(no subject)
Title: Moirae
Rating: R
A/N: This started as an assbaby in response to the first three teaser pictures that came out for fifth jib. Then it grew as certain things needed to be explained in an non assbaby way.
He paused, his shoulders automatically hunching as he no longer felt alone in the middle of the fields. He dropped the arms, the uneven thuds they made as they hit the ground muffled by the loose dirt around them. He pivoted on his heel, making a precise 180 turn as he whipped about face.
There was nobody behind him.
He stared into the darkness, eyes scrunched up as he tried to peer beyond the boxy outline his car made parked several feet away. He had sworn he had heard the rustling sounds of movement behind him. He had sworn he felt the brush of something rushing past his shoulders, but he saw nothing, felt nothing as he stared into the inky darkness.
He rolled his shoulders back and turned back around, tugging downward on the gloves that encased his hands. His knees gave a small protest of sound as he bent to take a firm hold of the arms once more. With one more suspicious cast over his shoulder, he proceeded to drag the entire thing towards the empty warehouse.
The heat billowing out from the incinerator blistered across his face and he wasted no time shoving the freshly dead body in. He noticed the hands just before he made to close the small incinerator door and quickly grabbing his blooded knife, neatly cleaved the hands off from the wrists.
He adored hands the best and scolded himself for nearly missing his chance with these. He started to pet the fingers absentmindedly as though he was soothing an anxious lover and did not mind in the slightest that the fingers had started to creep towards the frozen edges of rigor mortis. He felt like a great creator as he pressed down and forced the fingers to twist against each other. The hands were nothing more than a misshapen grotesque shape when he finished but he quickly took a shot of it with his camera phone and labeled it as “Hands in Prayer.”
He swiftly got bored however, and opened the incinerator door to throw the rest of the wayward remains in.
Gripping the circle of latex below his wrists, he yanked the rubber gloves off. He added the red stained gloves into the open flame and the smell of burning rubber invaded the lining of his nostrils. Shutting the incinerator door with one hand, he rooted about in his bag for his tiny bottle of hand sanitizer. A wet squelch of sound accompanied the cool liquid and he briskly rubbed his hands together, ridding himself of the powdery residue the gloves always left behind. He settled down in front of the large burner, watching through its narrow viewing gate to ensure that anything left behind would be unrecognizable. By the time he left the warehouse, dawn had already chased away the unidentifiable shadows of night.
The next evening, backlit by the blue glow form his laptop monitor, he watched as the numbers in his bank account swelled to life. Filled to the brim with commas and decimal points, it burped out a long array of zeros. Leaning back, he felt a deep sense of satisfaction settle over him as warm and thick as a heavy pelt of fur placed over his shoulders.
Weeks after the transaction went through and the client disappeared from his radar, he still felt the presence of eyes on him. His back itched as though two narrow points of heat were continuously being flayed across his skin as someone’s unwavering gaze seared through him.
The feeling was unsettling but not debilitating. He forced himself to shrug off the feeling and went about his day. Minute after minute, hour after hour, the feeling of being watched continued. He started getting irrational, quick to get into a screaming match with anyone who had so much as brushed against his shoulder in passing.
He had just added another bottle of hand sanitizer into his basket when a boy bumped into him at the supermarket.
“You!” the man yelled, veins standing out in purple exclamation on his neck. “You - !”
The boy had already dipped his head in apology however, platinum blond locks falling over his forehead and shielding his eyes from view. The man leaned down with the intent on catching the boy’s gaze. He found himself entirely distracted however, by the way the boy’s hands fumbled as he pulled his long red cloak tighter against his body. The man’s gaze lingered on the dull red marks that decorated the boy’s knuckles, conforming around the shape of flattened stars. Finished with cinching the belt taut around the swirling fabric of his cloak, the boy’s hands crawled up like escaping spiders towards his collar. The man was just able to make out dark etchings that looked like the thin ends of vines around the boy’s neck and suddenly demanded to know, “What is that you have there?”
The boy abruptly straightened and flicked the edges of his collar up and hid the dark slashes from view. The man reached out a hand to the boy, but the boy was faster. He ducked out from under the man’s arm and rounded out the corner of the aisle. The man clenched his fist and drew his hand back toward himself.
The man’s shoes squeaked furiously underneath him as he peered at every red dressed figure that crossed his way. None however were dressed in the same fashion as the boy was and the man grunted out his displeasure. As the man advanced to the cashier, he passed by a displaced toy crown sitting on a shelf.
Under the fluorescent lightening, the golden spheres embedded into the circlet gleamed. Intrigued, the man picked the item up and turned it about in his hands.
Upon closer inspection, the object was worn, tiny squares of the faded golden paint flickering off in his hands. The crown was nothing more than a trinket, a silly little toy mothers bought at the last minute to placate their tantrum-throwing children. He placed it back on the shelf and carried on with his shopping. By the time his purchases were rung up, he had forgotten all about the dirty smudges his fingerprints had made across the gold dyed orbs of the innocuous crown.
***
The feeling of being watched dissipated by the next day.
***
On a packed bus going home, the man paid no attention to the boy that deemed it necessary to stand next to him. He only spared the boy a disgusted glance when the wispy lining of the boy’s fur coat brushed casually against his arm.
In response, the boy merely grinned at him as he gestured to the packed bodies that surrounded them as though that in itself was an adequate explanation. The man turned his face away from the boy and stared resolutely at the graffiti scratched bus windows ahead.
Darkness hit them as they traveled through a tunnel, and the man once again felt the tuffs of fur on the boy’s coat sweep pass his arm. The man took the opportunity to study the boy’s reflection from the darken surface of the window. He sneered at the boy’s choice to weigh himself down with the multitude of chains that hung around his neck and the ridiculous and unnatural colored he thought suitable to dye his hair.
One thing the man did approve of however, was the boy’s hands. Slender, and with his nails neatly trimmed, they served as the porcelain backdrop to the three bulky rings the boy chose to adorn himself with. The rings curved intimately around his knuckles and hid them from sight. The turquoise coloring of the outer rings that surrounded the central garnet colored one seemed to form a tight covalent bond around the boy’s fingers. The man found himself engrossed with the beauty of the boy’s hands. He stared at them, eyes lovingly tracing the slim fingers and the smooth cast of his skin long the bus left the darkness of the tunnel behind.
When the boy’s eyes met his in the window, the man grunted and looked away, his gaze catching on the many hued flags stitched into the silken underside to the boy’s coat.
As he approached his stop, the man reached out to tug on the plastic covered string to signal the bus driver.
The man trailed a hand through the downy fur of the boy’s coat, his actions easily disguised by the rush of people heading towards the doors located in the back of the vehicle. He straightened his coat as soon as he reached the end of the street and found himself turning his attention back towards the bus.
The boy on the bus was staring unblinkingly back at him, his head slightly tilted in the direction of the man. The boy’s hand was held half way to his face, shielding his tip of his nose and his mouth from view. The three rings on his hands flashed in the reflected light and the man could not help feeling as though the boy had been pointing him out. The feeling remained with him long after the bus pulled away from the curb.
***
The asphalt burned like the open mouth of an incinerator door underneath the man’s scrabbling hands.
The boy’s red cloak skimmed against the bony edges of the man’s knees, but the man, jerking frantically against him like an overturned crab, no longer wanted to get close to him.
His hands clawed the ground beneath him as his feet pushed furtively against the cracked pavement, desperate for space between them.
The boy from the bus smiled when the man’s back hit the front of his shoe, but his finger pointed a straight line to another who approached them, his upper body bulky and square with bangs dyed silver by the light of the moon.
“Hello,” the stranger said, his pale pink lips parted in a smile, “I’m Leeteuk, and you, you are going to die.” The edges of Leeteuk’s teeth were sharp, glinting like the jagged triangular hooks that hung from the shorter golden chain that encircled his neck.
Leeteuk slowly unbuttoned his coat, his manner cool and nonchalant as though he was merely allowing a hostess at a house party to take his coat from him. The boy with the red cloak strode forward over to him and lifted the loose orange overcoat from Leeteuk’s shoulders.
The man watched the proceedings with eyes that felt like they were frozen wide open, his attempts to move backwards impeded by the boy on the bus’s boot that ground down on his hand and kept it immobile.
Leeteuk proceeded to open his secondary coat, this one dyed a brilliant blue, not unlike the color of sapphires. The removal of his outer coat unveiled the illusion of his initial bulkiness. Underneath them, he was thin, as slender and as threatening as a boy.
“Did you know,” Leeteuk began conversationally, addressing the man as though they were old school mates, “that if you willingly take a life, yours becomes forfeit?” He gingerly unpeeled the outer layer of his jacket back to reveal the thin bands of rope that encircled his body.
The man felt his pleas strangle off in his mouth as though the rope had transferred from Leeteuk’s long fingers and steady hands to twist violently against the white outline of his neck.
The rope felt warm against his quivering throat, heated as though it had absorbed Leeteuk’s body heat from where it laid previously curled against the his body.
The man started to shake, as images started to burn themselves into his mind.
With Leeteuk’s coat draped over his arm, the boy started to pull on the rope. When his hand touched the beginning of it, the man saw a babe slick with birthing fluid, mouth cracked open to form a squall of tears as he emerged from the birthing canal.
When the boy’s fingers skimmed down one-quarter length of the rope, the man saw a younger version of himself atop a grassy knoll, the flimsy robes of his graduation gown fluttering pass him as he hurried to zip it up.
When the boy had unraveled a sizeable length of the rope, the man saw himself that night, newly dead body slumped on the ground beneath him as he peered into the night looking for things he thought he heard and saw.
As the boy held the end of the rope in his hand, the man saw himself on his back, attempting to scuttle further away from the men in front of him and ruthlessly pinned in place by the hard press of a boot against his hand.
With the last of the red rope still attached to Leeteuk, the boy gestured to the other boy to come forward. The pressure on his hand disappeared as the boy on the bus headed towards the boy and Leeteuk. The boy pulled the rope taut and Leeteuk gave a slight grimace as though his skin chafed from the rough friction.
The boy from the bus raised his hand, rings flashing with an unholy light. The man sobbed brokenly, pleas for the boy to stop turning into a wet slop of words in his mouth. The boy cocked his head to one side, turning towards the man. The man immediately began dragging himself forward, promises to change, to repent dribbling out of his mouth.
The boy smiled, the corners of his mouth slowly unfurling upward as he stared down at the man.
With a sharp jerk of motion, the boy slashed his hand downward, severing the rope from Leeteuk's body.
Underneath them, the man’s eyes rolled into the back of his head as his body went into convulsions. Within seconds, the man was dead.
Around Leeteuk’s waist, a new piece of rope began to grow.
Rating: R
A/N: This started as an assbaby in response to the first three teaser pictures that came out for fifth jib. Then it grew as certain things needed to be explained in an non assbaby way.
He paused, his shoulders automatically hunching as he no longer felt alone in the middle of the fields. He dropped the arms, the uneven thuds they made as they hit the ground muffled by the loose dirt around them. He pivoted on his heel, making a precise 180 turn as he whipped about face.
There was nobody behind him.
He stared into the darkness, eyes scrunched up as he tried to peer beyond the boxy outline his car made parked several feet away. He had sworn he had heard the rustling sounds of movement behind him. He had sworn he felt the brush of something rushing past his shoulders, but he saw nothing, felt nothing as he stared into the inky darkness.
He rolled his shoulders back and turned back around, tugging downward on the gloves that encased his hands. His knees gave a small protest of sound as he bent to take a firm hold of the arms once more. With one more suspicious cast over his shoulder, he proceeded to drag the entire thing towards the empty warehouse.
The heat billowing out from the incinerator blistered across his face and he wasted no time shoving the freshly dead body in. He noticed the hands just before he made to close the small incinerator door and quickly grabbing his blooded knife, neatly cleaved the hands off from the wrists.
He adored hands the best and scolded himself for nearly missing his chance with these. He started to pet the fingers absentmindedly as though he was soothing an anxious lover and did not mind in the slightest that the fingers had started to creep towards the frozen edges of rigor mortis. He felt like a great creator as he pressed down and forced the fingers to twist against each other. The hands were nothing more than a misshapen grotesque shape when he finished but he quickly took a shot of it with his camera phone and labeled it as “Hands in Prayer.”
He swiftly got bored however, and opened the incinerator door to throw the rest of the wayward remains in.
Gripping the circle of latex below his wrists, he yanked the rubber gloves off. He added the red stained gloves into the open flame and the smell of burning rubber invaded the lining of his nostrils. Shutting the incinerator door with one hand, he rooted about in his bag for his tiny bottle of hand sanitizer. A wet squelch of sound accompanied the cool liquid and he briskly rubbed his hands together, ridding himself of the powdery residue the gloves always left behind. He settled down in front of the large burner, watching through its narrow viewing gate to ensure that anything left behind would be unrecognizable. By the time he left the warehouse, dawn had already chased away the unidentifiable shadows of night.
The next evening, backlit by the blue glow form his laptop monitor, he watched as the numbers in his bank account swelled to life. Filled to the brim with commas and decimal points, it burped out a long array of zeros. Leaning back, he felt a deep sense of satisfaction settle over him as warm and thick as a heavy pelt of fur placed over his shoulders.
Weeks after the transaction went through and the client disappeared from his radar, he still felt the presence of eyes on him. His back itched as though two narrow points of heat were continuously being flayed across his skin as someone’s unwavering gaze seared through him.
The feeling was unsettling but not debilitating. He forced himself to shrug off the feeling and went about his day. Minute after minute, hour after hour, the feeling of being watched continued. He started getting irrational, quick to get into a screaming match with anyone who had so much as brushed against his shoulder in passing.
He had just added another bottle of hand sanitizer into his basket when a boy bumped into him at the supermarket.
“You!” the man yelled, veins standing out in purple exclamation on his neck. “You - !”
The boy had already dipped his head in apology however, platinum blond locks falling over his forehead and shielding his eyes from view. The man leaned down with the intent on catching the boy’s gaze. He found himself entirely distracted however, by the way the boy’s hands fumbled as he pulled his long red cloak tighter against his body. The man’s gaze lingered on the dull red marks that decorated the boy’s knuckles, conforming around the shape of flattened stars. Finished with cinching the belt taut around the swirling fabric of his cloak, the boy’s hands crawled up like escaping spiders towards his collar. The man was just able to make out dark etchings that looked like the thin ends of vines around the boy’s neck and suddenly demanded to know, “What is that you have there?”
The boy abruptly straightened and flicked the edges of his collar up and hid the dark slashes from view. The man reached out a hand to the boy, but the boy was faster. He ducked out from under the man’s arm and rounded out the corner of the aisle. The man clenched his fist and drew his hand back toward himself.
The man’s shoes squeaked furiously underneath him as he peered at every red dressed figure that crossed his way. None however were dressed in the same fashion as the boy was and the man grunted out his displeasure. As the man advanced to the cashier, he passed by a displaced toy crown sitting on a shelf.
Under the fluorescent lightening, the golden spheres embedded into the circlet gleamed. Intrigued, the man picked the item up and turned it about in his hands.
Upon closer inspection, the object was worn, tiny squares of the faded golden paint flickering off in his hands. The crown was nothing more than a trinket, a silly little toy mothers bought at the last minute to placate their tantrum-throwing children. He placed it back on the shelf and carried on with his shopping. By the time his purchases were rung up, he had forgotten all about the dirty smudges his fingerprints had made across the gold dyed orbs of the innocuous crown.
***
The feeling of being watched dissipated by the next day.
***
On a packed bus going home, the man paid no attention to the boy that deemed it necessary to stand next to him. He only spared the boy a disgusted glance when the wispy lining of the boy’s fur coat brushed casually against his arm.
In response, the boy merely grinned at him as he gestured to the packed bodies that surrounded them as though that in itself was an adequate explanation. The man turned his face away from the boy and stared resolutely at the graffiti scratched bus windows ahead.
Darkness hit them as they traveled through a tunnel, and the man once again felt the tuffs of fur on the boy’s coat sweep pass his arm. The man took the opportunity to study the boy’s reflection from the darken surface of the window. He sneered at the boy’s choice to weigh himself down with the multitude of chains that hung around his neck and the ridiculous and unnatural colored he thought suitable to dye his hair.
One thing the man did approve of however, was the boy’s hands. Slender, and with his nails neatly trimmed, they served as the porcelain backdrop to the three bulky rings the boy chose to adorn himself with. The rings curved intimately around his knuckles and hid them from sight. The turquoise coloring of the outer rings that surrounded the central garnet colored one seemed to form a tight covalent bond around the boy’s fingers. The man found himself engrossed with the beauty of the boy’s hands. He stared at them, eyes lovingly tracing the slim fingers and the smooth cast of his skin long the bus left the darkness of the tunnel behind.
When the boy’s eyes met his in the window, the man grunted and looked away, his gaze catching on the many hued flags stitched into the silken underside to the boy’s coat.
As he approached his stop, the man reached out to tug on the plastic covered string to signal the bus driver.
The man trailed a hand through the downy fur of the boy’s coat, his actions easily disguised by the rush of people heading towards the doors located in the back of the vehicle. He straightened his coat as soon as he reached the end of the street and found himself turning his attention back towards the bus.
The boy on the bus was staring unblinkingly back at him, his head slightly tilted in the direction of the man. The boy’s hand was held half way to his face, shielding his tip of his nose and his mouth from view. The three rings on his hands flashed in the reflected light and the man could not help feeling as though the boy had been pointing him out. The feeling remained with him long after the bus pulled away from the curb.
***
The asphalt burned like the open mouth of an incinerator door underneath the man’s scrabbling hands.
The boy’s red cloak skimmed against the bony edges of the man’s knees, but the man, jerking frantically against him like an overturned crab, no longer wanted to get close to him.
His hands clawed the ground beneath him as his feet pushed furtively against the cracked pavement, desperate for space between them.
The boy from the bus smiled when the man’s back hit the front of his shoe, but his finger pointed a straight line to another who approached them, his upper body bulky and square with bangs dyed silver by the light of the moon.
“Hello,” the stranger said, his pale pink lips parted in a smile, “I’m Leeteuk, and you, you are going to die.” The edges of Leeteuk’s teeth were sharp, glinting like the jagged triangular hooks that hung from the shorter golden chain that encircled his neck.
Leeteuk slowly unbuttoned his coat, his manner cool and nonchalant as though he was merely allowing a hostess at a house party to take his coat from him. The boy with the red cloak strode forward over to him and lifted the loose orange overcoat from Leeteuk’s shoulders.
The man watched the proceedings with eyes that felt like they were frozen wide open, his attempts to move backwards impeded by the boy on the bus’s boot that ground down on his hand and kept it immobile.
Leeteuk proceeded to open his secondary coat, this one dyed a brilliant blue, not unlike the color of sapphires. The removal of his outer coat unveiled the illusion of his initial bulkiness. Underneath them, he was thin, as slender and as threatening as a boy.
“Did you know,” Leeteuk began conversationally, addressing the man as though they were old school mates, “that if you willingly take a life, yours becomes forfeit?” He gingerly unpeeled the outer layer of his jacket back to reveal the thin bands of rope that encircled his body.
The man felt his pleas strangle off in his mouth as though the rope had transferred from Leeteuk’s long fingers and steady hands to twist violently against the white outline of his neck.
The rope felt warm against his quivering throat, heated as though it had absorbed Leeteuk’s body heat from where it laid previously curled against the his body.
The man started to shake, as images started to burn themselves into his mind.
With Leeteuk’s coat draped over his arm, the boy started to pull on the rope. When his hand touched the beginning of it, the man saw a babe slick with birthing fluid, mouth cracked open to form a squall of tears as he emerged from the birthing canal.
When the boy’s fingers skimmed down one-quarter length of the rope, the man saw a younger version of himself atop a grassy knoll, the flimsy robes of his graduation gown fluttering pass him as he hurried to zip it up.
When the boy had unraveled a sizeable length of the rope, the man saw himself that night, newly dead body slumped on the ground beneath him as he peered into the night looking for things he thought he heard and saw.
As the boy held the end of the rope in his hand, the man saw himself on his back, attempting to scuttle further away from the men in front of him and ruthlessly pinned in place by the hard press of a boot against his hand.
With the last of the red rope still attached to Leeteuk, the boy gestured to the other boy to come forward. The pressure on his hand disappeared as the boy on the bus headed towards the boy and Leeteuk. The boy pulled the rope taut and Leeteuk gave a slight grimace as though his skin chafed from the rough friction.
The boy from the bus raised his hand, rings flashing with an unholy light. The man sobbed brokenly, pleas for the boy to stop turning into a wet slop of words in his mouth. The boy cocked his head to one side, turning towards the man. The man immediately began dragging himself forward, promises to change, to repent dribbling out of his mouth.
The boy smiled, the corners of his mouth slowly unfurling upward as he stared down at the man.
With a sharp jerk of motion, the boy slashed his hand downward, severing the rope from Leeteuk's body.
Underneath them, the man’s eyes rolled into the back of his head as his body went into convulsions. Within seconds, the man was dead.
Around Leeteuk’s waist, a new piece of rope began to grow.