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 Chapter 13: Of Madmen and Gluttons

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Mystic Elder
Mystic Elder

Rep! : 26
Location : Behind you

PostSubject: Chapter 13: Of Madmen and Gluttons   Fri Jul 15, 2011 6:30 am

Chapter 13
Of Madmen and Gluttons

There was an edge on the canyon where he sat, it wasn’t eally a canon rather some kind of crater. A black crow flies over head and seconds later the leader of fear comes from behind. Knife to the throat of Jack. Cut. Blood gushes out. A gasp of shock. Eyes open. Sitting on the canyon again, the same black bird flies by, this time it lets out a caw. The leader of fear comes up from behind. He bashes his head in with a hammer. Bits of skull flying cross the front ofhim. Balance lost. Toppling into the canyon below as darkness engulfs him. Eyes open. Sitting on the canyons edge. A black bird flies. It perches on his shoulder. The leader of Fear comes up from behind. He sits next to him. Jack looks to his left. To the leaders face. Bits of it missing like some sort of macabre jigsaw puzzle torn to bits by the hand of a clumsy child. Something had been eating away at it, the marks. Clawing, hesistant clawing as if there had ben resistance. At first. But that mad grin that he saw on Jonahs face told him that there was no resistance anymore. Hunger. Hunger. Hunger. The words panning inside of his mind AN EVER CALLING MANTRA THAT SEEMED TO ENCOMPASS EVERYTHING.

Then. There was silence. The leader of fear opened his mouth, maggots and worms and soil spilled out. Soil of the grave. Hungry itself for your body. To consume and feed what little remained after death. Silence. And then a foot. Toppling down into the abyss went the leader of fear. Another figure sat next to him. It was. Himself. Like staring at a mirror reflection. The only difference. Those yellow eyes. Strange though that he did not panic. No feelings left to panic just. An echo. Nothing felt real. But then it never was. Your right it isn’t the mans mouth moved but it didn’t seem as if he was actually talking. It was just that silence. But the words spoke inside of his head. The usual voice of the man with yellow eyes. you are in danger. He spoke, mouth moving flapping gums making no sound at all but the noise in his head. Its near. The figure mirror image touched his shoulder. He felt something strange. It didn’;t feel real either. It felt like the breeze of a wind , a cold breeze that was sending shivers from the point of touch and contact.

There was a strangeness as the sc the scene once again reset itself. No mirror image. No man with yellow eyes, just sitting on that crater, staring out as the black bird cawed. This time, it wasn’t Jonah, But Ceila. She didn’t sneak she didn’t creep. She just walked over. Dress normal white and virgin now bloody and torn. Her face and eyes blank. Her milk white skin flushed with exertion. She opened her palms and presented him with something a gift an offering. In her open palms wings outlaid was a dead sparrow. Eyes staring up at him. Silently those eyes accused him. Of which crime he did not know. There was a list longer than the carpet of bodies behind him. She smiled her maw wide. Toothless. Imaged changed. Lying on his side. Looking up at red clouds. Dust and sand blowing back into him. Coughing. The sand and dirt blowing into him with each breath. Sufficating. Turned to the side. Weak. Barey able to move. Didn’t matter though. Raisd hand to the face. Dirt underneath his nails Ruined cars. Looking for everything. Looking for anything. Something missing. Something not there. There was a body nearby, motionless, covered by the sand and dust that blew up. Covering it. A strange panic flared up, nails dug into the soil. Dragging towards the body. Felt a crack. A flaring pain as dirt and soft flesh rose in at his nails. Blood wetting that dust for a moment. Crack crack crack more nails went and lift behind, weights on his legs. Dragging across glass. A trial by fire. Reached the body. Safety. A voice in his mind. promise. Foriegn. Not known. Unrecognised. But there. Promise. Hatred. Lying over. Brightness. Gone. Sitting now upon the seat of pride. Stairn gup at Jowan. Hanging as he had guts hanging out like a freshly disembowelled fish. He didn’t enjoy the sight.

Particularly with the eyes open. Tried to move hands. Nothing. Just the feeling of resistance. Something else now. No longer free but bound. Shackles and chains in stone and steel. Forced around his wrists. Upon the shackles the words scarred in. Duty. The other. It was called Love. These chain however did not belong on his wrists, both shackles he did not attune to. He did not love. He did not have duty. He was merely an existence. A creature burdened and pushed by his nature to do as was needed and was required for his existence and his enjoyment. There was little else to his life e beyond that. The chains did they fade. And the body on the rope it did swing. Back and forth a pendulum. The blood from the wound in his stomach. Belly split down the centre. Splashing left. Splashing right. A gory painting upon his walls. And then. It stopped. The eyes they blinked. Once red now white glazed by death and decay. A hunger of the grave. Once again those words in his mind. Hunger, Hunger, Hunger. Perhaps it would be so much easier if it was not required to think. Perhaps it would be so much easier if it was not required to do. Jowans mouth moved. “ Taketh from me as I taketh from you” A corrupted vessel of the holy words. But then nothing much else could be expected from this infernal place of horrors and fears. To walk on a carpet of dreams and smile, crushing them underfoot with each. Single. Step. For a moment words played through his mind.

Gods Dream.
Devils Dance


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Chapter 13: Of Madmen and Gluttons
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