Post by Victor Vaughn on Nov 8, 2013 20:48:20 GMT -8
Do not let this exterior deceive you.
I can easily crush your spirit.
My wounds bleed truth,
Their voices are caustic,
And with the words...
A nasty sting from aim and precision of fact.
-Shai Hulud, Given Flight by Demon’s Wings
I can easily crush your spirit.
My wounds bleed truth,
Their voices are caustic,
And with the words...
A nasty sting from aim and precision of fact.
-Shai Hulud, Given Flight by Demon’s Wings
The stench of piss and shit wafted from the alleyways of Hilltop. The local shelter had been downsized due to budgetary issues, and the local homeless (at least those not mentally capable of taking care of their own most basic functions outside of fits of lucidity) had evidently taken to using the space between dumpsters as toilets.
A sense of despair hung over him like a cloud, gravitating to him and permeating the whole fabric of reality around him with bleak, empty coldness. The miscreants and mentally compromised swarmed down the sidewalk like lemmings, but parted like the Red Sea in his wake.
Fear was his mistress, and she was a cruel bitch.
The night was still young, the sun barely having crested the horizon. Cervantes was a man of action, however, and each night only had a few hours of activity. There was no rest for the wicked.
He turned the corner on J street, then approached a residential door up a few stairs. He knocked, then stood there for a moment, looking around behind him. Most of the houses had porch lights on, some still had people moving around inside with the lights on. 8 PM on a Wednesday night.
The door in front of him opened, a young woman standing in the doorway wearing a tattered bath robe, holding a plastic cup that reeked of cheap vodka.
“Eduardo send you?” the woman asked, slurring her words. She stood back and waived him in. The apartment was bare bones, everything worth a damn had been stripped and sold, save for a television that sat on a milk crate, a bare mattress soiled with a working woman’s run off, and a bean bag chair that was oozing small white pellets onto the stained carpet.
She closed the door behind him, then looked him up and down with a look of disgust. “Eddie’s usually pretty good about filtering out the weirdos, honey, and frankly, you give me the fucking creeps.” She pulled a pack of cigarettes from her bra and lit one. “Rates are $20 for a handy, $50 for pussy, and $100 for anal. For you at least.” She flicked the ash of the cigarette onto the carpet, then circled around the room to the kitchenette.
“You drive a hard bargain.” He said, taking a few steps towards her and leaning on the counter. As he got closer, her cigarette slowly dimmed, then went out completely. She took out a lighter and tried to light it, but couldn’t get the spark to ignite.
“Fucking piece of shit lighter. The cheap ones die after a day or two, every time.” She tossed the cigarette into the waste basket and sighed. “Can we get down to business? I have an appointment in an hour and he’s a regular. What do you want?”
“Lets.”
With one word, her heart sunk, her pupils grew ten sizes, and she dropped the lighter to the floor. Something was terrible wrong.
Cervantes smiled. A wicked grin, tinged with conviction.
In the blink of an eye, black tendrils of manifested hate and avarice filled the room, grabbing the woman by her ankles, wrist and neck, suspending her a few feet from the ground. She tried to scream, but an arm of darkness had already forced its way into her mouth and down her throat. She struggled like a fly in a web, shaking and thrashing. She already begun to feel weak.
“They tell me that men and women in your profession lose a little bit of themselves every time they take on a new customer. Every cock thrust pushes a little bit of your soul out of you. Every tug drains a little bit of your humanity. Every time you spread your legs you become less and less, until the only thing left is a husk. You submit to your own personal oblivion, and it eats you. It festers inside you. At least, this is what they tell me.”
Two tentacles entwined, forming a chair, and he sat down. The cold embrace of his throne was familiar, comfortable.
“But what they have told me has been wrong before, so I had to see for myself. Before I put Eduardo down, he told me you were his longest standing girl. Six years now? That’s a lot of customers. You’re the perfect specimen.”
He reached into the doctor’s bag by his feet and pulled out paper package. He tore open the autoclave seal and took the scalpel from inside.
“Lets open you up and find out.”
She tried to scream again, struggling against the tentacles with what little strength she had left. He approached her slowly, his arms hanging limply at his side, the scalpel pointed towards the floor.
“Rest assured, this will hurt." He raised a the scalpel to her throat. "But just think of the progress we are making”
