My Bloodlust

§l My Bloodlust §r a short story lordgoogol

The breeze is nice, out here in the lush valleys of Eden. Crisp, cool, with just a hint of fading summer as the sun drops behind the far mountain. It would be time, soon. I trace my hand along the stainless steel railing before grabbing hold of it,

tight, turning my knuckles white so I can see each individual line on them go red to pink to ghostly. Almost time, almost time... and as I turn from the sight my mind flashes to the first night, what delight in the storm's sparking lights. Everything is

planned. Everything is certain. Everything is planned. Everything is certain. Tonight. The room's decor is impeccably clean, plain white floors and plain white walls to match the plain upholstery and sterile halls, oh how I relish to paint them all to

last until the day they fall— white was never my colour. Too clean, too pure. Yes, some redecoration is in order... but post or before? Nevermind, nevermind, there's so much more, I ponder, seating myself by the blazing crackle of a fire just warm enough

to be of comfort. Everything is certain. Everything is planned. Everything is certain. Tonight. The click of a key clacking into its lock arrests my attention so carelessly lost from the musings I must say I've by now forgot, oh sod it all and

these pitiful thoughts— the hinge's creak, the door swings from her feet, lo! What's this I see? An angel, with hair tied back and black with the eyes green, near glowing in the light— and her hand, so fair, on the switch tied to it! and she opens her

lips, what sound do I hear?! "Oh, it's you. What are you doing here?" My sigh of relief relaxes me briefly when her smiling visage turns away, her coat on a hook like the railing outside to be hung on so neatly... I swear, what a glare I'd be

giving to me if I could, but I clear my throat instead. "Yes, just me, just thought that maybe... maybe you'd like to see me? One more time, to be fair, just thought I— I missed you." She chuckles, tinkling laugh from the sky borne down on crystal

wings like the ornamented glasses she's pulling from— singing, the birds are— no, is that her? Is that her, my long-lost angel so fine, divinely sharing her melody of mind? Yes... She pours from a bottle deep green with a cork— or there was a cork,

you see— a bubbling bubbly of somewhere quite lovely if the label was to be b'lieved. "Would you care for a drink, then? And get me to speed on all the things I've missed?" I hesitate— gah, too late!, then nod, extending my hand to

accept the champagne. "I've been plain," I shrug, failing to complain about my strifes or my pains. "Oh? Just plain?" She replied, gaining a way to open the gates— no! It must be this way. Everything is certain. Everything is planned.

Everything is certain. Tonight. I nod, I sip, "A toast to your health." She frowns, and narrows her gaze. "What's wrong?" "Oh, nothing," I cheat, "Little sore in my feet; it's quite lengthy, the walk from the stream." She smiles again—

disaster averted— and lowers her glasses— wait, what is...? "Honestly, dear, do you think I will fear whatever you've got wrong to say?" Black, fading black, NO! I must not hold back! Everything is certain, everything is planned, everything is

certain, tonight! Right? I drop the glass, and in a flash my hands at her throat, she hasn't drunk, but I won't be alone. Her fingernails dig at my wrists and she sings the song I wanted to hear, the choke of pain as death inches close— and release...

she collapses, she gasps, her hand over heart. Now for my art. I swiftly descend with my fist tight-clenched to knock her straight off of her seat, then kick and slash as she tries to hold back and truly starts to scream. Glasses aside, crushed into

fine, fine powder, she's mine, and she won't need them much longer. I dig at her eyes, crush them inside of their sockets,like slime-filled eggs, oh! how I relish the feeling, the sweat beading along my arms and face reeking of solitary focus, the most

useful me-part of this time. I slap her cheek red, the black, back to red, and lick blood from my fingers b'fore returning, to her dread, to crack her jaw twice and her hand five more times and even a snap in her elbow, sublime. "WHY?!" she screams,

among other things, before I crush that offending thing. "Why?" I whisper, with a quick lobe-twist before I answer her sobs. "Because you are mine. You've always been mine, and it takes two to fill pairs of box." Now I must not delay here;

the edges are grey, queer... Everything is... everything is certain... right? Does it matter? The... the relish, the near orgasmic intensity of the pleasure exploding in my brain, this is what's at hand as I carve her flesh to my will.

Oh, she kicks and she cries with her lack of eyes and it hurts her, I know, but deep down inside it all just feels so right... painting the walls and painting the floors, painting the ceiling and all of the doors with her blood and my blood, latter so

sparsely mixed to be negligible at best, oh! the white in my knuckles holding her face to the flames, this, THIS is what I love... this is my art, my craving, my drug of the night to survive to the day— but this is tonight, and all is certain...

Dragging myself from my prize though it pains me, I unleash the fires into this place so that when these walls fall they will fall bright red in the dark. And quivering, I return to my love so depraved, to clean from her wound with my tongue all her

pain; this is better even than sex, oh, yes please!; and her lungs'final rasp makes me see it's in vain. Everything is certain. Everything is certain. Tomorrow. Tonight. Her body to the ledge I drag on each breath, weaker with every stretch... and as we

stand on the precipice the rain starts to fall... so, smacking my hair from my face I do dare as the poison seeps into my heart, to lock our lips into a last lovers' kiss and sink to the paradise' deep, dark abyss on the toll of the storm-cloud's arc.