"It wasn't as dark and scary as it sounds. I had a lotto fun . . . Killing somebody's a funny experience" - Albert DeSalvo
"I have got to say this: it felt really, really, really good. One of the best things I have done in my life." - Daniel Gonzalez
"A 'possessed' dog in the neighborhood won't let me stop killing until he gets his fill of blood." - David Berkowitz
"Every man to his own tastes. Mine is for corpses." - Henri Blot
"I want to master life and death." - Ted Bundy
Last edited by TheGrinningMan; 09-27-2013 at 07:48 PM.
There he sat. Long would be the word to describe him lacking the vocabulary to use elaborate terms such as gangly. Here he was, Thomas Stadler, 8-bit indie game designer sitting at Café Deluxxx getting served over-priced coffee-esque beverages by scantily clad overweight women with mommy-issues. His pre-arthritic knuckles bulged and retracted furiously as his fingers danced wildly across the keys. An email to G8torKing, one of the two programmers of Savagecrew!. Thomas himself was utterly clueless when it came to coding, he made the stories and the art and let G8torKing and Sven do all the mathematical mumbo-jumbo. The conversation was of the utmost importance, as Thomas felt that the leaves in the opening sequence should fall slower giving a more somber feel, when G8tor thought they should fly by giving an action/horror approach. Stormy wind versus peaceful breeze. He imbibed a mouthful of whatever Italian named beverage the bikini barista plopped on his wobbly table after giving him a hearty flash of flabby cleavage. He found himself thoroughly disappointed when he tasted white chocolate instead of toffee. He didn’t want to complain about it, he didn’t like confrontations. At least, not from anywhere other than behind his keyboard.
ALAS! Fate demanded him to face adverse conditions despite his displeasure towards such. Enter Roderick Sugar. Saying this man was a sad man isn’t precisely an accurate portrayal. Crazy? Most definitely. He worked at a printing office, making postcards and mailing other peoples packages to all corners of the globe. His life went south when the printers at the office would print things that he didn’t tell them to, messages… for him. Telling him to do things, usually absurd things that he of course would ignore such as “Pour coffee into your shoe” or “Green Genitals for Heterochromia sufferers.”. Until one day the printer spat out something that said “Just Talk to her Roderick!”.
Talk to her he did! Which in turn lead to other events of making her see things his way with a knife. Becoming one with her by pairing her with mushrooms and Gruyere. Sleeping with the remains, then coming to the divine revelation that things would never be the same again. He made the ultimate decision to do what the gore crowds all “suicide by cop”. He went to the apartment next-door, where the macho-man queer-bashing steroid freak lived. Roderick asphyxiated him with the handle of a plunger and went and partook of his guns. The man would no longer be needing them…
Here, destiny came together. Thomas was talking about pixilated leaves, and Roderick Sugar was pulling a handgun bigger than his head out of his sweatpants waistband. With a pull of the trigger Roderick unleashed death and felt more power over reality than he had ever imagined possible as he thought of himself as a master of life and death. It just so happened that the thick black framed glasses that encased Thomas’s head was the first target. Copper capped bullet dispersed air and in superheated fury blew through his computer and then proceeded to shower the chunky coffee ladies with game-designer brains.
There was a sound indescribable. A light unobtainable. The world broke as all thought was sucked through a hole in the cosmic egg. The identity known as Thomas no longer existed. There was light, stars, sound. Exalted emotions washed over soul and being. Ancient mystic sensations spiraling through vision and thought. Blood and iron in transliterated nostril. Here it was, the clearing outside. Trees that acted as graves, and a broken forgotten form on a throne of thorns. One red-rimmed eye peaked open. No words were spoken but all was known. The God Of Slaughter, long forgotten and abandoned, sat imprisoned in slumber. The entity that was once Thomas knew that he was dead, and this awesome power was his only chance of returning to life.
Every day, you must kill to survive.
Kill to grow stronger.
Find what will breath life into the God of Slaughter once more.
And then again torn from existence. Hurtling through cosmic absence, space. Wherein came the great seal, the Tetragrammaton! It burst before the fury of the hunger for life an revealed the heavenly glade, wherin he was marked as he returned to earth. The Symbol of Mercury burned white in the back of his mind as he suddenly sat up from the ground with a pounding headache. He was suddenly overtaken with ungodly fury as he leapt to his feet.
He didn’t pay attention to the brain splattered women, didn’t hear their screams. There was Roderick fury, still shooting people. Running far faster than he remembered being able to before, he was suddenly upon the murderer. He realized he had dragged a steel chair with him from the Café and he began bludgeoning the assailant with it. The man looked at him with abject horror as steel met skull. All of Thomas’s fury about the speed of leaves and the poor sad little god in the forgotten grove and the whole being shot in the face thing turning him into a face breaking machine until Roderick was reduced to a steaming pile of crimson rubble. A feeling better than any masturbatory exploit has ever given him rattled through his spindly limbs. Warmth overtook his form as every muscle quivered with supreme pleasure. A moan tore from his lips as he wiped blood from his face and a crooked smile etched it’s way across his face. He felt full, he felt complete, he felt like he never needed sex again…
It took Thomas a moment to register what he had done before he decided to make this escape.
He ran back to the café and snatched his horribly destroyed laptop and sprinted out of the mall as quickly as he could to where he found his electric yellow scooter that puttered to life like a narcoleptic feline hearing a can of tuna opening in the other room. Then he was off, to better horizons. And as he sped down past the strip malls and shopping centers a powerful question pervaded all the warmth inside him.
“What the fuck just happened?”
The game store clerk watched with a hooded gaze as the woman walked in. She was in her late twenties, maybe thirty, with manicured nails and snug yoga pants that showed off her plump ass that jiggled slightly when she walked. There was a gold band around her finger and her t-shirt proclaimed she was a proud parent at Hawthorne Elementary School, definitely MILF material. Which might be nice if she did not have the sour expression on her face as she looked around the store, stopping once and while to scrutinize the covers of some of the more violent or sexualized games. In other words, the ones that were popular and on full display.
Melanie Baker flipped over the case and rolled her eyes, putting it back. This was the last place she wanted to be. Scrunching her pert freckled nose slightly she passed by cardboard cutout of a eyepoppingly voluptuous 'warrior' in a metal bikini. It was indecent to say the least and she reminded herself that after she dropped off her purchases she needed to hit the gym. She smoothed her hand over the front of her t-shirt, her waist was small though she still had a bit of curve to her tummy that no amount of Pilates seemed to want to tame. Ignoring the muscle bound stripper with a sword she found the rack with the game her son had been begging for.
Last Christmas she had lost the battle with her children and her husband for an X-Box. Andrew had badgered her behind closed doors about getting one and he ended up using it more than the kids. Now it was Ethan's eight birthday and he wanted some game called GTA. He said it was a car racing game and she was now looking at the huge display rack that held the games. It certainly was popular and Andrew had been evasive when she asked him what the game was about. Brushing a hand through her dark hair that was cropped just above the shoulders, she went to the counter where the clerk was.
She eyed him nervously, he was young, dark bearded and broad, his black work shirt strained at his shoulders. He looked at her with a gleam in his blue eyes and her gaze dropped to the counter as she set the game case on it. He had tattoos, including a Viking longship and with his shaved head she wondered if he was some sort of pagan or Nazi. What kind of people did they hire at these stores anyway? He smiled at her in a polite and bored fashion, eyes moving over her in a quick look but did not linger. Melanie wondered if she should be pleased or pissed and she stood up straighter, pushing out her chest a little.
"So what are we getting today?" he asked, his tone professional despite his appearance.
"It's my son's birthday, he wants GTAV. That's the one that just came out, correct?" she asked, pushing the case forward. "I've heard something about this game, just how bad is it?"
He raised his eyebrows, looking down at her, "Pretty bad."
Her heart sank, "Really?"
Damnit, Ethan. Why couldn't he still be into RC cars?
The clerk nodded, "Yes."
"Like violence? A lot of shooting?" Melanie probed.
"Well yeah, but drugs and sex too. It's an R-rated movie. it's not made for your ten year old, it's made for me," he answered honestly.
"He's going to be eight..." she corrected without thinking. Did she look old enough to have a ten year old? Her husband had given the green light on this damn game and now she was pissed. It was really for him, not Ethan but he'd let their son play it. "The, uh, sex...how bad is it?"
"I had a lap dance, sex with the stripper, then strangled her to death for my money back last night," he replied with a shrug of his big shoulders, watching her reaction.
Her hazel eyes grew wide, "Oh dear God...no way. He can forget it."
Melanie grabbed her phone and called Ethan, "No way, you're not getting that game...I don't care what Dad said...yes, I know all your friends have it..."
She put her hand over her eyes, careful not to smear her eye shadow and finally sighed heavily, "Fine...fine...let me talk to your Dad."
Turning away slightly she spoke to Andrew and bristled at his tone, he sounded so damn condescending and when she repeated what the clerk had told her he reassured her again, in that Daddy-knows-best tone that grated on her nerves, that he would supervise Ethan while playing. She hung up and turned back, the clerk watching her with a slight smirk that disappeared when she faced him.
"I'll take it," she said, her voice sounding tired and deflated. "It can't be all that bad if the other kids have it right? I mean...my son's a smart kid, he knows the difference between pretend violence and real violence. Besides...he says he just likes the car racing part."
The clerk said nothing and rang her up, then thanked her for shopping with them. He knew, she thought, as she picked up the small white bag. The clerk knew she had lost the battle, she had surrendered and he probably saw that all day long. Melanie walked out of the store, shoving the small bag into her purse. She felt drained and needed something, preferably sweet and caffeinated.
The closest place that served iced cappuccino was Cafe Deluxxx and Melanie was too tired to get into her car and drive for Starbucks. She walked past a scarecrow of a man pounding away at his laptop and she had to suppress the desire to lean over and sarcastically ask him about his screenplay. Though her mood was bad, she would never do such a thing. She placed her order and glanced at the chunky waitress, suddenly feeling sorry for her, having to wait tables with stretch marks and a bad tramp stamp tattoo. Melanie paid and took her drink, adjusting her bags as the door to the Cafe opened and the man with the gun walked in.
The shots were loud, deafening and Melanie's brain reacted slowly, confused at the strange and unprecedented situation. Before she could turn she felt a fiery pain in her back followed immediately by a sledge hammer blow that spread to her chest and she gasped, falling forward. The iced cappuccino splattered against the tile and her own blood spread in a pool beneath her prone body. Her last breath gargled in her rapidly filling lungs and the world faded in a red haze. Ethan, Chloe...Andrew...my loves...
Life for life, blood for blood, the God of Slaughter peered at her with one red rimmed eye and said nothing, he did not move but she understood him. Long had he waited, forgotten and powerless on his throne but times were changing and plans were being made. Who was once Melanie Baker, wife and mother, realized here was no heaven, all the prayers and tricks for getting in had failed her. She had been good, never hurt anyone or done anything bad her whole life and yet she was here, in front of this...God and he gave her a gift she could not refuse. Her life back but it must be paid for, a life everyday must be sacrificed. Kill to be stronger. Serve the God of Slaughter...thirteen days. The message faded as a white hot burst of energy exploded in her mind, burned with the Seal that marked her as His. Her vision came back and she gasped for breath. The surging blood made her still heart now jump and pound, the urge to live overwhelming everything else.
Melanie lifted her head and jumped to her feet, her body imbued with a sudden surge of strength and speed she had never known before. Her eyes cut across to the gun man who lay in a bloody, broken heap and she ran. There were others running, all directions, screaming and hiding even though the shooting was over. The housewife sprinted, her sneakers seemed to barely touch the concrete as she dashed for her SUV. She jumped in, forgetting about the seatbelt, and revved up the Subaru's engine, tearing out of the parking lot, nearly hitting a yellow scooter desperate as she to leave.
Her hands shook on the steering wheel and she glanced down at herself, her royal blue t-shirt now stained dark maroon and she reached up pressed against her breasts, between them. Where there should have been a hole there was nothing. She was alive, holy shit. That vision was strong, powerful and who was she, Melanie Baker, to deny it? A shudder ran down her spine. Whatever happened now it did not matter, she was alive and her children still had a mother and her husband had his wife. She felt herself again, reaching back and her fingers found the small hole where the bullet had entered her upper back, near her spine.
"What the hell....what in the fucking hell was that?" she swore out loud, glancing at her rearview mirror, noting the paleness of her face. Her freckles stood out and her hazel eyes were wild and rounded. She needed to calm down and get her shit together. She needed to figure out what just happened.
Last edited by idlehands; 09-26-2013 at 04:17 PM.
The world was his oyster, or at least that was what the smashing tid-bittles that were fist fucking his veins told him. Thousands of faces plastered with ear to ear gravity defying teeth overtook his blood vessels and sent fist pumping orgasmic insanity gushing out through the metaphorical hole in his head. He was damn certain that he had been shot in the head, but proving it was an impossibility. Flesh, muscle, nervous system, thought, soul, all still intact and entrapped by the magnetic pull of planet earth. He was alive and well and just committed an act far fuller of barbarism and savagery than he thought his skeletal frame could handle. He murdered a murderer in straight up full man to man combat. He did it with a chair.
It felt good.
Now, as his little scooter ate up pavement with it’s trillion salmon tinted spokes, he could feel a swift current of air sandblasting his cerebral cortex, like the hole was there, but every time he shoved two sweaty fingers up under his yellow helmet he only felt skull and wispy poorly washed hair. An exulted sigh flapped his lips aside and met atmosphere. He couldn’t explain it, but he felt better than he had his entire life. Like every fiber of his being was filled with holy light and satisfaction. Like all of his questions and outcries about human existence came down to being pointless, because he was simply an electronic signal flickering in and out of existence on the ass side of eternity.
He reached his apartment an indeterminable amount of time later. He found the sun bitten in half by the horizon and stars to the east. His parking space was once again taken up by the lovely El Camino driven by the scourge and hellion meth addict that lived three doors down from him. Begrudgingly he took the aforementioned walking physical deformity’s parking space. Breeze enveloped him and filled his nostrils with more fresh air. He savored it before he made his way to his humble abode, where his senses were taken over by the savage smells of Glenncook Apartments. People cooking food, drugs, and the lingering stink of the stagnating sex of unwashed wastes of space. There was a bee-hive enveloping the light fixture over the stairs. They had made quite a fortress for themselves, but had thus-far not been an angry rabble. They kept to themselves and therefore Thomas didn’t feel the need to report them.
His room, 319, had a door as yellow as his scooter. There was a peephole, but it had long since been taped over on the inside, as there were certain residents at Glenncook who procured reverse peephole viewers through some online retailer. Thus several women had found themselves peeped by drug addicts, and found curious stains on their doors. Rather than solve the issue, the landlord decided to just tape everyone’s peephole’s shut. Like everyone else in the universe, an easy life-hindering fix is better than an actual confrontation.
Thomas unlocked his door and entered his room. The walls were racked with random video game paraphernalia. It was mostly retro stuff that he had grown up playing and had helped shape the man he was today. Posters of symbols relating to the games, maps of the game worlds, fantastic fan-made artwork of the games. Things that inspired him to do what he did best. To tell interactive stories blending art, story, music and interaction. To him, video games were by far the most impressive medium of art. He wasn’t concerned with such things presently.
He found himself sprawled out on his couch, every breath an ecstasy filled release, as his fingers stumbled across the remote, the television flickered to life chiming it’s mandatory annoying tone, and immediately he was engulfed with reports of the shooting at the mall. They still were not releasing the number dead, but they did say that the killer was in fact not alive, and that they had no information on who had killed him. That hadn’t even crossed his mind yet, that he had killed someone and therefore he might be in serious trouble. But with the feelings coursing through him, he just didn’t even care. Nothing could make him feel less wonderful than he did. He sat there the entire night, ignoring the three phonically that sent his phone spasming onto the floor, watching news reports and thinking about if he should got to the peace rally taking place at the mall the following night. He thought that he probably should. It would probably do him good. He fell asleep without realizing it.
The following day. He tried to live like normal, he tried to act unaffected by the events of the earlier day. He went out to find a new computer. He ate at his favorite Oaxacan restaurant. He talked more about falling leaves. And all throughout the day he found himself feeling sicker and sicker. More and more he wanted to just curl up on the sidewalk and fall asleep. He wanted to put his fist through the face of the first person to fuck with him. He didn’t know if he needed to get laid or if he needed to kill someone. He was quite certain that it was probably the latter. He knew that he had died the night before. He knew that he had seen strange things. He knew that he had to kill to survive. He just didn’t want to accept it. He couldn’t think of himself as a killer. How could he live with himself if he were to kill someone who didn’t deserve to die? Why would he deserve to live over someone else? He tried to shove all these thoughts to the back of his head and postpone the inevitable.
Before he knew it, night had fallen, and he was in a swarming mass of Metropia citizens. Anti-violence, anti-gun, anti-terrorist, anti-anything that would get them laid kind of folk made a wall of writhing flesh, singing hymns and mass spouting propaganda. What was he doing here? What would he accomplish? He wanted to find answers. But how would he find them at some sort of useless preaching ceremony? He allowed himself to be engulfed in the sway and waves of the mass of bodies and fade into obscurity.
When Melanie got home, Andrew and the kids were still at the park. It was Sunday afternoon, he had taken them out so she could shop for Ethan's birthday in peace, a rare gift since she was the one home all day while he worked and if the kids were home she had to take them with her. She rushed into the house, making a beeline for the bathroom. Inside, she took her shirt off, examining her chest, her beige bra stained dark with dried blood.
Between her cleavage was a small, faint round mark, like a faded scar, where a bullet exit wound should be. She turned and her back was smooth, without a mark other than the light sprinkling of sun freckles. Melanie held the shirt, and started the cry, her shoulders shaking. If it were not for the bullet hole in the blood soaked t-shirt, she would have written off the events as fantasy, as some manifestation of a very vivid daydream.
She rolled up the shirt and bra, tucking them under the bathroom sink behind the cleansers and toilet paper. She took a long shower, her mind turning the vision she had seen in those moments where she had to have been dead. There was no other explanation for it, she had felt searing pain of the bullet exploding through her chest and all the blood that poured out. The face of the God of Slaughter haunted her, his red rimmed eye, seeing into her, knowing her thoughts. The promise she had made in exchange for her life back. Melanie rinsed her hair, trying not to think about it. Perhaps it was just the shock, maybe none of it was real...but no, the Seal of Mercury was burned into her mind and she knew, it was all very real. And the God must be served.
When the water turned cool, she stepped out and dried off, walking back to their bedroom to get dressed. Melanie sat naked on the bed, looking at herself in the full length mirror. She had constantly worried about losing her looks, her figure. She was plumper than she had been when she got married and it concerned her. There were times, especially after an argument with Andrew, she would stand there and berate herself on the round softness of her tummy or the width of her hips, pinching her triceps critically. She had constantly checked for any signs of sagging in her breasts. Though her husband never seemed to mind, he also insisted on the lights being out when they had sex, even if the kids were staying over at their grandparent's house. Whether it was just a hang up of his or not, she felt self conscious, as if he did not want to look at her.
At this moment now, she did not see all of her perceived flaws, she saw a woman who had survived the unthinkable. Melanie Baker had died and come back and she wished her husband was there, she wanted him. Her body was warm and she thought about him, about lovers she had had before she was married, though they had been few. Her breath quickened and she felt her face blush. She had read somewhere that near death experiences could kick start the sex drive but sudden rush of desire she felt was unexpected. She found herself laying back and putting her hand down there, something she had not done in probably over a year.
It was not until she heard the sound of Andrew's Yukon in the driveway did Melanie finally get up and throw some clothes on, her legs still trembling slightly. What the hell was wrong with her? She looked at the clock nearly an hour had passed and she had not even started dinner. She washed up and ran a comb through her hair, running downstairs in time to meet them as they came through the door.
Chloe, her sweet girl, ran up to her with a shrill, "Mommy!" and reached for a hug. Melanie scooped up the five year old and noticed Andrew had not cleaned up the sticky syrup from an orange popsicle still smeared on her chubby face.
With an inward sigh she sat her on the sink and washed her up, the little girl protesting the entire time. Ethan looked expectantly at his mother, his eagerness to play the new video games most of his friend's parents would not let them have had him nearly bouncing up and down. Melanie looked at Andrew who was putting up the soccer ball in the closet. He was average height and still in decent shape, despite the softening around the middle, as he went to the gym with his buddies and played golf which was basically a requirement in his line of business. He was in marketing and sales, he had to know how to work clients and taking them out to play a few rounds was always on his schedule. Ethan came up to her, leaning against her.
"Mom, can I play GTA? Please..." he gave her the puppy dog eyes, clear and deep green like his father's.
"I thought that was supposed to be for your birthday?" she asked him, letting a now fussy Chloe down from the counter and she started making dinner. "Your birthday isn't until Saturday. I know, I remember that date quite well."
Melanie pinched his cheek affectionately and he squirmed away, "C'mon, Mom, I know you got it. What's a few days? Please..."
Ethan clasped his hands dramatically and she looked to her husband for help but he was checking his phone, "Andrew. Tell your son he needs to wait until his birthday for his birthday presents."
"Ah, Dad doesn't mind! Right Dad?"
"Do what your Mom says," he replied absently, scrolling through his phone, reading messages.
"Dad! You said we could try it out tonight!" Ethan protested.
He looked up finally, his eyes slightly out of focus and shrugged, "I said that didn't I. Well, why not? It's just a few days away."
She sighed, exasperated and shrugged, "Fine. Do what you want, I thought it would be nice to unwrap on your big day in front of all your friends."
"Yeah!" Ethan jumped up in victory and Chloe was caught up in the excitement.
"I want to play too!" she chimed in.
"You can't booger breath, you're too little," Ethan sneered, his seven going on eight superiority in full swing.
Chloe began to whine and protest, "It's not fair!"
Melanie looked at Andrew and he was fiddling with his I phone again, "This is your deal, you sort it out. The game's in my purse."
Andrew sighed and put away his phone, giving Melanie a weary look as if she should be the one dealing with the kids now that they were at home. She brushed him off, refusing to cave in for once and went about doing what she needed to do in the kitchen. Her husband dug through her purse and found the white bag from the video game store, taking it out. When he set her purse back down he noticed a dark stain and frowned. It was an expensive leather Prada handbag he had bought for Mother's Day and he poked at it, the reddish brown material flaking away. It looked almost like...dried blood. He was about to ask her about it when he heard the tv come on as Ethan got ready to play the game. It was the news and they were talking about a shooting. Not unusual considering the large city they lived in but what caught his attention was when he heard his son call out.
"Hey! That happened near the video game store! Is that the same one you went to?" he jumped up, excited, "Mom! Did you see it, did you see the shooting?"
Andrew shot a look at his wife who was calmly chopping vegetables and she glanced up, "What is it?"
"A shooting, they said, at the Cafe Deluxxx,"Andrew replied, now watching the news, turning up the volume.
"Ooohh that's where Ethan likes to go," Chloe taunted, now preoccupied with her Barbies, "He likes the bathing suit girls!"
"Shut up!" the boy snapped, turning red.
Chloe stuck out her tongue and Ethan rolled his eyes, the tips of his ears still crimson and he started watching the news cast. The images from behind the yellow police tape and all that could be seen was broken windows, overturned chairs and large spots of blood where. The killer was dead, his identity still unknown and the number of victims was not announced. Andrew scrutinized his wife’s face, noting her reaction or rather lack there of. These cases usually had her start up her case against guns and violence in the media and yet she just went about making spaghetti sauce.
"No, I wasn’t there," she lied, surprised how convincing she sounded. "It must have happened after I left."
"Thank God for that," her husband commented, but there was still the matter of the blood or whatever it was on her purse. He would leave it for later, it was not something he wanted to bring up around the children.
While dinner cooked, she could hear them playing the game in the living room. The rapid, electronic staccato of the game’s gunfire nearly sent her into a giggling fit. It sounded nothing like the real thing, the loud, echoing blasts that had made her ears ring. Melanie sniffed, over the scent of cooking garlic and tomato she could still smell orange popsicle, the odor of grass from the green stains on the knees of Ethan’s jeans, and a faint whiff of something else. Something cloying and floral. Her sense of smell seemed heightened and she wondered briefly if she was pregnant again but no, she had the implant so that would not happen. She sniffed again and followed the odor, arriving at her husband’s jacket. She leaned over and caught the full smell of perfume and it was not hers. Melanie would never wear one of those cheap body sprays. Her dark eyes narrowed and she cast a look at the living room, where they sat, entranced by the murder and mayhem that they caused on the screen. It was not the time to go into the fact he had another woman’s scent on his clothing, she would wait and deal with it later. And she would deal with it. Fucking Andrew, she swore as she put the jacket back over the chair.
Dinner was served and she peeked into the living room, watching for a moment as her young son mowed down a dozen people with an automatic rifle, cheering as he collected cash from the victims. The bodies lay in pools of graphically red blood, then slowly faded from existence only to be replaced by identical figures. She called them over and they ate quickly, eager to get back to their electronic slaughter ground.
At bedtime, Andrew carried Chloe, who was already asleep to her room and Melanie popped into Ethan’s room as he got settled and tucked him in. She sat on the edge of his twin bed, his Yoda night light glowing soft green in the corner. She smoothed his dark brown hair, just like hers, back from his forehead as he yawned.
"Thanks, Mom, for getting me that game, you’re the coolest," he said.
Melanie kissed his brow and sighed softly at his smell. She had read somewhere that a mother recognized her child's scent, some hold over from primeval ancestors and she had never quite believed it until now. Her acute sense picked up the subtleties and she knew, without a doubt, she would recognize her son anywhere.
"You're welcome, but you do know real life is not like that right? People that get shot and killed, do not just pop back up again."
"Respawn," he corrected. "And yeah I know...like those people at the coffee place?"
She paused and nearly laughed. Melanie Baker had respawned, into what she was not quite sure yet but it was not who she used to be. She felt the presence of the God inside her, a curling electric tingling in her breast that spread through her body, a new awareness of the world.
"Right, like those people," she replied, trying to hold back an inappropriate smile.
"I'm glad you weren't there," Ethan said after a pause.
"Me too," she lied easily and kissed his forehead again, "Now go to sleep, you have school tomorrow. Goodnight."
Melanie left his room, closing the door softly and after peeking in on her daughter who was sound asleep she went to the room she shared with Andrew. He was already in bed, watching TV on the large flat screen mounted on the wall. She turned it off and he was about to protest when she undressed and crawled across the bed to him, a feline smile on her face. His face was an expression of surprise as she straddled his lap.
"Babe, it's not even Tuesday," he said, looking at her. Tuesday was the night they had set aside to make love, setting the alarm for one in the morning so they could fuck without the kids barging in.
"I don't give a shit," she replied, surprising herself and began kissing him with passion. It was not about love, it was about her need. She had a growing ache inside her, a deep itch that needed to be scratched. She needed to fuck or kill, and the idea of killing was upsetting to her. How could she just go find someone to snuff out their life, and how would she even go about it. She abhorred guns and would not let one in the house. Melanie pushed away the images of death in favor of life, of sex.
What usually took about ten minutes turned into an hour before Andrew finally lay back exhausted, his cock limp and slipping out of her as she still tried to ride him.
"Goddamnit, Mel...what's got into you?" he said as she went down to try and jump start him. Despite being the one to always complain about their lackluster sex life, he pushed her head away from his sore genitals. "Stop, that's it. I'm done for the night."
Melanie flipped her hair and raised her head, "I'm not."
"Fuck..." Andrew just stared, the familiar soft curves of her body and her pretty face seemed for a split second foreign and strange. He blinked and a small shudder ran through him.
"We need to talk," he said finally, thinking about the stuff that looked like dried blood on her purse. "What happened today?"
"Nothing much, what happened with you?" her dark eyes narrowed, suddenly she felt dangerous and her husband was now walking a precarious line as she recalled the perfume.
"Nothing," he muttered, feeling exposed under her scrutinizing gaze. "Let's go to sleep, I hope you didn't wake the kids up with all that noise you were making."
Melanie laughed, a throaty chuckle that was suggestive in it's nature and she left the bed, going to the restroom, "Go to sleep then."
The next morning, she did her wife and mother thing, and when she had dropped off the kids at school, she drove around. The urge to travel took over her and she spent the next hour just driving, watching people. It took a while but it dawned on her she was looking for something, for someone. Her hand gripped the wheel and she felt her stomach turn. The ache in her chest was beginning to grow, the unsatisfied feeling in her strengthening. Melanie was agitated and restless, her eyes constantly roaming over faces, daring someone to say something to her, maybe cut her off in traffic, give her a reason to justify knocking their teeth in. The idea shocked her, that she felt such pent up aggression, especially after last night. Sex usually mellowed her out but this time it had been incomplete. Something was missing. The red rimmed eye burned in her mind and she knew, not wanting to admit it to even herself, what she needed to do.
Quickly, she drove home before temptation overrode her humanity and she went inside, locking the door. She ate lunch and watched the news at noon, the news casters announcing there would be an anti-violence rally at the shopping strip where the murder spree had occurred. Melanie put down her sandwich, the burning in her chest felt like heartburn wanting to start up. She would go to the rally, maybe she it would give her some closure or something.
Andrew agreed to watch the children, he had no desire to be around a bunch of bleeding heart hippies singing about love and peace. He planted himself on the sofa and played video games with the kids as she went out the door. She dressed casually, jeans and a tank top with a cardigan thrown over it and as she wandered into the parking lot, her dark eyes scanned the crowd. She ignored the calls for peace and stricter gun control laws. She pushed past a person trying to hand her a cheap white candle in a paper cup. Melanie was looking for something, for some sign that she was not alone. That someone else had been miraculously respawned by the red eyed God of Slaughter and she was not going insane.
Last edited by idlehands; 10-03-2013 at 12:06 PM.
Grief pervaded all like the forgotten carcass of a salted slug buried under a foot of rotten leaves. The ebb and flow of the tides of misery engulfed the hive mind of an outrage fear-stricken community. People had died. Admittedly people die every day, many people die violently every day, but this was here. This was Metropia, people were murdered at this very mall. If good folk can’t be safe drinking coffee at a café of scantily clad bimbos then how can anyone be safe anywhere? A lot of people showed to the event, and every single one of them demanded their opinion be heard, or at the very least be read on their tear drenched faces. People who were no where near the scene of the crime, still felt it was a personal attack on them, like they too were victims, and felt the pain of the bullet wounds inflicted on the dead. The dead who were now poster children for ideas that could have very well been the opposite of their own beliefs. Their lives no longer mattered. Only that they died in a way that provided a convenient propagation of propaganda.
Thomas was in a haze, his eyes didn’t want to focus and his emotions were on a tumultuous quaking plain of disgust, fury, and lust. He wanted to feel alive, and seeing these politick fueled asses performing slapstick word dances on the podium, openly desecrating the recently deceased, made him want to put a fist through their face and find a nice wrinkly surprise inside. Instead he just observed and listened to what people were saying. He was unsure what he would accomplish being there. HE knew that he was supposed to go and kill someone. There was the ever-present gnaw on the back of his mind that this was simply what happened when people snapped. Perhaps he was never shot, perhaps the violence of the situation just drove him over his edge. Already generally a depressed guy, maybe seeing bullets flying just put him over the edge and now he was suffering from hallucinations. Maybe the god of slaughter was just a voice in his head?
What if it was all a dream. Even if it wasn’t, what right did he have to live over others? What had he ever accomplished in his life that sets him above others. How many people would have to die so he could continue his worthless existence? He was beginning to think that it would be best to just see how things played out. If he wasn’t already insane that line of thought would certainly wreck him.
“…guns, then these people wouldn’t have had to die this horrible tragedy! This could have been prevented if people just were not allowed to have them. Screw smaller magazines, screw more complicated laws! One, constant and clear law. NO GUNS!”
The girl who was talking currently at the podium looked to be in her early twenties. Her torso was encapsulated in a light yellow shirt two sizes too small with GUNS x’ed out directly over her B-cup breasts. Thomas was frowning at the fervent and unquestioning certainly with which she spouted her ideology. None the lest he found himself staring at the way her tits were rising and falling rapidly with every breath breathed for catapulting her words through impossibly plump vivid pink lips. His vision seemed to go dark as he watched her. Her words fell into obscurity as he focused entirely on his body. Words about love and sanctity of life poured out of her, and some dark creature within him awakened as a hunger to defile her overshadowed all thought. The emotion was so sudden and powerful he didn’t really understand how to combat it.
His lungs felt like they were lined with molasses, every breath he had to suck in hard between grit teeth. The very fibers that made her shirt became apparent to her, electric signals danced over his fingertips signifying exactly how soft it would feel to slide his hands around her hips. Push her stomach against his and let her paint his face with that violently colored lipstick. To break her in tantric glee and make her question her very existence. Orgasmic fury that makes her forget even her name, to make her only know pleasure. To make her forget how to speak, forget how to spill forth her propaganda, and only know how to scream.
Compelled by this emotion, he was certain he had to do something. He waited for her to finish her speech and become absorbed by the crowds, and swept forth with determination. The next speaker was some geek in a tweed jacket and birth control goggles, who’s nasally voice went un-noticed by our dear hero. He found the girl, her face full in rapt attention to the new speaker./ This gave him a moment to look her up and down. Cute butt clad in yoga pant’s that left nothing to the imagination. Normally he frowned at such attire, but as it was he could practically smell her sweat and perfume, he could almost taste her spit. He approached her.
“That was a great speech you laid on us. I have to say that I agree that though man can understand the moral compass of the way the world should be he is still far too selfish and incapable of living up to such standards that perhaps we shouldn’t allow him the right to machines with power over life and death.”
She glanced over her shoulder and he fell into her eyes. Blue circles, a striking ice symbol of humanity frost burnt across the heavens. Spinning and cold and powerful, a creature not needing thought, not needing comprehension, living entirely in the now. Those eyes spoke of a soul who had never felt pain, had never tasted confrontation, of a girl who’s mother always called her pretty, of men who always treated her as a princess. The cherubic face of a girl who had never been mistreated but hit an age where she caught a brief glimpse of reality and spiraled into a state of pseudo-rebellion. Her activist lifestyle was a faux pas in the eyes of her former menagerie of major players. She felt edgy and strong and empowered. Indubitably she had donated her soul to the vaults of Bacchus for the soft curves that constructed her devour-able face.
“Thank you!” she said, turning to him, allowing him to revel in the form of someone who had to be a dancer. Her teeth were glistening little pearls, perfectly chiseled by a sculptor who both loved his job and was enraptured by the very essence of perfection, beauty, and symmetry. Her skin was noticeably pale even under the overcast night sky. Fit, clean, and undoubtedly well groomed. Thomas, in his t-shirt and black jeans and the shock of medium length wavy brown hair that fell down into his face, suddenly felt like he was entirely out of his element. That he had no place in talking to this paragon of the female form. He looked down on her, she had to be but five feet tall, and smiled. This girl didn’t know how to be anything but nice, he could read her life like it was written on her forehead. Nothing but shallow laugh lines were engraved there. Her porcelain flesh shone radiantly as that smile shot heavy arrows through the heart bludgeoning his ribcage and sank it straight down to his crotch.
“Most people think that my ideas are too drastic! I think they are quite simple and sensible, no guns, nobody gets shot.” she said, putting a hand on a hip and wiggling a finger in his direction. She must have taken a liking to drama classes, her expressions were drastically over-preformed.
“Not at all!” He replied clasping his hands together. “Bigoted individuals feel that anything denied to them is a travesty against their god given rights. Misconstrued ideas of what man should be able to do, in that they demand weapons for self defense, but perpetuate stupidity by using their rifles as phallic compensation. In reality, if the government did decide to strike against the masses, a bunch of rednecks with assault rifles won’t manage much good against fighter jets. Democracy and discussion is the way of the future, with advances in technology and communication, the world becomes more and more connected daily. The tribe mentality dies out slowly, and we become one joined humanity. Violence descends into barbarism, and logic and philosophy will reign supreme. Ethical advancements come with technological ones.”
Thomas didn’t know where the words were coming from. He was spouting out nonsense. He didn’t think that people shouldn’t have access to guns, he was agreeing with he because he wanted to bang her, something was ticking in his skull, some strange conniving beast. He felt like he was making sense, at least in a sophistic sense. With every word he was more and more certain that this girl had no idea what he was talking about. Nonetheless he thought he could see some sort of adoration blossoming within her eyes. His grin grew wider as her eyes averted from him.
“Wow,” said she, “You seem to know a lot on the subject.” Her eyes falling onto her costly rainbow colored sneakers.
“Oh, well. I have done extensive research on social ideas and ethics. In fact, if your curious and want to expand your reasoning, I have a book you could borrow. My scooter is parked in that alleyway over there, since the parking lot is so packed.” He pointed a thumb over his shoulder towards the strip mall.
She giggled and a little rose color flooded her cheeks. Her blushing was painfully cute. “You drive a scooter?”
“Yeah. A bright yellow one. Brighter than your shirt.” he responded with a laugh. “So, if I could have the honor of your accompaniment, I will show you that beast of a machine, and put the power of knowledge in your hands. What do you say?” He held out an elbow for her to hook onto.
“I guess I can do that. I’m Amber by the way.” She quickly wove her arm into his, and sparks shotgunned through his flesh as there was contact. Shangri-La cascaded through torn reality as he almost burst into a savage diabolical petite mort. Aphrodite wept as even she could not deliver such wondrous ecstasy to the flesh of a mortal man. Thomas recovered immediately, and luckily the moment was not noticed by his companion.
“Amber, your acquaintance is more than gratifying! I am Tom.” They began to weave their way through the quivering masses, bodies huddling together for warmth and comfort. “So, what made you so passionate about gun law Amber?”
“Oh, well I just see the pain on everyone’s faces when someone is killed. I mean, when someone is shot, all of their hopes and dreams and aspirations are over. They die and don’t get to enjoy life. It just makes me sad, ya know?” Amber said.
“Yea, hard to live a life when your dead.” Said Tomas, smirking.
She giggled and nodded enthusiastically. “Exactly! So, get rid of the tools for violence, and save some lives, save some dreams!”
He didn’t want to tell her about pressure cooker bombs. I.E.Ds, knives, guns acquired illegally, poison, chemical warfare. People who wanted to kill other people, didn’t need guns to do so. This was not the time for actual debate, he wasn’t talking to her to enlighten her, he was talking to her to peel those yoga pants off her. Something was building up inside him, it was a powerful roiling bolt of energy that he knew this girl could feel, as she clenched closer to him.
Then, they were in the alleyway, a narrow span of concrete where countless undoubtedly unspeakable acts had been preformed. It was complete with several dumpsters and entire lack of light, conveniently angled so the masses couldn’t see any activity that would take place there. He had indeed parked there, but he didn’t intend to give her a book, he in fact didn’t have any. He decided to employ a tactic that he was entirely positive wouldn’t work. Yet, it wasn’t until he was already in the alley, that he realized he hadn’t thought about what he would do when he got there. So, he took a deep breath and sighed heavily.
“Look, Amber. I am going to be honest, and I really don’t want to make you uncomfortable, and understand that by saying that you are probably automatically going to be uncomfortable, but please hear me out. I came here, not knowing what to expect. You see, I was here, when the shooting happened, and I haven’t slept since it happened. I have been so full of stress and confusion and anger that I just am entirely unsure of what to do with myself and keep doing strange things that I have never done before. The fact is, I am just scared.” He found his eyes wandering around the skuzzy alleyway, not looking her in the face, but he paused to look at her to gauge her reaction. Her eyes had widened considerably, but were entirely full of concern.
“You… You were here when that man shot everyone?” she asked, her voice a hint of a whisper.
He nodded, frowning sharply.
“You poor thing!” she said, as she threw herself on him. Soft feminine flesh around his skeletal frame, embracing him in powerful and sincere hug, pressing her firm little breasts against him. He surprised himself by crying, despite not really feeling anything at all.
“The fact is. I came here, looking for something. I saw you speaking up there, serving up a steaming plate of logic and justice and I just knew I could find comfort in your company. My brain isn’t functioning entirely properly, I think I am having some post traumatic stress, and just you looked so gorgeous and wonderful and I just had to talk to you. I know that probably doesn’t make much sense, In fact I am sure it doesn’t but that is with all honesty what my body is telling me to do.” He said
“Oh Tom! I understand. Nobody can expect you to act normal after such scarring! I would be happy to help you through this. Whatever you need, I am here.”
In a bold move he gently pushed her against the rough brick wall and pressed his lips against hers. He entirely expected her to protest, to push him away, to deny him. Yet the feeling that immediately shattered any train of thought that pounded through his body, he suddenly realized passed into her. She was kissing him back, passionately. He breathed in heavily and tasted her essence, smelled some fruity citrus smell that came from her hair and the overpowering smell of cheap floral body spray that she washed herself with. Wrapping an arm around her back he pulled her closer to him and began to kiss her deeper, his tongue and hers intertwined. Their teeth painfully grazed against each other in their frenzy, but neither seemed to care. With a savage moan she clawed suddenly at his clothes and the fell entirely into their lusts.
Entranced spirits intertwined after casting aside second skin. Sweet soft curves descended and blew upon hot steel. Wet, hot, passionate with boundless enthusiasm, smiling despite a mouth bursting at the seams. Eternal eyes glaring with primal passion and frenzy descending into tainted perversity. Buried too deep, the roots of the tree sent spasms to he earth and asphyxiated the goddess therein. Saliva pools drowned out the savage accusatory finger, rapturous perception engulfed the now fetal mind of the divine carnal embodiment. Ardor and energy overflowed through the cosmic pink hole as the mistress of the vacuum and void descended in spirals as lascivious spirit dormant for all years of existence, hidden and sheltered away, spilled forth.
Rising and grasping and tales were told over wistful lips. Phalanges filled warm narrow expanses as an angelic screeching wind pelted and astonished. Feverous visions assaulted tender minds as the prostrate temple of the womb was assaulted. The essence therein was welcoming. Honeyed embrace, essential caress, so came to pass frantic appetites were fed only to expand the hunger. Bliss rose as self filled alternative emptiness simultaneous with the fundamental allurement.
Oneness advanced and flourished as the complete panorama swelled in cacophonic harmony. Vibrations twisted the stars in rainbow painted swirls burning heaven above and earth below in white frenzied euphoria. Building and surging with disregard to desire, it was coming with inevitability.
“Do it inside” Moaned Amber.
“Oh!.” said a voice Tom didn’t recognize.
There was no time to react to the unexpected. Fulfillment of biological purpose was absolute and certain as this theatre of procreation reached it’s climax. Satisfaction and warmth bound forth across the entirety of both actors. Only when vibrations suitably subsided were reactions possible.
“O! No, Um. I have to use the bathroom.” sputtered out Amber as she fumbled with her yoga pants. She pulled them up as a little stream of white dripped from her. She stumbled out of the alleyway like a startled housecat and disappeared.
Thomas hardly noticed her exit. Here he stood, his jeans around his ankles fully exposed and still half mast as his entire attention was on the girl at the end of the alleyway. She was glowing. Not figuratively but positively her entire body was wrapped up in white light. Thomas’s mind was assaulted with a brief but savage vision of her body littered with bullet wounds, then it returned to normalcy. She was a normal looking girl, cute, young, thick wavy dirty blonde hair and clothed in a hoodie several sizes too big. He immediately knew that she was just like him.
“You too?” He asked.
“Your serious? You were shot too? You saw the guy in the trees?”
“Fuck, Will you please hug me and let me know your real?”
“First,” she said, “You need to put that thing away. Then I try and ignore it because I really need a hug too.”
He embarrassedly and uncomfortably pulled up his pants and buttoned them. Then this waif of a girl ran forward and hugged him hard. Immediately she started to cry and he couldn’t keep himself from joining her. This time it was real. All the emotions, the lust, the fury, the confusion, the fear. All of it suddenly washed over him and spilled out through his eyes. So this was the harsh reality. The god of the slaughter was real. He really did have to kill to survive. He realized that he was hugging her far too hard, and she as well was embracing him painfully. He tried to ignore the fact that his still hard manhood was pressed against her, and that it felt impossibly good, and was already awakening briefly subsided feelings. He gently pushed her away.
“We need to talk about this. Come on, lets get out of this alleyway.” He said as he wiped the tears from his eyes. “and sorry about having such a horrible introduction… I promise that isn’t who I normally am. Something is wrong with me… since… well… you know.”
She nodded and refused to let go of him as they slowly meandered back towards the crowds…
Last edited by TheGrinningMan; 10-10-2013 at 12:32 AM.
Melanie Baker tugged at her soft baby blue cardigan, half listening to the speech by a man in glasses and a tweed coat. The girl before him had preached against guns, which normally she would have applauded but right now she was focused on something else. Her chest ached, there was a pressure there and it was starting to spread through her body. She wrinkled her nose, the press of people meant a strong mixture of colognes, deodorants and human body odor and with her now heightened sense it was irritating. She rubbed her nose as one man wearing too much Old Spice brushed up against her. She rolled her shoulders, trying to focus on the speaker but it was impossible so she made her way out of the crowd.
When the young couple ducked into the alley, a middle aged man in a filthy army surplus coat and a sweat stained baseball cap followed. Felix squatted behind a dumpster, listening to and occasionally peeking around to watch a couple fucking like rabbits in heat. The girl, the obnoxious but oh-so-cute twat that had spoken earlier, was getting rammed by some skinny geek and the bum was stroking himself as he spied on them. He made his home at the stripmall, usually sleeping in the dumpster if it was not garbage day, waking up before the stores opened and he would roam around and panhandle or set up near enough to the Cafe Deluxxx and jerk off to the scantily clad waitresses. If he got too annoying, the cops would be called and he would split for a few days but he always came back. He had been around when the shooting happened but hid before he saw what became of the gunman. He had been lucky he had decided to stake out the Marty's Subs sandwich shop and beg for change rather than have his normal station near the outdoor part of the cafe.
Now, his home was invaded by self serving dumbasses who probably had never witnessed a violent act in their lives. Felix had committed and been victim to violent acts a number of times, most of these numb cunts would never get so much as punched in the face. He quickened his pace as he listened to the girl cry out to do it inside her. That was enough and he blew his load onto the side of the dumpster. With a grunt and sigh, he repacked his junk and slunk away, surprised to see the chick dash by him and noticed a wet stain on the super tight yoga pants. He chuckled and had to admire the scrawny guy as he glimpsed past the dumpster, he was already in the arms of another girl. Felix shook his head and meandered back out into the crowd, his worn boots scuffing against the ground, the heel of one flapping open as he walked.
The majority middle class crowd parted from him, and he cussed them silently. His red veined eyes turned and caught sight of a dark haired woman who seemed to be one of the few not focused on speaker. She was a nice looking broad, with juicy ass and round tits and a small waist. Felix rubbed the scruffy salt and pepper beard, he recognized her from yesterday, she had been wearing those tasty tight pants and had walked right past him when he asked for a dollar. Bitch couldn't even say no, she had acted as if he did not exist at all. He hated that more than anything, to be ignored as if his presence was on the same level as a lamp post. His eyes roamed over her and he felt the resentment build, cunts like her he had dealt with before. He had taught a few uppity bitches their place and maybe it was time he did again. The homeless man had a record, he had done prison time for sexual assault, theft and drug possession. Slowly, he started to follow her, his blood was up from the scene in the alley and he wanted something other than the feeling of his hand tonight.
Melanie smelled him before she saw him, a pungent mixture of unwashed clothing, body odor, semen, and cheap booze. She could hear his shuffled steps as he tried to keep pace but not get suspiciously close. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up and she knew without looking back he was following her. Her chest burned and the ache became a piercing pain and she knew what she had to do. In her mind, she saw the red-rimmed eye, felt his need flow through her and the prey would be the hunter soon. The housewife meandered into another alley, this one lead to the back toward the rear parking lot where employees parked. There were a few cars but most had parked in the shopping center lot. Her vehicle was parked back here, because she had been late and the lot full. Her silver Subaru Forester was in sight and she knew she had Ethan's Little League equipment in the back.
Felix stepped closer, he could sense she knew he was there but the tightening of her back and the lengthening of her stride, and yet still she ignored him. Fucking bitch won't ignore me when I'm balls deep in that -
He did not have time to finish the thought when she whirled around, spraying him in the face with mace. He gasped, his lungs and eyes burning and instead of running or falling to the ground he made a blind reach for her only to feel air. Felix rubbed at his stinging eyes and he heard her unlock her car. Good, she would drive away and he would go find a place to weep out the mace from his eyes.
She threw open the hatch and grabbed the child sized aluminum baseball bat her son used for Little League. She turned towards the staggering homeless man, a fleeting thought of doubt flickered in her mind. What if he was only trying to ask for money? Her heart thudded and it felt like a blaze was in her chest, the strange sense of urgent need surged in her from her chest to her back and downward and upward. Melanie felt the power of the God of Slaughter rush through her veins as she swung the bat, connecting with Felix's skull with a dull crack. The man howled and fell and she stared at him as he writhed on the ground. Her hands shook, she wanted to run, stunned at what she had just done but the powerful rush of endorphins began their spiraling within her and she hit the homeless man again. Each striked brought her closer to ecstasy, to the blinding peak of pleasure that exploded with in her just as her bat spattered the man's brains as his skull caved in.
Melanie shuddered and panted, looking down at her victim as he twitched, the dying brain sending out random signals to flee that were going unanswered. Felix's breath rattled out and he was finally still. She breathed deeply, feeling the pain and pleasure that had burned so brightly within her fade as his life ended. Her hands shook and she felt a sudden wave of nausea. She had just killed a man. She thought it would have been harder, more awkward but it happened fast. The God had been served. She wiped a hand across her mouth and looked at her son's baseball bat. It was bloody with flecks of bone and strands of hair stuck to it.
“Damn...” she swore softly, looking around but no one else was in sight. Now what to do? She did what the God wanted but now she was stuck with a dead body and a murder weapon. The hobo’s brains and blood were leaking all over the pavement and even in the dimly lit parking lot it was noticeable.
Melanie wrapped the bloody end of the bat with at towel, stowing it under the floor of the cargo space and looked down at Felix’s corpse. Her eyes turned to the dumpster and she reached down to drag him, finding her strength had increased along with her senses. Pulling him up she slung his body into the trash bin, moving some of the smelly bags to hide him. The blood was still on the ground and she went back to her SUV, taking out a large jug of water and poured it , causing the gore to dilute and blend into the stained asphalt.
She inspected her work, it certainly did not get rid of the evidence but it made it less noticeable. Melanie ran a hand over her face, she was trembling but she felt good, better than since she had been shot. Instead of driving away, she felt compelled to walk back into the crowd, casually strolling as if nothing had occurred. Her eyes scanned the crowd and a soft glow caught her eye. A couple, gripping each other, were bathed in a pale light and she knew, instantly, that they had seen what she had seen. The God had touched them as well. She met the eyes of the young man, intense and burning as hers were and she felt a crackling sensation through her body. An instant, electric connection.
Last edited by idlehands; 10-10-2013 at 11:21 PM.
Fingers clenched red leather as fever dreams spiraled around the skeletal structure prostrate there. Hair, wisps and lazy curls, white and soft as clouds emblazoned by the sun, fell down around a soft heart-shaped face. Milk and ivory skin taught over soft muscle tissue. A waif of a girl was she, small, unaccountably beautiful, yet looking so frail. Her body seemed to soak up moonlight and radiate in a ambiance of reverence. Her chest rose as the waves of a high mountain lake, pristine and cold. Slowly she stirred from the realm of dreams and visions. Throwing a lure through the haze and snagging back to the physical realm, away…away she floated from fantasy and future. Violet eyes peeked through long black eyelashes, and the body recoiled in horror.
Vision met an ogre-ish face buy centimeters away, chock full of wildly splayed donkey teeth and a tumor laden forehead. Beady blue eyes peeked between swollen eyelids, and drool cascaded past lips that couldn’t close. She could feel his breath, taste it even. She slowly brought her hands up and placed them on either sides of his head. A smile curled onto her tiny lips as she gently pushed the face away, the monster obliged and stood to his full behemoth height.
“You have to stop doing that Veektore. It is unsettling when people watch me dream walk…” She said.
“Pretty…” Said Veektore, his voice like an ancient barbarian battle drum. A bass boom that seems like it could be felt reverberating one’s bones from miles away. A smile spread across his face, certainly not making him prettier.
She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and cast out a massive yawn. Her back crackled harshly as she stretched, puffing out her tiny chest with a massive intake of air. Her fingers wiggled excitedly and with enthusiasm as feeling returned to her flesh. Tingling radiated through her as the parts of her that were asleep one by one became awake.
“Thank you Veektore. I know you think I am pretty. Please though buddy. Admire me from a distance.”
“Hu hu hu” The goliath laughed as he lumbered off towards the kitchen, his head dragging across the ceiling.
“What am I going to do with that boy?” She asked.
“Absolutely nothing, like usual…” came a voice from across the room. Lying on one of the several couches that littered the house, facing away from her, was Gauge. His hand was pretty much all they saw of him, he rose it above the back of the couch, and used it for body language, but he pretty much never got up. Pretty much never spoke. Head always clad in massive ear devouring headphones. Eyes always on the wall engulfing screen before him. Fingers always dancing across the controller. The mere fact he responded was astounding. That didn’t make her respond with any less enthusiasm.
“Speak for yourself lumpy!”
That in tern garnered no response. Any effort demanded discouraged response whatsoever. She sighed and floated to her tiny feet. Soles met thick and strangely damp carpet that enveloped her pale toes. Her movements reflected the gentle steps of a deer as she drifted after Veektore into the kitchen, but quickly decided she was against entering that unspeakable domain as it appeared the goliath had made a mess in cooking and entering could be quite unhealthy. She spun and noticed Coleen looking at her. This was a definitive sign that Mother wished to speak with her. Coleen wasn’t human. That wasn’t to say that she didn’t have a soul, but she was not of flesh and bone. A small articulated marionette would be the proper way to describe her, this garnered her the nickname “Puppet Queen”. She mostly just stood outside Mother’s room most of the time, talking to her through some indescribable spiritual connection. Coleen almost never spoke, as they never felt the need to rush, sooner or later you would notice her staring, and you would go see mother.
She strode towards the door, her body washing with waves of unspeakable energy. The very existence of Mother radiated an aura of magic and the tingling sensation one gets when the mind wanders down WitcheryWay. The brass doorknob invoked the spirit of cold and sent pleasing needles down her spine, she opened the portal and fell through. The room was no less to be considered a birds nest. It was once a bedroom, fully furnished by the prior owners of the establishment, now every wall was strangled by vines and plants that perfumed the entirety of the room with the overpowering putrefying stench of growth and death. The roots of these parasitic selfish life forms created a labyrinth of tangles that writhed of their own accord and came together to create the bed of mother.
It was impossible to describe mother. She was an ancient forgotten breed. All of the Witchkin came from some bloodline, a species. Poisonway, incubi/sucubi, Whitespirits/watchers, all having their own particular abilities and flaws, Mother however, was something long forgotten. She was so ancient that she no longer moved, simply stayed in her nest. Nevertheless her power was boundless and not a single member of the Metropia coven questioned her sovereignty. She was Matron, She was Mother, She Was Crone, She was Love, She was Pain. Mother was to be worshipped.
The head of a jackal topped ebony shoulders. Everything else was a swarming mess of muscle and flesh and androgynous parts. She was eternal, she was all powerful. And she demanded to know what the Dreamer dreamed. The dreamer climbed upon the bosom of Mother, and embraced her form. An impossible member slid from widening vagina. Prehensile and glistening with fluid it gushed up massive stomach. Panting, mother let her tongue push out through jagged monstrous teeth and down her chest. The Dreamer allowed herself to be filled entirely as the monstrous thing from betwixt mother’s thighs bifurcated and blossomed to obscene proportions as it entered her. There was no thought but Mother. She became one with mother.
What did you see?
Amber. She was successful. The Thrall of the God of Slaughter proved useless against her charms, and she has produced a Cambrion.
Then what troubles you?
Unlike our predecessors Mother, we have not had to quash an uprising like this. The essence of Witchkin isn’t as strong as it was, these people, as we have observed, have a overwhelming desire to live. I have seen random glimpses into the future, none of them make sense yet, but I foresee a lot of pain for us. Not all of us will survive.
Child. I have seen much, and throughout my life, I have watched as all my kin die, and new flesh replace them. I weep for every lost little soul. Nevertheless, witchkin are not to fear their destiny. We are not afraid of death. We are ready to leap back into the arms of the purifying water of the great Goddess. Every breath I take is another stride towards oblivion. Our deaths, are meaningless. HE cannot be allowed to reawaken.
Who is HE Mother?
He is ancient. Even older than I by tenfold. I have only heard myths of his exploits, and even if they only hold an ounce of truth, the horrors he committed are reprehensible.
HE must be stopped.
“What is thy name?” She asked, one arm slung over his shoulder.
Tom had felt his attention drift from the fact that this girl, though not the most beautiful he had ever seen, a girl never the lest was hanging off him. He stopped paying attention to the fact that her left breast was pressed against him, he stopped paying attention to the fact that this young girl had seen his cock glisten with the secretions of another girls vagina and still decided to hug him. He ignored the savage emotions of rage and horniness and felt himself drift away from his body. There was no reason to focus on the animalistic emotions pervading her thoughts. It was not time to think with his dick or his fists. He had to focus on the conversation.
The vigil for the dead was going on strong. Voices and tears ran together in a dynamic and powerful stream of light that seemed to shoot upwards. It still was extraordinarily uncomfortable for Thomas, being that he too was a victim of the violence that occurred and quite frankly it didn’t change his mind whatsoever. He couldn’t say he felt like he was the same person he always was, he did in fact just fuck a random girl in an alleyway. However, he didn’t think that the world around him needed to change. When one is sorting out seeds, one tosses out the bad seeds not all the seeds. Don’t punish the good for the deeds of the bad. So therefore he didn’t feel comfortable in the present environment.
“Thy?” Thomas asked, when he heard the archaic terminology.
A blush blossomed on her mildly round cheeks. Her eyes averted from his and she seemed to sink slightly inward. Her face devoured by the shadows of her hood. Immediately Thomas felt like an ass of all sorts. Who was he to judge this girl? Especially considering their predicament. The fact that both of them were shot to death in a brutal attack, yet still walk the earth. Quadruple an ass since this girl ignored his bestial fucking and nude form and accepted him as kin nevertheless. He tried to drag a smile across his face to hide the sudden anxiety that sent his heart raging around in his chest.
“My name is Thomas.” He said, letting his feet drag to a stop on the asphalt and pulling her into another embrace. Each time he grasped her it felt like the weight of the world no longer truncated his spine. Having to fight himself, he relinquished his grasp and looked into her eyes.
“Thomas, mine name is Morgan. I fear that I am confused to no end. Thou art the first I have found who has shared the experience. What does it all mean?”
“I honestly don’t know Morgan. I am confused myself. I have been swinging in emotions and weird thoughts I have never had before. I don’t know what it all means.
It was then that he noticed a woman approaching them. She too was enveloped in a bright light and he immediately witnessed a bullet wound explode into his vision on her chest. It was a savage and deadly thing, scarring his mind for but a brief moment but with savage clarity. He tried to keep his face from descending into the same mix of confusion and lust that it had when he saw Morgan, and again forced a smile upon his face. This woman was a bit older than he, but nevertheless was simply bursting with sensuality. She was glowing like she had just had an orgasm. He could almost see the heart banging around in her chest. A feeling assaulted him, like he should leap upon her and tear her clothes off with his teeth. He battled the urge and did what a normal human being would do. He spoke.