Brutal little vignette...


Posted by Theophilous Bolt on June 29, 2001 at 07:33:34:

Just excersising my descriptive and narrative powers. Longer pieces with plot and characterization are on the way, soon...

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An Olympic-size swimming pool sat on the roof of the tall YWCA building, just about waist high. It was filled with young women, all staring up in surprised shock at me, broader than a building, tall as a thunderhead and twice as ominous. I dip my fingers into the edge of the shallow end, black leather pilings sending a wave two feet high along the length of the pool. I scoop towards the shallow end, gathering up the water and all swimming in it in my cupped hand. They tread and gasp for breath as the water slowly drains through my fingers below them. They are soon left dry, pale bodies writhing and gasping silver upon the wet leather of my gloved hand, like stranded minnows. I slowly clench my fingers about them, feeling their soft and thrashing forms tumbling into one another, until I hold a massive ball of feminine flesh, still live and screaming.

I like the screaming. For mercy, for god, for father, it doesn't matter. The truth is they are screaming for me. A sweet serenade of pain and terror seducing my power.

I start to slowly squeeze, compressing them tighter and tighter. I pause as I feel the firs crunching and hear the frantic frenzy of a woman in mortal agony. I smirk at the sensation, arrogant in my all-conquering power. I can chose to do anything to these women. Anything. I choose to kill them for my pleasure.

I tighten my grip, laughing with undisguised sadistic delight. My manhood stirs and roars to life, throbbing for attention. I feel them dying within my grasp, crunching and popping wetly like firm, fresh peas. Their muffled shrieks are an angelic chorus, singing my hosannas.

My nostrils flare as my breath deepens, my eyes widen in the frenzy of lust. I bid them die. Die! DIE! I pour my titanic strength into my gauntleted fist, murdering them all, enacting my will upon the mere mortals within my power. Red blood seeps between my fingers, painting crimson streaks on black leather.

I open my hand, and let the brutally broken bodies fall from their divine fate, lives well spent for my sublime delight. I lay my open palm in the water left in the pool, rinsing my glove of the already fading glory of mass murder as I turn to my next diversion...