She Has A Pretty Face Though (Part XXXI)

Posted on December 2, 2013 by R. Richardsson

Disclaimer

The following is one of many installments for a story designed specifically for my blog. While it does step out of my usual genre, there are some things still not suitable for a younger audience. Violent/Graphic descriptions, strong language and sexual situations may be found through different sections. Each entry will tell a small portion of the story during different times and may not directly follow the one prior to it.

This story follows the direct interactions, as well as the deteriorating thoughts of a young man who is struggling not only with the relationships he has with those around him, but with the relationship he has with himself as well.

Finally, all work is strictly fiction and does not reflect the views of the author. Any resemblance to actual person(s) is only a coincidence.

If this isn’t your cup of tea, then avoid these excerpts and hopefully I’ll see you around my other posts and webseries!

———

His vision doubled from the impact.

The pain was excruciating, but for the moment the voices in his head were silenced. Although the pain anchored him to the moment, it felt as if he were lost inside a dream. From somewhere far away he heard the bat-like screeches of Lucy’s voice as she cursed more about the damage to the wall than to him.

A syrupy mixture of blood and tears coated his eyes, allowing him to see the world through death’s own, and he peered through the crimson veil at the monstrosity before him. It waved its trunk-like appendages emphatically as it advanced, alternating between gesturing at him and the wall where he had just planted his head.

A steady throbbing began to spread from his temples, reaching with its hurtful tendrils until it covered the crown of his skull.

He looked upon the hellspawn before him and lost touch with reality.

The creature before him barely passed for a female of his species. It was nearly tall as he, but consisted of mountains upon mountains of flesh which spilled over itself from its neck to its cankles. It was naked, except for the brassiere that covered its mountainous assets. He looked briefly downward, praying to whatever god was listening, that he wouldn’t see its gender specific bits and found that he couldn’t even if he tried. Its large bulbous stomach hung low, covering anything that might help him to determine whether it had an inny or an outy.

He returned his eyes to its face when it suddenly shrieked his name. For a brief moment, even in his current state, he nearly forgot where he was. Perched atop the countless globs of unwashed skin was the face he had once grown to love. There wasn’t time for him to reflect, however, as it suddenly lunged in attack.

It led with its right arm, leading with the same fist which had already once marked his face, but this time it wouldn’t connect. He ducked to the left and stepped underneath its arm, around its body and stopped just behind the behemoth.

It turned to face him, sputtering words over its lips faster than he could follow. He began to smile, and when a look of confusion came over its features, he began to laugh. His head protested from the vibrations his throat was thrusting upon it, but it felt too good for him to stop. Only when the creature’s expression suddenly filled with rage did he become quiet. It swung again, and once more he side-stepped and ducked behind it. This time he planted a foot squarely over the crack between its massive pimple-covered buttocks, (it wasn’t wearing any underwear), and shoved with every bit of strength his leg could muster.

His perception suddenly cleared and he watched, horrified, as Lucy slammed into the banister. His right hand shot out, reaching futilely toward her as she tipped over the edge and fell from sight.

“NO,” he screamed in anguish. “It wasn’t REAL!”

The Box (Part XII)

Posted on November 17, 2013 by R. Richardsson

From his perch, high above the intersection, Joeshan watched as the creatures feasted upon their kill. His stomach lurched threateningly at the sight of his friend being devoured, but there was little else he could do at this point. His body ached from his own recent attack and he had lost a lot of blood from his injuries as well. If it wasn’t for the dark magic of the sorcerer, he most likely would have suffered this very same fate.

The Destrachan had continued to close in on him, breathing upon him its foul stench as it approached. He had been paralyzed by its attack, a sonic blast so strong that it had stolen the air from his lungs and pinned him to the ground. Slobber dripped off of its bottom lip, splashing first on his neck and then on his cheek as it drew ever closer to his face.

With a start, he realized that he could hear the voice of the sorcerer as he worked his magic from somewhere in the darkness around him, but to his dismay it was only echoes that he heard.

A long, snake-like tongue slithered past the creature’s teeth and over his face, smearing the drool over his cheek as it passed.

He wanted to scream, cry, anything, but there were no reserves in his lungs with which to do so. He trembled as the creature’s tongue suddenly forced its way past the eyelids of his right eye socket and wrapped itself tightly around the orb within. He couldn’t scream, but his body reacted with motion for what his lungs could not do in sound.

He’d lost all vision in the eye that the creature had imprisoned. Small lines of fire burned through his head as the creature first tugged, and then yanked on its small prize. At the moment that he’d felt something give, his lungs suddenly expanded, sucking in the much needed oxygen that had been missing for too long.

As soon as it had returned, he expelled it with an anguished wail. Blood filled the now empty socket and ran down the side of his face, while his one remaining eye watched the creature suck in the connective tissues as if it were a string of boiled pasta.

The pain was unlike anything he had ever felt, white hot, and crippling him as surely as the effects of creature’s initial attack. The Destrachan was toying with him. Through his one remaining eye, he watched as it sucked on the other between its lips while pointing the pupil back at him.

It was at the moment that it crushed the eye between its teeth that the creature’s attention had been drawn to Elladuer’s Last Stand, though he hadn’t known that’s what it was at the time. He was just thankful that he was safe, if even for a moment.

Now, as he watched the scene unfolding below, he understood why the creature had suddenly abandoned him its next meal. There wasn’t much left of his elfin companion. The armor had been blasted to shreds by their sonic attacks and was scattered about the clearing. Four of the Destrachan surrounded the elf’s remains, where they occasionally foraged from what little meat was left on his bloody bones.

They were well fed. It was very likely that they didn’t eat this much in one sitting and their midsections were swollen to the point of bursting. They rested close together, not so much as for warmth, but as if it were from habit. Unlike any predatory creatures he had ever seen on the surface, these willingly shared their kill, that the next may have enough in its belly.

He began to cry, clear salty tears from his good eye and bitter blood-filled ones from his empty socket. The pain had since faded to a dull throb, one which would be a constant reminder of what he had lost, but he would never forget the the next thing he saw.

Far below, where the creatures lazed near their feast, Oramiir strode across the clearing. He paused only to take the elf’s weapon and entered the tunnel branching off to the left, from whence the breath of the dragon still emanated.

She Has A Pretty Face Though (Part XXX)

Posted on November 17, 2013 by R. Richardsson

Disclaimer

Finally, all work is strictly fiction and does not reflect the views of the author. Any resemblance to actual person(s) is only a coincidence.

If this isn’t your cup of tea, then avoid these excerpts and hopefully I’ll see you around my other posts and webseries!

———

“Scott, what the hell are you doing,” Lucy shouted, awakened from the noise.

He continued to stand by the wall past the foot of the bed, where he pondered over his bleeding knuckles as if he hadn’t heard her. The injuries weren’t serious at first glance, the blood only trickled thickly down the the back of his hand, but somewhere in the back of his mind he knew that he should be feeling some kind of pain.

“…huh,” he muttered. “Nothing.”

“Nothing,” she screamed angrily. Her voice began near a normal pitch and rose until it was loud enough to wake any dogs that might be sleeping nearby. Scott winced slightly, but continued to stare at the back of his hand as if it were the most fascinating thing he had ever seen.

“You punched a hole through my WALL, and you call that…nothing?!”

“I wasn’t talking to you, you fat cow,” he replied indifferently. His eyes looked in her direction for the first time since she spoke. “And for God’s sake, cover those things up. You look like you’re trying out for the next GILFS GONE WILD video.”

She sputtered, pulling her sheet up over her chest, as a hurt expression crossed over her features.

“GILFS,” she repeated slowly. Realization finally dawned over her as to what he was meaning and the hurt was instantly replaced by rage. “How, dare, you talk to me that way?! After everything I’ve done for YOU?”

He chuckled softly as he lowered his hand and slowly approached her from the side of the bed he had recently vacated.

“Wha- What are you doing,” she asked quietly.

He didn’t answer, only reached down and collected something from the floor and, in one swift movement, launched it at her face. She screamed as she thought that he was attacking her, only to discover that he had only thrown her considerably sized brassiere. By the time she removed the left cup from her face, he was opening the door from her room.

He was halfway out of the house when she caught up to him. He noted, with some satisfaction, that she had at least taken the hint he had left her with.

“You son of a bitch,” she shouted as she spun him around. “I’ve done things for you that you wouldn’t have gotten from anyone else!” Her right arm pumped once, quicker than he had been prepared to react to, and her fist connected solidly with the left side of his face.

He hadn’t been ready for the attack, but he didn’t lose his footing from it either. His head followed the course of her swing as tears formed in the corners of his eyes. This was the only reaction she got from him, and he slowly returned his terrible gaze upon her. His face was already beginning to swell where she had hit him and in a few days it would match the bruise on the other cheek. As his eyes fell upon her, she took a careful step away.

“…I said; Shut. Up…”

The other no longer spoke words he could understand. It now chanted in another language, repeating the same few phrases over and over in his mind. At first it was comforting. It could have been the words of a shaman about to heal his patient, or of a priest about to deliver his prayer in Latin, but it had slowly grown in volume and fervor until it became a maddening cacophony of voices.

He shook his head back and forth so violently that from her perspective, there were blur lines in the space between each side that his face stopped.

“Scott,” she said more than asked. Her voice had become child-like in her state of terror and the sweat over her thick frame had suddenly grown cold, sending chills down her spine and causing her to shiver ever so slightly. “You’re scaring me.”

“Get. OUT,” he screamed.

His grabbed his head just above each ear, as if to hold it still, and leaned forward, groaning.

“…let…me…out…” he whispered softly. This time when he spoke, it was his voice, but then it also was not.

She took another step backward as he began to struggle with himself. He continued to clutch at the sides of his head as his body whipped violently back and forth. It was as if he were wrestling for control over some unknown entity inside of him.

“NO,” he screamed as he slammed his head into the wall next to him. She began to scream as his thick skull broke through the wall, and together, their voices filled a house which no other person currently inhabited.