How the magic potion didn't change a thing.

Gathering some of the sheet around me I get of the bed and head for the wall-size window on one side of the room. As I descend from the dais the sheet trails behind me like a oversized wedding train. Me a bloody bride as I proceed across the blood red carpet to the window. My white skin stands out against all the red as does my white hair. Looking out the window I can see the outside world. A city twinkling in the neon-light of cheap commercialization formed by greed. There could hardly be a more fitting audience in the world for this red wedding of mine. Trying to see all the way down below I push my entire body against the window. The heat from my breath and body leave prints on the glass making a stunning pattern as the cold from the outside slowly seeps through the sheet making me shiver. Yet I do not move as I strain to see into the depths. My face pressed to the glass I can almost smell the decadence that is catered to the people outside. Behind me the red door opens and closes silently. On the streets of the city so far beneath me night is calling as a man steps out of a shop with shaded windows carrying a paper bag. He is clutching it close to his chest almost as if it is something so pricelessly precious he can not bare to part with it. Carefully crossing the street he enters the building across the street and goes up the stairs until he reaches the top floor. Fumbling with the keys he opens a creaking door into a spacious apartment not at all in keeping with the mans rugged appearance. As the door falls into its lock behind him the man slowly stumbles across the expanse of the living and enters the bathroom leaving the bag on a table. As he reappears several minutes later shaven and in a fresh suit a women's voice has been calling out to him from the moment he turned on the tap. Hesitating over the paper bag for a moment he picks it up and takes it into the inner room. The place where the man once was truly happy. There on the bed is an obese woman who, as the man enters reaches desperately for the bag. Pulling a green glass bottle from the bag the man helps the woman sit up folding back the rolls of fat hanging over the sides of the mattress with loving attention. As she is sitting she drinks deeply from the bottle. Chugging down the contents of the bottle with frightening speed. With every mouth full she swallows her fat starts disappearing faster and faster. Skin once again fitting the form her bones had intended for her she gets up from the bed. Her willowy form swaying seductively. Standing the man sheds his clothes and soon the two become one. Later as the woman is asleep on the bed the man gets up. Disentangling himself he heads for the door. Looking back only once he softly closes the door behind him. Standing by the window bathing in the moonlight that is shining so brightly on this night it makes the neons look like cheap imitation jewels competing with a real diamond the man pulls out his phone. During the conversation silent tears start falling from his eyes as he shakes his head in denial of the inevitable. After the call the man is restless. Smoking one cigarette after another he walks to and fro in front of the window. Finally he returns to the door to the inner room but instead of entering he just stands there looking devastated. Balling his hand into a fist he turns on his heels and whips out his phone again. Several calls later the first ones start arriving, each one just as faceless as the next. He directs them into the inner room after collecting their money. Inside the woman's screams become desperate sobs as she screams the mans name over and over. It is hard to watch as the man stands there helplessly. But it gets harder yet when the screaming turns into silence and the silence turns into sweet moaning. When the last one finally comes out of the inner room the sun is already high in the sky. He sprinkles gold coins on the floor as he goes a satisfied grin on his empty face. Quite the tip since the woman inside had already started turning back to her former self in the middle of it. As soon as the door shuts behind him the man fall on hands and knees scrambling to pick up the coins scattered across the carpet. Getting up he straightens his jacket and pocketing the money he walks out the door. Not once does he look back. Not as he crosses the street and not as he enters the shop with the shaded windows. When night beckons the man once again emerges from the store with his paper bag and the events of the previous night start over. Just like a carousel turning round and round over and over.

Standing by the window I don't notice the tears until a delicate hand reaches out and carefully catches one of my tears on the tip of his finger. Bringing the finger up to his mouth his tongue flicks out lapping up the tear as I watch in stunned silence.