Black Lust
BLACKLUST
--Copyright Scare-Safe Sept 9th 2009 10:35pm--
Another quiet night in the Dark apartment on 4987 Wangler Ave. No one, not even the manager knows of the dark twisted things that lurk behind the doors of room 78. Residence complain the area starts to smell of rotted flesh and dead fish every passing night and morning. No one seems to know where it comes from. Nor the stains of blood sliding down the walls, along with the demonic atmosphere that swarms the air. A bright night light can't cast away the evil that seems to dig its way through the skin and knaw at the spine. No one can hear it, but everyone feels it.
Wemon and men lay at his feet, eyeing the floor and ceiling in wicked peace, their insides, their outsides scattered around the ground. Cannibalism and musk fill the room. A chuckle pierces through the dark energy as he pulls himself out of the womb, and dresses her heart in his fluid. He deposits her soul along with the others, sliding it down gently into the morbid pit to join the other chosen this night. Satisfaction curls in his muzzle, grinning down at all the many sacrifices that have entered the goats circle. He stares into the empty skeletons, lapping the fear, the remorse, and unanswered prayers that still hover over the desisted. A silent cry echoes through the dead silence, tickling his ears. His drunk body rotates and eyes a snared lamb, chained and ripe for harvest. "One soul still remains." His black eyes and toothy smile fixed to her, his sheath hungerly growing small.
His body twists and snaps as he slithers over to her, his claws ripping the floor, his tail happily dancing in the air, his nose devouring her fear. He stares into her innocents, his devil smiling upon her weeps to be set free. His blood stained tongue welcomes her into his dark embrace, his rancid saliva eating away at her like piranha's, as his claws releasing her layers and displayed her like a monument. Both hands explored her being, his knot rapidly stabbing into her body, her struggle futile as her binds tighten. A whisper fills her mind as he reaches into his mouth and picks at a piece of metal below his tongue, and slowly drags out a crimson needle, 16 inches long, and 2 feet thick. His lustful moans shatter what little courage she had left, resting her eyes on the sharp rod; her ghost is painfully ripped out of her spirit. A macabre prayer hisses from the executioner's throat, pain and suffering re-spawns and tears away the sky.
-end