Original - Vicious Justice
Name: Vicious Justice
World: Original Fiction
Words: 1023
Rating: R
Warnings: You read the rating. Be prepared. This ain't nice!
He sat, cross-legged, on the floor. Hard marble numbed every part of him in contact with it. In front of him lay a paper, the first edition of that day's writings. The headline screamed of death and wanton violence. He smiled as words randomly caught his eye.
Horrific
Mutilation
Gross
Animalistic
Evisceration
Such an expressive language, English. So many words to describe the bad things in life but far fewer for the good things.
He reached behind him for the small canvas bag that he had been carrying and pulled it close. He unzipped it carefully and put it on the ground in front of him, resting it on the paper. The paper soaked up the drips at the base, changing color from an off white color to deep crimson. The man watched the blossom of color spread out, smiling at the patterns it made.
A few moments passed and he reached into the bag, feeling around for what he wanted. He caught the item carelessly and hissed as it cut into his hand. He smiled again as he winced in pain. He pulled the item from the bag and placed it on the crimson newspaper. It was smudged with dark brown liquid, the legacy of the nights activities buried in each crevice of the handle. It was a fine blade, small but sturdy and elegantly decorated with gold inlay. It shone dully in the light from the candles surrounding him and the muted tones of electric lights.
It was hard for him to take his eyes off the knife, to stop himself from following dried blood trails on the small blade, but he forced himself to look up, above the slab of marble in front of him to the wall behind it. On the wall hung a cross, a large gold cross, inlaid with many scenes. The story so many knew so well was written in pictures, beautiful betrayal and callous crucifixion.
"I did it for you." He addressed the cross in front of him. "Everything was for you. The abominations out there, they don't respect you, they don't love you. No one loves you like I do. But you don't have to worry about them any more. You never have to worry about them again. They can't corrupt your people any more. I made sure of that. I made sure of that. So, Lord, I ask... I plead for my reward. I plead to be your Angel of Vengeance. I plead to be at your side for eternity. I will pledge myself to you forever, Lord. I swear it. By my heart, by my life, Lord."
Tears streamed down his face. He picked up the knife. He held it gingerly, holding it against the wrist. He could not bear to look. He stared at the cross, praying softly as the knife sliced the skin. He felt blood trickle down the sides of his wrists. He pulled the knife, tearing, slicing.
"My Lord, My God, My Lord, My God..."
Panting, he dropped the arm. It fell to his denim covered leg, immediately soaking through the fabric. He transferred the knife to his other hand. Again, praying, he let the knife pucker and then enter his flesh. Again, he pulled it until his arm was split open. The knife, now covered with fresh blood, fell from his grasp. He heard it clatter against the marble. His hands fell, both now resting on his legs. Warmth continued to seep through the denim.
"It is done... I wait for you, Lord."
He closed his eyes and concentrated on the feel of blood leaving his body. It was euphoric. The world swam behind closed lids. Numbness embraced all of him. He listened to the world around him, but nothing stirred at this forgotten hour.
Darkness was about to take him when he heard a noise. He struggled to open his eyes, fighting with every fiber left in him to see what had caused it. He tried to focus.
A figure, dressed completely in white, walked between the pews towards him. When the figure leveled with him, he knelt down. The figure reached down and touched the pool of blood that had spread out from his wrists.
"He never asked you for this." The figure started. "He never wanted this."
The man tried to speak, but words would not come.
"You broke His rules." The condemnation bit into the man's soul as the figure said it.
The man, again tried to speak, but still nothing came.
"But there is a place for you." A cruel smile pulled at the figures features.
The image blurred and the figure changed. The white turned darkest black and the soft features of before changed, becoming sharper, more grotesque.
"Although, I don't think you'll like it very much."
Darkest night, filled the room and the man felt himself lose his grip on life and plunge into death... Only to open his eyes again.
He saw himself standing in front of him, a vicious look on his face. The golden blade raised over his head. It plunged down and across, ripping into the flesh of his stomach. Pain made him scream out. He felt his insides become outsides and he heard his own harsh laugh come from somewhere other than his own mouth. He fell to the ground. He felt a pull at his intestines as they were delicately arranged. The knife again bit into his skin. He closed his eyes as his rib cage was broken open. The pain was monumental as he was carefully arranged for display. He passed out and death again grabbed hold of him...
He awoke, again watching himself. Again the knife sliced open his stomach. The pain was even worse this time, ten times stronger. Again, he was displayed until he lost his grip on the world and everything faded to black...
Again and again and again, he awakened to the same scene. Each time the pain was ten times worse. Each time he passed out at the same time, only to awake again.
Words echoed in his ears, accompanied by a cruel laugh.
"Welcome to forever!"
© 2004, deannawol, x-posted to theramblingmind
World: Original Fiction
Words: 1023
Rating: R
Warnings: You read the rating. Be prepared. This ain't nice!
He sat, cross-legged, on the floor. Hard marble numbed every part of him in contact with it. In front of him lay a paper, the first edition of that day's writings. The headline screamed of death and wanton violence. He smiled as words randomly caught his eye.
Horrific
Mutilation
Gross
Animalistic
Evisceration
Such an expressive language, English. So many words to describe the bad things in life but far fewer for the good things.
He reached behind him for the small canvas bag that he had been carrying and pulled it close. He unzipped it carefully and put it on the ground in front of him, resting it on the paper. The paper soaked up the drips at the base, changing color from an off white color to deep crimson. The man watched the blossom of color spread out, smiling at the patterns it made.
A few moments passed and he reached into the bag, feeling around for what he wanted. He caught the item carelessly and hissed as it cut into his hand. He smiled again as he winced in pain. He pulled the item from the bag and placed it on the crimson newspaper. It was smudged with dark brown liquid, the legacy of the nights activities buried in each crevice of the handle. It was a fine blade, small but sturdy and elegantly decorated with gold inlay. It shone dully in the light from the candles surrounding him and the muted tones of electric lights.
It was hard for him to take his eyes off the knife, to stop himself from following dried blood trails on the small blade, but he forced himself to look up, above the slab of marble in front of him to the wall behind it. On the wall hung a cross, a large gold cross, inlaid with many scenes. The story so many knew so well was written in pictures, beautiful betrayal and callous crucifixion.
"I did it for you." He addressed the cross in front of him. "Everything was for you. The abominations out there, they don't respect you, they don't love you. No one loves you like I do. But you don't have to worry about them any more. You never have to worry about them again. They can't corrupt your people any more. I made sure of that. I made sure of that. So, Lord, I ask... I plead for my reward. I plead to be your Angel of Vengeance. I plead to be at your side for eternity. I will pledge myself to you forever, Lord. I swear it. By my heart, by my life, Lord."
Tears streamed down his face. He picked up the knife. He held it gingerly, holding it against the wrist. He could not bear to look. He stared at the cross, praying softly as the knife sliced the skin. He felt blood trickle down the sides of his wrists. He pulled the knife, tearing, slicing.
"My Lord, My God, My Lord, My God..."
Panting, he dropped the arm. It fell to his denim covered leg, immediately soaking through the fabric. He transferred the knife to his other hand. Again, praying, he let the knife pucker and then enter his flesh. Again, he pulled it until his arm was split open. The knife, now covered with fresh blood, fell from his grasp. He heard it clatter against the marble. His hands fell, both now resting on his legs. Warmth continued to seep through the denim.
"It is done... I wait for you, Lord."
He closed his eyes and concentrated on the feel of blood leaving his body. It was euphoric. The world swam behind closed lids. Numbness embraced all of him. He listened to the world around him, but nothing stirred at this forgotten hour.
Darkness was about to take him when he heard a noise. He struggled to open his eyes, fighting with every fiber left in him to see what had caused it. He tried to focus.
A figure, dressed completely in white, walked between the pews towards him. When the figure leveled with him, he knelt down. The figure reached down and touched the pool of blood that had spread out from his wrists.
"He never asked you for this." The figure started. "He never wanted this."
The man tried to speak, but words would not come.
"You broke His rules." The condemnation bit into the man's soul as the figure said it.
The man, again tried to speak, but still nothing came.
"But there is a place for you." A cruel smile pulled at the figures features.
The image blurred and the figure changed. The white turned darkest black and the soft features of before changed, becoming sharper, more grotesque.
"Although, I don't think you'll like it very much."
Darkest night, filled the room and the man felt himself lose his grip on life and plunge into death... Only to open his eyes again.
He saw himself standing in front of him, a vicious look on his face. The golden blade raised over his head. It plunged down and across, ripping into the flesh of his stomach. Pain made him scream out. He felt his insides become outsides and he heard his own harsh laugh come from somewhere other than his own mouth. He fell to the ground. He felt a pull at his intestines as they were delicately arranged. The knife again bit into his skin. He closed his eyes as his rib cage was broken open. The pain was monumental as he was carefully arranged for display. He passed out and death again grabbed hold of him...
He awoke, again watching himself. Again the knife sliced open his stomach. The pain was even worse this time, ten times stronger. Again, he was displayed until he lost his grip on the world and everything faded to black...
Again and again and again, he awakened to the same scene. Each time the pain was ten times worse. Each time he passed out at the same time, only to awake again.
Words echoed in his ears, accompanied by a cruel laugh.
"Welcome to forever!"
© 2004, deannawol, x-posted to theramblingmind