Sunday, October 31, 2010

Stunning she was... (The Herald came)


.....but wicked and evil. She had blood in her hands and in her hair and she sat there in front of her mirror smacking her lips and licking the tips of her fingers.
She had killed yet another. Hearing movement behind the door, she threw her shawl around her throat and glided towards the door...room service.
The young man walked inside unafraid and unarmed because he knew something she did not..that he was already dead.....


He walked inside and stood before her with a wide smile drawn on his rosy lips.
This made her feel unprecedented unease.
"What can I do for you young man. You are foolishly brave to have come." She said softly and assumed her  pose sitting on her chair.
She pulled her shawl away from her round breasts, yet left it hang and crossed her ivory legs
slowly.
The young man walked behind her chair,
and leaned right beside her head.
She looked in the mirror to catch a glimpse of his face and terror overwhelmed her..there was no face to behold.
She swirled at him with ready claws, to rip, to tear his face, to gulp his eyeballs whole, though she felt full, indeed, and met The Mouth, a huge, black gaping hole.
It was rotten and reeking and huge. It covered her face and sucked her in.
She pulled back, and tried to pull the head apart.
But it was too late. She heard it suck her in; her beauty, the stolen blood, her flesh.
Its poison melted her cheekbones and drilled into her marrow.

Her heart reached her mouth. He pulled it right out.

Her shawl fell on the floor; there was a throat no more to hold it on.
Scarlet spewing from her throat's hollow, she staggered towards the sill,
decapitated, not yet lifeless,
there was no thrust, only disgust,
when she tried to grasp where was once her head.

The Herald left as he had come,
the deed was done....

PART II

      Stunning she was,
      but she should have known that competition was getting rough,
she should have left for a while, not stay and laugh,
at the face of what was yet to come.
Thousands upon thousands of beasts feed on human flesh,
all  thirsty and hungry and cold,
without a trace of a soul.
They roam the streets night and  day  enslaving our minds, ensnaring our bodies, our senses, devouring our souls..
When one of them is on the loose,
the Herald is brought to set things straight,
Its Mouth is never late
it feeds upon familiar hate, its own kind without remorse.

From the bloody womb of the Earth's core,
the Herald feeds on rotting gore,
but when he doesn't get his share,
he rises above and settles his score.




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