Lumus
Posts: 5968
Joined: 9/16/2007
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Edited for one typo oversight and appropriate viewer warning.
Late night, sleepy, half-itching to write but not enough momentum, and certainly not enough time if I plan to sleep before working...so...
I got to thinking about an old short story I wrote, a creepy little piece called "Shiver". The story came from a half-remembered nightmare [the few I do remember are quite vivid, and often come in bright, broken flashes to my consciousness for a few hours after I wake up]. If I can't write, dammit, may as well post one of my pet pieces from a time when I did have time to write! Plus, I've always believed writers don't get proper criticisms unless they whore out their work.  All comments and criticisms are welcomed.
Fair warning: the story has been described by some as "disturbing". There are a few brief reference to drugs, a comment that may be taken as necrophelia [but is not]; nothing that should offend, but if it's an issue, just let a Mod know and if necessary I've no doubt they'll pull it down.
On to the story [hitting <ENTER> a few times so anyone who changes their mind can navigate away]:
I am one fuck-lucky duck.
My whole body's still buzzin' from the drinks and the blow. Little water soldiers march down from the sky; the little kamakazi fucks break apart on the window, shattering into kaleidoscopes. They're just as bright as the rows of lights that were at the party. They got a good rhythm, too.
The cab slows down, then stops, but I hardly notice. Good as it feels to let my body just rock and hum with the car's motion, I make myself turn my head. Mmm.
After a day or so my head swings over, but it was worth the wait. The chick that poured me into the cab is smiling at me. Her hair's so raven, she could pass for Poe. Her face is a white canvass, with pretty fat slashes of black around the eyes. She's racked up, dressed down, and as cold as a week-old corpse. I offered her some blow earlier, and she offered me some blow later. We're riding to a place where I can collect that offer.
She lifts one of her sweet hands. Oh, yeah. Look at those long stiletto nails. She's stained them with something; they're a dull, dry-blood reddish-brown. You can tell they're stained. Most nail paint thickens up like syrup and gives a shitty look; even the good stuff can streak when you apply it. I try to smile back at her, but I can't feel my face. I try my best to smile; she must like the result, because she gives off a deep purr.
A couple of minutes later we're already in the motel room. She whispered to me as we climbed out of the cab that she would pay for the room, as long as I promised to let her be a gooood little whore. I almost fell down laughing at that, but she held me up. I don't remember much from the door of the car to the door of the room. There were blurs, and trails; there were muffled sounds, and a sound-smell of ozone that only nudged my senses. If I had been sober, it might have been painful or offensive - but I'm far on the road outta sober, and I love everything.
My clothes vanished. I heard the bed creak under me as I climbed on it. A fiver says there was a spoon with a black bottom under the rat-mattress. It was romantic, but I didn't let that spoil my fun. I was here to get off...but damn if I could see my sweet little chick-whore in all the darkness. Beams of light crossed over the far wall; behind me, the tacky curtains on the window were fluttering.
A throaty voice whispered, "Close your eyes." Fun and games time!
The bed shifted a bit as a weight leaned against the far end. There were a few thumps and bumps. Maybe she brought toys.
The next thing that hits me is a pool of pleasure rolling over my thighs. Two hands have firmly grasped me, gently twisting, massaging, tickling...
Fuck, it's good to be me.
I feel a slight prick at the top of my... Heh. Why be redundant. She's starting a new game, but I don't mind. In fact, a little sting blends into all that pleasure and makes it even stronger. I let the pleasure horse drag me along for a while, and I start to slip off...
Soon as I realize I'm starting to fall asleep, I'm startled awake. I try to sit up, but nothing's responding. FUCK. How much did I drink? Can't drift off on a hot slut, that's a sure sign you're getting old. And old is step away from dead.
I manage to force my eyes open. My mouth feels full of wool, but I can't spit it out. The best I can do is drool. I look over to the end of the bed, hoping my sweet fuck doesn't see me with spit hanging from my lower lip, but I can't make her out.
The curtains flicker. Beams flash briefly over the far wall, and I should be able to see her, but she's not there. She's not there. But something's still holding my package...
What should have been a high-pitched squeal of surprise comes out of me as a muffled grunt. I still can't sit up, and my arms and legs are leaden. The curtains flicker again. This time, a sliver of light glares off the mirror set over the dresser. I wince at the brightness and close my eyes, but not before I see my chick. She's slumped down on the floor beside the dresser, her sexy eyes closed, her arms crossed in front of her...
...ending in stumps...
Another sting, this one more painful, surges through my groin.
The curtains flicker.
I don't want to, but I glance between my legs as the light plays into the motel room. I don't get a clear view, but I see enough. Her hands have merged at the wrists. Her sweet stiletto nails are jabbing over and over into me, and I can see blood, but it doesn't feel as painful as it should be. Her knuckles have sprouted tufts of hair.
Oh, fuck. OH fuck. ohfuckOhFuckOHFuckOHFUCK
From somewhere by the dresser, I hear her laugh, her sweet, throaty laugh. "Don't be afraid," she purrs. "Soon...you'll be just like me."
ohfuckohfuckOHfuckohFUCKOHFU...
< Message edited by Lumus -- 9/27/2007 10:35:54 PM >
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<Talk to educate; listen to learn.>
~ the other half of "L&L" ~
I have been dubbed the Rainmaker. Do not make me take your water for my tribe.
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