Page 1

ALittleGoodBloodMakesTheGrassGrow.

By: Rocky M. Magana 1


A Little Good Blood Makes The Grass Grow.

By: Rocky M. Magana 2


ALittleGoodBloodMakesTheGrassGrow.

By: Rocky M. Magana 3

Part II: Murder in The Museum


A Little Good Blood Makes The Grass Grow.

By: Rocky M. Magana 4

Chapter I The New Servant & The Kids. “Murder is always a mistake- one should never do anything one cannot talk about after dinner.� -Oscar Wilde


ALittleGoodBloodMakesTheGrassGrow.

By: Rocky M. Magana 5

Mother vengeance was her name, She dressed her self quite prettily, Before ensuing her ugly game. And quite fittingly, When her fun was done, She was not fulfilled; But rather undone by her fun, And by the blood she spilled. Looking back now, an old crone, Her heart broke at the thought, Of the things done for being alone, Of the evil she has wrought.


A Little Good Blood Makes The Grass Grow.

By: Rocky M. Magana 6

It was pitch black the night that these next actions were set in motion. Poison was in the air, and all things good had a sense of panic about them; as if they were trapped beneath the fangs of a spider; at his unlikely mercy, waiting to see if he would pronounce their doom. Everything that had at one time had solid mass and value to it was now mere shadows‌ not even shadows, they were shadows of shadows (faint reflections of what they used to be.) A lover’s kiss that was once passionate and wet was now a dry silhouette of its former self. Everything changed now that she was gone. It was on this bleary, dreary, weary, teary night, that Dr. Nexus Rider readied himself for his nightly stroll to the city museum. He did this by wearing his favorite top hat and by using his good cane. The difference between his good cane and his bad one was slight but noteworthy. His good cane had a brass knob at the top it, and his bad one had a crack at the bottom. Other than that the two were identical. Before taking his leave for the evening, Rider rang a little silver bell that he kept on a


ALittleGoodBloodMakesTheGrassGrow.

By: Rocky M. Magana 7

small table in the homes entryway. This too was part of his nightly routine (for Rider was definitely a creature of habit.) Soon a young servant was produced from the kitchen carrying a silver platter with a cup of hot tea on it. The young servant moved as swiftly as his coordination would allow him; for he had been told that the master of the house grew impatient quickly. The tea was prepared precisely the way Rider took it; for this was something of great importance that Rider demanded everyone in the house know inside and out. The young servant was new to his position, and the story of how he came into Rider's employment is a simple and sad story. There was once another man who held the position, but his sister who lived in the countryside died suddenly in a wagon accident; being her only living relative, the man had no choice but to go home and care for his three orphaned nephew's. The mans abrupt departure left a gaping hole in Rider's nightly routine that required immediate filling, and so he ordered his head servant to go out and find a replacement. The stout old woman waddled through the


A Little Good Blood Makes The Grass Grow.

By: Rocky M. Magana 8

streets of Golgothae, seeking high and low for suitable match that wore the same size butlers suit as the man who had just left. He was little more than a street urchin, covered in mud and filth when she found him; but he had a strong back, and under all the grime there was a ruddiness to his face that made him appealing. Plus he wore the right sized suit. Calling out to the young man, the old woman crowed “Boy, how would you like a warm meal and a soft bed tonight?” Jumping at the opportunity, the young servant quickly scurried to his feet and ran to the woman. Inspecting him one last time, the old woman licked her thumb and wiped clean a portion of his face. While she was satisfied with the physical attributes her selection, the young servant smelled terrible. Covering her nose, she remarked “You'll do alright, but we must get you into a bath before your stench brings the rats in.” And that is how this young man came to be the servant who brings Dr. Rider his tea. After having his tea, the not so good doctor


ALittleGoodBloodMakesTheGrassGrow.

By: Rocky M. Magana 9

stepped out into the night. For Rider, the museum had always held a quiet mystery to it; it was something that he dared not speak out of fear of angering the old g-ds of the canvas; the creators who demanded unquestioning submission to their genius; for anything less would be blasphemy. It had always been this way for Rider, ever since the days of his youth. As a child he and his brother would wonder through the museums vast galleries with their mother, in awe of the colorful works from these strange dead guys. Some works were beautiful to behold with their melding nude forms flowing in and out of one another in fluid grace. Others though were ghastly apparitions of death and the macabre. As a child he loved the bright colors of the beautiful ones, but as he grew into adulthood and started grave robbing, the Gothic undertones of these latter mentioned works correlated to his real life, and thus soon overtook his attention. Still there were nights not like this night, when the moon was full and the stars shone bright. On those nights the romantic works would fight their way into his mind. On those


A Little Good Blood Makes The Grass Grow.

By: Rocky M. Magana 10

nights he never went grave robbing, for the warm feeling of reminiscing was too rare and strong to be ruined. On those nights he found his way to a young woman by the name of Matilda's house. Matilda was a little over twenty years old and she had large scars that disfigured both her face and body. The scars were the result of being thrown through a stained glass window by father when she was sixteen. Rider saved her life that night and stitched her up completely. Rider chose to save her because he secretly loved her despite her young age... and now deformed body. However Rider could never publicly proclaim his love for her, out of fear of what the public might think. Many nights he would shun her altogether, or worse behave appallingly toward her. But there were also those other nights, where the beauty of the colorful works sparked the good in his mind and he thought of her, and was gentle and loving. But like I said, tonight was not one of those nights, tonight he planned to take in a new


ALittleGoodBloodMakesTheGrassGrow.

By: Rocky M. Magana 11

exhibition of 16th century art that was aptly titled “Vision's of Hell.� It had only opened that morning and was made up mostly of paintings and sketches of torture and disembowelment. As Rider approached the massive stone building, he found it hard not to stand in awe. It's wide pillars stretched into the sky like silent giants looking down from Olympus. The large marble stairs piled upon one another escalating in height, leading you closer to the treasures with each ascending step. It was a place that once inside seemed both mythological and overly sensory at the same time. Both too good to be true, and too real to be fake; like a first kiss. Rider was an atheist, but each time he saw this museum it made him want to believe in a higher power; only a temple like this could be worthy to house the divine. As he grew older, climbing the steps became more of a chore than they had been as a child; he and his older brother Quincy used to race up these steps. Sprinting the whole way, the first one to tag the sculpture of a lion that stood outside of the


A Little Good Blood Makes The Grass Grow.

By: Rocky M. Magana 12

museums doors won. What they won was of little importance, for winning in itself was the greatest prize. But now that he had grown up and gotten older, Rider required a rest at the top of the steps before continuing inside. Soon he feared that he would have to stop and rest halfway, long before the lion ever even came into view. “A rest before and after the lion... what's the use of living?� thought Rider as he fought his ways up the stairs. He'd have to start packing a snack or find something else to do with his down time while he was resting, perhaps he'd take up drawing again. Tonight though he still had the energy to make it to the top without stopping to draw; and he counted it a blessing. Once at the top, Rider rested against his old friend the lion as other museum goer's passed him by with little to no interest in the sweaty middle aged man. His watch read 7:07 PM; and even though he was still out of breath, Rider knew he must be on his way, for the museum closed at 8:00 PM sharp on weeknights.


ALittleGoodBloodMakesTheGrassGrow.

By: Rocky M. Magana 13

Even if he started now, he'd have a hard time seeing all he wished to see. Walking through the large twelve foot rotating door, Dr. Rider was washed in cool air. In these long broad corridors, the breeze works in gentle jet streams, they cruise in loops from hall to hall, bouncing from floor to ceiling like ghosts. It was the most refreshing haunting, and although it was brief, Rider caught a second wind when he met the cool air. Pepping up his step for the moment, Rider read a nearby sign that read... New Exhibition. For Two Weeks Only, “Vision's of Hell” Located in Gastby Hall. This Way  A cold sweat broke out and trickled down Rider's forehead and neckline; the thrill of what lay ahead was almost euphoric. Heading in the direction in which the sign pointed, Rider passed through a large room of sculptures. As he did so, the sweat on his neck


A Little Good Blood Makes The Grass Grow.

By: Rocky M. Magana 14

began to grow, until a stream sweat trailed down his spine, all the way to the small of his back. Pulling a handkerchief from his pocket, Rider attempted to wipe his neck dry; but this was to no avail, for nearly as soon as he had dried the perspiration, a new stream formed in the old ones place, resuming its same current and destination. Rider pressed on, and as he did a similar trickle began forming in his arm pits and at the back of his knees. Realizing what a sloppy mess he was becoming, Rider grudgingly took a seat on a nearby bench to rest yet again “Truly old boy, you are on your way to heart attack if you don't take it easy.� thought Rider mocking himself. This was more true than he wanted to admit to himself. Suddenly two small children who were brother and sister ran a muck through the room, playing a good natured game of hide and seek. The Little Boy took refuge hiding behind the breasts of a large granite sculpture of Persephone that dated back to 400 B.C. Taking a foothold on the back of her calve,


ALittleGoodBloodMakesTheGrassGrow.

By: Rocky M. Magana 15

The Little Boy peered around her navel, scouting his sisters approach. The Little Girl, searched for her brother intently, looking everywhere she could think of. She looked everywhere from on top of Ava Maria's head, to between Moses's legs. As she approached the statue of Persephone, an ornery and mischievous grin overtook her brothers face as he formed an idea in his mind that seemed like a stroke of genius. Fashioning a concept to scare his sister, The Boy imagined that he was a wild beast, perhaps a werewolf or something like that. Bearing his fangs, he scrunched his nose and crinkled up his forehead, making his normally bright and merry eyes look quite terrible. As his sister drew near, The Boy crouched and locked himself into a pouncing position... As she rounded Persephone's hips, the plan was hatched! Springing from his position, he used his feet for thrust (they were carefully placed on her rear end and on a bundle of flowering vines that were intertwined through her legs and reached up toward her womb) and jumped out in front of his sister, shouting “Boo!�


A Little Good Blood Makes The Grass Grow.

By: Rocky M. Magana 16

Needless to say the ambush worked. It scared the bits out of her and she screamed bloody murder. Instantly her brother fell to the floor bursting at his sides from laughter “You should have seen yourself... bwahahaha! What a big dumb baby!” bellowed The Boy. Tears welled up in his sisters eyes as she hit him in the arm “I'm telling mom you big jerk!” “Go ahead, it was worth it to see you scream.” cackled The Boy as he rolled on the cold marble floor. However both her anger and his victory were short lived because they soon realized that in the process of his ambush, one of his feet had accidentally broken off one of the flowers that grew from a vine on Persephone's inner thigh. Picking the priceless granite flower up off the floor, both children's eyes grew as big as balloons. The Boy was paralyzed with fear, but his sister beamed pure joy “Oh boy, you did it now, not only is mom going to kill you, but the police are gonna arrest you... You'll probably get the electric chair for this!”


ALittleGoodBloodMakesTheGrassGrow.

By: Rocky M. Magana 17

“Shut up! If you tell, I'll murder you, you hear me? Promise you won't tell.” demanded the terrified Boy as he cradled broken flower in his hand. “Not tell? Why would I do that? You're mean, and you hit me and put bugs in my hair; why wouldn't I want to see you executed? Maybe mom and dad will adopt a new brother who is nicer, or maybe I'll get a sister to play dolls with; this is great!” reveled his sister. “Please, I'm begging you... I swear if you don't tell I'll play stupid dolls with you whenever you want, I promise!” begged The Little Boy. “And you'll never hit me again?” said the sister pushing the bargaining chip further. “Sure, I'll do whatever you say, just promise me you won't tell.” replied The Boy forcing clarification of their barter. “I promise.” guaranteed the sister. “Good, now lets get out of here before we get caught.” said The Boy taking his sister by the arm. “But what about him?” asked the sister pointing at Rider. “Who?”


A Little Good Blood Makes The Grass Grow.

By: Rocky M. Magana 18

“That old man” replied The Little Girl pointing at Rider who still watched intrigued from the bench “what if he tells?” “Old man?” thought Rider “has it really come to this, that I am reduced to nothing more than an old man?” mulling this bleak prospect over in his mind, Rider at last let out a deep sigh and admitted to himself “I am an old man.” This last comment by his sister was obviously an oversight The Little Boy had not thought of; a detail that threatened to unhinge his whole plan. Both children stared at Rider, frozen in motion, awaiting the verdict of their limbo. If Rider chose to be a tattle tell then there was nothing they could do about it, they were sunk. After all not only was he a grown up, but he was also old, and you can't threaten to beat up an old man like you can your sister. Contemplating the matter, Rider pondered the moral precedent this might set in these two children's lives. If they did not learn to take responsibility for their actions now, would they ever? Didn't he have a civil duty to report such vandalism? Isn't it through punishment that children learn right from wrong? How could he


ALittleGoodBloodMakesTheGrassGrow.

By: Rocky M. Magana 19

in good conscience not make sure that these children were prosecuted to the highest degree; for their own sake if not for societies? They ruined an irreplaceable work of art. But as he looked into the faces of the terrified children, Rider couldn't help but remember the very same look on his brother's face when they were kids; and his saudade grew. He and Quincy were best friends, until the day they went off to war. Of the two brothers that left, only one returned home, and he was a completely different person than the one who left. Quincy rests in a shallow grave, in a foreign land where he never spoke the language; dying for a cause he never understood. A compassion for childish youth and energy for mischief, grew in Rider's heart. It was an energy that he now envied. Winking at the two children, Rider leaned towards them from his seat “My lips are sealed, but we better get out of here before another grown up comes along and catches us.” Dear Reader “To thine own self be true”


A Little Good Blood Makes The Grass Grow.

By: Rocky M. Magana 20

does not mean to just be yourself and everything will turn out okay. It means to be truthful with ones self; alway seeking to better understand your strengths, while identifying, and striving to improve your weaknesses, and temptations; so that you might grow into a more loyal, compassionate, brave, honest, and loving human being. As Rider stood to his feet and joined the two children, running into the next gallery, Rider felt as though he had done this for the first time in a long time.


ALittleGoodBloodMakesTheGrassGrow.

By: Rocky M. Magana 21

Chapter II In The Arms of The Holy Mother. “O' death, rock me asleep, bring me to quite rest, let pass my weary guiltless ghost out of my careful breast.” -Anne Boleyn


A Little Good Blood Makes The Grass Grow.

By: Rocky M. Magana 22

The jackal cackles at the moon, Beneath it's light the woman swoons, A shunned lover defies it's brother stars, A little girl stares in awe from afar, A boy makes fun of it's ugly nose, The scientist studies where its orbit goes, All of this wonder for one floating globe, Who wears the light of heaven as a robe. A great many things are done beneath its light, Unspeakable things of terror and of fright. Hide your eye's so that you're not a witness light. To the things that shall occur on this night.


ALittleGoodBloodMakesTheGrassGrow.

By: Rocky M. Magana 23

As the three of them stole into the next gallery, Rider could feel the tightening in his chest growing. It was like the finger of G-d was poking square down on his right ventricle. As a doctor he knew that the sharp pains down his left arm could be an early sign of a heart attack, but then again it could also just be heartburn or dehydration. Either way he was in the moment, and the last thing he wanted to do was to let this flavor of youth die and disappear into the obscurity of bland adulthood. His inner child had laid hidden for too long. He had grown frail over time, and like his adult counterpart, he was threatening to expire if he was not attended to immediately. Trying his best to keep pace with the fleet footed children, Rider soon found that it was impossible for him to run wild anymore. His age had tamed him. Soon he fell off, and the children pulled away, rambunctiously sprinting off into the vast halls of the museum to have more fun. Dejected, Rider slouched against a cold marble pillar that stood near an infamous painting that was painted by an even more


A Little Good Blood Makes The Grass Grow.

By: Rocky M. Magana 24

infamous master of cubism. Rider was panting heavily now. Unable to catch his breath, his heart pounded and echoed in the floppy cartilage of his ears. His pulse was racing. His suspicions were true, he was in danger of going into cardiac arrest. Like all men caught such predicaments, Rider thought having a heart attack sounded like a terrible idea and immediately started thinking of ways to circumvent it from occurring. However some things are inevitable. His head grew light; so light that it would have floated away if it hadn't been tied to his neck. Slouched over in a semi delirious state, he suddenly saw a vision of his Mother. She was dressed in pure white and wore a yellow hat. It was the sort of outfit that young beautiful Italian women wear for a night out on the town. At first she was merely a two dimensional cubist form, appearing on the canvas of the infamous painting. Her dimensions were harsh, and her lines were uneven, separating her into block sections; but even with these lopsided proportions, she was still lovely.


ALittleGoodBloodMakesTheGrassGrow.

By: Rocky M. Magana 25

Soon the thick lines and unflattering squares softened and melted away, leaving only a natural portrayal of her beauty surrounded by the chaos of informal two dimensional color. Standing in her opposite universe, she took in the surroundings in silent wonder. Soon though, she realized things were not right. Shifting he attentions from the melody of color, to the middle aged man outside of the canvas who was staring at her. She could see the unmistakable familiarity in his face, but she couldn't for the life of her place where she knew him from. But he was all she could look at. The vibrancy of the color that swirled around her was dead in her eyes, and the canvas she stood in soon turned to liquid and melted into a puddle on the floor because of it. She was left in formless void. The void grew bleaker and bleaker and began to turn like the eye of a hurricane, forming a whirlpool of nothingness. Still fixated on Dr. Rider, she stepped out of raging void and took his slumping face in her hands. Lifting him up to look at her, she said


A Little Good Blood Makes The Grass Grow.

By: Rocky M. Magana 26

“Dear weary man, rest. Your time is at its end, and you will have to suffer the pain of this life no more.” but as she said this, the familiarity in his face would not let her be, and demanded that she look at him more closely “It's strange,you look so familiar to me... almost like my...” suddenly her eyes filled with tears as she pulled Rider tightly against her breast and began to weep openly “O' my G-d, what have I done to deserve this? To return as a ghost at my own child's death?” Until now, Rider could hear little more than his heart pounding in his ears, but these words rung true and clear, like the morning church bell. Caressing his wet hair, her words were overcome by motherly passion “My son, what have you done that requires me to be called out of paradise and brought to your side? What blood is on your hands that only the face of a mother could prompt a confession?” They say that Mary is the holy mother, but in reality they only say that because she was the mother of Chr-st; and to each boy there is a certain amount of holiness in the face of his mother, even boys who grow into stone cold killers.


ALittleGoodBloodMakesTheGrassGrow.

By: Rocky M. Magana 27

Guilt had subconsciously been gaining a foothold in Rider's mind over betraying his Hippocratic Oath. As he looked into his Mother's holy face, his shame was doubled and that which was subconscious became quite conscious. Just as it was when he was a child, he could hide nothing from her loving embrace. “I'm sorry” cried out Rider as he wrapped his arms around his Mother's waist “I've been so lost without you.” “As a child you were never a bad boy... D o you remember this room? We'd spend hours here, that painting that's now a puddle on the floor was my favorite.” said his Mother in a reminiscent voice. A fit of coughing suddenly overtook Rider, causing him to lose his grip from around his Mother's waist, but being the spirit that his Mother was, she fell right along with him, never once letting him escape from her tender arms. Rider could barely muster the strength to speak“Yes I remember... I wanted to be an artist back then... I used to draw with charcoal you'd salvage from the stove.”


A Little Good Blood Makes The Grass Grow.

By: Rocky M. Magana 28

“What happened?” said his Mother sadly. “You left me... I was alone after you and Quincy...” Rider wiped the mixture of fresh tears and sweat from his eyes “I had nobody to help me navigate this place... I had nobody to teach me romanticism, and the differences between the impressionists and modernists.” “You have never been alone, none of us are ever alone. Humanity is another word for family. You were charged with saving your family. You have made your craft more important than the purpose for which it was created. What good is a painting if there is no one to admire it? It is people who give life to your art; and your art was supposed to do the same for them.” Rider knew everything she spoke was true. He was so ashamed of himself that he couldn't bare looking at her sweet face anymore, for in it he saw his condemnation. It was then, while trying to look away from his future that he noticed another sign for the new exhibition that read, “Visions of Hell” This Way 


ALittleGoodBloodMakesTheGrassGrow.

By: Rocky M. Magana 29

Remarking to himself he said “It's a shame, I really would liked to have seen that.” His Mother had been trying to hold back the terrible truth, but at these last words she could hold it back no longer “O' my child, you will see plenty of these things soon enough!” No sooner had she said these last words that the raging void burst forth from the canvas in the form of a great wind. Whipping and blowing her hair straight out in front of her face, the violent wind caught a hold of her tears and threw them across the marble floor of the museum like a summer storm. Mistakingly, Rider presumed that the agony on his Mother's face was the worst thing he could endure; but that was only because he had no idea what awaited him on The Other Side. White knuckled, his Mother clung to him with all of her might, futilely trying to keep him in her arms. She clung so tight that her skin began to split into small cracks that quickly grew into large crags that ran up her arms and across her face.


A Little Good Blood Makes The Grass Grow.

By: Rocky M. Magana 30

Her beauty began flaking away like ashes as she fought through the tears that shot from her face “I cannot hold them back! O' my son; they are here to steal you away! O' why; why, were you so evil? Don't you know that we could have stayed together in this museum forever?” Fighting the gravity of the universe that tried to pull her away, his Mother struggled through the forces of life and death, bending down to kiss him on the forehead one last time. Bits of her youth were peeled back and sucked into the void as she did this, until all that remained were her familiar eyes and soft lips “They are at the door...” they said. At that moment, she was ripped into the darkness of the void; like a person tethered to a rocket ship, she disappeared out of sight. Reaching for her in vain, Rider tried to keep her with him (if only for a few moments longer) but it was no use, she was already gone. The heart of the little boy inside Rider shattered; for it felt like she had died all over again. He knew he would never see her again, thus he missed her greatly (it is at the point of loss that we miss what is gone the most.)


ALittleGoodBloodMakesTheGrassGrow.

By: Rocky M. Magana 31

There was little time for missing Mother's though, for nearly as soon as she was taken, she was replaced by Rider's personal terror from the void. Like cockroaches, the souls of those who had been Rider's victim's, crawled out of the darkness and swarmed upon his flesh. Pulling at his skin, they salivated like hungry beasts, and whispered terrible things in an incandescent sort of way “Rider, Rider, Rider... we require your blood and your brains, your guts and your heart, your life and your soul... Rider, Rider, Rider, we require our vengeance.� Swarm after swarm of these insect walking souls poured out of the black hole canvas, until at last there was only one soul missing from all the victim's he had betrayed... Augustus Fellini's. But Augustus was not there (although part of this and everything that happened after was in a way vengeance done in his name) he had no business in such low affairs. There were so many ghouls upon him that Rider never would have noticed the one missing; but a greater power had it in mind


A Little Good Blood Makes The Grass Grow.

By: Rocky M. Magana 32

differently. Suddenly a bright and glorious Light exploded across the ceiling of the museum. The souls of the victim's shuddered and shrieked at the coming of The Light; each retreating from Rider's frame to a dark corner not touched by The Light, where they watched in fear to see what the outcome of this visit would be. On the ceiling a pair of unbearably holy eyes appeared; they made no movement or proclamation; they simply looked. But as they did, Rider suddenly knew in his heart that Augustus was not there, and that he was up there with the eyes, living in The Light. He knew that he had killed something very precious to these eyes. Rider hated the the sight of these eyes almost as much as he hated being swarmed by the angry souls. But Dear Reader, almost is not more; he could not hate these eyes more, for as judging as they were, they were also just, which gave them a right to judge. He also knew that as long as they watched over him, these ghastly apparitions dared not harm him. Painfully, Rider stared into the eyes,


ALittleGoodBloodMakesTheGrassGrow.

By: Rocky M. Magana 33

choosing the lesser of two pains. As time passed though the truth that looking into these eyes for too long is like a slow trickle filling a bucket, revealed itself. Given enough time every bucket overflows, spilling the water onto the ground. “I'm sorry, help me please!� he cried out as his human heart overflowed. The eyes made no movement; no divine voice called forth, demanding the ghouls to stay their revenge. Yet they were no without change, fore at these words one large tear formed in the corner of the right eye. The tear grew larger and larger; dangling from it's invisible socket, it threatened to fall and drench Rider in holy sadness. At length, it reached a point where it was nearly as big as Rider was; and rested just above him, only inches from his face. The ghosts eyes widened at the sight the enormous droplet of divine emotion. When there was no more room left for it to grow, the tear pressed against Rider's face and burst, soaking Rider from head to toe. Instantly he saw and felt all the pain and joy of the great evil and little good he had


A Little Good Blood Makes The Grass Grow.

By: Rocky M. Magana 34

done. Face with the truth of his life, Rider (like all men) cried out once more “I am a monster!” And then the eyes vanished along with the buffering Light, leaving Rider alone with the ghosts of his past. Pouncing on him once more, they angry victim's tore at his flesh and ripped him limb from limb. Violently, they thrust their hands through Rider's chest, back, and stomach, disemboweling him. By the time their outburst of anger was satisfied, there was little left of Dr. Rider other than a hollow skull and an empty cadaver. In agony Rider begged “please, let me die a complete death, and return to the dust of the earth.” But there is no such thing as a complete death; there is nowhere to go but further into hades. Looking down, he saw his empty body. He was unable to move or help himself, for he had nothing left to help himself with. The tingling wetness of the massive tear, still saturated his phantom limbs, which made matters all the worse.


ALittleGoodBloodMakesTheGrassGrow.

By: Rocky M. Magana 35

Soon he was in the air, being held high above their heads. The ugly ghosts carried Rider out of the present gallery and into another one that stood adjacently attached. Once in the new room, they stood in wait as the marble floor below them split in half, shaking the plaster from the rafters. When it was all done, an ancient stone staircase was revealed descending into the fiery glow of the underworld. Without delay they carried Rider downstairs into a future he had no desire of knowing.


A Little Good Blood Makes The Grass Grow.

By: Rocky M. Magana 36

Chapter III With a Nick of The Blade. “Quisque sous patimur Manes.” “Each of us bears his own hell.” -Virgil


ALittleGoodBloodMakesTheGrassGrow.

By: Rocky M. Magana 37

The teeth shine, and prepare to dine, on the cries, Of those newly died. A smile crosses the demons face, for this nightmare is their place; Their paradise, of worms and lice, Crawling into your every hole, 'Til they have devoured thy soul.


A Little Good Blood Makes The Grass Grow.

The

By: Rocky M. Magana 38

decent was long and seemed never ending. The deeper they delved into the dark, the stronger the hot wind from below blew up into their faces. This wind was dry, and in time it caused what remained of Rider's flesh to viciously boil. The walls of this passage were lined with skulls; each of which had a name carved on their forehead. Many of the names were either in a language Rider didn't know or were of people Rider had never heard of; but there were a few he recognized like Nero, Xerxes, Nietzsche, Iscariot, and Marx. You could tell that once upon a time these stairs were rough and jagged, designed to tear the soles of the souls who traversed them. But time and continual use wore them smooth; however the blood stains of those had gone before him stood as a testament to the stairways history. After many hours seeing the same terrible nightmare, Rider and his chorus of victim's reached the bottom of the stairway. Once at the bottom, they were confronted with the sight of a toothless dragon whose fire


ALittleGoodBloodMakesTheGrassGrow.

By: Rocky M. Magana 39

had gone out. He was bound at the neck by an unbreakable chain. Tears filled his formerly terrible eyes. Long ago when his time in his world was at its greatest, he was the ultimate incarnation of Hades poured out upon it. He devoured both warriors and kings by the bundles, and laid waste to fortresses with little more than a flick of his tail; and he thought he was very mighty. But you will learn Dear Reader that things that huff and puff and demand your fear and submission, are most often mere children in comparison with what they claim to be. This is a fact that the dragon learned quickly upon his mortal death. Beyond the toothless dragon stood a vast and deep lake filled with putrid water and decaying (but still conscious) corpses. These were the bodies of those who had not done anything exceptionally good or evil in the eyes of man, but rather lived a happy life of blind contentment. On the shores edge lay a raft tethered to spear stuck in the ground. The ghouls carried Rider aboard the waiting raft, nearly capsizing it under the sheer weight of their numbers.


A Little Good Blood Makes The Grass Grow.

By: Rocky M. Magana 40

Once aboard, the ghosts shoved off from shore and began drifting toward the center of the lake. As they drifted along, the corpses who made up the bulk of the lake started uttering a melancholy sermon “It is said that ignorance is bliss; but this is a myth. Ignorance is in fact the opposite of bliss; it is a lack of knowledge that is terribly easy. Bliss is a man who knows both good and evil, and when faced with the easy allurements of self-preservation or corruption, he does not give in to them. His eyes are never closed, but always open to the needs of his fellow man. He stays a true course and brings as many refugees aboard his vessel as she can bare.� as they were saying this, the lake corpses began pulling at the raft, trying to board the crude vessel, but Rider's victim's beat them back; as they sank back down into the water they continued their lecture “Ignorance is not the absence of bad; but rather a blindness to it's damaging effects on you. For is it not said that when man and woman ate of the tree that their nakedness was the first thing they noticed? And it was not simply an external nakedness either, but an internal one; the


ALittleGoodBloodMakesTheGrassGrow.

By: Rocky M. Magana 41

nudity of their souls... and thus they felt shame at what they saw, for they now had the knowledge that they had let someone who was very dear to them down. A man may know bad without good, but he will never realized good until good is taken from him. A man who never witnesses bad is man without knowledge; a man without knowledge is a man without responsibility; a man who has no sense of responsibility is ignorant to the stripping cries of truth... he is clothed in the worst way possible... this is what we have learned, this is the nakedness we suffer without cure!” Suddenly their sermon was interrupted with warning,from below. Horrible monsters of various species and sizes rose up from the depths, biting off pieces the bodies of the lake corpses. Terrified that he too would soon be tossed overboard to join the tortured mass, Rider called out “Please have mercy, do not throw me to these beasts!” “This is not your fate, the king of this land has something much more sinister in mind for you.” replied the victim's. As they drifted closer to the center of the


A Little Good Blood Makes The Grass Grow.

By: Rocky M. Magana 42

lake, Rider quickly noticed that the currant of the water around them was changing. It went from a slow straight tide, to a quick swirling motion. The water was readily gaining speed with every passing moment, and before he knew it, the raft was hurled into a big spinning circle. With each revolution, the circle grew smaller; in time there was no doubting that they were being carried directly into the center of a whirlpool. Dim molten light glowed the pools center. The raft tilted and rocked, and many of his victim's nearly fell off. Slipping into the center of the pool, they dove down, testing the depths of the water. As they fell down they saw that the layers of corpses only went down about half way (but that is an arbitrary description isn't it? For that description to make any sense, we must first know how deep the lake is; after all, half way of four feet really isn't very far is it?) This lake was not four feet deep. It was much deeper, but how deep is not entirely definable, which is why I only say half way; for anything else would be half a truth, and thus a


ALittleGoodBloodMakesTheGrassGrow.

By: Rocky M. Magana 43

lie... I will not lie to you Dear Reader. Defining the depth of the lake aside, they fell for a long time, before they at last broke through to the other side of what was thought to be the bottom of the pool; but once at the bottom they discovered that it was no bottom at all, but rather a roof of a deeper and more terrifying cavern. Strung up with chains along the ceiling of this cave were those guilty of rape and racism (both stem from the same thing; a greedy need to dominate your power over those weaker than you.) The chains were lined with spikes that went into their spines, rendering them nearly immovable. Clouds of bat-like ravens engulfed the wretches, pecking at their eyes and exposed organs. The echoes of their cries bounced off the cavern walls and raced back upon them, haunting them with their own pain. At the bottom of the cavern stood a mountain of bones; atop this mountain sat a two headed demon who furiously scavenged through the skeletons, looking for any bits of meat or marrow to devour. He was over ten feet tall, and both of it's


A Little Good Blood Makes The Grass Grow.

By: Rocky M. Magana 44

heads were equally disgusting; both had pale eyes and horns that shot out from all over, covering the majority of it's faces. The only exception to this were two large oval mouths that supported rows of rotating teeth. His tail was like a scorpions, except it had two stingers at the tip. The ghost laden raft slammed into the mountain of bones like a meteor. Waves of skeletons exploded outward from its center; creating a crater at the crash site. Rider was thrown from the raft upon impact, and sent tumbling to the bottom of the hill. But demon paid little attention to the raft or its passengers; picking itself up off the ground, it resumed scavenging. Intrigued that the demon showed no interest in the large amount of flesh that still remained on him, Rider was puzzled over who this mountain he stood on was made up of? He knew there was no total death in this place, but there was no life to these bones either. looking at a skull that rested near him, Rider read it's forehead “Deborah The Judge” turning to one of his victim's he asked “why


ALittleGoodBloodMakesTheGrassGrow.

By: Rocky M. Magana 45

would a prophetess be down here below?” “She's not here, this is merely her mortal coil; a body of death. Her true body, the splendid one, is up above, dwelling in The Light.” replied the victim. “So all of these bones...” said Rider as the realization of what he stood upon sank in. “Are the skeletons of the saints; this place cannot touch their souls, it can merely sift through the worthless left overs.” answered the victim as they picked up Rider and carried him to the other side of the mountain; once upon the dark side of the mountain, they began their trek down deeper into Hades. As they reached the bottom a black forest made of giant thorn bushes came into view, and they walked into it. As they walked through the dense wood, the thorns tore away more of Rider's skin, leaving chunks of flesh dangling from the tip of their sharp points. Rider's victim's; being the spirits that they were, passed through unaffected. Crying in agony; Rider's tears went unnoticed. As they marched through the forest, Rider could sense a new kind of creature near him.


A Little Good Blood Makes The Grass Grow.

By: Rocky M. Magana 46

These new beasts jumped from branch to branch, darting through the phantasmal legs of the victim's. Rider tried to catch a glimpse of this new evil, but each time he turned to see it he was too late and all that remained was an eerie rustling of the branches. “What are these new monsters?” asked Rider. “They are the chupacabra senior.” replied the spirit of an old mariachi that Rider had known long ago. This answer was neither informative or calming to Rider, for he had never been to the America's and thus the name was Greek to him. Rider found that the further they marched into the wood, the closer the chupacabra came to him. They weren't a hundred yards into this hopeless place, before the little beasts were practically licking his cheek and whipping his face with their tales. But even at such a close range, they were too dark to see. Although Rider's physical heart was long gone, his emotional heart felt a fear that could not be quelled. At last when his body had been stripped


ALittleGoodBloodMakesTheGrassGrow.

By: Rocky M. Magana 47

bare of its last bits of skin, and only muscle and tissue against open air remained; they emerged from the woods into a massive desert clearing. This was the land where those who had committed crimes of passion resided. These poor souls were stuck in the moment of betrayal. Every day they came home to find their wife in bed with their brother; every day they snapped; every day they felt the thrust of the knife crack through her breast bone, piercing her heart; every day they realized that in one swift tantrum of emotion, they had destroyed the only thing that mattered. Looking around at all the torment, Rider lamented “I would ask is there no hope of redemption for these poor souls, but sadly I know that ship has sailed, just as has mine. I know that I am damned, but please I beg you, tell me what my fate will be? Not knowing is tearing me apart!” “Not knowing is part of your fate, it's part of this place.” whispered back the victim's in unison “however, your place lies just over this very ridge.” No sooner had the words escaped their lips, that they crossed over the aforementioned


A Little Good Blood Makes The Grass Grow.

By: Rocky M. Magana 48

ridge, and a small isolated valley came into view. At the center of this valley stood a wooden operating table. Next to this larger table stood a smaller table next to it that held a whole manner of operating tools and instruments. “I'm already gutted and filleted; I see little more that you can do to my body with such instruments; you phantoms have already done much worse with your bare hands!” wailed Rider as they descended into the valley. “Foolish mortal, you see things from such a selfish prospective. Yes these instruments are meant for you, but then again not.” responded the victim's to Rider. As they made their way into the belly of the valley, fear worse than Rider ever thought possible possessed him; with every second that passed it only grew worse. “But I do not understand!” cried Rider as they reached the floor of the valley and drew near to the table. “You will soon enough. For as the wretches of the lake said; you have at last been stripped naked both inside and out, and thus you are ready for your penalty.” replied the victim's,


ALittleGoodBloodMakesTheGrassGrow.

By: Rocky M. Magana 49

setting Rider down on the ground. The moment Rider's back touched soil, his frame and body immediately began to restore itself; soon he had a heart, guts, bowels, legs, arms, skin, a brain, and even hair. For a moment, Rider was foolish enough to believe that this was actually a stroke of good luck; but his hope was quickly dashed when something utterly startling occurred; his first patient he ever betrayed, stepped forth from the congregation and laid down on the operating table. She was a terribly young girl, who when alive had suffered from appendicitis. On the day of her death, Rider told her father that by the time he had opened her up to operate, the appendix had already ruptured. But in truth, Rider ruptured her appendix on purpose because she had curiously large lungs that interested him greatly. Rider remembered this girl clearly, for she was the first, and thus the hardest to betray. He also remembered how tore up her father was at the news of his daughter's death; he wailed and tore his hair out; for she was his only child and her mother had long since been


A Little Good Blood Makes The Grass Grow.

By: Rocky M. Magana 50

dead. Going mad in time, her threw himself off a bridge in the end. Laying on the table before him, the girl reached up and touched his face; instantly Rider was inside of her head. He could hear her thoughts and feel her emotions; there was so much fear and pain. Looking through her eyes, up at himself; he raised the scalpel to make the first incision. He tried to stop himself, but it was a futile, for he knew he had no power over this matter. The cold sting of the first cut was bearable, but the second hurt quite a bit more because it was near the inflamed area. Looking down at the lower right side of Rider's stomach, he could see blood trickling down his own leg as well. The girl was terrified of dying; her hopes were fleeting as the realization that the man she had put her faith in was betraying her with a nick of the blade. As he punctured the swollen appendix, and the toxins flooded her insides; Rider clutched his stomach in agony. He could not stop himself. He tried, but he could not.


ALittleGoodBloodMakesTheGrassGrow.

By: Rocky M. Magana 51

The girl was only the first of countless scenes just like this; day in, day out, Rider went from victim to victim, butchering them all; suffering every ounce of pain that he had inflicted without mercy. After what seemed to be weeks or maybe even months of victim's after victim's, and new pain after new pain, Rider at last arrived at his final victim. Once he had suffered through this last torture in full, he stupidly allowed a spark of hope flicker in his mind that that since he had experienced the depths of his sin, perhaps he would be allowed to leave this place and pass into a new place; not necessarily into The Light, but at least into a gray place of nothingness. Dear Reader, no such place exists. There is no escaping hell, for if there was, Heaven would be populated by zombies. Rider's hope was expectedly dashed when once more the girl with the appendix laid down on his table beneath him; again her fear gripped him, and thus it started all over again. Crying out from the depths of his soul, Rider screamed “O' G-d I cry out for you to


A Little Good Blood Makes The Grass Grow.

By: Rocky M. Magana 52

save me, please answer me; will you reject me forever?� Suddenly all of hades was filled with white Light that caused the fabric of the darkness to fall apart at the seams, as if the hands who held it together simply let go. Out of The Light, a large hand reached down into the damnation and pulled Rider out of the c r u m b l ing place. ################|as soon as Rider was|#### ################################ Y##### ############################### A###### ############################## N####### ############################# K######## ############################ E######### ########################### D########## ############################# F ####### ############################# R ####### ############################# O ####### ############################# M HADES,


ALittleGoodBloodMakesTheGrassGrow.

By: Rocky M. Magana 53

he found himself lifted away from the earth all together. He tumbled through the cosmos and found that as he looked around, not only had the fabric of hades come apart, but so had... the entire universe. Stars that had once been fixed in their positions,were now ---------------------------------------g-n-i-y-l-f ------------------------------n-i--y-b -------------------------------s-k-a-e-r-t-s ---------------t-h-g-i-l--f-o


A Little Good Blood Makes The Grass Grow.

By: Rocky M. Magana 54

The darkness of space unfolded and swallowed up whole planets and galaxies. T e e a n r h e o r a o t a y h n a y o e, | n h rwsoym resnontignmr o t h i n g _________________________________| | V meant anything| |________ | V for the hands that meant everything, had let go... Of every physical atom. Of every metaphysical energy. Just to latch a hold of Rider and pull him from his own undoing. Everything returned to chaos. Flying wildly and faster than the speed of Light, Rider flew headlong into the largest of the supernova's.


ALittleGoodBloodMakesTheGrassGrow.

By: Rocky M. Magana 55

As he pierced through the heart of the exploding star, he heard the only voice left in the universe say...


A Little Good Blood Makes The Grass Grow.

By: Rocky M. Magana 56

Chapter IV Awaking To Changed & More of The Same. “Right actions in the future are the best apologies for bad actions in the past.” -Tryon Edwards


ALittleGoodBloodMakesTheGrassGrow.

By: Rocky M. Magana 57

In a burning house, Everything is illuminated. Wise words to a fool, Are a foreign tongue. Pain is the only thing, A man understands; He's too busy hurting the world, To realize it's not eternal.


A Little Good Blood Makes The Grass Grow.

“Hey,

By: Rocky M. Magana 58

wake up!” Groggily Rider's eyes stirred and opened. He found himself laying in a cold sweat against the marble pillar near the painting his Mother came out of. The museum was closed and the night security guard shook him furiously because he thought he was drunk “Old man you cant sleep here, if you don't leave at once I'll be forced to notify the authorities.” Rider was disoriented, but he had the wherewithal to take note that his heart beat had slowed and no longer rang in his ears. “Was it all a hallucination?” he thought to himself. As he quickly assessed his well being, he realized that he felt quite a bit better now than he had earlier in the night. Gathering his wits, Rider looked up at the frustrated guard and apologized “Yes of course, I'm terribly sorry; I'll be on my way at once.” Standing to his feet, the woozy Rider exited the gallery the way he came. As he passed by the statue of Persephone, he smiled at the the broken flower laying on the ground. This second chance was not a carnival


ALittleGoodBloodMakesTheGrassGrow.

By: Rocky M. Magana 59

mirror in hell; he was alive. And to say that this made Rider happy would be and understatement. As he exited through the rotating door, the cold night air whisked across his face. Whether there was a mystic force at work in that air, or if it was simply the terrors of his dream still haunting him, I do not know, but suddenly Rider was overcome with a sudden need to be pious. Looking up at the distant created stars, he prayed to their maker for the first time since his youth “You have shown me my future, I swear I will not forget it! I will live a just life, using my trade wisely, saving those I have the power to save! Never again will my hand be the cause of another's death! Forgive me, for I am foolish wretch!� No sooner had these repentant words escaped Rider's lips that he felt a cool wet sensation close to his stomach. Looking down, Rider discovered that a trickle of blood seeped through his shirt from just above his appendix. Leaning on his cane for support, Rider placed his hand inside of his shirt to investigate; when suddenly a loud


A Little Good Blood Makes The Grass Grow.

By: Rocky M. Magana 60

CRACK broke through the night air. Rider's cane snapped in half, sending him hurling down the gigantic stone museum steps. Awaiting Rider at the bottom of the staircase his newly employed young servant. As Rider crashed into the cobblestone walkway at the bottom, his guts burst out of his abdomen. Back at Rider's house, the maid was busy straightening and preparing the study for her masters return. Rider insisted there be a double scotch, a cigar, and a crisp copy of the evening news awaiting him on his desk when he got home. Except for on this night there were some peculiar items cluttering her masters desk; items that were out of their natural place in the house; the chiefest being a vial of an extremely rare sedative whose side effects include violent hallucinations. There was also a set of medical instruments spread haphazardly across the desk, minus one scalpel. Last but not least, was the sturdy cane with the brass knob removed off the top of it. Being the noble and trustworthy servant she was, the maid quickly cleared these items from


ALittleGoodBloodMakesTheGrassGrow.

By: Rocky M. Magana 61

sight, returning them all to their rightful places. As Rider laid with his innards poured out, the silhouette face of the young servant appeared over him. The whites of the servant's eyes hung in the darkness, immovable, like two partially eclipsed moons of Saturn that were glued to the walls of space. Rider quivered and croaked “What has happened to me?” Leaning close to his face, the young servant smiled and whispered “I only stitched you up on the inside.” The last thing Rider eyes saw in this world, was a glimpse of a red ribbon tied around the wrist of the young servant as he fled into the night.


A Little Good Blood Makes The Grass Grow.

By: Rocky M. Magana 62

Murer in the Museum  

Dr. Rider is at last made to atone for the crimes of his past.

Read more
Read more
Similar to
Popular now
Just for you