by The Lost One
Collection of stories written for competitions.
| Just this once and I will stop. Just one more. Just one.
The touch of the dry blood against his calloused fingers soothed him. It reminded him of calmness and beauty. The perfection that is the human entity. He liked it. It was to him what music was to Mozart, or what war was to Sun Tzu. It was art to do what he did, and he was good at it.
Each cut on his arms reminded him of their personalities. Their fears and their loves. They hummed, oh and how they sang. They yelled, whispered, cried and screeched. They were nice, and they were rude. They tried all routes, but all of them led to darkness. They talked and he listened, they begged but he disdained.
They bargained their possessions for their souls. They put a price for them. A car, a house, money, their wives. It did not matter, for he did not want what they could offer. He wanted what he already had. Their dance for salvation was nothing, but a distraction. He liked their moves, but he hated their selves. Rich and poor, mighty and weak. They were all the same. They had something he did not have. They had a feel.
He scratched his scars a bit too harsh and some drops of red washed the earthy floor. The single hanging light shined on the blood, but was too weak to illuminate much else. The groaning changed his attention from his thumping wrist to the sickly man in chains. He turned his head slowly to the weakened spectre.
Washed with his own blood, the beaten was in immense pain. The removed skin from his arms and cheeks made him look like an undead. Naked, he sat on the blood-soaked soils resting his back onto the cold stone wall. His wrists were bruised by the chains and his legs were too exhausted to even twitch at the massive cockroaches nibbling at his toes. The usurper stood up from his rotten chair which was a miracle that it managed to hold a such sizable man. His naked and ugly soles thumped as he moved closer to the wraith of a man.
You will be the last. I promise. This will be the last. I promise. You promised the last time! You said the girl would be the last, but it wasn't, and this won't be either! You belong to me and I will show you the righteousness. The good way. The feeling way. I make you.
"NO!" he yelled as he pushed the table that held his cherished tools of his trade. The tortured man opened his eyes to his outburst. This giant of a man stood ahead of him. Hairy body with a thousand cuts. Sharp fungus infested nails asymmetrically grown to the size of claws. No clothes did he wear to cover up his wretched and ugly skin. His stench overpowered even the fool's liquid faeces that piled under him, mixed with blood and piss.
His face. His ungodly face. A pair of pale eyes never looking at one place together. Cheeks separated at times with patchy, ugly hair and scars. The nose that leaked something. The ears crooked and the hair long and uncared. Uncared perhaps since his birth. One single brow united his temples and one single expression covered his face. Lust. Lust for trapped life.
He took a pair rusty pliers from the soil. His movement was mechanical. He paused for a second. Gazed upon the mauled animal and stepped forwards. The luckless wonderer had wondered into the wrong place and was going to be reminded of his misfortune again. Pathetic one's eyes matched the giant beast. His conscious was finally back. He screamed a feint cry, but the beast was unmoved.
Cut it! Cut it out! Cut it out and eat it! You will like it!
He grabbed the weakling's chin and held it tight with his huge hand. He squeezed it open, revealing white spotted tongue and cracked teeth. Now the ghost's eyes were fully open. The monstrosity put the pliers, getting the tongue between, and squeezed it hard. The lowly man yelled muddy cries. The gargoyle pulled as hard as he could, and a spray of blood dyed his sickly hair red. Blood rained down the hunted's mouth and washed the black soil. The wildling rejoiced, making unintelligible garbles and cries. He put his hand onto his now fountain like mouth and closed his lips. The exhausted man drowned in his own blood. His lungs filled, and his breath ended.
Eat him! Lick him! Pet him! Fuck him!
"Noh! Noh! Noah! Noah!"
He bashed the dead mans head in as he yelled to himself. The face became a mush.
More! More! Find me more!
"Lave me alhone! Lave me ALHONN!"
Now he mashed the carcasses stomach with his feet. It became the same as his face.
It felt good. It felt you. Find more and it will feel even better.
And now he crashed his own head. He crashed it until he fell ungracefully onto the bloody earth.
You feel alone. You will feel more alone when I am gone. You don't want me gone. No one will be with you but me. I will make you feel, I will make you be. Now, FIND ME MORE!"
With tears falling from its crusty pores of his eyes he whispered, "Just one more."