Catacombs Passion

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic
enter the mind and love of a madman descent into desire, the desire to prove what is love and how much one can stand before reaching the depth of insanity.

Submitted: September 22, 2010

A A A | A A A

Submitted: September 22, 2010



Catacombs Passion

(Written by the words of a madman)


The light emitted for a second over my painful nocturnal eyes. It was just a gleam that obliterated like a quick kiss. It was a quick hopeful kiss. It was behind those iron doors that light existed in a form of the small slits. I could see in that moment in the opened slits her blue, rigid and hungry eyes. Her eyes were always hungry as I continued to be held eternally back and back from her kiss.

It was the quick’s of white staining me within the past of hard pressing fingers that are prone; until abstain that I enter my room and alone in close doors of the dark. I wondered about the dark arts. I wondered if it could know intrinsic that maybe I could believe in this cell of spacious walls. The walls are so close and completely subservient to drain hope. I speak both the apprehensive words that terror had sustain and abstain are hearts. Was madness the true dream? I was to be trap in here with the overwrought passion to behold my belle. She is the enchantress ever much, and the sin of my own pride is to be galore in substance of satisfaction. It was to be her love. It was to be her test. She believes in this and believes the sacrifice for need in search of overwhelming dins desire.

She didn’t even want to know my name. She wouldn’t give hers but a strange connection guided us into this situation. I am after all lost and believe that darkness is an angel. I used to have a real name but among people that were like me I found that a magical name was waiting for me. They called me Morb. It was short for Morbius. My friends believe that I remind them of that vampire comic book character from Marvel.

It didn’t matter because she didn’t care to know my name. It’s strange but I kind of like it. There were something perverse about two people coming together who didn’t have a clue about each other then to go to one or the other home.

She was very beautiful after all. Her hair was long and shiny and black. Her skin was immaculate pale that went visual with her marble, dark eyes. Her lips had purple lip stick on and she wore a dress that was medieval of contemporary gothic. Her dress was black and purple as well.

I have seen her many times at the gothic clubs. She grasps the attention of men and women. She was thin and voluptuous and walked with grace as if she is glided on the floor. Her back was perfectly straight. Her stance was so touching of dark innocents. She was like a light of death. She was the visual of someone’s dark dreams.

I had often dreamed about her. I dream about touching her. I now have her but first I must pass her test. She has a belief and it is one that I must endure.

The passive thought was the first step and contemporary for love that it can be precious if proven. It was here is this room that begins the truth as I sit in this small room. It seems nights and nights went on for the reverie proof. I am to prove that my mind can hold on alone with madness. I had to remove the regret which is pride and be worthy for the intimate holding to be with her.

It was the words she spoke of talking about the catacombs passion:

if love can still be achieved through surmount of madness; then the love is for her and the need will be yours.
I want to digress for a second to dissemble me before I've meet her. I’m talking about the girl whom locked me up in here on my own free will. I'm in a small cell that is in her basement. I will always impugn within myself. To say the least to ensconce that I'm indulge of my own demise of the immortal soul and the meaning to that is always pain and sadness. It was the same for those who had no hope and the macabre was the answer for nourishment and to belong. I too dream for my search that could inversion my pity and it was to be holdings in a tomb with bleeding enticing. It was truly insane but what can I say. Its want my heart believes in.

It was the mad desire that wants so much to be held in this catacomb. I laugh and laugh with almost dry tears.

In my days I wasn't much but a poor snuck who dwelled over his coffee cup. I went out to puck bars or gothic clubs. I wanted to be among to what I felt was darkness. The darkness was a cold and a suffering for our perversion ways. It was also in one of these places that I meet her. It was when hell begins. It made me laugh to think about hell. Hell was only passion of despicable pain that’s arduous for its constant wonting. The pain was hungry for flesh. The pain needed the Perversions of flesh.

It was before she decided to lock me up in here and prove if virile is but disperse and no pride can be held in me. It was easy to obey if you believe in perversion of death. A terror of its own that I must sit alone in the dark and think only of her. I was to remember her delicious lips. They were juicy and small and spilled with essence of a woman’s scorn and contempt.

There was times when she would look inside an eye view opening that unlocked from the other side. There was also a metal door slit on the bottom where she could slide food in. It was where the slits of light came from.

The first time I walked in here in the man size closet it caused me to feel like I was in a jack in a box. I was also ready to pop right out when I saw how close in the walls were. The gray metal surface all around didn't look to inviting. I couldn't believe I was scared and trembling when she closed the doors. I could hear the heavy lock close in the tubular. It was pitch black. It took sometime in a duration I couldn't perceive to adjust my sights. The perception in here was that everything was to be inane and the only fad was to be her image to appear in my thoughts.

My legs were beginning to ache for the long duration that I stood. I was feeling squeamish and more like a trap rat. I had to accept this was only a test. The test was to surpass madness and horror. I saw horror dotage itself among the dark and like my imagination there was eyes all around. The eyes stared at me in the dark. They were also the eyes I imagine in my mind. It was everywhere. It was my foolish nerve, and the room was closing in deeper to all my pores. They were closing in like claws. They were scratching my flesh. It was causing me to be afraid. My legs were hurting and the room just continues to gist the madness. I was trap and unable to move.

I found my way and slither myself downwards in a sitting position. I held my knees to my chest. It was nourishment if nourishment counts to what is passion but in this manner I found a thinking position. I could see everything in where din the mind can concoct its own madness instead being despotic by it. In the end it just felt much comfortable.

I begin to wonder what’s beneath this earth on my solicitude test. I wondered about the soil that I sit on. What others have been here? I could easily imagine them. They were lonely souls like me. Their hearts had hope for peace to the overwhelming needs of insanity. They sit in my darkness or our darkness and talk alone with madness in remembrance of her eyes. How many died here? I might even be sitting on buried bones. The bones were long dried and the sand underneath me was nothing but decay. It was ashes from bones that wither away from this catacombs void long before me. How many did try to procure impunity? Did they too sing in the dark?

I notice I was humming to myself.

I started a melody of an incantation from the last song I heard before being locked up here. The lyrics were a coincidence that sprouted words of my fate that cold walls awaited for my spirit. In the cold wall, there was the enchantress that laugh and laugh as the confine walls spin before our eyes. The insanity and lost blanched madness was such vicinity I was sure I could easily pass and surmount her catacombs passion.

What of the others? Did they believe the same?

I wondered so deeply of the others. They were sitting here with assurance of impunity. They must have been exactly like me. The prodigy hovel I suppose for all the passion of idealistic and overwrought fools. It is to find the coldest and darkest love for a lost human heart. I lived in a world that’s sojourn from the outside. I fear the menacing light and cower with my hands over my eyes in confusing. The substantial reality was starting to hit me. My clarity of what reality really was. It is a commended clarity that reaches out from the mind and exposes the truth. My dark cower mind. It’s a place where my screaming doesn't stop.

I didn't want to see the incandescent spread threw the metal slit when she opens it. Life would be to nigh and my pride must diminish from my heart. It would be inconvenient to let madness surpass but I begin to understand my moment duration. Time had its own effect on the mind. My situation wasn't something that could easily be absolved from the fate of the catacomb. I notice more of its effect when I was looking forward to see her eyes.

It wasn't her eyes that I wanted to see. I wanted to see what was beyond her. I didn't want to be in the dark with its silent, rounded room.

My breath begins to pinion around. My heart was a pendulum of thumps that erected my hearing. The air seems to grow deaf with my hearts beating. I begin to see images that pour into my mind. What I saw was the others who were here before me. I saw their decay corpse sitting where I'm sitting and rotten away. They had maggots swarming over their last bit of flesh. Their jaws wide open. Their mouths were open with laughter. There was a maniac laughter of persistent procured. I too bay a crackle. I was feeling their twitch. I felt the pulse of my eyes and nerve shaking eyebrows. I peer straight into the dark. I can see the red mask. It was Deaths face hanging in the gloom with a somber expression and looking with amber eyes that call for me to come and forget the zeal of passion. I was to forget the sweet love that held me impervious in this room.

The eye hole finally opens again. She stared at me with tentative and watchful eyes. She was judging the cower man who repose at her sight. I heard murmurs from my throat that called her imagined name. I try to say to her that I love her and that we were meant to be together. Her eyes only blinked in neither a provocative or ignominious manner but looked apathetic as if I was a freak show or lab experiment. She knew what I already knew. The silhouettes of my madness appeared sufficient to continue to keep me in here.

I was laughing. I begin to dapple with the words nobility that extrovert are to be anointed for my own inexorable in contend to present my self-salvation and absolveness and perhaps forgiveness. It was like an institute of anonymity reason that’s sundry only to keep still and listen. If sounds could pass through these walls, it will only echo back and forth in the purloined need to taste my blood that will burst upon the din eardrums. It is like an institute and I suppose we are pedestrians with nothing to do but let the doctors watch you with that one scrutiny, blinking eye.

However, I will tell myself she's only doing this for the reasons I felt when I first saw her lament, beautiful, and pallor face. We transgress words then and it became evident we were so rapport. It didn't matter. She still didn't trust anyone. I had to prove my worth. I had to show her the love I felt and the heart that we are meant to be together. I was to sit in here for days in darkness. We both were to see if love will surpass insanity and sanity then she will be mine.

It’s odd what I once believed in. I'm sitting here and looking at her blinking eyes. I was having feelings of being in a mad institute and like a chain up madman I wanted to poke out her eyes. I wanted to tear it out of its sockets and squish it and hope I will see the outside azure vitality. The thought caused a crackle of a laugh to escape from my lips but it was after she had shut the hole. She was still waiting patiently to see if I'm the one. I wondered now how close madness is.

The days had past or maybe weeks. I didn't know. I'm consuming myself now with sadness like the people we are. The world is a black place with its poverty and political discussion. The world is dark with nothing but death waiting around the corner. Death we both welcome. We are so alike. She was abuse like me. She was rape and molested in our lives that’s created by gods light. It was sadness that became the people we are. The sadness is a dark world that belongs to us. We became a mist in the dark. We are unhappy and lost into abysmal inordinate pain. It’s so much and much of sin that has created us. The spoken lilt of blacken words. We are venerable as we are deaths children. The voices in the dark were getting happy. We listen to those songs of cold love like I listen to words she had said in the throng of common terror.

I can hear her now in my head over and over. She said all her life men took advantage of her. They had taken her friable soul like a simple leaf and crushed it under their feet. They did that she had said because it was just there or she was just ready to be rape. She said they said she look like she deserved it.

I try to listen to her comely and sad voice over and over. I wanted to listen to her and only her so I could keep the dark away for its meanings of catacombs passion. I started to notice that the dark too had its own voice. It was a brazen and welcoming voice that sauntered upon the roads of the mind and towards palsy madness. It seems kind of strange. It seems like dark love in another manner. I begin to wonder.

I snorted a crackle and felt a twitch on my body. I was alone in the dark and I tried desperately to hear her voice. I didn't want to disappoint her. I must remember the sadness in her eyes. The Men and her father and brother and mother that taken advantage of her. She was left in a mess of deadly mar. She’s the succulent angel. She who had forlorn me here with rounded, smooth walls.

I couldn't help myself. I wanted to laugh. I wanted to sing. I was diatribe with my own thoughts. It must have been why the others have failed. They knew also like I know now. She doesn't know. Her reiterated scheme that is ironic and mobile but meek of semblance being too much hurt. I agree to walk in here and be locked up to prove my fastidious love yet now I understood she doesn't now about the truth of dark love.

Who knew the dark had so much miscellaneous ways to get to you and so I laugh. I laughed hard until my chest burned with breath. I'm just a menial of desire. My passion and I begin to see much more inside these walls. The madness was not to be surpass when it come. It was to be welcome. It is the greatest obsession of love and I do love her. I realize madness was the worthy desire of true love. It was catacombs passion. Its want makes the mad desires in catacombs. Isn't it?

She doesn't know this. She thinks that love that can surpass madness is the truth of love. She is so wrong. If you’re truly in love then madness is your domain. You will do anything for love. I did.

I looked up and notice she was watching with incense eyes of my derange twitching. I knew I love her and was worthy of it but I was far gone into love. I tried to insinuate she was wrong. I wanted to tell her that madness is the ultimate passion to welcome. The possibility to surpass such is none. It was infinite.

Instead, with her verbal movements she opens the door and let light permit in. I was laughing. I wanted the door shut so I can be back into darkness. I wanted her to stay too and be a part of the passionate madness. However, what came from her hand was an axe with an irascible to swing. I was glad when I felt that shinning blade strike into my brain.


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