She Has A Pretty Face Though (Part XXVI)

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!

———

There was no telling how long he had been floating in the darkness.  Time didn’t pass the same way as it did on the outside.  He couldn’t close his eyes, or open them, and there was no way to be sure because the darkness was complete.  There was never complete silence where he was hidden.  He could hear the steady drumbeat of his heart.  It reverberated off of the unseen walls around him and his very being seemed to vibrate with the sound that passed through him.  At first it was as unnerving as the darkness around him, but he soon grew to be comforted by it.

Nor was he alone.  He could hear the voices of others, always indistinguishable, always speaking in the distance.  After several minutes (hours?) of trying to decipher what they were saying, he had decided the venture useless.

He had also tried to move himself by making swimming motions.  While he thought he could feel the actions being produced, it still remained that he could not feel himself.  He grudgingly began to accept that the only aspect of himself which existed here was the essence of his soul.

His spirit was broken.  The other had come and gone on several occasions, tormenting him with his cruel words.  Sometimes he spoke to him of what he was seeing through Scott’s eyes.  Others, he laughed maniacally.  The last time this happened, Scott had screamed until he had passed out.

Except, there was no passing out in here.  There was no sleep, no escape and he was beginning to feel exhaustion more acutely than when he HAD been in control.  The only thing he could do was to pull himself into as tight of a ball as he could and try to recuperate his energy.

Several days (seconds?) later, two almond shaped portals slowly opened in the distance.  The light that poured in from each, pierced him like two fiery daggers causing him to scream once more.

“SCOOOooottt!  Wakey, wakey!”

The other spoke in sing-song, mocking him with its playful sarcasm.  Of course he knew that Scott was awake.  He took pleasure in the pain that he caused him.

“What do you want,” Scott asked weakly.

“I need you to get up.  The library is going to close soon.”

“But how,” he asked, unsure of how to continue.

“Think of it as slipping on a pair of gloves.”

It sounded simple enough, and he thought that he could ‘feel’ himself spreading into his arms and legs, but he was confused.  How was it that the other knew how to do this and had never yet done it?

“Because, you fucking moron, I don’t want to control you.  I thought you would have gotten that by now.”

The words hurt.  He didn’t know why, but there was something about them that just grabbed onto his heart strings and pulled.

“Don’t puss out on me now.  I need you to stand up and start walking.”

Scott mechanically followed the orders from the other, and when ‘his’ voice screamed at him to grab his things before he left, he silently obeyed.  This was a feeling like none other he had ever experienced.  He could feel the inside of his body, but from the prison of his consciousness, it did indeed feel as if he was slipping into glove-like containers.  A thought crossed his mind and he giggled madly.  He was wearing a Scott suit!

Because the other could hear his every thought, ‘he’ began to cackle as well and together, the two lumbered their way out of the library.  To anyone watching, they (Scott) could have been the greatest zombie actor this side of All Saints.

The Box (Part VII)

The sounds were subtle at first, and if he hadn’t been actively searching for any signs of danger, he might have missed them altogether.  A series of soft clicks echoed through the tunnels.  They were innocent enough at first, and just as he was about to decide that they belonged to an insectile denizen of the underdark, a soft whistle answered.

For the first time since leaving his hearth home, his hands began to shake.  His heart pounded so loudly in his chest that he worried the sound would give him away. There wasn’t time to think of such things.  Slowly, he removed a small cylindrical object from one of his many hidden pockets and pressed it against the wall.  Seconds later, he left the chalk message behind with utter confidence that his companions would easily discern its meaning; Danger!

He hoped that it was enough.  It had to be.  These creatures were difficult enough to battle when solitary, but he knew that this wouldn’t be the case.  There were at least two of the Destrachan stalking him and the gods alone knew how many more were out there!

Having moved very little since replacing the chalk, he lowered his hand onto the pommel of his dagger.  The feeling was warm and comforting, for it had been a faithful tool during his travels, but he also knew that it wouldn’t be enough.  There was no way that he could take down two of them by himself!

The Destrachan are a legendary race of predators, mostly unknown to those above ground.  They’re able to move deceptively quick on their  powerful hind legs, at the bottom of which their tri-clawed feet which they can also use for attack.  A powerful tail maintains their balance, in their hunched over posture, and is itself a deadly weapon in combat as well.  Generations of living below ground have removed the necessity of having eyes, and a large circular mouth dominates the front of their head, inside of which is lined with several rows of razor-sharp teeth.  Though they have two power arms to attack with, they are most commonly known to lead into battle with a kinetic attack from the mouth.  A weaker version of the Banshee’s wail, this attack not only causes significant damage to their victims, but has been known to outright kill those more susceptible to the sonic attack.

Joeshan drew his dagger from its sheath and despaired that he couldn’t find a way to find the unfair advantage.  There would be no sneaking around them, for, unlike most beasts, these were extremely intelligent.  While it was true that they hunted for food, they also enjoyed toying with their prey before killing it.  He’d even heard rumors that they could understand the common speech of man and delighted in the fear they caused in their victims.

More than their intelligence, their true advantage was with their extraordinary hearing. Their tripartite ears allow for it to adjust to the many different sensitivities of sound, which, in turn, allow them to ‘see’ better than most creatures who rely solely on their eyes.

As he was reflecting on the physiology of his enemy, he failed to notice that the tunnels had fallen silent.  His stomach grumbled, but this time it wasn’t from the hunger.  He felt sick.  They were now upon him, and…

..an inhuman shriek shattered the silence, rending it beneath several waves of power.  He didn’t see the attack that slammed into his chest, lifting him into the air and launching him several feet backwards.  He couldn’t hear his screams as the Destrachan slowly crept to where he now lay.  If he had, it would have sounded something like a woman’s scream, mixed with a pig’s squeal.

The blubbery lips of the monster rippled from the passage of its attack, but more unsettling than the sound from its mouth was the steady clickety-clack of its claws as it drew ever closer.

Stunned by its attack, Joeshan watched helplessly as it approached.

She Has A Pretty Face Though (Part XXV)

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!

———

He awoke, covered in complete complete darkness, cold and floating in the nether reaches of his consciousness.  He was weak and when he tried to move, only the smallest motion was born of his effort.  From somewhere beyond the edge of his hearing, he could just perceive some form of garbled speech.  The words were inhuman to his ears, metallic and void of any life.  They sounded as if they were spoken from beneath the water, a detail which only added more to his confusion.

Where am I,” he muttered.  His question passing through his lips and only adding to the rising panic from with.  Why couldn’t he feel his lips?  He reached with his left hand to pinch his right forearm, and nearly succumbed to the feelings he was now experiencing.  What had been a natural feeling through the first twenty years of his life, something he had come to expect and had taken advantage of since learning how to do was gone!  He was paralyzed!

“Not paralyzed, dumbass, just..set aside.”

It was the voice of the other, except, instead of speaking from the recesses of his mind, it exploded around him like thunder.  His will buffeted into him from all directions, and as it did he felt himself becoming smaller and even more insignificant than when he had been when he first awakened.

“But, where am I,” he asked meekly.  What he thought of as his voice had become small and childlike.  His words, lightly coated with the terror he felt, tumbled out of his being and into the abyss surrounding him, becoming quickly consumed in its shadowy tendrils.

“You’re where you belong, for now.  I think it’s time you know what I have had to endure.”

“I…  I don’t like it here.  Let me out?”

“I don’t think so, Scott.  If you want to escape this prison, you will need to dig your way out.”

“But, how?”

“I was very sloppy when I left.  You’ll see.  Just follow the bread crumbs I’ve left behind.”

He pulsed from the bombardment of the other.  ‘He’ had become so strong, so fast!  It didn’t make sense, for as foreign as the other was, it has also become a part of him as well.  It had come with false promises and dreams, bolstering his own fragile ego, while at the same time sowing a dark seed deep within.  The latter he had only recently become aware of, and now, as he hovered before the blossoming fruits of the other’s labor, he felt himself more than willing to sample just a taste…

“It’s never just a taste, Scott,” came the voice of yet another.  This voice was both familiar and different at the same time.  It was one that he knew he should recognize, as if he had recently spoken with its owner.  Unlike the other, however, this one seemed to emanate from the darkness around him.

He shivered violently as a new wave of fear washed over him, pelting him with its raw power and battering his frightened ego even further.

“W-who are you,” he asked in what could have been a whisper, had he lips to articulate his softened words.  Though he waited for what seemed like an eternity, there would be no answer to his question.

He could feel the pulsing strength from the seed that had been planted so long ago by his unwelcome passenger.  It pulled at him with something like a matronly love, but it was overflowing with things so dark that his mind could barely comprehend them. And, of those things he could sense from it, the dark images which had begun to swim to the surface where some he now wished he could unsee.

This dark seed, which had begun to blossom and was now stretching itself through the reaches of his consciousness, had been fed by his malevolent thoughts; by his uncontrolled actions it had grown into something that he would soon be unable to separate from himself.  

Lost to feelings of despair, which had taken ahold of him during the moments he had first come to, Scott began to cry.