Alba Dellamorta
05-24-2009, 05:36 AM
I never know what to term my style as, whether it is actually horror or not. There usually is, nine times out of ten, blood and or death involved in my fiction, but rarely does it have your normal kind of monsters, be they of the super natural or more human kind. So, I thought I would share one of the shortest pieces of work I have written(which has now gone on to evolve into something much bigger and quite the different beast, creatures and monsters to be included, YAY!) just so you can let me know what you think. I call this style, Morbid Romance.
He’d been lying in my lap, lifeless and blood splattered for twenty minutes. As the minutes tick by I care less and less, less and less emotional, less and less human. . . .just less and less and less and less. If I continue sitting here, with his empty shell, I might just vanish, cease to exist. Would anybody notice if I did just drop off the planet, would there be a me-shaped void left behind in my place?
My thighs are sticky with where his blood is pooling. I guess these jeans are ruined now, kinda ironic, these were his favourite. He liked the way my ass seemed to be poured into them, he’d continuously touch it, pat it, grab it, stroke it. Now they’re soaked in his blood and you know just how damned hard it is to shift blood from natural fibers. Any protein based stain is a shit to get out: blood, egg, semen, all protein based, all nigh impossible to clean out of fabric.
I guess this incessant rambling is part of the grieving process, I suppose this is the denial stage. I’m looking at his face held in my hands; his once sparkling, green eyes are now flat and dull, as charismatic as a great white shark. They were what first attracted me to him. There always seemed to be something going on inside those eyes, you could see his intelligence, creativity and sensuality dancing in shades of gold and malachite. He wouldn’t just look at me he’d look into me, searching out every thought and feeling I had ever experienced and replay them, scene by scene. Now I stare into them and all that is gone, I could just pluck them out of his head and pop them into my mouth like a couple of olives, savoring the sweet saltiness on my tongue.
My arms are garnet from fingertip to elbow, like an exquisite pair of satin evening gloves. The tiny transparent hairs, plastered down flat and tight, so that they’re barely noticeable, never have my arms looked better. I guess red is my colour, I wonder if The Gap has a range of t-shirts with various sleeves and neck styles in this particular shade? Red is the new black next season, so I hear.
I can barely register the weight of his torso on my lap, it’s like he’s become part of me, a parasitic twin. When he still had breath in his body and this blood was contained within his arteries and veins, we were conjoined twins. Moving in unison. Each others shadow. Our names had become a single name, where one was, the other could be found. Best friends. Lovers. Family. Blood. It all comes back to blood.
Our very first night, passions had run high. Large, rough hands holding my head, he kissed me hard enough to split my lip, the guilt of injuring me was written all over his face even before he contemplated an apology. He smiled crookedly, revealing small wolf-like teeth. I knew at that instant that I had forever lost my heart to this bashful predator, our fate sealed with my blood on his lips. Inside this lifeless body, in my lap, my heart is still held, a wiling captive.
I’m still waiting for the staccato of blue and red lights. The phone lies off the hook on the floor, discarded in frustration. The emergency services operator long gone replaced now with a flat, dead tone. I’m losing my will to hold on to this reality. If I wish hard enough, escape to my happy place with my totem animal: all will be right again. I won’t be in our apartment, with my one true love and life his spilled all over the floor and my body. There won’t be an overwhelming tang of metallic sweetness hanging heavily in the air, filling my lungs and dulling my senses. There will just be light and love and a happy ever after.
His final gasped words are stilling echoing through my mind. Follow me. Follow me. Follow me. Follow. Me. Follow. Me. If I say them enough times over, they’ll lose any sense or meaning, they’ll just become a syncopated rhythm, a song I can follow without giving second thought.
The gun is tangled up in his fingers and I’m still waiting for the scream of sirens. I’m sitting here in the silent stillness and I know exactly what has to be done. I pry his fingers from the trigger and push the muzzle of the gun firmly to my sternum, remembering the taste of his tongue in my mouth. ‘This is what forever tastes like’ he told me that night of my split lip. As the gun flashes and kicks in my hands I taste our forever once again.
He’d been lying in my lap, lifeless and blood splattered for twenty minutes. As the minutes tick by I care less and less, less and less emotional, less and less human. . . .just less and less and less and less. If I continue sitting here, with his empty shell, I might just vanish, cease to exist. Would anybody notice if I did just drop off the planet, would there be a me-shaped void left behind in my place?
My thighs are sticky with where his blood is pooling. I guess these jeans are ruined now, kinda ironic, these were his favourite. He liked the way my ass seemed to be poured into them, he’d continuously touch it, pat it, grab it, stroke it. Now they’re soaked in his blood and you know just how damned hard it is to shift blood from natural fibers. Any protein based stain is a shit to get out: blood, egg, semen, all protein based, all nigh impossible to clean out of fabric.
I guess this incessant rambling is part of the grieving process, I suppose this is the denial stage. I’m looking at his face held in my hands; his once sparkling, green eyes are now flat and dull, as charismatic as a great white shark. They were what first attracted me to him. There always seemed to be something going on inside those eyes, you could see his intelligence, creativity and sensuality dancing in shades of gold and malachite. He wouldn’t just look at me he’d look into me, searching out every thought and feeling I had ever experienced and replay them, scene by scene. Now I stare into them and all that is gone, I could just pluck them out of his head and pop them into my mouth like a couple of olives, savoring the sweet saltiness on my tongue.
My arms are garnet from fingertip to elbow, like an exquisite pair of satin evening gloves. The tiny transparent hairs, plastered down flat and tight, so that they’re barely noticeable, never have my arms looked better. I guess red is my colour, I wonder if The Gap has a range of t-shirts with various sleeves and neck styles in this particular shade? Red is the new black next season, so I hear.
I can barely register the weight of his torso on my lap, it’s like he’s become part of me, a parasitic twin. When he still had breath in his body and this blood was contained within his arteries and veins, we were conjoined twins. Moving in unison. Each others shadow. Our names had become a single name, where one was, the other could be found. Best friends. Lovers. Family. Blood. It all comes back to blood.
Our very first night, passions had run high. Large, rough hands holding my head, he kissed me hard enough to split my lip, the guilt of injuring me was written all over his face even before he contemplated an apology. He smiled crookedly, revealing small wolf-like teeth. I knew at that instant that I had forever lost my heart to this bashful predator, our fate sealed with my blood on his lips. Inside this lifeless body, in my lap, my heart is still held, a wiling captive.
I’m still waiting for the staccato of blue and red lights. The phone lies off the hook on the floor, discarded in frustration. The emergency services operator long gone replaced now with a flat, dead tone. I’m losing my will to hold on to this reality. If I wish hard enough, escape to my happy place with my totem animal: all will be right again. I won’t be in our apartment, with my one true love and life his spilled all over the floor and my body. There won’t be an overwhelming tang of metallic sweetness hanging heavily in the air, filling my lungs and dulling my senses. There will just be light and love and a happy ever after.
His final gasped words are stilling echoing through my mind. Follow me. Follow me. Follow me. Follow. Me. Follow. Me. If I say them enough times over, they’ll lose any sense or meaning, they’ll just become a syncopated rhythm, a song I can follow without giving second thought.
The gun is tangled up in his fingers and I’m still waiting for the scream of sirens. I’m sitting here in the silent stillness and I know exactly what has to be done. I pry his fingers from the trigger and push the muzzle of the gun firmly to my sternum, remembering the taste of his tongue in my mouth. ‘This is what forever tastes like’ he told me that night of my split lip. As the gun flashes and kicks in my hands I taste our forever once again.