Trembling before me, it pleads. It grovels and begs. Wonderful, I say. So so so wonderful. It clings to me, to my body, my spirit.
Beg and plead before me, dear, then we shall see.
And it's eyes grow dull as they gaze at me. There is no light anymore. I shift in my position. Standing above it, it cowers as I gaze with such severity that it could not move. There is nothingness in my eyes, not even a glimmer of emotion. Its eyes widen and there you could see the fear and the pain. I scoff.
You think you know of pain?
It could not answer. It could not speak. Its throat too dry to even utter words it knows are only lies, lies that could possibly appease my angered body. It could not do anything, it could not even appease my morbid desires, the want to murder something with my bare hands. I wanted to see blood spill but it could not give me even that.
I do not move and still glare at the pitiful being. The shackles on its wrists and ankles were caked with dry blood. Its wrists were raw from being shackled too tightly. I saw a trickle of blood crawl down its cheek. I lick my lips.
Wonderfully crimson, your blood is.
And it shivers. I do nothing still. That is what frightens it the most, my indifference at its suffering. But it is suffering so little, I argue to myself. It has not suffered enough. It will never be enough.
The world is evil. Innocence has no place there.
It nods, just the slightest bit. My grim lips jerk up slightly. It understood too clearly my intentions, my wants. I want it to be strong. I want it to look the world in the eye and feel it writhe under its grasp. I want it to instill fear into the hearts of those who had pushed fear into me.
Yes, revenge. Sweet, sweet revenge. Oh how beautiful it would be when I finally release it. And it will spill all the blood I need to feel satisfied and fulfilled. It whimpers. And my gaze hardens yet again as it slumps onto the bloody floor. I nudge it with my foot. It does not move, I see its blood pool around it. I lick my lips yet again.
I want to taste that liquid yet again. Feel its rusty flavor as I drink it. Smell it. Morbid I might seem but there is nothing else I can think of. But it moves yet again and there, in its eyes, I see the courage and the bravery mingling in with the fear and cowardice.
Wonderful, so, so wonderful.
I tell myself. I giggle like a little girl inside. It is ready. No, she is ready, ready to take on whatever is left of those I have been trifled with. She will continue on. She will live, a shell of her former self.
A shell of me.
Beg and plead before me, dear, then we shall see.
And it's eyes grow dull as they gaze at me. There is no light anymore. I shift in my position. Standing above it, it cowers as I gaze with such severity that it could not move. There is nothingness in my eyes, not even a glimmer of emotion. Its eyes widen and there you could see the fear and the pain. I scoff.
You think you know of pain?
It could not answer. It could not speak. Its throat too dry to even utter words it knows are only lies, lies that could possibly appease my angered body. It could not do anything, it could not even appease my morbid desires, the want to murder something with my bare hands. I wanted to see blood spill but it could not give me even that.
I do not move and still glare at the pitiful being. The shackles on its wrists and ankles were caked with dry blood. Its wrists were raw from being shackled too tightly. I saw a trickle of blood crawl down its cheek. I lick my lips.
Wonderfully crimson, your blood is.
And it shivers. I do nothing still. That is what frightens it the most, my indifference at its suffering. But it is suffering so little, I argue to myself. It has not suffered enough. It will never be enough.
The world is evil. Innocence has no place there.
It nods, just the slightest bit. My grim lips jerk up slightly. It understood too clearly my intentions, my wants. I want it to be strong. I want it to look the world in the eye and feel it writhe under its grasp. I want it to instill fear into the hearts of those who had pushed fear into me.
Yes, revenge. Sweet, sweet revenge. Oh how beautiful it would be when I finally release it. And it will spill all the blood I need to feel satisfied and fulfilled. It whimpers. And my gaze hardens yet again as it slumps onto the bloody floor. I nudge it with my foot. It does not move, I see its blood pool around it. I lick my lips yet again.
I want to taste that liquid yet again. Feel its rusty flavor as I drink it. Smell it. Morbid I might seem but there is nothing else I can think of. But it moves yet again and there, in its eyes, I see the courage and the bravery mingling in with the fear and cowardice.
Wonderful, so, so wonderful.
I tell myself. I giggle like a little girl inside. It is ready. No, she is ready, ready to take on whatever is left of those I have been trifled with. She will continue on. She will live, a shell of her former self.
A shell of me.
1 comment:
For some reason reading that post elevated my heart rate. Awesome.
Post a Comment