Post by Issac Weasley on Aug 12, 2006 20:50:05 GMT -5
North Champaign
I don't think there's a need to put a rating precaution on this, since you've probably all seen worse gore than this by the age of 13. This is my first solo fanfiction, so cheers to Stephen King for giving me the sort of urge to attempt at horror instead of the usual poo I produce.
This will be a two-shot.
I might add a few more chapters if I need to.
It seemed time had taken its last high-strung breath, wheezing into a slow hypnoses. Father time had finally chocked on some crumb of dust, leaving in a startling, terminal scream, which pierced the silence like a hot needle against one’s skin. Here was time, curling away in a shabby motel room. Room 23 to be exact, the one with the spectacular view facing north to the New York sky. The room no one ever seemed to hear of.
It was a strange place, simple as anything could get. Ugly mesh patterened bedspread that smelled of vomit and urine, carpet stained with the promiscuous aftermath of bodily fluids, tacky watercolor paintings in plastic frames. The smell of alcohol and cigarettes lingered in the room, as did the strange drifting fog of water and mold. The lights were dim, one fluorescent bulb just clinging to its electric life. It buzzed and flickered on and off like a certain pair of sapphire eyes staring ahead at the yellowing tiles of the motel’s bathroom.
The bathroom was just as the room, disgusting in every way. The porcelain room had faded into noxious colors that reminded one of curdled milk.
The bathtub stood to the right of the bathroom, rimmed with a rough texture that was certainly not soapscum. It was nearly full too, but not with the pristine crystal of water. There was something else in this tub. What should have been clear to the very bottom was a dismal, murky sort of thing that held the powerful hue of fire. More crimson than the depths of hell, the bath was seeping with nothing but the nectar of life, the overpowering liquid that pulsed through bodies like spiritual rhythm.
Lying so perfectly still in this cracking porcelain tub was nothing but blood.
The room was completely quiet. Yet, quiet seemed to have the booming effect of echoeing through the room. Ironic when you think of it. It was unmoving, idle and dead. There was simply nothing there but a statue-like creature with a brilliant smirk dousing its masculine features. Dark lips lined in black secrets perked upward, twitching as though laughing in its demented head. Its nose sniffed the air in a beast-like way, as sharp eyes gazed over the scene in glee. Well, not glee. A creature like this was obviously not capable of such emotions, if any at all. But you get the point.
The silence was soon broken by nothing but a soft whisper of creaking as a strange item swung against the curtain rod. It seemed to be the body of a young child, perhaps a girl no older than seven. The bare body was suspended in the air by nothing but a crusty, thick rope cutting into what seemed to be ankles. The skin was chaffed away, revealing yellowish-white bones drenched in red. Small shards of the bone were obviously missing, as the feet and legs were mangled and twisted, the same hard yellow-white piercing through the skin and poking out into the air. It seemed the skin was almost gone, as though peeled away from what seemed to be large bite marks against the darkening muscle that seemed to have seen too much of the open air. The blood upon the mangled body was beginning to blacken, turning to flakes that fell away like dust.
What had once been a sweet, innocent child’s face was now nothing but an unrecognizable hunk of raw meat. The skin had been ripped away, revealing the tender, dripping tissue. It shone just slightly in the dim light of the room, wet and slimy upon a rough, tortured texture. What had once perhaps been a button nose was now an odd stub of nothing. Bits of gray seemed through the face’s gaping holes, perhaps the brain the child had once thought with. The liquid that had once surrounded that brain was still slowly falling into the tub, dripping.
Slowly like a Chinese water torture.
Yet steady like a flow of champaign.
The strange sound of tearing suddenly came as the creature's sharp claws tore into the flesh, peeling past rows of ribs and sorts of innards. The sound was soft, like a loud, wet sucking as the slim arm plunged deeper, nearly breaking through the wall that was the child’s spine.
Friction made a slow appearance as the hand pulled back, drenched in mysterious liquids and remains of tissue. Between the fragile-looking fingers sat a small lump of purple, still connected to the body with various wires and cords that were waiting to burst.
The small wad of nothing happened to be the body’s most important item, the heart.
Cold eyes watched in amusement as the fingers acted as a small pulse, squeezing it as to reenact it’s beating. A sense of laughter flickered in the eyes as the hand drew back toward a pair of teal colored lips. Remnants of blood squirted from the heart, filling up his mouth and running down its body. A gentle swallow, hands wiping against lips, sharp fang-like teeth just grazing the edge like a razor.
Once again, the silence was broken; this times by something just a tad louder. A voice penetrated the virgin silence, ripping into it like a dagger between the dainty fingers of an angel clad in lace.
“My youth is returning already…”
I don't think there's a need to put a rating precaution on this, since you've probably all seen worse gore than this by the age of 13. This is my first solo fanfiction, so cheers to Stephen King for giving me the sort of urge to attempt at horror instead of the usual poo I produce.
This will be a two-shot.
I might add a few more chapters if I need to.
It seemed time had taken its last high-strung breath, wheezing into a slow hypnoses. Father time had finally chocked on some crumb of dust, leaving in a startling, terminal scream, which pierced the silence like a hot needle against one’s skin. Here was time, curling away in a shabby motel room. Room 23 to be exact, the one with the spectacular view facing north to the New York sky. The room no one ever seemed to hear of.
It was a strange place, simple as anything could get. Ugly mesh patterened bedspread that smelled of vomit and urine, carpet stained with the promiscuous aftermath of bodily fluids, tacky watercolor paintings in plastic frames. The smell of alcohol and cigarettes lingered in the room, as did the strange drifting fog of water and mold. The lights were dim, one fluorescent bulb just clinging to its electric life. It buzzed and flickered on and off like a certain pair of sapphire eyes staring ahead at the yellowing tiles of the motel’s bathroom.
The bathroom was just as the room, disgusting in every way. The porcelain room had faded into noxious colors that reminded one of curdled milk.
The bathtub stood to the right of the bathroom, rimmed with a rough texture that was certainly not soapscum. It was nearly full too, but not with the pristine crystal of water. There was something else in this tub. What should have been clear to the very bottom was a dismal, murky sort of thing that held the powerful hue of fire. More crimson than the depths of hell, the bath was seeping with nothing but the nectar of life, the overpowering liquid that pulsed through bodies like spiritual rhythm.
Lying so perfectly still in this cracking porcelain tub was nothing but blood.
The room was completely quiet. Yet, quiet seemed to have the booming effect of echoeing through the room. Ironic when you think of it. It was unmoving, idle and dead. There was simply nothing there but a statue-like creature with a brilliant smirk dousing its masculine features. Dark lips lined in black secrets perked upward, twitching as though laughing in its demented head. Its nose sniffed the air in a beast-like way, as sharp eyes gazed over the scene in glee. Well, not glee. A creature like this was obviously not capable of such emotions, if any at all. But you get the point.
The silence was soon broken by nothing but a soft whisper of creaking as a strange item swung against the curtain rod. It seemed to be the body of a young child, perhaps a girl no older than seven. The bare body was suspended in the air by nothing but a crusty, thick rope cutting into what seemed to be ankles. The skin was chaffed away, revealing yellowish-white bones drenched in red. Small shards of the bone were obviously missing, as the feet and legs were mangled and twisted, the same hard yellow-white piercing through the skin and poking out into the air. It seemed the skin was almost gone, as though peeled away from what seemed to be large bite marks against the darkening muscle that seemed to have seen too much of the open air. The blood upon the mangled body was beginning to blacken, turning to flakes that fell away like dust.
What had once been a sweet, innocent child’s face was now nothing but an unrecognizable hunk of raw meat. The skin had been ripped away, revealing the tender, dripping tissue. It shone just slightly in the dim light of the room, wet and slimy upon a rough, tortured texture. What had once perhaps been a button nose was now an odd stub of nothing. Bits of gray seemed through the face’s gaping holes, perhaps the brain the child had once thought with. The liquid that had once surrounded that brain was still slowly falling into the tub, dripping.
Slowly like a Chinese water torture.
Yet steady like a flow of champaign.
The strange sound of tearing suddenly came as the creature's sharp claws tore into the flesh, peeling past rows of ribs and sorts of innards. The sound was soft, like a loud, wet sucking as the slim arm plunged deeper, nearly breaking through the wall that was the child’s spine.
Friction made a slow appearance as the hand pulled back, drenched in mysterious liquids and remains of tissue. Between the fragile-looking fingers sat a small lump of purple, still connected to the body with various wires and cords that were waiting to burst.
The small wad of nothing happened to be the body’s most important item, the heart.
Cold eyes watched in amusement as the fingers acted as a small pulse, squeezing it as to reenact it’s beating. A sense of laughter flickered in the eyes as the hand drew back toward a pair of teal colored lips. Remnants of blood squirted from the heart, filling up his mouth and running down its body. A gentle swallow, hands wiping against lips, sharp fang-like teeth just grazing the edge like a razor.
Once again, the silence was broken; this times by something just a tad louder. A voice penetrated the virgin silence, ripping into it like a dagger between the dainty fingers of an angel clad in lace.
“My youth is returning already…”
