Protégé

~ Veronica M.Nero

The front gates of your fortress are tall, ornate and heavily guarded, much like I imagine the gates of Heaven to be. I easily make it through security when they realize who I am. Your protégé has returned at last. I walk slowly up the long winding road admiring the impeccable and wonderful gardens that surround your mansion.

On the marble steps of the entrance I stand like a crucified god, both arms outstretched as your bodyguards search me, and I smile at the irony. I step into the great hall where a devotee bows to me then requests that I remove my shoes. I am given a white robe and led into a change room. I have not worn the robe for so long that I feel and look like another person. I glance at my reflection for a long time, the memories swell and churn. I lived many years in your ashram. I let the memories come and go. I feel nothing.

When I emerge from the change room the devotee bows to me again.

“The Guru is expecting you. He is most pleased that you have come,” purrs the man with a polite smile. He gestures, inviting me to proceed.

I walk deeper into the large entrance hall, marveling at the decadence. The floor is fine, white granite. It is cold and smooth under my feet. A beautiful fountain is in the centre of the hall. Its crystal clear water fills the air with a fine, refreshing mist. Light streams in from the domed glass ceiling. A huge winding staircase of glistening mahogany stands ahead. The staircase is laid with plush red carpet. The carpet seems to melt beneath my feet; warm and soft, a striking contrast to the granite floor. With careful slow steps I begin the ascent.

I walk the pristine white halls, passing the silent sentinels who stare ahead although they observe me carefully. Within large rooms the elite of your followers are seated softly chanting your mantra. Fresh bouquets of extravagant blooms line the walls. The altars are large and overflowing with more flowers, adorning huge portraits of you. Streaming brass bowls thicken the air with the intoxicating scent of sandalwood. I keep climbing, to the very pinnacle of your mansion, to a small room lined with windows that offer exhilarating views of the coast.

I stand before the white raw silk curtains that line the doorway, the veil between you and I. In this room you live, rarely leaving; you no longer travel to teach anymore. From the peak of your ivory tower you look down at the world you have left behind. In this room you receive the most select and gifted of your followers. Very few are granted entrance. I sat in this room with you often, the two of us on orange cushions gazing down at the ocean.

The silk brushes my face as I pass through; there is no turning back. I have not returned to embrace you my beloved Guru, I have come to say goodbye. You were a kind and generous Guru, you gave me everything. Except the key. Except what I wanted.

I find you as I remember you, seated on your cushion, gazing out of the window, as if you have not moved in all these years. The sharp morning light that pours in is overpowering, it seems as if we are standing amongst clouds.

I wait silently. After a few moments you finally rise and turn to me. Your skin glistens like polished bronze, your eyes are orbs of bottomless black. You are an enigma, oozing mystique. I approach you and our eyes meet. A sensation sweeps over me, is it love? It is nothing but a distraction; I will not be deterred. I know I must act instantly. With a swift and powerful motion I plunge my fist deep into your belly. You do not struggle, you do not make a sound. You hold my gaze, expressionless, but deep down I can see the surprise, the shock. Your protégé has surpassed you in skill. The pain must be excruciating as I push my hand in deeper; you drool from the mouth, tears seep from your eyes. I withdraw and blood gushes from the wound. You drop to your knees and I follow, diving my hand in deeper again. I need it while you are still alive. You begin to convulse as I scoop out your intestines. I can feel it with the very tip of my fingers, smooth and hard, deep within you. A small curved thing, the most sacred of bones. The seat of the soul, the seat of power, the sacrum. I have come to collect yours, my Guru.

~ Magenta Nero

© Copyright 2016 Magenta Nero. All Rights Reserved.

Published by Veronica M.Nero

32 thoughts on “Protégé”

    1. Thanks Jon, yes the setting of the ashram play a big part in this tale. I enjoyed painting a pretty picture…only to lull the reader into a state of vulnerability..Thanks for reblogging!

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  3. This is quite good, Magenta! A very nice build on the tension and a great visual contrast. White robes and silk against the blood. The mixture of dark and light, good versus evil, student becoming teacher… Thank you 🙂

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  4. A terrific piece, Magenta! The voice is dispassionate, yet filled at the same time with purpose. Every master (Guru in this case) strives for his/her student to surpass them; it’s the ultimate reward and natural progression. The visceral way your student surpasses the Guru is not only vivid and brutal, but somehow feels justified – not because the Guru has wronged the student, but because the Guru (living in all his opulence) seems to have been the architect of his own demise by grooming one so deserving of owning his glory. Very nicely done!! 😀

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    1. Thanks so much for your comments Nina. The Guru is an ambiguous character here isn’t he, perhaps he got what he deserved, perhaps his student surpassed him in cruelty…I like the tension of relationship between the two characters too.

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      1. Agreed 100%. The tension, though the two in one room make up a small portion of the story, is not only felt when they are face to face, but in the students’ ascent as well. “The Guru is expecting you…” Very nice! 🙂

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  6. Never teach someone all that you know; one must leave a few tricks hidden within the bag. Sadly, your Guru did not heed such sound advice. But luckily for us, you decided to share his misfortune… I loved your story this week, Magenta. You captured the environment perfectly in all its meditative serenity, while still penning such a jarring and brutal end. And to that I say, bravo, more, more! 😉

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    1. Yes, that is very good advice, a teacher shouldn’t reveal everything… although when the student is a psycho sociopath, like our friend here, resentment is bound to lead to a gruesome end! I’m glad this story tickled your fancy, thanks Joe!

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  8. Pingback: Protégé – angelwithdirtywingsblog

  10. Great story, Magenta! It appears the Guru allowed himself to fall into a state of self-complacency, sitting atop the pinnacle of his cathedral of fame and influence, and not expecting anyone to usurp his power. But it happens, doesn’t it? Vigilance need always be kept.

    Blaze.

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  16. Oh Magenta, where to start?!? Perhaps with an apology for taking so long to respond to this. I actually first read this earlier this week, but wasn’t able to respond. I’ve read it twice since that first one, and I enjoy it more and more with each read.

    The dark and brooding feel of the story was a joy. But the tension…. the tension felt like it had been building over ages, like a fault building up to a slip, and the protégé taking her guru with cold and violent abandon much like an earthquake and its destruction. Loved it!

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    1. Hi Zack! I try not to be predictable..so I’m glad you found the tension intriguing. It is a rather lush narrative leading to a brutal, crude moment isn’t it? I’m happy you enjoyed it. Thanks Zack

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  17. Pingback: Women in Horror Month 2016 – Featured Author: Magenta Nero @Magenta_Nero #WiHM7 | Spreading the Writer's Word

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