanted for murder?"

Monrisa nodded affirmatively and said, "Yes."

"By whom? By those who want revenge? Or the others?"

"I've only killed bad people."

"Do you ever think about those you killed. Or do they only appear in your nightmares?

"I think about them. I do this often. They're there, you know, waiting for something to happen. Or maybe they have already found their place and are waiting for me. Who knows. It's so easy to make things up."

"I wish we could stay together, the man said."

"Do you want us to form a team and act together?. Unfortunately, it is no longer possible for you," Monrisa whispers and walks towards the trees, becoming one with the darkness.

She runs and screams into the trees, but the forest has heard worse.