Quiet is Violent

I feel my pupils dilating the moment I die and my soul escapes. I have left another body again. I keep on sending desolated bodies down. None of them were strong enough to me. So many have perished with fear in their eyes. I've seen it countless times. But if only they knew their purpose. Though none of them have sufficed me for too long, they all helped me somehow. They showed me what an imperfect, weak, flawed body is like. They should've expired with a smile on their faces. But it was not always like that. I was not born to steal bodies. Something has happened and I was forced to make sacrifices. I took bodies for cleansing. I dwelled on them for as long as they could bear, and when they were broken and weak and empty they were sent down, but not before I took over another one. But it was not like that in the beginning. In the beginning I was in the void. The lid was open and I could go anywhere, in this universe or another. I could be anything, I was free. I became everyth

It is Sunday early in the morning and he is already downstairs, the shop already smells like baked chocolate chip cookies. When he finished the slow process of measuring, sifting, and stirring, the dough rises in the oven and the house becomes saturated with the scents of butter and flour and chocolate.  As the process is almost ready, he starts washing and cleaning the equipments he has just used, leaving everything in the kitchen shiny and tidy.  The cookies are ready, he takes them out and put them on the marble table. As he waits for them to cool down, he starts making a list of the supplies he needs to buy that day. He checks the huge fridge and the cupboards, making sure he didn't forget to write down anything that is missing. Once the cookies are cool enough, he puts them in a small container, gets the shopping list and goes outside.  His shop is at the far end of a peaceful street not very close from downtown. Despite the time, movement can be already seen on t

It was a spring morning in a relaxed Saturday when the letter came. The jeweller was in his house, stretched in a lounge chair in the backyard reading a book, enjoying the warm sun in the company of his loyal dog, Buster. The doorbell rang, but it took a while for the jeweller to get up and check on the door. He never received any visitors, and it was Saturday. Somebody at the front door on a Saturday was something very unusual, even for him. He got up and was greeted by the  mailman, who gave him an envelope, saying that it was an urgent matter that apparently couldn't wait until Monday. The mailman left shortly after, a trail of dust on the road behind him. The jeweller analysed the envelope as he headed to the living room. It was a beautiful manila envelope, not very large. His name was written in one side of it in a neat, fanciful handwriting. On the other side, there was the name and address of the sender: just the initials A. G. D. It came from England, an unknown st