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 Posted: Thu Apr 14, 2011 10:19 pm
I have what is supposed to be two "chapters", though they are waaaay too short...I'll post 'em, and you vatos can discuss them, or whatever...I really need feedback on this thing.
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Posted: Thu Apr 14, 2011 10:21 pm
Author's notes: This story will probably suck. I'm actually modest when it comes to writing sex scenes, as you might be able to tell. Oh well. On to the good stuff, right?
DISCLAIMER: Ha ha, psyche. No disclaimer, that s**t's always so stupid. Do what you want.
She is giddy, giddy from wine, inebriated, liquored up with her senses dulled. It’s her own house, so she thinks little about this. She thinks little about anything, truth be told. Blonde, quite buxom with a sultry look that informed men just how easy she was. Her fancy ballroom gowns and sophisticated fashions only heightened this, as she giddily descends the stairs. Careful glass heels tapping on wooden steps, frighteningly, but she has done this a million times, it’s a rehearsed practice. Here, she is safe. Herself, and from others. Luxurious and high tech, this is a house made of glass, almost literally. The windows and doors are clear glass, the owner uncaring of things like privacy. For her, exhibitionism is an art form perfected, and practiced often in safety. What she believes is safety, in any case.
The lights automatically turn on when she walks, and turns off when she passes. This is the year 2025, and the world’s technological advances are staggering, matched only by the American government’s apathy for the middle and lower class. Yes, it’s rather shocking, isn’t it? But not as shocking as her discovery. Descending the stairs, she hiccups, and drops her wine flute when she sees the black form standing in her living room.
He is a large, built man, garbed head to toe in black. However, this ominous shape is offset by how damned stylish his attire truly is. The average attacker would simply wear nondescript clothes, perhaps a simple mask, or hose. In this day of digital identification that is rare, but not out of the question. This man, however, looks like he’s going to a party, rather than breaking and entering. His clothes look like fine silk, and are lined with what looks like silver. His shoes, not stealthy in the least, clack noisily on the hard floor, and are buckled. He is still wearing his overcape to protect him from the weather, not a bit of flesh is exposed on him. His mask looks like a crude caricature of a face, every ugly wrinkle and indenture glaring, and the nose itself 7 inches. It is of a deep red color, and is accented by the powdered white wig over his head, His eyes, however, are very visible, though the color cannot be discerned, they hold an intensity that hits someone, right in the soul. He gives a faint bow, a simple tilt of the head, hands extending outward politely.
“It…it is you!” she gasps out, frightened out of her wits…but what else is she feeling? It is true, many would call her a scarlet woman, one of ill repute, and she would never deny such claims. She, in fact, reveled in them. However, as loose as her morals may have been, she still valued her life. She slurred, speaking as she backed up the stairs. He merely followed, slowly, soles tapping upon the floor.
“You are who they speak of…the Libertine!”
He gave a chuckle at this, slightly muffled through the mask, but easily understood, even still. “Yes, miserable wench, it is I they speak of. I have come to partake of you, to enjoy you at my whim, and put you through Hell, if I am able! For it is the shuddering of agony that brings me the greatest of pleasures!”
“But, what if your conscience, sir!” She gasped out, ignoring the effect he was having on her. The advantage to everyone having that effect, is it tended not to impair her judgment during times like these.
“BAH! Conscience is not the voice of Nature but only the voice of prejudice. Let us give ourselves indiscriminately to everything our passions suggest, and we will always be happy!”
She staggered up, up the stairs, but he followed her, and before she knew what was happening, he caught her in his hands, pinning her along the wall with a hand on her throat, and another gloved hand clutching her formidable breast. Her hands, feeling his arms and chest, felt the muscles underneath, the frightening hardness, and his ‘fake’ nose touched her own. He would have her tonight, any way he wanted…
To be continued...
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Posted: Thu Apr 14, 2011 10:24 pm
I cry, when I'm up here. When I'm away from everything, from everyone. I let go, because I'm here with her, away from everything holding me down. I don't have to lie anymore; I don't have to hide anything away where nobody can see it, because she knows me, knows me like only I know myself. I see her, smiling down on me and caressing my face, alleviating any worries I may have had, all the tension in my shoulders just melting away like snowfall on the first day of spring. There’s no weight up here, no gravity, nothing pulling us down, nothing slowly dragging us to Hell. She touches me like I never been touched and I just let go. I don’t fight the tears, there’s no need, not anymore. This is why I struggled. This is why I’ve lived my life. To be here, caressed by fingers softer than feathers, bathed in light and warmth. She is garbed in naught but a golden sarong, woven from silk. Her hair was woven from the sun, and her eyes are as strong as existence itself. Yet, now, now they smile at me, and I finally feel like-
HRUAAANG EH! HRUAAANG EH! HRUAAANG EH! HRUAA-
A downward, swiping maul crashed into the obnoxious little box, smashing the ‘snooze’ button and shutting it up for at least 10 minutes. The dull groan filled the cramped little apartment box, a living cubicle with the walls painted a dull, faded orange that was turning brown, though when it peeled in places it showed a metallic gray that was even more depressing. Detective Frank Ares knew it was the same in every other complex in the building, without having seen any but his own. What had he been dreaming about? Frank didn’t remember, only knew that when he woke up, he wanted to rip somebody’s head off.
“Prob’ly didn’t matter anyway.” he muttered out loud, quietly. His voice was low, guttural, the result of 3 packs of smokes a day, a fondness for hard liquor, and abusing his voice for hours on end. Didn’t know why he bothered with that last bit. Dirtbags didn’t stop when you said please, didn’t stop when you said ‘now, cocksucker!’ They did, however, stop for a live round plugging a hole in the wall right next to their head…or through their kneecap. And not even 2 minutes awake and Frank was already on this path. Wouldn’t his shrink be so proud.
Groaning again, the hulking form drew his covers aside and rose from his bed
to a sitting position, white undershirt clinging to his hairy chest, boxers loose around his waist, and his bare, hardened feet sinking into a carpet that was the same depressing color as the walls. He knew where he was, even in the darkness, and as he sniffed and snorted, speaking to the darkness with his face in his hands, rubbing the tired visage.
“Lights.”
The television flipped on in the living room.
“NO. I said lights.”
He could hear the toilet flushing.
“I SAID LIGHTS, YOU ******** c**t!”
Finally, a soft humming could be heard throughout the home, as the generators struggled to keep working. Today they succeeded in that struggle as nauseating yellow lights crackled to life throughout the house, a few of them flickering out here and there. He heard the scurrying of roaches in the kitchen, wondering if the apartment ever did call that exterminator like they said they did months ago. Frank stood, rolling his neck and hearing the bones crackle as he did so. He yawned and made his way to the bathroom, bending over the sink and letting the cold water splash along his face, rejuvenating him, cleaning the sleep and crud out of his eyes and generally waking him up.
Standing straight, he noticed himself in the mirror, noting that his buzz cut was getting somewhat long, as well as the unshaven stubble along his face. A tired, haggard looking visage, Scars and deep set lines along his cheeks, nose and forehead, the gray eyes narrow and wary looking. He had a natural squint to his stare, “hardass” seeming to be his default facial expression. He stepped back, looking at the full-length mirror on his (old, archaic, ineffective) door, the one that seemed to be built in. Who knew what the ******** the designers were thinking.
He looked at himself, 6’7 and 237 pounds, mostly muscle. He removed the shirt, letting it hit the dirty linoleum floor, and looked at himself. Broad, barrel chest, proud abs, just the barest hint of a stomach, the result of his eating habits, probably. Truly, with shorter legs and larger arms he’d more resemble a gorilla, those old fossils in the museum once covered in black skin and fur, he’d seen. What did it say about them, they were gentle? Well, that was proof right there how different he was, right?
Frank started to chuckle, but was snapped out of his musings by the ringing of his phone. He drudged over, grabbing the cordless, slowly dying piece of s**t and hit ‘TALK’, holding it to his right ear(the very tip of it gone, a nice reminder of a particularly messy bust.).
“Yeah, what is it?”
“Frank, you gotta come early, there’s been a murder!” The chief calling directly. This was new.
“When ain’t there a murder? I’ll get there in 3 hours, get yer goddamn panties outta a bunch.”
“Goddammit you son of a b***h, you’re getting here now, ‘cause it ain’t every day that the victim is Tabitha ******** Helios!” Frank stopped, thinking. Why did that sound so familiar…then he realized, his eyes widening a fraction.
“You mean the”
“Yeah, the big time actress, found dead and naked. She was probably raped, too. It’s a shitstorm over here, Frank, and so you’re gonna get your big, wise-cracking a** over to that crime scene, and get everybody to stop breathing down my goddamn neck! Got it?!”
“Got it…but you want anything from the deli first? I was thinking of going down and-“
Frank held the phone out from his ear from the rabid, verbal onslaught on the other end, a faint slimmer of a smile appearing on his face for the first time. After a moment, deciding he’d heard enough, the big man hit ‘END’ and slammed the receiver down, immediately replacing that grin with a scowl.
It was time to get serious.
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