Sundered Flesh and Shattered Bones

Reads: 83  | Likes: 2  | Shelves: 1  | Comments: 3

More Details
Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic


Warning: 18+ only.



This is a precursor to a story I plan on writing at some point. This is in the view of the creatures themselves.



This is also a prompt that anyone may take inspiration from, should they be inspired. All I ask is that you send me a message after you've written whatever it is you wrote, so I can see how you
were inspired! :D

Submitted: June 22, 2018

A A A | A A A

Submitted: June 22, 2018

A A A

A A A


 

 

 

Postulating pimples of poison upon a dead God's skin. Decay replete in our nostrils as we stamp about on the flesh. The grime and grimace painted across our unshapely faces, inhuman and human, wrought by the fear of life and death. Have you wondered? Have you wondered of what we are? Let us permeate and pervade your soul. Your fragile soul oh so worn and broken by the chains of the mundane. You wish for life, yet seek it from death; most cryptic and most riddling, beyond even our all-knowing minds. Forget and vomit upon our unholy touch, welcome into the land of the dead. 
 
Gunshots, so abrupt and disrupt. Our flocks shatter and desist like that of a simple-minded sheep. For fools! We change our course, directing our ways. We circle and entice, taunt and berate; the enemy confused. Rattled and dazed, fearful and worrisome, angry and hateful. Alas, their bones are broken and their flesh sundered by our jagged and gruesome teeth and fangs. Our claws digging out eyeballs and intestines and the Great Feast is hurdled into action. Oh, praise! Praise be! Gods of death and Gods of torture! You please us so with your plentiful gift! 
 
Appeasing fornication with the mangled corpses before us, our growls and screeches echoing through the halls of this great forest. Who would dare to trespass here? Only the foolish. Only the witless. Only the suicidal. Only the brave and the hopeful. Yesterday's day brought much starvation. Our muscles fading and our minds dulling. Yet today we feast, oh so fully and violently. Cruel fate, how you twist us so. 
 
Our gullets painted red, our maws painted crimson, our mouths painting blood. We feast! We feast! Have you joy for most joyous celebration dear brother and dear sister? Or are you so terrible and wicked as to scorn and shun? Shun our ways and shun our feast? How dare! How dare! You most vile of betrayers. 
 
And so, the feast continues, upon your very body. Alive, yet spinningly unaware as your flesh is eaten and violated. Should have partaken most foolish of siblings. Father Death would be most unpleased. Lucky for you, we have mercy on your most delicious, most tender, most succulent flesh. 
 
Smart, yet dumb. Intelligent, yet unintelligent. Our numbers dwindle, our numbers grow. We strike fear, we strike entertainment. Laugh and cry, cry and hope, laugh and celebrate. Who? You? No. All. Us and we, you and I. You not so much, but I most certainly. Bombs and fear, disarray and confusion. Death and destruction, silence and whispers. 
 
America? Russia? China? Germany? Britain? Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Bombs from all, towards them all, all and every, not one left alone. Our creators, our masters. Gods of death and Gods of torture, those falling metal things. Explosions and clouds; though artificial and dangerous. Heat and death rips across the skin, growth and change upon its touch. Our creator? Our creator. Huzzah! Praise be! Praise be to the metal Gods! 
 
Fear be to the betrayers, fear be to the clean. They know not of the wonder, wonder not of the death. They wish only for life. That cruel and wicked thing oh so miserable and disgusting. Let them have it! Let them suffer! We shall feast on their flesh! Praise be! 
 
  Praise be! 

 

 


© Copyright 2018 T. E. Jackson. All rights reserved.

Add Your Comments:

Comments

avatar

Author
Reply

avatar

Author
Reply

avatar

Author
Reply