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Message-ID: <32967asstr$1003198203@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "celia batau" <pinataheart@bigplanet.com>
Cache-Post-Path: news1.bigplanet.com!unknown@1cust160.tnt34.lax3.da.uu.net
Subject: {ASSM} Fuiste Polvo, Polvo Eres {celia batau} (no sex holloween)
Date: Mon, 15 Oct 2001 22:10:03 -0400
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d

hi everyone!

here's a new holloween story. :) there is sex, but you have to put it in
yourself. :)

note: copyright 2001 celia batau. you may copy this story for personal use
so long as the author's name and this note are retained. permission to copy,
distribute, or display this work is not given to any website which charges
access to it. permission to copy, distribute, or display this work is given
to "no charge" websites with written consent of author.

If you like this story or have any comments, please email us at
pinataheart@bigplanet.com.

enjoy!


Fuiste Polvo, Polvo Eres
celia batau, (C)2001

Gradually, the sky lightened. And from the retreating darkness emerged
blocks of granite and marble, and stone houses with black iron gates between
ancient trees whose lethargic limbs reached downward instead of up. Sparrows
flitted from earth to branch or danced in pairs between the rows of stone in
this little oasis bounded by high walls; this land marked for death,
bordering between birth and rebirth.

Isba woke on the grass. Blinking, she waited for her eyes to adjust to the
unfamiliar light, then stood and turned her face to the new sun breaking
over the treetops. Stretching her achy limbs, she yawned, then stepped
toward a wide gravel path and followed it. Every year on this day she
returned, ten minutes early or ten minutes late, just as the winter sun
broke the horizon to light another anniversary. Another year past.

Everything was depressingly the same, she noted with a sigh. The same white
ball still glowed over the same ugly trees, and the same abandoned unwanted
Isba wandered among them once again. No one but the caretakers ever took
these paths, where the dead were so old not even their great-grandchildren
knew their names.

Turning her attention to her feet, Isba listened to the crunch of the gravel
beneath her boots. She tried not to think about her anger, the white-hot
seething in her chest. So instead she pressed her nails into the palms of
her hands and counted her footsteps.

--

At the same familiar place, Isba stepped off the path and traced her way
across to the wide pale stone that marked her love's final bed. She stood
directly over him, as she had countless times before, and let the tears
fall.

There he was. Manoli. Isba's eternal love. Manoli. Devoted husband and
father. Unfaithful bastard.

Isba screamed, letting her wails scatter the birds and raise a sharp wind
full of dried leaves and the smell of death.

"I loved you!" she screamed.

Dropping to the grass, Isba's fingers tore into the settled earth, flinging
clods of soil and bits of root aside as she sought out her lover. Fueled by
hate and betrayal, she plunged her hands down. She would lift out his bones
and scatter them to the winds. She would dance in his casket. Scream her
pain into eternity.

--

Isba gasped. Manoli's face, exposed to the sky for the first time in
centuries, lay as clean and as youthful as the day Isba had died.

Crawling out of the hole, she held her soiled hands to her head and stared
at the sky. Manoli, she cried. Her anger flared, but so did her love, the
depth of which had been forgotten until she saw his face again. Confused,
she looked for the answer in the air above her. No one replied.

"Manoli!" she cried again and returned to the hole. He was so beautiful.
Isba caressed his face. She kissed his closed eyelids. Laughing, she wiped
her tears as they fell to his cheeks. Then reaching lower, she grabbed the
lapels of his suit and pulled his body up and out of the hole.

She held him there, close to her chest, as she rocked them. Her anger was
momentarily forgotten as memories came flooding back. Gentle kisses. Holding
hands. Nights and days and weeks and months together. Their promises of
eternal love whispered back and forth as one hand or another sought for the
sheets to cover their sweating bodies.

"Isba."

A hand moved. Then knees came forward as Isba's lover pushed himself to his
knees. His beautiful dark eyes, now open, looked into hers in confusion.
"Isba? Is that you?"

Isba slapped him.

"Bastard," she growled and pushed herself away. Standing up, she glared at
him, her anger returning four-fold. "How could you?"

Manoli, now seated on his knees, looked at his hands. Shaking his head, he
looked up at her. "I don't understand."

"What don't you understand?" she screamed, "We pledged to die together
rather than be forced apart."

Pushing himself to his feet, Manoli noticed the piles of earth, the hole,
and just beyond it, the stone with his name.

"Yes," he replied, staring at the carved letters, "we did."

Isba pushed him back toward the hole. Stumbling, Manoli turned and grabbed
Isba by the arms.

"Then why didn't you die, Manoli?!" she demanded as she kicked him. "Why?!"

Manoli pulled the furious woman into a hug and held her until she relaxed in
his arms and began to sob. "I just didn't" he replied. "I couldn't. I
couldn't do it. I loved you, but I couldn't do it."

Isba's crying slowed and she leaned into him. Her fingers dug into the
fabric of Manoli's suit. "We were supposed to be together."

"I know."

Manoli kissed the top of her head. They had promised. Isba's father had
denied him her hand, and that winter the pair had decided to elope. But they
never made it.

Isba wiped her face against Manoli's chest and pushed herself away. Out of
his reach, she stood shaking in the layers of black lace deemed appropriate
for that era. She searched his face for something to be angry with him for.
He had betrayed her. And now he admitted it. But why couldn't she stay
angry?

"I kept the arsenic until the day I died." He said.

"I didn't want to live without you." She replied.

"And you didn't."

"But you're still a bastard." She scowled.

"I know."

Isba turned and walked toward a tree. She leaned her back against its trunk
and looked back at her lover. She studied his tall frame. Even as an
admitted coward she loved him. Even that night in Manoli's bedroom, as her
brothers fought his parents at the front door and they knew their elopement
had failed, she loved him.

Slowly, Manoli crossed the space between them.

"We can be together now, can't we?" she asked.

Manoli shook his head. "I have others now."

Isba bit her lip and willed herself not to cry again. What for? Dead or
alive, she had lost him. The anger flared for a moment, but Isba pushed it
back down.

"But then we could be together right now?

Manoli smiled. And taking her in his arms again, he whispered, "if not
forever, then for right now."

--

Isba followed the path. A wonderful peace flowed through her body. It was a
peace she welcomed despite her loss. She knew now she could never have him
no matter how much she had wanted him. No matter how much she loved him.
Even when he refused the little bottle of powder she pushed into his hands,
she loved him.

Isba smiled. Besides, he had others now. Maybe it was time she found some
others as well.


celia batau's story site: http://www.myplanet.net/pinataheart/stories.htm

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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