Over Reaction

Translations are at the end of the story, but you should read it before translating as it’s more fun to not know what’s happening at first.  Unless of course you’re Irish in which case you already know, but the grammar is probably awful.
A painting sat in the middle of a circle of blood. A scrawny, naked man stood outside the ring. He had bright blue hair molded into spikes, eyeliner and more piercings than orifices. He was shaking from the cold, despite the warmth of an early autumn heat wave.
His eyes were closed and he muttered expletives about a wrong done to him. He cursed and spit as his body tensed and face grew red. Anger was pouring into every fiber of his being. He grabbed that anger in his mind and stoked the flames higher. The fury peaked the man roared out “Tabhair an saol leis an bpéintéireacht seo ar mo fhocal a d’fhéadfadh fulaingt a bheith ag mo chaorach.” Fire roared up around the circle
A woman with skin like cream and hair like a raven stepped out of the flames. She was stunningly beautiful, excepting her sunken catlike eyes. She looked him up and down and said “Tá mé Margen an unseelie. Deonaidh mé d’fhonn má dheonaíonn tú mianach” she stared at him with an appraising eye “I gcás gach fear a maraíodh beidh tú ag freastal orm 101 lá. Cén fáth ar mhaith leat é sin a dhéanamh chomh dona?”
“Díoltas. Glacaim leis do théarmaí.” he responded. She nodded and stepped through the fire. Blue and yellow lights danced on the ceiling and a buzzing could be heard. A few moments later she stepped out of the circle and handed him the painting. As he took it he realized it felt warm and could feel something like a pulse within it. The fire vanished along with the circle. The woman was gone.
QHe dressed and jumped on his bike, painting tucked in a backpack. He rode to the museum of art and paid for admission. He looked around for over an hour til he found what he was looking for, an empty wall. He slipped over and was lucky enough to find a hook. He pulled his painting out and looked at it. It was a rip in the earth spouting flames, with tiny white eyes staring out of the hole. The label said gateway to hell. The man then whispered “Beo” and watched as the flames jumped to life, heat pouring from the painting.
Soon little demons began crawling out of the painting. They immediately scattered and after a moment the sound of flames and screams echoed through the building. His mouth curled into a savage grin as he walked to his bike and rode home.
She was waiting on his couch when he entered. She didn’t look at him, instead stating “caoga fuair bás”
“Fifty!” his voice rose an octave while he spoke. She nodded and grinned. Rising she put out her hand and he took it. A great oak with black bark appeared. A door formed and opened and she led him into the darkness. As he walked by a paper was knocked from the table and fluttered to the ground. It read: “Thank you for your submission. Unfortunately, we currently have no space for new art. Check back in 6 months to see if the situation has improved. We look forward to working with you in the future.” The margins were filled with expletives and rants about the gallery’s lack of vision.
The oak sealed behind the pair and disappeared, leaving an empty apartment behind.
* Give life to this painting on my word that my foes may suffer
* I am Margen of the unseelie. I will grant your desire if you grant mine
* For every man killed you will serve me 101 days. Why do you wish this so badly?
* Revenge. I accept your terms.
* Live
* Fifty Died

Published by Robert C Hartwell

I live in Northeastern Vermont in the US. I am currently working towards becoming an author. I am the proud father of two great kids.

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