Through The Veins: A Tale of Insanity GERMAN ALCALA Published by German Alcala at Smashwords Copyright 2011 German Alcala THROUGH THE VIENS A Tale of Insanity The bottle of century old wine was broken the moment it hit her head. The sting pierced into her skull, she felt her blood boil, and she fell to the ground in tears. Again. Once again her husband was beating her with all of the rage that comes from self loathing that he was too cowardly to take out on himself. Why was it that every morning she would wake up with hopes banked on the chance that today he would once more be the man that she once loved before the drugs? Despite her hopes every night she fell asleep with a new band aid or bruise. Tonight she didn’t know what she would do with the wound that was filled with alcohol atop her head. She lay on the forty-thousand dollar throw rug in tightly curled ball. Her designer dress had split yet again, and the maid would stitch it together with tears in her eyes. The servants desperately wanted to tell the authorities about her husband’s abuse every day for the past three years. Her husband began to kick her with all the strength of his foot which was tightly kept safe in a black bear skin boot which he wore only at night to beat her with once she was on the ground crying. Her makeup had carvings in it from her streaming tears which were plowing the makeup away, but being the wife of a wealthy drug lord meant designer clothing, servants, century old wine, forty thousand dollar throw rugs, and makeup were easily replaced. The wound on her head was bleeding freely, and her vision began to go blurry. She heard the grunts of her husband as he punched and kicked her. The last thing she felt was the cold air as her husband tore her undergarment off to further humiliate her. No, not to rape her… he had all the prostitutes of the streets who would gladly take him, and for free only to flaunt the fact that they had slept with the most notorious drug lord in the city of Torkinya. Her head finally rolled back and she was blissfully unconscious. The stinging alcohol flowed through her veins. Through her veins rushed the ecstasy and pleasure of alcohol. It flowed from her head down to her feet; it fueled her brain, and pumped into her heart. Her husband left her on the floor as she continued to bleed onto the floor. The poison that had helped to take her once loving husband away from her was now seeping through her own veins. What it did once it got deep inside of her I do not know, but one thing is certain: the liquid hurt her body, and something in her brain began to slowly fall apart… it damaged her brain allowed her mind to begin its slip into insanity. Her eyes fluttered in reaction to the maid rocking her back and forth in an earnest attempt to wake her. She felt her head heavy, she felt her body sore underneath the thick blanket, and she felt the fluffy mattress underneath her. She looked around her with squinted eyes, and saw the chief standing by her side. She assumed they had carried her to her bedroom. How they had climbed the gilded staircase to the second floor was beyond her. The maid asked if she was well. She replied that she was perfectly fine. They both knew that it was a lie, but the maid knew that if she should delve deeper her employer would begin to cry. Then the maid would say the police simply had to be called in, but out of loyalty to her husband and fear of being taken to jail as an accomplice to many of her husband’s crimes she would refuse police interaction. She did not consider herself a bad person, or a drug lady to her husband, but her husband had murdered people in her home. It was like that through which she discovered her husband’s vice. She had been awoken one night when the lock marked four, and the moon had been full. The sounds of a man screaming in pain, and begging for mercy had vibrated up through the air into her bedroom. In search of the notice she had wrapped herself in a black satin robe. She had climbed down the steps of her home, and then a scene that was not meant for her eyes came into view. Her husband, one of his co-workers, and a man on a chair with blood dripping from his jaw. The gun in her husband’s co-worker’s hand also had blood on the handle. The man on the chair seemed weak and sick which was from pain she could only imagine had been inflicted by a baseball bat in her husband’s grip. She stood upon the staircase, her eyes wide, and her mouth slightly gaping. Her husband saw her. Her husband co-worker also looked up. Her husband began walking towards the stair case without the slightest idea of what he would do next. She finally yelled for him to stay away from her. Her husband’s victim quietly slid out of his seat, he glanced at the man holding the gun, and decided to run whilst his two captors were distracted. Her husband turned in the direction that the running victim had disappeared to, and then he said his co-worker’s name in a commanding tone. His co-worker knew what his boss meant by the tone in his voice. The co-worker clicked the safety off of his gun. Her husband turned back to his wife as his co-worker stalked after the victim. He soon towered over her. She was weak at the knees with terrible fright. She shook in fear for a moment before finally spinning around to run away. Her husband did not find that fitting; he reached out, and took grip of her hair before she could begin running. She yelped in pain, she lost her footing, and fell onto the stairs. She struggled for a moment on the carpeted staircase. She fell down two steps before ending in a lying position on one of the steps. The sound of a gunshot rang through the house. Her cold blooded husband paid it no more mind than one would pay a speck of lint in the air, but she gasped in horror. She glanced at the chair that she had first seen the victim in, she looked at her husband’s bat wielding hand, and then she raised her shaking hands up to her face to sob into them with the realization that just like her husband’s victim she had nowhere to run. Her husband looked down at her assertively. He instructed her not to tell a soul about what had just happened. She nodded her head in fear. Her husband slightly lowered his bat, kneeled down, and attempted running his finger through her hair. She shied away from his touch, and then mumbled out an order for him never to touch her again. In rage her husband slapped her; she looked at him with the white impression of his fingers on her cheek, and spit into his eye. Whilst her husband writhed in temporary blindness she stood up from the stairs. She made a run for her life knowing that it was almost certainly useless. In her weak lethargic state she did not get far before her husband picked up his baseball bat, and flung it at her. It struck her back so violently that she was thrown to the floor. Her husband stalked down the stairs, took her by the hair by which she pulled her face up from the floor, and punched her jaw. That was the beginning of her daily beatings. From then on she was a prisoner of her own luxurious mansion, and could only leave her home accompanied by her malevolent husband. All through three years. Bound by fear, illusions, and little else she had been doomed for the past three years. Lying in her bed she began to cry in shame, she raised her hands up to sob into her palms, and then she screamed in mortification. She lashed out at her maid and at her chief. They looked at her in pure sadness and a betrayed sadness. All she wanted now was to be alone, and they soon left her in her state of tears. She lay on her bed with her face buried deep in her pillow. Her body in sore pain. Her dreams of happiness came to mind. The past came back in form of blurry visions from another life. She remembered two years of marriage before she had been plummeted into the abyss. She remembered the money, the love that she thought was genuinely mutual, and the smiles that played across her face so often back then. In the anger she began to quietly cuss her life away. She lay in the bed and asked herself all the questions that she so often liked ignore. What good does he do for me? He doesn’t really love me so why bother anymore? Oh why? Tell me why are you so stupid? Your world has been thrown away! You are nothing without him and his money, but with him you are something? Yes, you are garbage at his side, and you know this to be true by way of all the pain that he does not hesitate to bring into your life. I am not his cow! She mentally yelled inside her mind at the voices that were flooding her head. I am a bad woman; I am a goddess among women. Then tell me why you are bleeding and crying? You’re a fool! You’ve become his cow; a heifer, you idiot! The voices said. That monster has nothing over me. Why don’t you realize that everything was only a sick lie? This stupid torture is only going to end with the silence of your heart break. She composed herself. She made herself stop crying just as she did after every beating. She swung her legs over the edge of the bed. She regretted having snapped at her rescuers and she slowly stood up from her bed. Her body ached, but if she did not remain strong then how would she ever survive tomorrow’s beating. She walked out of her room, saw the maid and the chef climbing down her grand gold staircase, and she ran after them. The maid and chef gasped in shock. They held onto her in fear that she would fall over on her weak frame. She quietly and shamefully apologized for being rude to them. It was not the first time that She had done such a thing, and they of course forgave her. They exchanged embraced with her, and then left the home. From a window at the end of one of her ornate hallways she saw them drive away. A frown etched itself across her face. What jealousy she felt to see the two of them leave the property. She was horribly depressed to know that there was still a fully thriving world behind the few people should still communicate with. Her husband had barred from anybody that could save her from his clutches. The only people who could communicate with her were those who communicated through their artwork. Paintings hung on the walls everywhere one could see. The only room in the mansion not decorated with paintings was the library that was decorated with books. Once alone She had nothing to do, but cry as she weakly limped to the bathroom. Her head ached horribly, and She wanted to see how extensive the damage was. Looking into the mirror she noticed how well the maid and the cook had helped her. Her hand over the bandages she began to sob even more furiously. Her dignity was gone, and her husband had destroyed her. The last thing she wanted to do was leave his side. Every night he came back even though he did not love her she still loved him to death. Unfortunately, she might end up loving him to death. He had beaten her too much, and her heart was too battered. She looked at herself in the mirror with a white hot rage. Why didn’t she leave? Leave while she still lived. It would not be hard to find a pair of car keys that would allow her entrance to one of her husband’s cars. She could easily be done with the suffering. She’d ride far away from him, far away from this city, and never again suffer the heartbreaking beatings. Every day her heart healed just a little bit, but her intelligent husband knew exactly how to break her once more, and let her fall apart. She turned away from her reflection with detestation. Her heart was now as heavy as her weak head, and her body moved slowly like a rusted vehicle. The engine was ruined, and the exterior had been beaten to the point at which the interior could not stand it any longer. She summoned her strength, and continued walking. As she edged forward through the hallway she felt the full weight of her decision. What would she do? What if she did not run far away enough, and was found? Her husband was powerful through his connections. He would surely kill her then. She left out a small whimper before tears slid out of her eyes once more. Her hands were both on the wall of the hallway to keep her from falling to her knees which would have sent pain running through her body upon impact. Her knees buckled, but she set all of her energy on walking, limping, or crawling. Despite her doubt she had resorted to leave. Why wouldn’t she leave? She had no children to hold her to the man, and when she thought about how things had declined in her household the last few years she feared bankruptcy. Her husband was rich, and if that there was no doubt. However, he always bought more drugs than he was selling and moving. His stash of drug was too tightly packed, and yet he continued buying more drugs. At the rate of his splurging they would be poor soon. She might as well leave while her life still had some hope. She slunk into her bedroom; clinging to the door frame she looked over at her husband’s dressed, and knew that the drawer at the bottom was what had destroyed the man she once loved so much. Her heart had flutter for her husband for many years. She had known she would be the wife of that man since the moment she had laid eyes on him. All her friends know for a fact that she was making a mistake, because was not a secret that he shared the company of bad people. However, she did not listen to any of them, and she insisted that he was nothing like the company which he shared. Now her dignity was torn, and she had betrayed all her family by interloping with her loving husband who was now a pathetic monster. It was the drugs that had ruined him. She thought of her hatred for those drugs as she edged closer and closer to the dresser in which her husband kept a box of car keys. Her eyes were on the bottom drawer rather than the top one where she was certain the keys would be. Standing in front of the drawer she pulled open the top drawer, and inside it was a velvet lined wooden box, she took it, and threw it a couple of feet onto her bed. She turned her head to see her own dresser on the other side of room. She would be packed and gone in a few moments. She looked down at the drugs that had killed the once loving man she called a lover. She slid her foot out of her slipper, and used her toes, which were the last pieces of her that did not ache, to open the bottom drawer. It slid open with ease, and she looked into it. One side of the drawer had a few stacks of money. She did not know where her husband hid most of his money, but this must have been an emergency stack which she would take with her. She slid slowly down to her knees. She held onto the dresser with all her strength as she went down, and finally let go when she was sure of being stable. She held onto the edge of the drawer for support as she took hold of the money stacks, and she took out three stacks of money which were held together with colorful plastic bands. She laid out the money next to her, and looked down at the now empty spot of the drawer where the money had been. Her eyes wandered to a gun that had been lying behind the money which lay against two more stacks of money. She would have enough money to rent an apartment for herself somewhere. She quickly pushed the gun aside, and took the other stacks of money. With the money out she glared at the gun which she did not want to take with her, but feared that for own safety she might have to. After all she was very weak, and the world was a dangerous place. Reluctantly she took the gun, and placed it on top of the money stacks. She knew that a gun was a simple machine. She knew to pull off the safety, and to pull the trigger. She popped the barrel out of the gun, and saw every small hole had a bullet inside it. She licked her lips with an image in her mind of her shooting down her abusive husband. It was a beautiful, big, and shining gun. It looked juicier than her husband’s penis. She thought with a grin, as she set the empowering gun back down. She looked back down at the drugs, and rage began to boil her blood. She looked at the neat assortment of drug containers. A small plastic box sat next to a small black case which lay comfortably on a bag of clear plastic inside of which was green plant. Her eyes bulged to see the green plant, and she impulsively took the small plastic box on the side. She unclipped a small lock on the front, and inside of it she found a beautiful assortment of colorful pills. She prodded one of the pills with her finger, and slid it out of the box. She held it up to her eyes and examined it for markings of any kind to tell her what it was, but as she would expect it was unmarked to be mistaken for a vitamin. She looked at the colorful pills, and then set them back down in the drawer still open. She took the black case hoping there would be some money inside it. Needles... filled of honey colored liquid. She glared at the drug with loathing. She reached, and took one of the needles out of its place. She held it up to her line of vision, and looked at it through squinted eyes. “You killed my lover” she murmured to the needle as if it were an animate object. The needle said nothing in return. “And by extent you’re going to kill me” she said to the needle with tears beginning to form in her eyes. The needle continued to glare at her with malice. It spoke no words, and yet she knew that it was mocking her. “I hate you” she said, the tears slipping out of her eyes now. “I detest you” she growled out of her wet mouth now that she was sobbing. The needle continued to laugh at the heartbroken, weak, and beaten woman. Her anger reached too high a point, and a growl rumbled in her throat after which she allowed a horrific yell to leave her mouth. She held the needle by the glass barrel, she held it so tightly she felt the glass tighten in her grip, and it broke into an explosion of shards. The glass cut deep into her palm, and the liquid seeped into her blood stream. She began to panic. She quickly stood up with adrenaline fueling her body. She ran into the bathroom of her bedroom, and began to wash her hand which was bleeding profusely. The honey colored liquid had almost completely vanished into her open wound. It only took ten seconds of washing at her hand for the glass shards to fall off, and then it took twenty seconds for the drug to make her gasp in pleasure. The euphoria, the ecstasy, the lust, and the love that she felt next were intoxicating. She threw her head back and let out a moan now that all her physical pain was quickly leaving her body. The weight on top of her mind slipped out of reach, and the burning in her hand was somehow a good thing. She whipped her head around to look out to the bedroom, and she walked with full strength to the drawer full of drugs. The fantastic sensation washing over her was amazing. She was no longer in a hurry to leave her home, but was happy here. Why not be happy here? This place was so fabulous! Her body shook occasionally as it was not accustomed to the drug, but she did not notice her body’s disapproval of the drug. She fell to her knees, held onto the edge of the bottom drawer, lolled her head around, and then looked down at the items before her. The feeling of freedom was not as much as the feeling of power that was rushing through her making her feel as if she now had control over her life, and control over her own body for the first time in years. She loved her husband once more, and yet she did not truly remember who her husband was anymore. However, she neither knew who she herself was anymore. Her mind lost all thought, and she was sucked in by the intriguing colors of the ecstasy pills that she had left open at the bottom of the drawer. She slipped a tablet out of the box with her long fingers, and laid it on her tongue. She chewed it quickly, and swallowed the dry dust in her mouth. She felt nothing. Impatiently she took three more, and ground them with her teeth before swallowing each one like a vitamin. She stood up from the floor, and began to pace the room. She did not know what to do with her newfound happiness. She knew that her hand was bleeding heavily, but did not pay it any mind. She felt that there was not enough air in the bedroom to supply her free lungs. She quickly walked across the room, fumbled with the lock on the bedroom window, and could not find how to open it. She had forgotten her husband in his cruelty had bared the window from outside. Without looking around she reached over to a lamp on her bedside table, she yanked it towards her breaking the cord, and she smashed it into the window. Shards flew out into the air, and a rush of fresh air came into her home. Her blood rushed, her lungs inflated, and the ecstasy pills began to take their effect. “Wah!” she let out a primal growl, as her body twisted back, and she fell on all fours onto the floor. She arched her body down to grind herself against the floor with a moan. She stood up and began singing as her legs began to spasm with her mind gone. She began to whip her head around, her arms out, and she swung her hips as she danced around the room. She stopped dancing when her foot hit against the bottom drawer, and she fell to the floor. Relentless to be kept still she began to crawl along the floor of her room as quickly as she could. In her ears she could the quick rushing of her blood, the banging of a million tambourines, and the moaning of men who could treat her well in bed. She began to hit her hand against her chest as she arched back, and was soon on her knees. Her eyes rolled back and bulged out of her eye sockets. She could only blurs for a moment during which she fell back, and hit her head against the floor. Her eyes fell back into their sockets, but the bandages on her head suddenly had a red line on them where her wound was beginning to bleed again. She slid across the floor to take her legs out from under her. She quickly stood up, as a blinding pleasure inside her grew much too intense. She took hold of her head ignoring the blood, and moaned in frustrated pain. The happiness was too intense, and the pleasure was now beginning to bury her sense of sanity. She walked up to her husband’s dresser where the money stacks were laid out. She saw the gun on top of the stacks of money. Her sense of pleasure returned to her. Why did she even feel bad to begin with? The sick feeling in her stomach began to subside. She bent down and took the gun. She rubbed her hand along the barrel feeling the thick black metal. She licked her lips as she felt the smooth gun. She hit it against her chest, and slid it down her cleavage. She quickly took it back out. Again she began to whip her hair, and dance around the room. She danced of the bedroom without knowing where her feet were taking her. She pranced her way out of the bedroom, she shook her hips as she moved down the hallway, and soon she spinning in circles at the top of her grand staircase. She spun around and around. She could feel her brain moving inside of her skull. Her arms out in the air with a grin on her face. She let out woo’s and yeah’s as beautiful voices filled her mind. Her vision blurred, and all she could see were golden lines of color around her. The red blood on her head had blossomed out as she continued to bleed. She felt nothing as her feet tripped, and she fell down the stairs. She fell down three steps, and ended in a sitting position. Her dress torn even more from the fall she had her privates exposed. Her maid and chef had not been able to give her new underwear after her husband had torn it off of her earlier. She saw her vagina from her sitting position, and put the gun in her hand down on the stair step. She reached down, and began to touch and poke at her vagina’s lips. The curtain over her vagina was pushed back by her curios fingers. She moaned softly in response to her own hands. She tore away at her expensive blouse. She needed something else that could plunge deeper into her body. She saw the gun lying next to her, and admired its smooth black surface for a moment before picking it up. As her body got wetter and warmer she put the point of the gun on her vagina. The cold metal soon became warmer from her body heat. She moaned in response to rapid change in temperature. Throwing her head back she plunged it deep into herself. The pleasure of the drug began to come hand in hand with the new sexual pleasure. The rush of the ecstasy was beginning to make the world bloom, and everything was going to be alright. She plunged the gun deeper into her own body realizing how much better it felt than her own husband’s body. The drugs had somehow killed her husband’s well endowment that she had once loved so much. Her body began to reach the point of climax after several very slow and exciting minutes. She ran her hands along the gun. A click was heard signifying that the safety was off. She took hold of the trigger for the best handle. She began to thrust it deeper into her body as she came closer and closer to climax. Sweating and moaning in anticipation for the ending she pulled on the trigger and screamed in pure pleasure as the bullet ripped through her body, and she finally came to an orgasm. The blood began to pour out of her body. She was happy now that she was finally running away from husband. She took her hand out of her body as her head and vagina bled onto the grand staircase. She twisted around, and on the step above her she wrote out the words “I did it, you should”. It was a message calling out to the man that she once loved. Her husband would come home, and see the message she left before running away. She would see her old husband in the heavens when the guilt finally brought him to the point of burying a bullet into his own mouth. She smiled as she closed her eyes, and fell back onto her back. She lay on the staircase as her body became more and more pale. She opened her eyes again, and looked up at the chandelier on the ceiling of her magnificent home. What a beautiful home I leave behind. She thought as her eyes blurred back out to see the chandelier as a collection of stars. Slowly the blood inside her body was less than that amount which flowed around her. Her eyes fluttered to a close. The fabric of her torn blouse lay on her. Her torn dress flowed down the staircase. Her head lolled back, and her hair fanned out across the stair step. She dropped one of her arms, and the other one went numb on the stair above her. Her mind slowly lost all sense. Her heart stopped shuddering in the panic of the drugs that had excited her mind so much. She lay dead as the poison once inside her flowed out to her veins. FIN Thank You for Reading Author Info: German Alcala: From Los Angeles, California German Alcala is, Mexican, Gay, and considers himself a novelist, poet, singer, dancer, carpenter, and everything in between! German Alcala's biggest inspirations include Edgar Allan Poe, Maya Angelou, and Jackie Collins. He is the Editor In Chief, and owner of a new online literary magazine THE INKBLOT, has self-published eBooks across the web from Apple iBooks to Barnes and Noble NookBooks, has been called Awesome, Inspiring, Shocking, The Dr. Seuss For Suicidal Teens, and Amazing in book reviews. Discover other titles by German Alcala at Smashwords.com: Gay Enough - http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/24089 The Witch’s Tits - http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/32083 SWING: A Psychopathy - http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/55995 Find Me Online: Twitter: http://twitter.com/ConceitedPerson Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100000040279504 Smashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/GermanAlcalaSahagun Inkblot Magazine: http://inkblotonline.com/