The Top 50 Albums Of 2011, Reinterpreted As Short Stories (Part 5)

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CHAPTER 10
St Vincent - Strange Mercy

27 Sep
Art Pop
Spotify

The smell of coffee wafted into the Angel’s nose as he calmly walked through the doorway of an unconventional cafe and gazed around, scanning the human faces for the particular disguise he admired the most. His eyes eventually settled on the Devil’s own eyes which had already noted his presence, and the two nodded at each other in greeting. Pulling off his wet jacket, the Angel walked over to the table and sat down opposite the man he was here for.

“Hello Lucifer,” he smiled to his old friend, and the Devil smiled back, stubbing his cigarette out on the table.
“Hello Vince, looking good. How’s The Father?” Satan smirked with a creepy wink, and The Angel laughed politely, appreciating the humour.

The exchange was interrupted as a beautiful young waitress in poppy attire placed two cups of coffee on the table before them.
“Would you guys like to order anything else?” she asked timidly as she pulled out a pen and paper.
“No, this is fine for now, darling.” The Devil answered seductively, and the waitress nodded in a flustered manner, leaving the table side as quickly as she could.

“I hope you don’t mind that I ordered for you,” Satan grinned, swirling his finger in his cup. “This place does a fantastic bean, I’m always here.”
“I’ll take you word for it,” The Angel responded with no intention of drinking from a cup ordered by the King of Evil himself. He had come to predict Satan's unpredictable Disney tricks and surprises over the centuries.
“So,” The Devil continued the small talk. “Some weather we’re having, huh?” and then burst into laughter.
“You know you can’t keep this up, Lucifer,” The Angel got down to business. “You lost the Ocean War, and you will lose The English War too. God is watching you.”
Satan’s eyes glowed red and his posture straightened, nearly coughing up his hot drink, before composing himself and returning to his joker smile.
“You don’t think I know this, Vincent? If he wasn’t watching me, I’d be a hell of a lot more concerned. How’s your coffee?”

They sat looking at each other for a few seconds, divinely aware of everything around them. They were aware that the waitress was two months pregnant, but her frame was already struggling to develop the baby inside, and they would both surely die before the child’s birth. They were aware that less than 10 feet away, a two-headed alien in disguise sat drinking its own caffeinated joe, laughing in an operatic way—the importance of the role which the two had played in the Prophecy not lost on the Angel nor the Devil. And more than anything, they were aware that despite the good vs. evil war which had been fought since the dawn of time, they had a deep mutual respect/borderline-love for each other. The opposite ends of the scale, balancing one another out; the jarring distortion of Hell necessary to sustain the purpose of the angelic chiming of Heaven—and visa versa. They needed each other to exist in order to exist, playing an almost game which granted each one meaning, giving all angels and demons satisfaction, despite the complete ignorance as to the Why’s and How’s—or if there was even any reason to this at all.

Regardless, that was just the way it was: pushing the boundaries and buttons of the original and perpetual war, and St. Vincent felt strangely uplifted from this brief encounter—as he always did. On some level it was calming to meet the enemy after such a long time, but as he had nothing more worthwhile to say, he stood up and put his wet coat back on.

“I’m not here to warn you of anything, Satan,” he said, using the Devil’s preferred name. “I’m here to tell you that you will not win. The Eternal Couple will defeat you this round, mark my words, and your army will grow even weaker than they are now.”
“I look forward to it!” Satan smirked, picking up the coffee he had ordered for The Angel and drinking it down in one quick gulp. “You’re not going to pay for that?”
The Angel smiled again. “Goodbye, old friend,” he said as he turned his back, walking out into the unseasonal rain.

CHAPTER 09
La Dispute - Wildlife

04 Oct
Post-Hardcore
Spotify

After sobering up and eventually finding his way home, James’ mind had done nothing for the last few hours but reaffirm that it was time. Time to remove himself from his pathetic being and die once and for all. He walked through the front door of his empty house with a new happiness for a life which found peace in the idea of death. Erika was gone; Gillian was gone; and the gut-jerking emotions he had dealt with every day since then had filled him to the throat; the powerful repetition of his grief traumatizing him to the point of illness. To James, it was surprising that it took him so long to make the decision to stop the noises, which made him laugh as he grabbed a cheap bottle of brandy and his favourite shotgun, making his way up to the attic.

He sat on the splintered wood of his unfurnished loft floor, slowly drinking a glass of the neat spirit, enjoying it slowly, as alcohol had become the only thing in his life he’d “enjoyed” these days—for lack of better word. His mind had come to terms with his fate, and he could think of no better place to go than right here, in the dustiest most desolate place in the house he once called a home. He admired the narrow crack of light slotting itself through the small window, highlighting the brown texture of the atmosphere. He followed the glow of sunshine as he continued to savour his brandy, until his eyes fell upon something he had never noticed before. A dark wooden chest, camouflaged by the same colour of the room but highlighted by the sun, the only thing in here with him.

Curiously and momentarily forgetting his internal pain, James put his drink down and crawled towards the large box. He sat in front of it, and placed his hand on the top, happy to find it was unlocked. He lifted the lid, and casually peered in. There lying at the bottom was one sheet of paper, dusty but not old, with something written on it. His eyes squinted in a blurry mess from the alcohol and the filth that burnt his vision, so he picked it up and held it as close to his face as possible. And with goosebumps, he read it.

“Dear Jimmy,
Do you remember the day we met? You had picked me up from that dirty party and took me to your home, while my world had forgotten me and all those had left me to die. You saved me. You took care of me. You taught me how to speak. You entered a life of torturing yourself in a city which decayed around us, just to support a victim you never even knew. I wanted to write this all down so you would remember. Not a moment goes by when I can forget. I travel backwards through time and space, and I disintegrate, become invisible, reconstruct the scene in fragments of memories.
Back in those days (and every single one of those days) I looked out at the streets, waiting for you to return home, before I even knew how to speak your name. I saw many things in that time, trying to work out where in the world I was. I saw things I never told you. I watched a drive-by where a man shot a kid by accident—I was right there by our window when the bullet hit. The incident was on TV later that day, and the police had surrounded the man in his apartment. He called out to God before shooting his head off. Do you think this man went to Heaven, Jimmy? Can we still get into Heaven if we kill ourselves? Do you believe in these things? It’s amazing—we spent so many years together and yet I don’t even know this side of you.
All those days I watched things move outside, wondering where a higher power could possibly be in a land withering within itself. Did you hear the story about the boy riddled with schizophrenia? He lived on our road and mistook his father for a stranger, stabbing him in utter delusion. It was these stories of children that I remember the most (especially once we had Gillian), like the endless headlines of the youth dying of cancer. Why would God kill children? I listened, and I watched, but I couldn't understand anything except that these were surely the last days.
But every night when you came home, it gave me hope that maybe there was a God after all. One who manifested Himself in you, and wanted me to keep faith. And so I did. It was like this before I could speak English. It was like this when we were only happy on dope. And it was like this when you were saving lives in the war. But you always came home. And I will never forget this.
Jimmy, you don’t know where I am right now, nor could I ever explain it to you. But I see everything. I am watching you and my time has come to take care of you. There is a new war, Jimmy, and deep down I know that you know this. It is a war we are a part of, and always have been. I see you wanting to die as you read these words, but know this: if you die now, all that is good is lost. You may have lost your powers, and you may have lost everything else too, and yet you must believe me that you are still powerful. It may not feel this way, but you are. Your mistakes have been many, and when you gave away our Gillian to the wrong men, that was my last attempt at trying and make sense of the so-called "peace and comfort" you displayed through a pain. You owe this to me. You owe this to HER, Jimmy. There is only way to fix this. There is only way to fix us. There is only one way to fix yourself. You have to fight in the war before it is too late.
I love you, and I am so sorry.
Erika.”

James lay in fetal position, his face now pushing deep into the hard wood soaking up his tears, his heart bleeding into his stomach and making him nauseous. His cries made no sound and he could not breathe, instead clawing into the floor with the worst anguish his soul had ever felt, playing back her words like a scene on a movie reel. This wasn’t fair. How did Erika get this letter here? And why did she? And how dare she. He wanted to die. He did not want to fight in another war he did not understand.

A high pitched screech leaked quietly from his lungs as he turned to look at his shotgun through watered eyes. He hated himself. But he knew what he had to do.

CHAPTER 08
Tom Waits - Bad As Me

25 Oct
Experimental Rock

Scuffling around in the most ancient junkyard in town, The Priest Giles clawed for lost parts to use in his latest of useless inventions, tearing his nails on gritty pieces of scrap metal which caused him to wince in discomfort, yet did not discourage his nonsensical objective. He had never been this deep in these parts before—although mind you, he hadn’t been in the dumping grounds for over seven years, and had no intention of coming back after last time. Yet here he was. And even though this should have developed into a very different place in his absence, it still ran thick with a familiar feeling, swamping Giles with nostalgia which added a hint of extra magic to the revisit.

But the real magic, Giles was soon to find out, came from a completely different source altogether. While comparing sizes of two rusty cylinders, he heard a rattling from deep within one of the larger piles of scrap just a few feet away. Intrigued, he followed the sound, pulling away at pieces of junk until he reached the root of the noise, and nearly fell back in surprise. And it’s very lucky he didn’t too, as such a jagged fall could have very possibly killed him.

Instead he stabilized his footing and blinked his weary eyes trying to comprehend or even recognise the thing he was looking at. There stood a wild creature trapped in a cage, as small as a medium-sized breed of dog, yet with the most vicious features Giles had ever seen before, an excess of brilliantly shaped horns and mouths and ears on an otherwise muscular and healthy looking body. This animal wailed loudly with gruff chokes, spitting and blaring howls in such a way that Giles couldn’t tell if it was crying or taunting him. It jumped around, shaking the bars with teeth fixed in a distorted smile, rough without losing its cool, self-assured but being naughty, with the charm of a child. Giles reached towards it and it backed away, either from an insecurity or getting ready to pounce, rabies pouring from its eyes which maintained deep with intelligence, and never looking away from him. There was a definite disease here, but Giles felt a strange desire to help this character, as if something was making the choice for him. He leaned forward towards the cage to get a better look, and the creature backed up even further, as far into the corner as it could. This timid act was enough encouragement for Giles to reach over and place his hands on either side of the cage, picking up the surprisingly light object and then bringing it to his eye level.

In a flash the animal struck. The cage slammed into Giles’ face and this creature attached itself right there, as Giles went tumbling down the piles of junk, cutting his sides raw and breaking a rib whilst gritty claws and teeth ripped into his face. The stench filled his nose and The Priest wanted to scream, but it was all over too fast to do so, as he lay on the dirty ground of the junkyard, seemingly dead. That was until the poisoned saliva of the animal began to sink inside and penetrate his mind, and in moments Giles found he could hear this animal speaking bad thoughts to him within his own head.

“Take me back to the orphanage, Giles. Get me out of this cage. You and me have much work to do.”

CHAPTER 07
Bon Iver - Bon Iver, Bon Iver

21 June
Indie Folk
Spotify

Jimmy and Erika stood still, scared to breathe, unable to move in complete awe. They had followed a shimmering light coming far from the forest’s river bank, and came to stop at a small mirror about the size of a pebble, reflecting the sun into their eyes. You would've thought this to be a disappointing discovery, but it was merely a form of bait to bring them where they were right now.

There before them stood a Woolly Mammoth, roughly the height of a one story house, its long trunk laying limply on the ground with the mirror fixed securely in its snout. Its fur danced in the wind, rising as it heaved in heavy breaths, frosty mist puffing out of its mouth. But despite all of this magnificence and the mammoth’s obvious ability to crush the couple in one move, it stood placidly, admiring the humans from behind sad and lonely eyes. “Jimmy...” Erika dared to whisper. “I think we should just slowly walk backwards and then...”
“NO, PLEASE DO NOT LEAVE ME,” the Mammoth said in a powerful yet uncharacteristically dainty, high pitched voice. To which both Jimmy and Erika jumped, screaming in such united freight that their hearts almost exploded. “I HAVE SOMETHING VERY IMPORTANT TO TELL YOU.”

Jimmy and Erika stood there in shock, the voice of this creature so incredibly special that all of their hairs shot up on end. And the Mammoth himself just stood there too, looking at them with an almost painful compassion, so timid and yet sure of itself. And there they were in silence, the spacious forest beginning to get cold, nothing but a short space of breathing oxygen between them, blowing them away in its stillness.
Eventually Jimmy couldn’t stand it anymore and broke the silence. “What? What do you have to tell us, Elephant? This is madness...”
“JUST RELAX, JIMMY. TAKE IT EASY. AND PLEASE DON’T CALL ME “ELEPHANT”, IT IS OFFENSIVE TO MY KIND. FOR I AM A BEING OF LOVE, AND AM HERE TO PASS ON A MESSAGE TO YOU FROM THE GODS. THERE ISN’T MUCH TIME.”

Erika swayed on her feet, the blood rushing out of her head, but Jimmy felt a deep and unexplainable connection with this animal. Sensing Erika’s waning, he put his hand on her shoulder to steady her, which comforted her as Jimmy concentrated on what the Mammoth was saying.
“I WAS BORN AT THE BEGINNING OF TIME, AS PART OF AN EQUATION WHICH IS THE ROOT OF ALL EXISTENCE. MY ROLE IS THAT OF GOODNESS AND LOVE. BUT AS WITH ALL THINGS, A COUNTER OPPOSITE HAD TO EXIST IN ORDER FOR MY PURPOSE TO EXIST, AND HENCE MY SISTER WAS BORN AT THE SAME INSTANT AS ME, HER ROLE BEING THAT OF BADNESS AND EVIL. WE ARE A PART OF AN ETERNAL PROPHECY, WHICH BOTH OF YOU ARE INVOLVED WITH AS WE STAND RIGHT HERE.”

While the Mammoth spoke these dramatic words, Jimmy remembered something for the first time since the day he had met Erika. An old man on a mountain had visited him in a dream, and spoke of the Devil, this Prophecy, and the role Jimmy had to play in all of this. Everything this mammal relayed to him right here subtly blasted Jimmy with waves, echoing the old wise man’s tales, each word standing on its own and becoming deeper the more he listened. And despite it all sounding completely ludicrous to Erika, this information made complete sense to Jimmy, as if reading his own personal journal from the future. His whole life, he knew right then, had lead up to this point for some epic reason, and this creature was about to reveal something big which he had been waiting for.

“MY SISTER HAS GIVEN BIRTH AGAIN, AND WARS HAVE ALREADY STARTED. I CANNOT TELL YOU MUCH MORE, FOR THE STARS WILL ONLY PROVIDE THAT OF WHICH YOU NEED TO KNOW. BUT I MUST INSTRUCT YOU THAT THE FIRST PLACE OF ATTACK WILL BE THE OCEAN FAR WEST FROM HERE. JIMMY, YOU MUST GO AND MARCH WITH OUR ARMY. YOU MUST FIGHT IN THIS WAR.”
Jimmy felt his previous new-found confidence slipping, and he let off a small laugh that sounded like a cough. “Me? You must be joking. How would I even begin to do something so insane?”
“And what am I supposed to do?” Erika pleaded, realising none of this speech had anything to do with her at all, which was reaffirmed when the creature completely ignored her and kept his words aimed at Jimmy.

“I AM HERE FOR ONE OTHER REASON. TO GIVE YOU A GIFT JIMMY. A PERFECTLY ARRANGED GIFT FROM THE GODS. WILL YOU ACCEPT THIS?”
Jimmy nodded with a relieved smile and without any thought. This was closer to what he had in mind, as a gift from the gods sounded like something he could have used a long time ago.
“THEN LOOK INTO THIS MIRROR,” The Mammoth began as layers of grey tears swelled up and spilled out of its eyes. It raised up its trunk to align with Jimmy’s face, and for the first time, this beast looked directly at Erika alone and said something she would never forget.
“AND TO THE BOTH OF YOU. I AM SO SORRY.”

As Jimmy caught his own reflection in the mirror, a burst of light exploded into his face so forceful that he could smell it, knocking him off of his feet and onto his back. His veins flooded with superpowers and his head filled with the exact order of thoughts he needed to use them, all specifically designed by the heavens for him exclusively. And by the time he came back into consciousness, he could taste the sound of harps, The Mammoth was gone, and Erika saw a very different person lying before her.

“We need to move closer to the ocean. The war is starting very soon, Erika” was his response. And as magical as all of this was, and as much as she could still see love for herself in Jimmy’s eyes ... Erika was now occupied with a light sadness. A sadness like a minuture heartbreak that she could never quite explain nor understand until many years later.

CHAPTER 06
Mastodon - The Hunter

27 Sep
Progressive Metal
Spotify

The lift stopped at one of the many underground floors, and the Devil angrily paced out of the doors before they even opened properly. He was fuming—literal smoke rose from his horns as spittle leaped from his teeth, his feet leading him further down into the depths of Hell. He ventured along the dirt path of this hollowed out cave, dark and red, until he was a mere few feet away from the creature he had come to visit for the first time in over a year, or maybe even two.

“Your sea being failed! We lost the fucking Ocean War!” Satan verbally attacked the massive Mastodon before him, who (despite towering over Lucifer with her gigantic size) knew she was much less powerful than the evil Dark Lord. That being said, she smiled from tusk to tusk, unfazed by his aggressive dissatisfaction, as if she didn’t owe him anything.
“You smile? YOU SMILE? Is this a joke to you, Mastodon?” The Devil hissed at the ginormous demon-animal before him. “You gave birth to a fucking DEFECT! Your white whale was nothing more than a sluggish and expensive waste of my time! Spectacular upon my initial impressions, granted, but ultimately defeated by MORTALS!”
“DO NOT FEAR, MY LORD,” The Mastodon now spoke, booming echoes in the chamber of its habitat. “WE STRIKE AGAIN, AND WE STRIKE NOW. I HAVE GIVEN BIRTH TO ANOTHER.”

Satan was disarmed, his original fury taken back and soothed by those simple words. “Another? Already!? Well, why didn’t you say so! Go on then, give us a look-see!” He bounced on his feet, giddy like a child on Christmas.
“CERTAINLY, YOUR HOLINESS,” The Mastodon rumbled. “BEHOLD: THE HUNTER.”

This over-sized beast stepped out of the way slowly, each stride shaking the cave, until it unveiled a small deer-like creature with many mouths and horns, seated in a cage that it hardly fit in, but still full of energy and frantically bouncing around within this confinement.

The Devil paused, looking at the small and fragile appearance of this creature in disgust. “This? THIS?? This is ... a mongrel! The runt of all your litters! This is a post-abortion! You must think I am a fool, Elephant, and your age is showing. Your womb grows stale! Your anatomy is taking shortcuts! I do not accept this blasphemous deformity—it is a waste of my fucking time!”

Just as The Devil turned to walk away (already mentally preparing the termination of the Mastodon who had served him for eternity) the huge voice spoke again.
“THE SIZE DOES NOT MATTER, MY MASTER. WHAT WE HAVE HERE MAY NOT LOOK AS LARGE AS BEFORE, BUT I BELIEVE THIS TO BE MY BEST CREATION YET! ITS PLACENTA WAS ONE OF THE SICKEST TASTES, AND EVEN THE AFTERBIRTH HAD A LIFE OF ITS OWN.”
The Devil stopped in his tracks and laughed, turning to face the two again, extending a long pointed nail at the new born.

“Your best creation?? Do not make me split myself, Elephant! You must be losing your mind!” Satan coughed.
“THERE IS MORE THAN MEETS THE EYE, MY LORD. YOU MUST KNOW THIS AS I KNOW THIS,” The Mastodon continued, completely unapologetic and sure of itself. “THIS CREATION IS AS VICIOUS AND FAST AS IT IS SMALL, AND WHAT IT LACKS IN IMMEDIATE SIZE, IT MAKES UP FOR IN CUNNING AND PRECISION. IT IS FOCUSED ENERGY. CONCENTRATED EVIL. IT WAS CHOSEN TO BE THIS WAY.”
“Not to mention, I can control weaker minds with a simple thought,” The Hunter whispered smartly into The Devil’s brain, to which Lucifer’s spine straightened in shock and other sharp feelings.
“How did you...?” The Devil began out loud until the whispers came back into his head.
“We will win this war, My Lord. You and me. We will win just like we won all those medieval centuries ago...”

And with that, Satan began to laugh again, this time for different reasons. And The Hunter began to laugh out loud too, crying like a jackal. This was followed quickly by the deep hollow laughs of The Mastodon herself, and the three of them stood there, cackling at the skies, unable to stop imagining the potential havoc that could occur.

And they say on this day, Hell laughed so loudly that many angels died instantly from the sound alone. And without warning, the Heavens wept epic tears of blood for many years to come.

CHAPTER 05
Jessica Lea Mayfield - Tell Me

08 Feb
Alt Country
Spotify

Behind every great man, there is a great woman, or so they say. And in the case of Jimmy and Erika, not only was this true but the roles were interchangeable. Having her entire tribe slaughtered in front of her eyes, and then being whisked to America by some strange Siamese-twin type creatures (only to be forgotten at some washed out party); her turmoil would be enough to leave anyone in a deep state of confusion. I think any of us would lose trust in life itself if we experienced anything even remotely similar. But when Jimmy took her in, fed her and keept her warm while she adjusted to a world she never knew existed, it’s fair to say she invested the last of her trust into this stranger.

But as we have seen before, he was true to his word, and their lives slowly got easier. And, of course, once they stole that money and ran away together, things couldn't seem to get any better. And that’s about the time when Jimmy became the superhero we all loved. And just after that was when Erika fell pregnant, giving birth to Gillian, ready for the credits to roll with the catchy words “Happily Ever After” on the screen of life.

It nearly happened too, until she received that phone-call informing her of Jimmy’s past infidelity, and she did what all of us would do: she reacted. The feeling of sadness filling her core was what she considered to be a weakness, and she refused to allow that to happen. She didn’t want to work it out. She wanted to take her strength back. She wanted her independence. Which brings us to the part of the story where Erika briskly walked into her bedroom, packed a suitcase, and then left her soul-mate and daughter behind without a word. She had nothing to say. The feelings inside of her were saying enough.

She hitchhiked across the country until she had run herself into the ground, and then hid out in a countryside barn on some large plot of land. This lasted less than a week, when the owner grew suspicious of missing food items and swore to kill whoever had been ripping him off. But as his shotgun came face-to-face with Erika, he had a change of heart—like so many who had crossed her path before. She was flawless and (despite being quite young) so mature, with her intelligence and driving strength. She offered him what little money she had, if he would just allow her to sleep in this barn until she got back onto her feet, and her sad and soulful voice strung his guts into an atmosphere of guilt like only Erika knew how to do. And so he refused. Instead he desired to help her, and granted her the spare room of the main house, in exchange for a little help with the daily chores (to which she readily agreed). Of course, she knew his country flirtations were not about kindness, but rather about lust for her body and love for her mind, as Erika was a very easy girl to become obsessed with. But all of this was pointless, as Erika didn't live for much longer any way.

Mind you, at first she felt very strong living in this house. Her powerful survival instincts were enough to drive her onward, as if she was much better off, a woman by herself. She felt proud, and her mood became bouncy and happier in this place of thought. But little did she know at the time, the longer her and Jimmy spent apart, the sicker each one grew. Jimmy lost all of his powers instantly, and found his only escape in a bottle. Erika wasn’t quite so easily fixed.

Depression consumed her no matter how she tried to keep her head above water. Her dark introspection had begun to rot her finger nails, and her hair had started to fall out. She could always taste metal. She shat blood everyday. And it didn’t take long until the tumour rose up her throat and began to choke her, eventually rendering it impossible to even get out of bed. I think we all remember how this emotional period ended: with a final cry of grief. A vocal pitch of such unique brilliance that her entire existence evaporated into pure audio, and her physical self was gone forever.

So how Jimmy had found that tear-jerking letter beyond the grave is a good question, which we will answer in a moment. But all you need to know for now, is that he did what it told him to do. He went to war, and somehow (without any memory of it), he came out the other side as one of the few survivors. And having filled what he considered to be the obligation Erika had demanded of him, he was relieved the day he returned home and finished out his plan of death, throwing himself in front of that train.

And now they were both dead, this Prophecy fully complete. But their destiny was to meet again, right here:

CHAPTER 04
The Caretaker - An Empty Bliss Beyond This World

21 June
Turntable Music

Jimmy gasped for air and his eyes shot open, already preparing himself to deal with the aftermath of this night’s nightmare. Instead he found himself mid-embrace with another person, as they both stood on their feet in a large ballroom of sorts. Some 1950’s style music echoed and crackled, panning through the warped walls of neighbouring rooms, as they waltzed perfectly in time together. Which was even more unusual because Jimmy had never learned to waltz before.

Hazily, he pulled away to take a look at this person. And soon he began to recognise them, to which his heart thumped a deep additional beat, sucking the air from his stomach. After all the time of picturing this moment, he found himself looking directly into Erika’s eyes. She smiled at him in loving ambiance, her face impeccably clean, her body decorated with a frilly white dress, and what looked like an expensive yet tasteful pendant around her neck. “You did very good and I’m proud of you,” she whispered to him. “I’ve been waiting a long time to tell you that.”

“What’s going on?” he queried, but didn’t entirely care. He was here in this cold room with the girl he thought he’d never see again, and this needed no reasons. Erika opened her mouth to answer, but then quickly glanced up to the corner of the room, smiling at a camera like they were in some black-and-white film. Before Jimmy could question, she turned back and proceeded to explain things that would have been completely unbelievable for anyone else to hear.

She spoke of how she'd killed herself by evaporating into sound. And in her death, she watched Jimmy in battle: first with his own madness and alcoholism; and then bravely in the English War. She explained how important his role was, as (in his blank madness) he'd managed to kill The Hunter, one of Satan’s most prized soldiers. It was always his destiny to do so. And even though the planet Earth had suffered and lost so much to that war, his duty had been accomplished, and this version of The Prophecy had been fulfilled. She reminded him that he had chosen to end his life by train at this point, after which she had waited for him in this room for longer than he could imagine.

“You mean ... we’re dead?” Jimmy spluttered, even though he knew this could be the only truth. He felt it in his being, even if it was a bit too much information to swallow in one go. Sensing his overwhelmed thoughts, Erika put her index finger to his lips and shushed him with a smirk. This chilled him out a little bit, and so she continued to remind him of things far more peculiar than those before.

She reminded him of a time many centuries ago, when his father and her father (two great kings) went to war. She had a curse placed on her which was broken by his kiss, only for the both of them to die later that same day. And then Jimmy began to really remember.

She reminded him of times even before then, times after then, and times beyond ordinary comprehension. Times when they were insects and times when they were bears. A time when he was a machine and she was a diseased little girl. A time when they only knew each other for a small amount of minutes, both victims of a plane crash. Even a time when he was an inspired scarecrow and she was a humanoid fish-breed. There were an infinite amount of times, many surreal and ridiculous concepts, some of which were more vivid than others. But Jimmy remembered them all. His ego and the life he had just endured fell further and further away, realising in this moment who he truly was: an energy. Destined to repeat the same story in different ways, forever suffering these lives always in relation to “Erika”. They were two soul-mates cursed to be born and then find each other, but ultimately die in turmoil, their love never fully realised in physical realms.

“But we will always meet right back here,” The Eternal Female concluded, and smiled at him again. Her features were fading and becoming more generic as her relationship to the mortal known as Erika turned to dust. “No matter what, we will always end up here.”

Love filled the Eternal Couple as they were now in full knowledge of who they really were, and the greater purpose that they were involved in. Physical life was temporary, and all the painful hardships they had experienced in all of their previous lives did not matter. What mattered was that they were here now, slow dancing in pure spirit, slowly forgetting the conversation they'd just had, calmly dissolving into the music which wafted the air away. Their energy was leaving this haunted dimension, ready to be reborn when called upon, just like all those times before.

CHAPTER 03
PJ Harvey - Let England Shake

14 Feb
Alternative Singer/Songwriter
Spotify

But the England War had continued without them, Jimmy one of the few who managed to escape with his life. His murder of The Hunter had ensured it did not spread much further into the grounds of the United Kingdom, but what was left of these lands was no more than acres of countryside flooded with mud and the raw bodies of soldiers lined up like fallen lumps of meat. A feast for the flies, who laid their eggs within the deceased, the only species to flourish in such an apocalyptic decay.

The war itself was the most vile and memorable the world had ever seen. The soldiers were fearlessly optimistic and ignorantly patriotic at first, laughing as they rolled their smokes and assembled their weapons before battle, preparing for the bellowing sound of the bugle declaring attack. They marched quickly through the echoes of damp stone alley ways with classic call-and-response songs, drunk with mood under the grey skies. Many of these young adults had romanticized about these fights in their imagination due to poetic stories from veterans at their local pubs, deeply in love with the idea of experiencing the thrill of protecting a nation. But every corner hid a demon more powerful than any human, with a sole thirst to kill every one of them. And unlike those old pretty war stories, no showering of bullets could impact the endless stream of these filthy creatures. They dominated our artillery and were far too advanced for our planet—much like the flies, finding it far too easy to navigate and conquer our open lands. And as more and more arms and legs decorated the trees, it became less of a war and more of a massacre. Every able man was sent to fight and die, and every day filled the sky with more doom and smoke from the stink of these corpses, poisoning the air like a grey watercolour painting. Subtle yet chaotic. Soft yet so hard.

And the rest of the world watched as England grew legs and then fell to the Devil’s army. How it ended was never fully recorded as no one was there to see that stray bullet hit The Hunter in the middle of its left eyeball, cutting off its genius and connection to the other monsters. This simple act left them all lost and confused with inner turmoil, no motivation to do anything but rest without their instructor, eventually moving on and dying by their own hands and starvation. And just like that, the war was over.

Now only a chilling calm smothered much of the once rich and solid British landscapes, the bitter taste of evil still lingering, the haunting cackle of an ancient witch the only sound on the wind. As far as the Heavens, the Hells and the Earths were concerned, enough chaos and sin had taken place to rule that the cruel Prophecy had won again. Lived and died in England. Nothing more than a few widowed wives with crude words carved into their foreheads, left to rebuild with some toxic pregnancies a few of them were lucky enough to carry. What is the glorious fruit of our land? The fruit is deformed children. Oh America. Oh England.

CHAPTER 02
Little Dragon - Ritual Union

25 July
Electropop
Spotify

Bopping his head from side to side, The Robot skipped down the warm pathway made of rich chocolate, while candy canes decorating the road like streetlamps reaching for the sky. The entire place reeked due to an excess of sugar, which strung his thoughts down the trail at an increasingly faster rate. Despite being a construction of shiny metal parts and electronic systems, he felt a love for this place that he could never quite compute properly—nor did he have any desire to do so. Because he registered this place as home.

From the distance he could hear the familiar noises of pleasure, and he strutted, following this sound just like he had been programmed to do. Eventually his mechanical legs reached the intended destination, a golden platform where two small dragons were perched, turning to greet him without stopping their lustful thrusting. These were his parents (for lack of better term); one blue to distinguish himself as the male, one pink for the obvious opposite reason. The Robot knew they would be here—as they were always here—effortlessly making love for eternity, never stopping for any reason, frequently screaming out in passion to the Candyland that homed nothing but them.

“So, Robot, how goes the pale-skin girl?” the male queried this machine with a teasing laugh, as he already knew the answer.
“I lost her.” The Robot replied sheepishly.
The two dragons changed sexual position, the blue male now lying on his back, and the pink female climbing on top of him, their wings cocooning each other’s bodies in a way that revealed only their heads.
“Yes, you did,” his mother confirmed between grinds. “And now both her and her lover are dead.”

The Robot did not know that. After misplacing the pale-skin girl at some party, he had spent many months trying to find her before giving up, opting to make the long journey home instead.
“That’s not what we sent you to do, Robot. You were supposed to protect her, and by doing so, protect the planet Earth. You didn’t do very well, did you?” the blue father laughed in inappropriate joy, as he pumped up harder inside the pink dragon who yelped in ecstasy.
“Sorry, sir,” was all the Robot was programmed to say in this situation.
“It’s okay! It’s okay!” the father concluded, excitedly fucking his mate even deeper with each word. “This is the Prophecy! We cannot meddle with the gods after all!”
“Oooh, I love it when you talk dirty!” the pink dragon moaned. “Say it again!”
“The Prophecy!” the blue dragon repeated.
“Oooooh! AGAIN!” the pink dragon begged, tears of pleasure filling her eyes as if these words were her g-spot.
“The Prophecy! The Prophecy! We cannot meddle with the gods! We cannot! We cannot!” the blue dragon slammed his crotch as hard as he could into his pink lover’s vagina, as she continued to scream louder and louder. It didn't take long for this to result in an explosion, as they both came together in unison for the hundredth time that day, yelling at the top of their lungs which echoed throughout Candyland.

The Robot just stood there, entertained by his parents expression of mutual love and lust for each other atop of this golden platform. And once again, he computed that it was good to be home. No, it was perfect.

CHAPTER 01
James Blake - James Blake

07 Feb
Art Pop
Spotify

As the Earth shone its ocean blue, The Creator floated naked amongst the empty darkness between the stars, observing the full circle of time once again. He was sad and he was lonely, forever lost in the vast spaciousness and cold lengthy silence that surrounded him. The story he had written, for the most part, was a repeat, which did not end well for the planet’s otherwise natural ambiance. Like a slow motion ejaculation, his synthesized tears fell and distorted out of the places his eyes should have been, and every now and then, he would sob to the dense universe—a loud and deep bassy sob, subtly shaking everything in existence before returning to nothing: the immense tension of his presence hardly even detectable.

His intellect and imagination had got the better of him once again, and he never wanted to allow the destruction of all things like this. Contrary to popular belief, he was not the representation of all things good, but the dictator of all things full stop—from the disturbing rebirth of the Eternal Couple; the alien’s minimal attempt at an invasion; the opening of Satan’s Portal; and the consequent victory over the Devil’s army. All of this was a result of boredom within his own thoughts, his infinite presence still no more appreciated than when time began. And he cursed his own focused cruelty which existed only to serve him, all of life turning in on itself and swallowing everything for his own entertainment, so much happening for so little.

And now all things vibrated in completion to the Prophecy he had written. The Prophecy which ensured the world would always be at war, time would always be a deep reign of evil, and there would forever be a love which ended in tragedy. And this stuffed the Creator’s soul with heavy despair.

The fragile second-hand on the universal figurative clock ticked over into conclusion, and thousands of years passed in that moment. It had started all over and at this point, the Creator felt he had no control over it. All he wanted was to catch his train back home and sleep, but was instead left to suspend in his sparseness, witnessing the whole thing duplicate itself yet again. A new girl was born. Another pact with the Devil was made. Just as it was in the beginning and as it will be in the end...


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