Post by The Wanderer on May 11, 2005 13:08:33 GMT -8
A whispered word and loving intent can kill as quickly as the sweetest strychnine. There was no use in this little death, this forgettable victim in an endless series of time-obscured atrocities. Still, each seemed as though it were a new experience, a new thrill to supplant the doldrums of immortality.
There was no trying: he had fooled himself into thinking that it was merely a natural act of nature, preying upon the weak. He loathed those that feared this admission, or replaced the idea with an almost religious, manifest destiny. Just one more link in the food chain, nothing more. Nothing exalted. Nothing magical.
She lay in a mooncast slumber, air moving slowly back and forth from her lungs; a small, shrill whistle rhythmically squeaking from her nostrils. She would remember pleasure, of course, and a light-headedness. She would mark it up to the narcotics imbibed just prior, and if she somehow remembered it differently, he would correct her with much persuasion. Just one more lie.
Naked, he sat crouched beside her on the mattress. No air moved through his lungs, but he gathered enough for a cathartic sigh of disappointment. The faded sparkle. The continuing game to pretend it was all something more than it was. And what it was, was shit.
With effort, he raised his gaze to the large window, reflexively honing his vision to brighten the night. There was a vast, vast world out there. Surely, something must be left to give meaning even to the dregs of the darkness.
There was still magnificence in him. There had to be. He just had to find it, and claw to maintain it. Otherwise, why avoid the dawn?
Seriously.
There was no trying: he had fooled himself into thinking that it was merely a natural act of nature, preying upon the weak. He loathed those that feared this admission, or replaced the idea with an almost religious, manifest destiny. Just one more link in the food chain, nothing more. Nothing exalted. Nothing magical.
She lay in a mooncast slumber, air moving slowly back and forth from her lungs; a small, shrill whistle rhythmically squeaking from her nostrils. She would remember pleasure, of course, and a light-headedness. She would mark it up to the narcotics imbibed just prior, and if she somehow remembered it differently, he would correct her with much persuasion. Just one more lie.
Naked, he sat crouched beside her on the mattress. No air moved through his lungs, but he gathered enough for a cathartic sigh of disappointment. The faded sparkle. The continuing game to pretend it was all something more than it was. And what it was, was shit.
With effort, he raised his gaze to the large window, reflexively honing his vision to brighten the night. There was a vast, vast world out there. Surely, something must be left to give meaning even to the dregs of the darkness.
There was still magnificence in him. There had to be. He just had to find it, and claw to maintain it. Otherwise, why avoid the dawn?
Seriously.
