by xxamlaxx at her livejournal
389 words, pg-13, bride
“Davis, I just got your messages, what’s wrong?” Emerald shimmers with concern and guilt congeals in the pit of his stomach, reacts adversely to the human remains slowly being digested inside him. Even after the kiss she still cares.
He’s never seen Chloe look more beautiful. The wedding dress clings to every inch of her skin, white fabric outlining the curves of her body, the hour-glass shape of her hips and stomach, the firm swells of her breasts. All flesh he can never have, a present wrapped so sweetly for another, a lovely bride for another man. Her skin and hair glow golden, radiating sunshine, bright grass green eyes and rosebud lips; a figure from an elegant museum painting.
Blood is splashed on every surface of the ambulance, bright red, gleaming wetly, staining metal crimson, guts and bones and carnage everywhere. His hands are slick with the substance of life, salty, oxygenated liquid, what is left of a body is strewn in the seat beside him, exposed bone and stringy muscle. He wipes his face desperately on the sleeve of his coat, smearing the material maroon. His mouth is acerbic with the taste of…….the taste it craves, hot, bitter copper.
“Davis, I just got your messages, what’s wrong?” Emerald shimmers with concern and guilt congeals in the pit of his stomach, reacts adversely to the human remains slowly being digested inside him. Even after the kiss she still cares.
“Nothing.” She’s stepping closer to the window; the air is fetid with decomposition and blood. “This is a bad time Chloe.” He’s sitting in a luke-warm puddle.
“You left me eight voicemails, make time.” She starts to open the door, the sun begins to set behind her and it reflects brightly off the pools of red.
“I have to go.”
Tires squeal and the engine roars, he watches the exhaust fumes make the hem of her dress flutter, ripples of white in the fading sun. He scrubs the ambulance with a frightening fervor, garbage bags that drip and content that squelch wetly when they land in the dumpster. Then it brings tremors and incipient transformation, his body aches, fingers warp to claws, teeth elongate painfully, spikes and spines erupt from him in unbearable bursts of searing agony. His thoughts dwindle to dying embers, a fading glow, extinguished within seconds. It is finally free, prey is in abundance, the heat and saccharine taste of humans is on its tongue.
It finishes the meal quickly, because the girl is its sole objective; the human consciousness that dwells within it can’t be trusted to retrieve her any longer.
389 words, pg-13, bride
“Davis, I just got your messages, what’s wrong?” Emerald shimmers with concern and guilt congeals in the pit of his stomach, reacts adversely to the human remains slowly being digested inside him. Even after the kiss she still cares.
He’s never seen Chloe look more beautiful. The wedding dress clings to every inch of her skin, white fabric outlining the curves of her body, the hour-glass shape of her hips and stomach, the firm swells of her breasts. All flesh he can never have, a present wrapped so sweetly for another, a lovely bride for another man. Her skin and hair glow golden, radiating sunshine, bright grass green eyes and rosebud lips; a figure from an elegant museum painting.
Blood is splashed on every surface of the ambulance, bright red, gleaming wetly, staining metal crimson, guts and bones and carnage everywhere. His hands are slick with the substance of life, salty, oxygenated liquid, what is left of a body is strewn in the seat beside him, exposed bone and stringy muscle. He wipes his face desperately on the sleeve of his coat, smearing the material maroon. His mouth is acerbic with the taste of…….the taste it craves, hot, bitter copper.
“Davis, I just got your messages, what’s wrong?” Emerald shimmers with concern and guilt congeals in the pit of his stomach, reacts adversely to the human remains slowly being digested inside him. Even after the kiss she still cares.
“Nothing.” She’s stepping closer to the window; the air is fetid with decomposition and blood. “This is a bad time Chloe.” He’s sitting in a luke-warm puddle.
“You left me eight voicemails, make time.” She starts to open the door, the sun begins to set behind her and it reflects brightly off the pools of red.
“I have to go.”
Tires squeal and the engine roars, he watches the exhaust fumes make the hem of her dress flutter, ripples of white in the fading sun. He scrubs the ambulance with a frightening fervor, garbage bags that drip and content that squelch wetly when they land in the dumpster. Then it brings tremors and incipient transformation, his body aches, fingers warp to claws, teeth elongate painfully, spikes and spines erupt from him in unbearable bursts of searing agony. His thoughts dwindle to dying embers, a fading glow, extinguished within seconds. It is finally free, prey is in abundance, the heat and saccharine taste of humans is on its tongue.
It finishes the meal quickly, because the girl is its sole objective; the human consciousness that dwells within it can’t be trusted to retrieve her any longer.
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