The Masque of the Red Death By Jeesiechreesie.pdf

The Masque of the Red Death By Jeesiechreesie

http://www.fanfiction.net/s/5248764/1/

It thrummed and sang, whispered and danced.

It seeped into my veins and curdled in my gut.

Pulsating rhythms of its seductive heat made me thicken and drip.

Rushing, pounding, and beating, it called to me.

Drowning in it as it slashed through my insides.

The venom coated my teeth and sharpened my resolve.

It would be more potent to let it ripen.

To let her abject terror wash down my throat with every nimble sip.

Her blood would be mine.

As would she.

Once she begged, pleaded, demanded, and wept for my bite.

And she would.

The only question was how many would die first.

The utter silence of death permeated the air.

The heart sputtered to a lifeless halt, the lungs gasped their final breath, as the

brain fired its final synapses.

It was magnificently complicated and gloriously simple.

The last mouthful of pumped blood dulled the mind with ecstasy. The wind

seemed to cease, the birds hid, and the grass wilted.

Nature responded to my unnatural existence by turning its head; it mourned for

the stain of death on my hands through its stillness.

Even the ominous clouds sheltered the sun from shining on my monstrosity.

I had but seconds to savor the taste and revel in my kill before the sound and the

fury would sweep back through me.

Fleeing to the tree against the house, I perched and waited, allowing the drum of

long dead adrenaline to pump through me.

Pinpricks of crimson coated the cracks of the pathway to the door, where my

present awaited. Clumps of chemically treated brown hair hung from the door

panel of a 1960s VW Beatle. Strips of hemp weaved clothes lay tattered

throughout the yard. My advance sight could discern the faintest traces of gouges

from well-chewed nails against the front door.

I was unsure if she would spot the marks though. I would have to carve them out

further in the future. Perhaps leave a message. Assuming that the body didn't

speak for itself...

Muscles in my face twitched, curving upward into something I once remembered

to be a smile. Even I could recognize the beauty of my gift.

Its artistic value.

Filtered gray light advanced the pallor of the impending blue of her skin. Her

already dead eyes dried of all moisture in the desert heat. If I were fortunate, the

decadent perfume of her decay would hasten its arrival before she was found.

As ever, blood was my requiem. It was a fine art I had mastered decades ago,

learning the depth and breadth of the bites; the perfect placement of each. Even

satiated with feast I had just imbibed, the venom filled my mouth at its recall...

A long shallow cut of my teeth across her jugular. A nip at her wrists. A puncture

inside her thighs. A killing bite through her chest, deep enough to drink from the

superior vena cava, letting it pump each gulp straight from the source of her

heart.

The small cuts dribbled blood in Jackson Pollack splatters on and besides the

body. Her severed heart, spilled what little I had left undrunk, into platelet rivers.

It was mesmerizing to see it flowing around the body, rushing down the steps in

a red waterfall, only to pool serenely in a rivet of the concrete.

A roaring engine grumbling its way down the road, filled with stinking filthy

minded teenagers pulled my focus from my accomplishment.

She was coming.

My body leaned with its yearning for her, toward the bus. It stopped four houses

away, emptying its contents by only one. The one who had narrowed my entire

existence to sweetening her ever developing scent. Walking toward me, she

smelled of exhaust, cafeteria grease and the odoriferous rank of her fellow

students. It overwhelmed all of the pungent overtones that had drawn me to her.

She entered my line of sight, personifying everything about her dull stolid life;

her plebeian features, her steady heartbeat, and even breathing. In mere

seconds it would all change. All the simplistic aspects of her life would be

destroyed when she found what I had left for her.

When she unknowingly would begin to become mine.

Her nostrils flared, recognizing the scent of danger; her faced paled, sensing the

palpable feel of death. Hands trembled and her stomach audibly turned over.

She hadn't even seen it, and she knew. She knew what I had done for her.

The offbeat pounding of clumsy feet slapped against the pavement, as my foolish

girl ran towards me.

Once again, I was greeted with silence. Her breath and pulse stumbled over

themselves, halting at the sight before her.

I had left her speechless, but the sight and smells she emitted were far from

lackluster. Under the mask of shock were the telltale signs of horror. Within her

wise eyes was the precognition of her complete devastation.

I could bathe in her deliciousness. I could quench my raging thirst with the

stench of her fear. I would replay the sound of her breath returning and her

racing pulse, as her lungs filled with air.

Her screams would satisfy me in the long days until she walked willingly into my

path.

The image of her soaked in blood; it coagulating on her hands, drying in her hair,

and coating her mouth as she attemped CPR, would tide me over.

Bella choked on her vomit, tears and mucous washing down her face as she

clutched her dead mother's body. The mother who had dared to criticize her

daughter's eating habits this morning. Her insinuations had forced my hand. Bella

had to know I would never allow anyone to stand in our path.

And she would. Eventually.

Until then, I could wait.

She would arrive shortly in Forks to reside with her only surviving parent.

Surviving for now, that is...

She came.

Humans were nothing if not predictable. With a catch in her throat, and a tear in

her eye she'd flown off to her distant father and into the palms of my hand.

Gaunt and pale, she settled into her new routine; serving her wastrel parent,

keeping her nose down at school, and frantically trying to scrub her mother's

blood from her mouth.

Some spots never do come out...

The vision of the crimson stain on her lips had sustained me over the last month.

It linked us. For I knew she saw it, tasted it, lived it every time she closed her

eyes. Soon she would learn who to associate the sensations with, and it would be

my name she whimpered in the night.

For now she cried for her mother; waking in cold sweat, terror outlining her brow.

She may not have known it, but the nights were ours. Perched in another tree,

outside a different bedroom I kept watch. I reveled in our reminiscing of my

fateful first gift, and anxiously awaited the time to present her with another. If

my instincts were right, tomorrow might finally grant such an opportunity.

After all, the seaside was a dangerous place indeed...

She'd succumbed to the call of her peers.

Even after so brief a time, the feeble mind begins to forget. Mourning and terror

give way to self-sustaining lies; that the dead would want them to go on living.

The dead feel no such sentiment; whether they're blanketed by the earth or still

walking above it. We remain static while the living change. They move away from

our death not out of respect, but to escape from existing beside us in a still-life

frame.

Little did they know we were still there behind them, watching from not quite

afar.

Bella proved herself to be as human as the rest. Her mother's blood spray might

continue to coat her eyelids at night, but she had returned to the land of the

animated. The soon-to-be-even-smaller Forks High junior class sprawled

themselves across the sand, soaking up the few rays of sun slipping through the

rain clouds. Their mindless chatter drifted over the surf to my spot in the dense

underbrush of First Beach.

She sat astride a piece of driftwood, swamped in an oversize Forks PD jacket.

She'd acquiesced to join them out of misguided loneliness, but remained aloof in

their presence. I almost wished she would speak, if only to hear the timidity that

I had spawned in her voice. Yet her reticence was perhaps all that kept these

miscreants alive. I hardly appreciated their attempt to lure her away from me.

She too resented their meddling; their inability to understand that she was

already caught in the clutches of another. In the middle of one of the eager

children's sentences, she clomped away from them. Already absurdly clumsy, the

laceless shoes she wore further handicapped her on the unstable surface. The

sand sucked her shoes off her heels, before flipping them back up, flinging sand

into the eyes of a rail thin blond.

Venom flooded my throat at my anticipation of what was to come. Vapid little

twits with sinful thoughts about others rarely held kindness in their shrunken

hearts. Invectives spewed from her filthy mouth when the sand hit her. Banshee

screeches emitted from her as she barreled straight into Bella's path. Emaciated

shoulders, fueled with the outrage of the slighted, knocked into her and sent her

face first into the sand.

Bella laid there, the wet grains scouring her skin, filling her mouth and burning

her eyes, and didn't budge. One day she would be prostrated before me begging;

until then, anyone who tried to usurp me would be meticulously eliminated;

starting with the shrew.

Nature abhors an imbalance, and always seeks to fill the vacuum it creates.

In her anger, the insipid blond stepped over Bella as if she were no more

important than the shoes she was kicking off in her march to the ocean.

Muttering about socially inept orphans, she stole the surfboard from an empty

minded brunette, and threw herself into the turbulent surf.

A feral grin spread across my face. When opportunity arose it was unwise to

ignore it.

There was no need to dart furtively across the beach; none of their blinded eyes

could focus rapidly enough to see me. A quick dive and I was submerged in the

murky water. Neither the cold nor the wet could hinder a creature stronger,

faster, and more powerful than anything nature could create. Especially not

compared to the girl attached to the hands splashing and scooping water onto

herself. It was almost insulting how simple it would be. Neoprene clad legs gave

way to orange tinted feet dangling on either side of the board. She was a ripe

morsel merely waiting to be plucked.

Powerful strokes sent me ghosting through the depths, shooting underneath her

with the silent efficiency of the predator who would be accused of my misdeeds. A

squeeze of my fingers, and a flick of my wrist jolted her from her perch, and sank

her plastic wrapping to the sea floor. She'd hardly comprehended the change of

temperature before my teeth sank through her femoral artery.

Death has many flavors. Spicy rich heat can permeate the body. The fervor of

their terrified screams. The rush of decadent pleasure as they struggle and plead

for a forgotten God's mercy. The splash of their fear tainted blood as it fills your

stomach. The succulent knowledge that the kill would reverberate through the

fools left behind…that even until the day their short meaningless lives end, they

will still see the magnificently mutilated corpse left behind. To know they will

always see their face upon it.

Renee, the shallow busybody of a mother had that death. Hers was a glorious kill

designed to titillate and tease her beloved daughter.

The girl whose name gurgled through the water as Lauren, did not die in such a

manner. She did not deserve to offer me the thrill of death. Salt tainted her

venereal disease ridden blood, scorching my throat and maliciously preventing

me any satisfaction. Even in her death she was selfish.

This was a cold death. No warmth ran through me satiating my thirst. No feeling

of triumph in her defeat. She was not the kind of girl you savored, but rather the

one you spat out to rid yourself of the aftertaste.

It was as calculated as balancing an equation; her life for the slight she gave to

what was mine.

Desiring no more of this wasted thin-blooded Lauren, my face delved deeper

inside her thigh. I mauled her; ripping through her flesh, slicing through muscle

and chewing through bone. Every mouthful of her underfed body was spat back

into the bloodied water. Her thrashing and screaming only sped her demise as

she bled faster and flooded her lungs.

She gasped and soundlessly screamed, swallowing the swirling blood and floating

gristle. She kicked and fought; the thigh trapped within my teeth only gave way

more readily with her efforts. Even necessity could beget amusement, so I freed

Plik z chomika:

Inne pliki z tego folderu:

Inne foldery tego chomika: