04-13-2019, 06:55 PM
The room was hot and sweat slicked Marcus' naked chest and head. He was only peripherally aware of it, though, as the dream seemed to pull his physical sensations into his mind, to add them to the experience.
The tunnels were stifling, overhead pipes running the lengths radiating heat like an oven. The walls kept flickering. Dank dark rock and brick lined tunnels- black liquid gleaming from a light that came from everywhere and nowhere- that might be sewers in some movie, the overwhelming smell of detritus and decay and filth filling his mouth, roiling his stomach.
And suddenly the walls were clean cinder block, narrow spaced with lights hanging from the ceilings in between the pipes, the floor only slightly dusty, security cameras hanging at junctions.
The smell is...different. Not clean. Not filthy. But something dark is down here. Evil.
And he knows this place, looks up, can imagine looking past the ceiling to the farmhouse above, isolated and alone. The Butcher.
Malik pulls on the Force until his skin prickles, heightening his senses, sends out webs of compressed air and spirit to bring every whisper, every scrape, every prayer for mercy to him.
And the slow burn of the righteous fire in his heart grows, the hunger for judgement, the craving. Oh how he longs to hear the screams, deep throated and lusty with despair and with hope. And his heart begins to race and a slow tight smile spreads across his face, bearing his sharpened teeth, shadows of dark flame wreathing his face, a mist of black smoke emanating around him.
He is hungry. He feels that carnal desire, that burning need in him, in his heart and in his groin, his deft fingers on a lover's body, teasing her and hinting at pleasure divine, building the anticipation, stoking the fire, log by log, each erogenous zone gently touched and caressed, fingers and lips and tongue.
He is hungry. He feels the carnal desire, that burning need in him, in his heart and in his hands, the deft and careful teasing of this butcher, this evil incarnate, this emptiness walking in human flesh. Judgement has come to him, the very face of God. Darth Malik. Before the day ends, he will know....the man will know everything from the inside out. Every victim of his will have their say.
He stalks the halls- only they have changed. A door appears and he carefully opens it....
To find Ms. Swerlin's living room, filled with stuffed flowery couches they were never to sit on, the cloyingly sweet smell of body spray and perfume a cloud hovering over the cheap porcelain nicknacks covering the white doilies, the massive wooden framed television on the floor, ugly light blue wall paper mercifully hidden by ugly paints in ornamented frames or with cheap thick garish curtains.
And there, standing in the corner weeping silently- quietly because Jesus is on TV- while Andre's choking cries can be heard from upstairs, is little Marcus. I'm sorry Andre. It's my fault, my fault, Marcus is blubbering, sniffing and wiping away the snot running down his nose, the stain of juice on the ugly pink carpets suddenly appearing.
Darth Malik freezes, all control dripping away. Darth Malik...when he had just been an imaginary friend, the one Marcus spoke to when he was scared, whispered to in his head when he needed to go away. The friend who only listened. Who couldn't help him.
"I am here," Malik whispers to Marcus. Marcus doesn't turn and Malik walks closer, eyeing the stairs, waiting. "I am here, Marcus." Marcus turns and his eyes widen in fear at the terrifying image. Malik sees a child. He hears a child. He lays a hand of black flame on his shoulder. "She will pay."
The look of hopelessness fires Malik's heart and the fires surround him and he turns. The hunger of before is back again, stronger than it has ever been. The smile on his face is feral, his eyes furnaces ready to burn the universe to the ground.
At his first step, he is on Ms. Swerlin's porch and she is bringing him milk and cookies, just as she had when he was little, when he and Andre first came to them. Just before she taught them the rules of her house. "Oh Marcus, we are so proud of you," she is saying. He remembers this, now, remembers this and his friendly smile widens. This happened. Oh yes but it did.
She did like the bathroom, the tub in particular. His lungs would burn as they choked down water. Andre had tried to tell him, that first night, his eyes filled with terror and tears. But there's no way you can know without experiencing it for yourself. It was the next day seven year old Marcus had learned.
And now here she was, fawning over his attending University. It had been years since he'd seen her. Farian had been the catalyst, showing him what he could do with his power, with the gift of the Force.
Marcus embraced the memory, every gurgle, every scream, every cough and puke. During those times, the panic and terror covering her face, he was gentle, almost loving with his hands and a towel, soothing her, helping her to calm down, to ease her fear. His voice was soft and comforting. "There there, Ms. Swerlin. It's ok," until finally he saw the blossom of hope. It was over. This boy had had his revenge and now it's over. And she'd try to say sorry...
And Malik would smile and start over again.
Marcus awoke as he orgasmed, feeling the cold on his sweat covered body. Carefully he rose, heedless, and went to the balcony door and slid it open, walked out into the cool night air, let it wash him clean. The rage clouding his mind seemed to drift off him, dissipating with the cool until it was finally gone.
He looked at the clock. Only 2 am. He had been asleep for just a few hours. It had seemed like days. Looking down, he grimaced. This had never happened before. He had dreamed of his hunts before. But they had never been like this. Had never been this real. It was unsettling. His mind swirled and he reached out to Malik. Nothing. He looked up into the black vault overhead, felt the full expanse of the universe on top of him. He very nearly seized the Force but....no. He was feeling too much. He didn't want more.
Anger and betrayal. Fear and humiliation. Rage and peace. Emptiness. Quiet. All of them swirling through him.
It was unsettling.
He left the balcony door open as he went back inside. The security system would keep out any intruders. Cleaning himself up and changing, he took a drink of cool water and then sat cross-legged on his floor to meditate. It had been a long time since he had meditated for peace. For a quiet mind as an escape.
Gradually his emotions subsided to a natural ebb and flow, ocean waves gently lapping at the shore. He was tired. He got back into his bed, the sheets cold and soaked with sweat, and drifted off.
Tomorrow would be busy.
@"Spectra Lin"
The tunnels were stifling, overhead pipes running the lengths radiating heat like an oven. The walls kept flickering. Dank dark rock and brick lined tunnels- black liquid gleaming from a light that came from everywhere and nowhere- that might be sewers in some movie, the overwhelming smell of detritus and decay and filth filling his mouth, roiling his stomach.
And suddenly the walls were clean cinder block, narrow spaced with lights hanging from the ceilings in between the pipes, the floor only slightly dusty, security cameras hanging at junctions.
The smell is...different. Not clean. Not filthy. But something dark is down here. Evil.
And he knows this place, looks up, can imagine looking past the ceiling to the farmhouse above, isolated and alone. The Butcher.
Malik pulls on the Force until his skin prickles, heightening his senses, sends out webs of compressed air and spirit to bring every whisper, every scrape, every prayer for mercy to him.
And the slow burn of the righteous fire in his heart grows, the hunger for judgement, the craving. Oh how he longs to hear the screams, deep throated and lusty with despair and with hope. And his heart begins to race and a slow tight smile spreads across his face, bearing his sharpened teeth, shadows of dark flame wreathing his face, a mist of black smoke emanating around him.
He is hungry. He feels that carnal desire, that burning need in him, in his heart and in his groin, his deft fingers on a lover's body, teasing her and hinting at pleasure divine, building the anticipation, stoking the fire, log by log, each erogenous zone gently touched and caressed, fingers and lips and tongue.
He is hungry. He feels the carnal desire, that burning need in him, in his heart and in his hands, the deft and careful teasing of this butcher, this evil incarnate, this emptiness walking in human flesh. Judgement has come to him, the very face of God. Darth Malik. Before the day ends, he will know....the man will know everything from the inside out. Every victim of his will have their say.
He stalks the halls- only they have changed. A door appears and he carefully opens it....
To find Ms. Swerlin's living room, filled with stuffed flowery couches they were never to sit on, the cloyingly sweet smell of body spray and perfume a cloud hovering over the cheap porcelain nicknacks covering the white doilies, the massive wooden framed television on the floor, ugly light blue wall paper mercifully hidden by ugly paints in ornamented frames or with cheap thick garish curtains.
And there, standing in the corner weeping silently- quietly because Jesus is on TV- while Andre's choking cries can be heard from upstairs, is little Marcus. I'm sorry Andre. It's my fault, my fault, Marcus is blubbering, sniffing and wiping away the snot running down his nose, the stain of juice on the ugly pink carpets suddenly appearing.
Darth Malik freezes, all control dripping away. Darth Malik...when he had just been an imaginary friend, the one Marcus spoke to when he was scared, whispered to in his head when he needed to go away. The friend who only listened. Who couldn't help him.
"I am here," Malik whispers to Marcus. Marcus doesn't turn and Malik walks closer, eyeing the stairs, waiting. "I am here, Marcus." Marcus turns and his eyes widen in fear at the terrifying image. Malik sees a child. He hears a child. He lays a hand of black flame on his shoulder. "She will pay."
The look of hopelessness fires Malik's heart and the fires surround him and he turns. The hunger of before is back again, stronger than it has ever been. The smile on his face is feral, his eyes furnaces ready to burn the universe to the ground.
At his first step, he is on Ms. Swerlin's porch and she is bringing him milk and cookies, just as she had when he was little, when he and Andre first came to them. Just before she taught them the rules of her house. "Oh Marcus, we are so proud of you," she is saying. He remembers this, now, remembers this and his friendly smile widens. This happened. Oh yes but it did.
She did like the bathroom, the tub in particular. His lungs would burn as they choked down water. Andre had tried to tell him, that first night, his eyes filled with terror and tears. But there's no way you can know without experiencing it for yourself. It was the next day seven year old Marcus had learned.
And now here she was, fawning over his attending University. It had been years since he'd seen her. Farian had been the catalyst, showing him what he could do with his power, with the gift of the Force.
Marcus embraced the memory, every gurgle, every scream, every cough and puke. During those times, the panic and terror covering her face, he was gentle, almost loving with his hands and a towel, soothing her, helping her to calm down, to ease her fear. His voice was soft and comforting. "There there, Ms. Swerlin. It's ok," until finally he saw the blossom of hope. It was over. This boy had had his revenge and now it's over. And she'd try to say sorry...
And Malik would smile and start over again.
Marcus awoke as he orgasmed, feeling the cold on his sweat covered body. Carefully he rose, heedless, and went to the balcony door and slid it open, walked out into the cool night air, let it wash him clean. The rage clouding his mind seemed to drift off him, dissipating with the cool until it was finally gone.
He looked at the clock. Only 2 am. He had been asleep for just a few hours. It had seemed like days. Looking down, he grimaced. This had never happened before. He had dreamed of his hunts before. But they had never been like this. Had never been this real. It was unsettling. His mind swirled and he reached out to Malik. Nothing. He looked up into the black vault overhead, felt the full expanse of the universe on top of him. He very nearly seized the Force but....no. He was feeling too much. He didn't want more.
Anger and betrayal. Fear and humiliation. Rage and peace. Emptiness. Quiet. All of them swirling through him.
It was unsettling.
He left the balcony door open as he went back inside. The security system would keep out any intruders. Cleaning himself up and changing, he took a drink of cool water and then sat cross-legged on his floor to meditate. It had been a long time since he had meditated for peace. For a quiet mind as an escape.
Gradually his emotions subsided to a natural ebb and flow, ocean waves gently lapping at the shore. He was tired. He got back into his bed, the sheets cold and soaked with sweat, and drifted off.
Tomorrow would be busy.
@"Spectra Lin"