Wednesday, May 18, 2011

I wanted a thousand words

I'll have to settle for about 370. Damnit. It's all there in my head. But I want this one to be fucking perfect. There's folks what need killing. This has to happen correctly.

--
Born Fighting - Vicious Vampire Erotica

“Sage fucking Ravenwood. Sage FUCKING Ravenwood!”

Larry threw the drivers license across the room and kicked off his stool. The latter skidded on the wooden planks of the cabin, then tipped to the floor. “FUCK!” He stood. Rage shook him. His eyes were bright and bulging.

“How the fuck was I supposed to know she's a fucking mute!” Larry stared shaking at the open ceiling, grabbed fistsful of his thinning hair and shook his head wildly. “Fuck!” He stomped back and forth across the planks, slamming each foot down and executing a sharp spin at either end of the small room.

“Fucking mute. Fucking deaf and fucking mute. Jesus fucking Christ!”

She was in his head. Goddamnit, he knew Sage Fucking Ravenwood was in his fucking head, and she had been for the last two days and nights, ever since he snatched her sweet ass off the streets of Pleasantville. An Indian – a native fucking American who shouldn't have been out on the fucking streets in the middle of the fucking night any-fucking-way!

“Goddamnit!” Larry thrashed his head wildly, elbows akimbo. He felt the insects again. Crawling, swarming his body. From the in-fucking-side! It was like ticks, and beetles and fucking-ants marching through his guts scurrying along the inside of his skin, holding little fucking bug-meeting in his brain. In his goddamn brain! He could hear their twitters, feel their antenna stroke the gray curls and whorls of his brain. A fucking artist's brain!

“Jesus fucking Christ!” He screamed the curse and let go of his hair long enough to sweep one arm across a table. Tin cans, a plate and a scattering of silverware jangled across the floor, a bright cacophony in the cabin's single, dark room.

“How can she appreciate my fucking artistry, huh?” The room, but for Larry, was empty and dim. Two windows set deep in the cabin's walls, were crusty with a build-up of grease and filth. What light filtered in was a weak piss-yellow, reaching tentatively into shadows and dark corners. The logs making up the one-room cabin were ancient, and the chinks between them had been stuffed and re-stuffed with a mixture of moss and mud.

2 comments:

Indigo said...

Ha! Sounds like she did appreciate his artistry and left a little of her own. Love it! (Hugs)Indigo

KendallGrey said...

My favorite line: "He could hear their twitters, feel their antenna stroke the gray curls and whorls of his brain." Love that!

I get the impression he's a little irritated. :-)