01-18-2009, 06:44 PM
[html]just because i came to visit doesn't mean you have to hide.
i'll be waiting on the side of your house,
with an empty bodybag
and a loaded forty-five.
The Angel had taken many of his memories. The creature could only remember bits and piece of his existence, and no longer knew what parts were false and real. Dreams became reality and memories shifted to illusion. He could see Them all around, shifting in the darkness and edging ever closer. The moon's light was sporadic, broken for long period of time by the clouds that dusted snowflakes across the icy pavement. He sat by the opening, a hole torn into the side of a house, and peered out into the street. A shadow moved across the snow as the moon fled, blocking out all of the light and leaving behind a solid wall of darkness. The hair along his neck lifted as the shadows fell, ears rising atop his head as They inched closer, dragging nails across the glass and shuffling quickly across the dusty wood and frozen snow. A snarl tore from his muzzle, warning them back and sulphur poured from his throat. They recoiled briefly, shifting as they waited before again inching closer. They would grab him and snatch him away, but he wasn't ready. Without the Angel's favor he would be sentenced to an eternity of darkness, away from his Light, cast into the frozen depths of the Pit.
They crawled across his body when he slept, touching him and violating him until he awoke screaming. Hours blurred together and he didn't sleep, unable to allow himself to sink into dark, helpless oblivion. He was far too vulnerable when he slept. He couldn't see. He couldn't hear. Blackness pressed in from all sides, suffocating him. And nightmares flooded his senses. He snarled again, bristling and lunging, slamming his feet on the floor. They would tear him apart and destroy him if They touched him--he knew it. Everything he knew, the Angel had told him. The weakness had since left his body, but he was still ragged and weak for other reasons. Lack of sleep and rarely eating contributed to this. The muscle beneath his flesh had dissolved, leaving him like a skeleton with skin and hair stretched across.
He longed for the Angel's Light and warmth. But he also longed for her. Her name, it fluttered in and out of his consciousness, but her face--it was burned into his memory. Of course, it had deluded and been twisted and changed over time and disease, but he longed for her features and touch. His desire was like a burning sickness, tearing his chest apart. He wanted her more than life itself. One touch in the manner he longed for would be his death. He would die once he'd received what he wanted. But he wouldn't die satisfied. Once he tasted her, he would be consumed further, only wanting more, more, more. The creature was disgusted with this mortal affliction, but it filled him and he could not exhaust it. He could only pretend all others were her.
Eyes flashed in the darkness, fire and sulphur filling the room as he snarled--backed into the corner, yet poised ready and on offense. Tongue slipped between his fangs, laughing as he dragged his nails through the trenches he'd already gouged into the wooden surface below him. Not yet.[/html]
i'll be waiting on the side of your house,
with an empty bodybag
and a loaded forty-five.
The Angel had taken many of his memories. The creature could only remember bits and piece of his existence, and no longer knew what parts were false and real. Dreams became reality and memories shifted to illusion. He could see Them all around, shifting in the darkness and edging ever closer. The moon's light was sporadic, broken for long period of time by the clouds that dusted snowflakes across the icy pavement. He sat by the opening, a hole torn into the side of a house, and peered out into the street. A shadow moved across the snow as the moon fled, blocking out all of the light and leaving behind a solid wall of darkness. The hair along his neck lifted as the shadows fell, ears rising atop his head as They inched closer, dragging nails across the glass and shuffling quickly across the dusty wood and frozen snow. A snarl tore from his muzzle, warning them back and sulphur poured from his throat. They recoiled briefly, shifting as they waited before again inching closer. They would grab him and snatch him away, but he wasn't ready. Without the Angel's favor he would be sentenced to an eternity of darkness, away from his Light, cast into the frozen depths of the Pit.
They crawled across his body when he slept, touching him and violating him until he awoke screaming. Hours blurred together and he didn't sleep, unable to allow himself to sink into dark, helpless oblivion. He was far too vulnerable when he slept. He couldn't see. He couldn't hear. Blackness pressed in from all sides, suffocating him. And nightmares flooded his senses. He snarled again, bristling and lunging, slamming his feet on the floor. They would tear him apart and destroy him if They touched him--he knew it. Everything he knew, the Angel had told him. The weakness had since left his body, but he was still ragged and weak for other reasons. Lack of sleep and rarely eating contributed to this. The muscle beneath his flesh had dissolved, leaving him like a skeleton with skin and hair stretched across.
He longed for the Angel's Light and warmth. But he also longed for her. Her name, it fluttered in and out of his consciousness, but her face--it was burned into his memory. Of course, it had deluded and been twisted and changed over time and disease, but he longed for her features and touch. His desire was like a burning sickness, tearing his chest apart. He wanted her more than life itself. One touch in the manner he longed for would be his death. He would die once he'd received what he wanted. But he wouldn't die satisfied. Once he tasted her, he would be consumed further, only wanting more, more, more. The creature was disgusted with this mortal affliction, but it filled him and he could not exhaust it. He could only pretend all others were her.
Eyes flashed in the darkness, fire and sulphur filling the room as he snarled--backed into the corner, yet poised ready and on offense. Tongue slipped between his fangs, laughing as he dragged his nails through the trenches he'd already gouged into the wooden surface below him. Not yet.[/html]