The Crow

I held the dove in my hands, her panicked cries pierced the morning air. I grasped her tightly, constricting her wings as she shook with terror. I felt the feathers between my fingers, so soft was the down, how fragile her bones. I was careful with her, and now was the final moment. I began to choke her, her twitchy movements stopped suddenly. The birds eyes watched me with evil in them. I felt like my soul had been taken from me, along with her life.

This had to be done though.

I kneel at the end of the pier and I hold the dove loosely in my palms. The water staring back at me is dark, almost black. The moss and algae covering most of it's surface seems to dissipate and I place the bird on the surface. The pond echos in my heart, and begs the offering. I let the dove float slowly to the bottom. I feel her sinking.

I wait, and I feel my heart rushing to keep beating. I wait for but a moment, and I feel the water separate, and make a path, and I know she is coming up. Her wings are spread as she levitates out of the dirty leech water. Her once pure wings now are lacquered in black, and the gloss of her coat resonated in the rays of the sun. She's been to the other side now, and come back stronger. Like me.

She watches me, knowing my pain, and with her rebirth, she lands on my shoulder. When she nuzzles her beak to my skin I feel cold. She lays down, clawing at my skin. Then I feel a burning like tar over my shoulders, I can't move. She's digging her way into me. I start to scream, but hold it back, I hold onto my arms for balance. I claw my arms until I feel the burning growing like a stem out of my shoulder blade's. I watch hesitantly as the wings form, and the feathers unravel.

I feel her beak inside my throat, and know the power that she has given me. 

Vintage Satanism

While she's painting her face with red lips, and thick lashes, the roar of the world is passing by. Her breasts are held high by under wire like metal clasps holding her together, and her waist cinched in the classic hourglass figure. Her idol Marilyn would be proud. As she curls her hair the only thing she burns is her soul. Her personality slowly slipping away while her baby blues look only to one thing.

Satan.

He is her everything. 

Butterfly

Sometimes when I was a little girl, I would wonder if caterpillars got lost. I would see them in the gardens in the spring, and then they would disappear. I asked my mother about it and she smiled, saying that they never got lost, they were only hiding. She took me back out to the garden that evening, and up in a tree she pointed out the chrysalis' under one of the willow's branches. I wondered what would happen to them after this.

She brought me back out to the gardens a few weeks later, and I saw my first butterfly's. They were monarch's. The yellow of their wings matched the roses. But there had been one small cocoon that had not erupted with life. My mother said it was a late bloomer, and that it too would become a beautiful butterfly with time.

Although with the spring, came the storms. Only a day after I saw the butterfly's, the worst storm I can remember came through. My mother held me all through the night, because I couldn't sleep. I wasn't scared, but something was very wrong, and I could feel it deep in my bones.

The next morning I went into the garden, while my mother was still asleep. The storm had come and gone with little to no damage to the garden's, other than the occasional branch snagging on the rose bushes. Everything was fine until I came to the old willow where the chrysalis' had been. Lightening had struck the willow, splitting it in two. The branch that had held the chrysalis had smashed into the ground, and was buried deep in the earth.

All I could think about was that one small cocoon that now would never know life again. 

Dead

And so the skeletons came forth from the bodies of men, and they led themselves unto the seas, where they lived and they built with the stones of the old world, a paradise for the dead, and the dying, so that they could be received back into the arms of their Creator.

Yet that day would never come, and so they waited and waited, for it was all that their weary bones could do. They waited forever, and forever more; and when the day came that they could wait no more, they passed on from this realm, into the nothingness and solitude of eternity. 

The Carnival

The carnival leaves town...

The carnival always leaves town...

It goes away, far, and far.

When the carnival leaves town, the children...

Die.

The carnival leaves town,

No laughter.

The Ferris wheel is rocking back and forth.

The corpses fall from the seats,

Egad, the children stuffed on candy apples,

They've grown fat and sluggish.

The town stops for the carnival.

The lights all dim because everyone's gone...

Gone to the carnival.

Night after night.

The faces blur together, and the clowns laugh themselves to sleep.

Walk down the boardwalk

With the nice music and the nice people and the nice treats and the nice rides.

No one wants the carnival to leave town.

Cotton in my mouth.

I cannot scream.

When the carnival leaves town. 

Between Silences, A Hannibal Fanfictioin

The good Doctor Lecter stood at attention in his cell. Some would think he was waiting, and perhaps he was, but for what he wouldn't have told you. Behind him were walls beaten with the blood of the lunatics who came before him. He covered the stains with sketches, most of the dark memories clinging to the paper with charcoal and imagination.

One stood out. It was above his bed. A drawing of the very Special Agent Starling. Of course removed of her usual dank clothing and instead in lovely silk as he imagined her at a dinner party, or perhaps a ball. Perhaps even in the late of night...

Alas. Thoughts like that were far too exuberant for the time being. Lecter had easier things on his mind. Like the taste of blood, or a well cooked meal. How he longed for simplicity, and oh, how it eluded him. He sat, as to get his difficult mind together, and he looked down at a blank page. The dimples and coarseness of the paper reminded him of Starling, just briefly.

If she wanted, she could be just like the paper, abrasive at first, but with work and time, a masterpiece. A forever elusive masterpiece.

He settled in with the charcoal in his fingers, digging into his pores as he worked steadily, still quite nimble, but not as he was in his youth. Something that escapes us all with time. His mind was thankfully quiet as he slaved, getting the edges and the tenderness just right. Yes, some things escape us with time. As his hand slowed and he lifted the page up, he needed to make no adjustments for it was just as his memory preserved her.

His little Mischa looked back at him from the paper.

Lecter's thoughts were still, like standing water that would soon attract mosquitoes. And so they came and he couldn't swat the thoughts away.

What could he do with the picture? Surely he wished to hang it up next to Starling's portrait. They did share a similar quality, that they could do few things to anger him, and each of them in their own ways did settle his cacophonous mind at one time or another. So we waited for a while, as he could with time on his side. The answer came. Surely, yes, Mischa deserved many places on the walls. Entire walls themselves.

So Lecter slowly tore the portrait to shreds.

Why he had drawn it, was debatable. It was aggravating to think of that time in his life, he much preferred the still water of a lake to the rapids of Mischa's memory.

He ate the paper slowly, and with a soulless appetite.

As he settled once again in the middle of the florescent lights, he heard the footsteps, he could not mistake the sound of the cheap heels that Special Agent Starling wore for such occasions.

Another session, he presumed.

A dissection perhaps?

“Hello Agent Starling.” He smiled as her heels stopped in front of his cell. 

Mannequin

He stood in the window, displayed for all the depraved and open mouthed gawker's.

Their bodies, if you could call what the onlookers had bodies, were distorted, flabbergasted with rolls of fat, blemishes not only perverted their faces, but their backs as well thanks to the chemicals in their food; the hair stopped not at their heads, but crawled down their backs like tarantulas and pervaded their privates. Let us not forget the blame, these lazy spectators loused around with screens in front of them, hunched over while they grew more desperate and disgusting.

HE however, was stunning. With his youth, untainted, his body molded and handcrafted better than God could have, man had made him, chiseled him like Adonis to adorn the fabrics that deceived the populous. On him, because he was perfect, they thought they could be as well. I knew better. The social normalcy's didn't apply to either of us.

The inside of his mouth was white like the rest of his chalk stained skin as he said, “Come to me.”

I went inside the store, the fluorescence blinding my skin while I approached the broad stoop he stood upon. Watching me, he scaled my advances, and opened a palm to welcome me in an embrace. We surrounded each other's waists as we laid upon the platform for all to see. Becoming a living thing, we did as all living things did while the glances of the crowds gazed in on our passions.

Taking me in his lap, his nail-less fingers pulled up my skirt and revealed me with my MINOR imperfections compared to the masses. Kissing me tastefully on the lips, he bruised the skin of my neck as his fingers entered me. Penetrating me, the audience cheered, usually only seeing this on their TV's and Computers.

I did not cry inside that day, but merely pitied what the world had become that day. 

Fahrenheit 451 (Weird Fanfiction)

Author's Note:

Fehrenheit 451 was one of the best books I've ever read. I couldn't get the idea of Montag and Clarisse out of my head. I wrote this to get he idea out of my system.

Clarisse smelled the kerosene on Montag. She wanted to lick it off of him, just the scent though. It didn't matter how young she was. A wrist touched his throat and it was hers, a palm touched her waist, and it was his. They were both whispering to each other and neither one of them heard each others words, worthwhile or not. They danced, but did not, and she slicked his hair back as she open mouthed kissed him. He received from her comfort not in the kiss, but in her presence, and from the kiss he received a physical reunion with himself.

There was a spark between them.

His eyes never meet hers and it didn't seem to matter. They knew what they were doing. After Clarisse's waist, he touched her thigh, propping his thoughts against her. She bit her lower lip, and held him closer than she thought was possible, though not close enough. Montag was supposed to be out of her grasp, he had said so himself. This was wrong.

This was right.

Contradiction made them just then, as he reached up her dress more. He toiled at her panty line, reminiscing while fondling her. Holding herself against him, holding back her whispers and breaths, she held her hand against his hipbone until she felt the courage to intrude and reciprocated his touches. She felt him through his boxers, and held him as best she could while he felt the soft skin of her fleshflower. He stopped for a moment and unbuttoned his underclothes so that she could fully let him understand how much this meant to her.

The strength of his erection wasn't hollow as she pumped him in her hand. She wanted him inside of her just as she wanted air, not just the way his fingers were inside of her. She wanted full confirmation that this was happening. On that thought, she began rubbing the precum on his cock. Clarisse was getting into it the way he was getting into her. Just as she was building rhythm, he took a moment to release her hand from it's obligations and pressed more indiscriminately into her to make her try and forget.

She shook surely as he held onto her hand to keep it under control from touching him. Even as he pushed and pushed his fingers inside of her, playing with her, she didn't let go of the thought that she wanted his dick inside of her throat. How badly she wanted to make that thought come through. Clarisse's hand pushed against his grip and began touching him again. He denied her again.

He continued touching her.

They both smelled like kerosene now.

“What? Are you going to go home and touch yourself now?” She breathed against the hollow of his neck.

He said nothing in return.

Another open mouth kiss, and this time their tongues swallowed each other.

He was playing along the hem of her panties again as she pulled away.

“That's not how you play the game.” She spoke softly. “I'm not gonna leave 'til I make a groove in your bones.”

Clarisse felt it on the edge of her cuticles, and she went down on him, undoing him with the motion. Wrapping her mouth around him and pulling him into her throat entirely, she felt him give. His fist toil in her fistful's of hair and he was in and out of her mouth. Her lips touched a nerve as she continued and ran her tongue along the underside of his head. Stray thoughts of her hands tied above her and Montag pounding into her throttled her along until he was cumming in her mouth and allowed her to swallow him.

She held onto him a little after that, but only until he forced her down, back against the mattress. Montag touched her under the fabric of her dress, found her breast and gripped it.

Still no eye contact, he took his hand away and came to lay on top of her, facing her while he pushed her panties aside and slid into her head first and then shaft. Erect, he penetrated her and stroked the inside of her like silk. Each thrust was unyielding and warm until they became tangled with each other and limbs were lost as her nails ran down his back with an explicit raking motion. Feeling kisses on her collarbones like candle wax, her back arched and moved with him. They began to shake and to thirst. The stiff sheets they were on began to give, and the frame of their skin moved with their motions. His force was aching, and he thrust with frantic want until they were both panting.

The lust had left a breach now, and with their bodies hot, they came against each other.

The smell of kerosene never did go away. 

Experimentation Revisited

At first, they took us to the camps. I remembered holing my sister Marie's hand and watching the flags as we entered. Swastika's roar above the building. The blood red seemed to follow us. I wasn't sure what was happening at first, all I knew was the fear that kept me quiet as my mother was taken away from us, ushered into the crowds. I asked her not to leave, and she replied that she'd be back soon.

I never saw her again.

The Nazi's had our father answer questions about us in the lobby They found twins fascinating. Our father is haggard, dirty from other's sweat and the beatings. My sister and I remain untouched. When he was done with the questions, he left as well. He was not permitted to speak as he left us. A very tall man in doctor's garments told us to follow him. We had no choice. I keep crying, wanting to see mother. Marie holds my hand tightly.

They take our clothes and shoes, even my mother's necklace which is real gold. They shower us with other children, most of them twins as well. The hoses sting my skin but I say nothing. Surprisingly, we are allowed to keep our clothes. The doctor comes back later, and gives me my necklace. He traces the hollow of my throat and clasps the necklace with a menacing smile. His teeth look sharp in the florescent lights. He says something in German, and it doesn't sound quite right. He tells me to call him Uncle.

When the night came, we both shared a cold bunk with one sheet. It was the longest night I ever knew. The hunger in my stomach kept me awake. Marie talks to me without opening her lips. She assures me that everything will be okay. I wish I could have believed her, but I hear screams from the furnace room. I feel the heat of the souls leaving this place. I sleep only for minutes at a time, waking to stone walls like sarcophagi around us. The posters on the wall staring back at me in German, and I watch them move during the wee hours of the morning.

In the morning we are given stale bread and old milk, only to be taken out of the camp, to a truck covered in camouflage. They will not say where they're taking us, a solider stares at us across the seats and watches us intensely. The truck rumbles through the country side of Germany, I hear the stones beneath us cascade. An hour later silence penetrates me as the engine falls silent. When we stop they let us out. It's still early in the morning, and the sun rises still. We smell the grass and the trees. They have taken us farther away from home, the nature around us seems ominous. The tree's stare down ominously like the soldiers do. They know what will come of us before it happens. They've seen others like us.

The soldier's take us inside a building that is under the ground. The air here is cold and bites my face. For the first time, they separate Marie and I. When I try to run after her, one of the soldier's pulls me back by my arm. I see her disappear into a room down the darkness of the hall. The solider takes me into a room, and I see the Uncle Doctor waiting for me. I feel uneasy as the solider leaves me alone with him. He asks me to take my dress off, and to call him uncle.

I don't see Marie for another three days.

Marie stares at me with her melted eyes. I stare back, unblinking, determined to will away this terrible thing that has happened to us. I try to hold her hand. They tear us apart. The mean doctor removes the rough fabric of my cotton dress until I am naked. I shake from the cold, sure that I will die tonight. I shake until they pump a warm liquid through the IV into my arm. The metal numbs my back, licking me with it's icy tongue.

I sit in stillness for a long time.

The lights are bright, but I still have to fight the weakness of my body. Through closed lids the red aura dances in front of me, I feel Marie next to me, breathing slowly. Too slowly.

She hasn't said much since the chemical drops burned away her vision. I saw it as it was happening to her. Marie only watches with her mind now. She sees through my eyes like we used to in school.

Marie sees the mean doctor, the one who smiled when he burned Marie's eyes trying to make them blue. She sees the second doctor too, the one who told me to call him uncle. He isn't as nice as he sounds, he came into our cell the other day and did things to me. The more he does, the more chocolates I get. I still have a handful underneath my mattress. They're Marie's favorite.

She swats the red away, and opens my eyes. Marie looks at herself, the milky color of her eyes startles her, so she finds the mean doctor. She watches him as he plays with the metal instruments. As he readies himself, she thinks how nice it would be for him to suffer as she has; how appropriate it would be. He approaches, and the red comes over my vision again.

They give me nothing for the pain. I scream as they pull apart my stomach, and louder still as they prod me. The doctor shushes me, and tells me if I am good he has more candy for me. I start to shake. I scream louder. A rushing sound fills my ears and all I can feel is my heart beat uncontrollably.

Everything is very dark for a long time.

When I wake up I cannot move, and my stomach feels like its expanding. I lift up my dress and see stitches up and down my side. There are dark bruises where they played with my insides, and I just know that something that was inside of me is missing now. What did they take from me?

I barely notice Marie take my hand until she turns to me to whisper.

“They will pay.” She is adamant about this, she nods to herself and turns away. I can't ask her what she means to do, I'm in shock. I hold my mother's necklace until I drift off to sleep.

I wake to flames around us. Outside our cell, a fire rises and falls. I hear voices screaming far away in a locked room. Marie has not left my side during the night, but I am sure it was her who started it. I know this more strongly than I know that I will never see my parents again.

We sit in silence as the fire eats through the laboratory. Once it is morning again, Marie kisses my check. Though I am still weak from the surgery, my stomach no longer aches. She holds my hand and leads me through the door of the now unlocked cell. Despite the obvious, we seem unscathed from their evil deeds. We are free enough from the swastika's.

I tell her there is no place for us to go. They will find us.

“Let them try.” She smiles.

After several days I notice the color coming back to her eyes.

She is invincible. 

EXPERIMENTATION

Loading us onto trucks, they haul us from the camps. They strap Marie and I to metal beds after they strip us naked. Lights blind us as the German doctors ready for the experiments.
I reach to hold her hand, but she is too far away. She looks to me, her sight melted away from the several chemical injections.
A doctor takes his knife to my skin. They give me nothing for pain, yet they start to hollow me out. During the anguish I watch for seconds at a time. They remove large portions from inside my pelvis.
When they are done they scoop my insides into a bucket, and sew my stomach up.
After the operation she whispers.
"They will pay." She nods slowly, and then turns away from me. I am sure she could see me just then.
That night a fire starts in the laboratory. Marie has not left my side, but I am sure it was her who started it.
Weak from surgery, I cannot run. We sit and wait until the fire eats around our cell.
In the morning we are unscathed, and find ourselves free from the roar of barbed wire.

HARLOT'S FEAST

The Harlot perched atop the pickup. Her skin impish and her mouth razors. Her talons clawed into the roof, daring to rip through if provoked. Pivoting atop, the tuck rocked back and forth as she let forth a cry.
I screamed at Nat to run, but he just stood and stared at her; the Harlot's wiley gaze griping him. She came forth, bloodshot eyes first, glaring in the night. She spoke latin to us. Grasping nothingness in the air, she coaxed Nat to step forward. Creening her neck and licking her lips, the Harlot sang to him in dead lullabies.
"Mors Vinet. Vocat illa." She whispered to him, slowly engulfing him in her wings. I had no choice but to run, to leave him there in the mud and trees. Leave her to feast on him.
As soon as I reached the truck, I heard her wisp around to stop me. Before I could open the door she had me slammed against the metal, my teeth bleeding.
"Stultus puer." She purred into my ear.
Opening my neck, she reached her arm inside and grasped my heart.

FLOATER

The pond water leaked from her mouth. It was the color of urine, and trickled down her neck. She flicked her tongue at me, hissing and splashing the water to try and frighten me. The cotton dress she wore was soaked, and her breasts were exposed through the fabric. I kept my concentration on her though, this withering girl was no more than bones. She'd be sick from cold soon.
"Molly, you have to come back inside."
"MAKE ME." The voice said through her. Her body collapsed, dunking down below the surface just as if she were lost.
I rushed in after her.

THUG LIFE

Motor cycle brine, you greasy thug.
His name is Shiloh, he is watching.
Inside he burns, insdie he waits.
Gunpowder sits on his lap, his mistress.
Smoke composes symphonies in his lungs.
He's getting high again.
He could be death, if it were.
A stranger.
Let him in your home, know him well or not at all.
The soft slither of his eyes can kill a man.
His hands, full of filth, etched with time and ink.
He reads aloud a bible all his own.
A will of sorts.
The leather worn across his shoulder's sighs.
"Come the mighty, Come the tall,
Death casts his spell on all.
Man may come, but will perish.
Up to him what he should cherish."
A joint burns out on the table.
The smell of sorrow turns him slowly to sleep.