Tux
10-19-2009, 01:19 AM
I took some liberties with grammar and sentence structure. I did it for atmosphere though so I regret nothing. Also; enjoy:
Sandra lay in bed this night just like every night before it since the age of three; and just like ever night since then she found herself awake at two fifteen in the morning. She had dreaded this hour since their first meeting, and that familiar feeling of someone climbing from the floor onto the bed with her once again filled her with fright. She found that during these spells no matter how she might try it was futile to call out, move, or even to cry. She felt a slender index finger trace her cheek, then the whispering, musical voice of a woman, “And the heart of the Red Queen shall grow black with sin.”
Sandra tried thinking of something else; anything else than the voice in her ear, the conversation with her mother on the phone earlier, things she had to do tomorrow, bills, the boy she found cute in apartment 3A but it was all in vain. “The fields will lay barren, the seeds of the kingdom scattered to the wind; the flesh of their flesh slowly withering in the light of their hungry, hollow eyes.”
The fingers would now be tracing strange patterns on her skin, leaving behind the same black ichor with which she had long since grown complacent. She finally took to sleeping naked to avoid ruining any more clothing with the foul liquid. “Angels descend on wings of black, carrying with them the death of the ages. Glorious blight creeping forth from outstretched hands of the hanging tree.”
She had no idea how any of these phrases linked together, or even if they were supposed to, all she knew is that whenever the thing caressing her whispered these things into her ear it filled her with a sense of foreboding and dread. Despite her feelings of horror and revulsion, the thing whispering to her as it continued fondling and tracing her body. “As the world heart sleeps in wakeful nightmare, keeping eternal watch over the never-wakes; their clawing conscious shredding the bark of the soul trees. The sap, as dark as the sun, lighting the way for the angel of death and his harem of the hated.”
Her mind reeling with the words the thing spoke, Sandra whimpered softly, which was all she could ever do in times like these. If the thing either heard or understood her plight, it gave no indication as it continued its story. “The night of the thousand un-births breaks the minds of the gods. Their remains upon the feast tables of kings, their marrow in the bellies of dogs.”
Her mind was screaming at her to flee, run in terror until her body dropped. Even though she knew its futility from trying it a thousand times before, she still struggled only to find that just like every other time she was unable even to open her eyes. Completely helpless as the thing ran a hand across her breasts at strange angles. “The milk from the womb of the world shall run sour, and the rejections of the past made present. Their thirsts insatiable, they drink dry the womb of the stars.”
She was starting to become numb, no longer caring enough to try blocking out the whispering voice or even to find revulsion at the caresses and fondling of her body. She, however, did still find the strange patterns being traced on her skin disturbing. She didn’t know what they were or even if they meant anything, but the lingering feel of the lines as the thing traced them terrified her on a subconscious level.
“The sinews of the sky tear asunder; shattering the bones of reality. The artifacts of the world lie festering; the glorious sanity of death upon them.” It was at this point that Sandra felt something far more disturbing than she had in all the years since their first meeting. She was hoping it was just her imagination but she could swear the thing was actually reaching through her skin and playing with her muscle fibers. This set her brain back into a panic state; one that she in no way was able to act on.
As she continued laying there in utter fright, the thing in bed with her began plucking individual muscle fibers in her arm like some grotesque guitar. Each pluck caused the muscles in her arm to twitch for several uncontrollable seconds. She could feel the thing caressing the veins just under the surface of the skin as well; and her mind tried to retreat from the situation as the thing continued its story.
“The caretakers, their sanity spent, shall rend their charges from the womb of the creator. The lifeless half-bodies flood the gates of eternity.” It was at this time Sandra realized that the thing had a hold of one of her ribs; with a sharp jerk she felt it snap like dry kindling in a fire. Trying to scream from the flash of pain in her chest, Sandra found once again that the most she could manage in the presence of the thing was a soft whimper.
“The occupants of tombs shall be driven mad in their slumber.” The snapping of another rib followed this sentence. Surprisingly, it hurt considerably less than the first one had. It was a moment later that she felt something sliding past her lung, the fingertips of the thing playing against the delicate organ as if it were trying to tickle her. “Their feast shall be the blood of infants.”
Finally when the thing’s hand had found her heart it wrapped around it; but not in a violent way, in the same way that one might clutch a baby bird as if they were terrified of crushing it. The thing then fell silent and all movement stopped for a long while, long enough that Sandra was beginning to wonder if it was even still there when it finally spoke again. “Sandra,” it said with such love and reverence it were as though it was talking to a god instead of the terrified girl before it; “Your heart is so warm.”
It took a second for Sandra’s terrified brain to process this new information, but the terror that statement produced was already running down her spine in a cold chill. “I love it,” it continued with almost childlike fondness, “And I love you Sandra. Your warmth and silent knowing comforts me in ways that I’ve never known.”
Sandra wanted to scream at the thing that she wanted no part of this and that she never had wanted any part of this, but she knew better than to even try. “It tickles my palm Sandra, and I can feel the flow of your blood through it. It’s the most amazing thing, to feel this in my hand; to hold the heart of god.”
It was at this moment that Sandra’s alarm clock started blaring; telling her it was time for her to get ready for work. As she rolled over to turn it off, her brain registered something was slightly off; she shouldn’t be able to move with the thing on top of her like that. Half way through rolling over to turn off an alarm clock that wasn’t even on, Sandra woke up. Sparing a glance at her clock it read October thirty-first, two fifteen in the morning. Sandra’s eyes began to well with tears as she felt the all too familiar sensation of someone crawling from the floor and onto her bed.
Sandra lay in bed this night just like every night before it since the age of three; and just like ever night since then she found herself awake at two fifteen in the morning. She had dreaded this hour since their first meeting, and that familiar feeling of someone climbing from the floor onto the bed with her once again filled her with fright. She found that during these spells no matter how she might try it was futile to call out, move, or even to cry. She felt a slender index finger trace her cheek, then the whispering, musical voice of a woman, “And the heart of the Red Queen shall grow black with sin.”
Sandra tried thinking of something else; anything else than the voice in her ear, the conversation with her mother on the phone earlier, things she had to do tomorrow, bills, the boy she found cute in apartment 3A but it was all in vain. “The fields will lay barren, the seeds of the kingdom scattered to the wind; the flesh of their flesh slowly withering in the light of their hungry, hollow eyes.”
The fingers would now be tracing strange patterns on her skin, leaving behind the same black ichor with which she had long since grown complacent. She finally took to sleeping naked to avoid ruining any more clothing with the foul liquid. “Angels descend on wings of black, carrying with them the death of the ages. Glorious blight creeping forth from outstretched hands of the hanging tree.”
She had no idea how any of these phrases linked together, or even if they were supposed to, all she knew is that whenever the thing caressing her whispered these things into her ear it filled her with a sense of foreboding and dread. Despite her feelings of horror and revulsion, the thing whispering to her as it continued fondling and tracing her body. “As the world heart sleeps in wakeful nightmare, keeping eternal watch over the never-wakes; their clawing conscious shredding the bark of the soul trees. The sap, as dark as the sun, lighting the way for the angel of death and his harem of the hated.”
Her mind reeling with the words the thing spoke, Sandra whimpered softly, which was all she could ever do in times like these. If the thing either heard or understood her plight, it gave no indication as it continued its story. “The night of the thousand un-births breaks the minds of the gods. Their remains upon the feast tables of kings, their marrow in the bellies of dogs.”
Her mind was screaming at her to flee, run in terror until her body dropped. Even though she knew its futility from trying it a thousand times before, she still struggled only to find that just like every other time she was unable even to open her eyes. Completely helpless as the thing ran a hand across her breasts at strange angles. “The milk from the womb of the world shall run sour, and the rejections of the past made present. Their thirsts insatiable, they drink dry the womb of the stars.”
She was starting to become numb, no longer caring enough to try blocking out the whispering voice or even to find revulsion at the caresses and fondling of her body. She, however, did still find the strange patterns being traced on her skin disturbing. She didn’t know what they were or even if they meant anything, but the lingering feel of the lines as the thing traced them terrified her on a subconscious level.
“The sinews of the sky tear asunder; shattering the bones of reality. The artifacts of the world lie festering; the glorious sanity of death upon them.” It was at this point that Sandra felt something far more disturbing than she had in all the years since their first meeting. She was hoping it was just her imagination but she could swear the thing was actually reaching through her skin and playing with her muscle fibers. This set her brain back into a panic state; one that she in no way was able to act on.
As she continued laying there in utter fright, the thing in bed with her began plucking individual muscle fibers in her arm like some grotesque guitar. Each pluck caused the muscles in her arm to twitch for several uncontrollable seconds. She could feel the thing caressing the veins just under the surface of the skin as well; and her mind tried to retreat from the situation as the thing continued its story.
“The caretakers, their sanity spent, shall rend their charges from the womb of the creator. The lifeless half-bodies flood the gates of eternity.” It was at this time Sandra realized that the thing had a hold of one of her ribs; with a sharp jerk she felt it snap like dry kindling in a fire. Trying to scream from the flash of pain in her chest, Sandra found once again that the most she could manage in the presence of the thing was a soft whimper.
“The occupants of tombs shall be driven mad in their slumber.” The snapping of another rib followed this sentence. Surprisingly, it hurt considerably less than the first one had. It was a moment later that she felt something sliding past her lung, the fingertips of the thing playing against the delicate organ as if it were trying to tickle her. “Their feast shall be the blood of infants.”
Finally when the thing’s hand had found her heart it wrapped around it; but not in a violent way, in the same way that one might clutch a baby bird as if they were terrified of crushing it. The thing then fell silent and all movement stopped for a long while, long enough that Sandra was beginning to wonder if it was even still there when it finally spoke again. “Sandra,” it said with such love and reverence it were as though it was talking to a god instead of the terrified girl before it; “Your heart is so warm.”
It took a second for Sandra’s terrified brain to process this new information, but the terror that statement produced was already running down her spine in a cold chill. “I love it,” it continued with almost childlike fondness, “And I love you Sandra. Your warmth and silent knowing comforts me in ways that I’ve never known.”
Sandra wanted to scream at the thing that she wanted no part of this and that she never had wanted any part of this, but she knew better than to even try. “It tickles my palm Sandra, and I can feel the flow of your blood through it. It’s the most amazing thing, to feel this in my hand; to hold the heart of god.”
It was at this moment that Sandra’s alarm clock started blaring; telling her it was time for her to get ready for work. As she rolled over to turn it off, her brain registered something was slightly off; she shouldn’t be able to move with the thing on top of her like that. Half way through rolling over to turn off an alarm clock that wasn’t even on, Sandra woke up. Sparing a glance at her clock it read October thirty-first, two fifteen in the morning. Sandra’s eyes began to well with tears as she felt the all too familiar sensation of someone crawling from the floor and onto her bed.