Hotel California
Title: Hotel California
Rating: R
Genre: Flippant Horror
Member: Kyungsoo
Warning: Some potentially upsetting imagery
Summary: Kyungsoo can't remember how he got here, but the hotel is here, and it's warm, and inviting, and dinner is just about to be served.
(Based on the song Hotel California and a Biblical description of Hell.)
There was this room, with a long table, and maybe a hundred guests seated on either side of the rectangle, no one positioned at either head. The tablecloth was grey, but clad in brilliant silver dishes with hairy fruits and shriveling vegetables. A haggard woman shuffled in, likely only in her forties, but weathered by years of labor in a busy kitchen, her bony arms boasting a large platter. After adjusting so she could hold her saggy, pruned tricep-skin out of the way, she situated the dish at the very center of the table, the last open spot, though not without knocking a small yellow clay pot of gruel over. She revealed its contents with a flourish, chipping the silver dome on its accompanying plate. What lay beneath was not an animal I can readily identify to you. Perhaps a specialist would describe it as a cross between a large rat and an underdeveloped anteater, but common folk, such as myself, might mistake the skull for that of an atypical breed of cat, with mutated phalanges. The sickly thing's dehydrated skin shrink-wrapped the bones like hardened tissue paper. In fact, if you listened closely, you could hear the papery flesh crinkle betwixt the drafts sweeping through the walls.
One guest lifted his spoon, feet long, and took a stab at the animal, causing it to leak a yellow green sebum and noxious gas. Fortunately, I couldn’t smell it from where I was standing at the time, but I imagine it was something special considering the man across from the dish took a whiff and dropped splat into a pudding. Another, slightly farther fellow from the fumes, became inebriated with rage. He brandished his spoon about, clanging it against the other’s, still stuck in the porker, demanding something. They grunted at each other- perhaps in tongues, but surely no civilized language- receiving a few piggish squeals of affirmation (or antagonization) from the far reaches of the table throughout their argument. All of it was unintelligible aside from the howls of two hairy faced old Brits nearest me, demanding a fight. At the very least, I knew the malnourished beast before them could not curb the hunger of these men, nor myself. I suppose I'd be angry, too if I hadn't been so dizzy.
The guests grumbled and cursed, swinging their meter long silver spoons this way and that, daringly prodding one another, completely skipping over the stately meal. One grey-skinned, frail-bodied man scraped the rim of his spoon disdainfully down the bridge of another’s convex nose, peeling the skin to the tip, and leaving a blossoming blood garden in its wake. The affronted, with his flap of chewy flesh still dangling, responded by clapping his utensil over the ears of his aggressor, but apparently seeing-impaired, he also managed to knock over multiple bowls of discoloured sludge in the process. The old woman who served the dishes bustled about, desperate to clean everything up the second it hit the ground, but with such a long table, the work never ceased, and her proper intentions only served to subject her to the life of a show pony nursing a broken hip.
Still on the skirts of this brewing rage, I steadily devolved into delirium. I doubt you'd do any different hearing such clangorous cracks of bone against metal, or smelling sweaty curses and tasting odorous humanity as they swell like sewer musk. Your eyes water if you leave them open, but induce a splitting headache when you squeeze them shut, so I chose the former and witnessed those seated juxtaposed rip each other’s hair out till their scalps bled, claw oblong rectangles out of ribs and thighs, and not one greedy scoundrel get a morsel to their mouth.
The closest attempt was in the third seat nearest to where I stood plastered to the wall in a stupor. One man, or perhaps woman- it’s hard to tell when everyone’s balding and bludgeoned- got purchase on another’s left eye, digging from the top, cutting through the lid, and popping it out of the socket. Delighted, the creature (for that is what they all had become) began stabbing frantically at the retina to obtain the delicacy, however, they couldn't sever the nerve. They worked tirelessly at the jelly chained to that adjacent face, so close but yet so far. Ultimately, they only ended up mashing the other's squiming meat to nothing in an attempt to swat away others' greedy hands, devolving the violently moving target to a still one. The victim shrieked hideously throuhgout the process, blood quickly transitioning from blue to red to crusty black as it erupted from his orifice as though it were lava from a volcano. He was infuriated, pained that someone else might get to eat when he could not, and started pulling at his own flattened eye to consume it himself. This roused whoops and hollers from guests who had caught on. The trend spread like wildfire as they dropped their spoons and began mutilating themselves, smashing and slashing their faces with shards of victimized bowls and plates. The lukewarm meats and nuts remaining got ground in as supplement to their flesh, salting the wounds. Whether anyone managed to digest a thing, I cannot and do not wish to remember, but soon enough, every face had melted clean off. Skulls caved in, limbs lost motion, and irritated throats let out their last scratchy cries before the room fell dead silent.
Flies migrated from the less appetizing dinner to the bodies, now voiceless and bloodied, for they were perfect pickings. Mere meat draped over chairs. I could hardly see when the doors clicked open again.
“Selfish pigs.”A young ponytailed girl spat, unlocking the entrance to the hall and parting both big green doors. “ALRIGHT, OUT WITH YOU ALL, DINNER’S OVER!” She yelled, breaking off to the left side as if anticipating a stampede.
I was the only one who managed to make a move to leave. I hurriedly toppled toward the door to escape the sights and smells and that traumatizing, ringingly still silence. I paused, balancing against the yellowing door frame with my elbow, and hurled.
This is the exact opposite of a dinner. Empty skulls, empty sockets, and empty stomachs, surely purged of any remnants of their last meager meal. The final thing I remember from that night was watching the running portion of my puke seep through the rough red carpet loops and growing feverish seeing the oil separate form the chunks. I began sweating like a maniac. My heart rate spiked and my eyes rolled back. I was unable to stay up, and soon was face to face with my insides turned out.
A/N: I noticed a trend of over explication. I hated it so much I wrote an entire 1,104 words of it.
Rating: R
Genre: Flippant Horror
Member: Kyungsoo
Warning: Some potentially upsetting imagery
Summary: Kyungsoo can't remember how he got here, but the hotel is here, and it's warm, and inviting, and dinner is just about to be served.
(Based on the song Hotel California and a Biblical description of Hell.)
There was this room, with a long table, and maybe a hundred guests seated on either side of the rectangle, no one positioned at either head. The tablecloth was grey, but clad in brilliant silver dishes with hairy fruits and shriveling vegetables. A haggard woman shuffled in, likely only in her forties, but weathered by years of labor in a busy kitchen, her bony arms boasting a large platter. After adjusting so she could hold her saggy, pruned tricep-skin out of the way, she situated the dish at the very center of the table, the last open spot, though not without knocking a small yellow clay pot of gruel over. She revealed its contents with a flourish, chipping the silver dome on its accompanying plate. What lay beneath was not an animal I can readily identify to you. Perhaps a specialist would describe it as a cross between a large rat and an underdeveloped anteater, but common folk, such as myself, might mistake the skull for that of an atypical breed of cat, with mutated phalanges. The sickly thing's dehydrated skin shrink-wrapped the bones like hardened tissue paper. In fact, if you listened closely, you could hear the papery flesh crinkle betwixt the drafts sweeping through the walls.
One guest lifted his spoon, feet long, and took a stab at the animal, causing it to leak a yellow green sebum and noxious gas. Fortunately, I couldn’t smell it from where I was standing at the time, but I imagine it was something special considering the man across from the dish took a whiff and dropped splat into a pudding. Another, slightly farther fellow from the fumes, became inebriated with rage. He brandished his spoon about, clanging it against the other’s, still stuck in the porker, demanding something. They grunted at each other- perhaps in tongues, but surely no civilized language- receiving a few piggish squeals of affirmation (or antagonization) from the far reaches of the table throughout their argument. All of it was unintelligible aside from the howls of two hairy faced old Brits nearest me, demanding a fight. At the very least, I knew the malnourished beast before them could not curb the hunger of these men, nor myself. I suppose I'd be angry, too if I hadn't been so dizzy.
The guests grumbled and cursed, swinging their meter long silver spoons this way and that, daringly prodding one another, completely skipping over the stately meal. One grey-skinned, frail-bodied man scraped the rim of his spoon disdainfully down the bridge of another’s convex nose, peeling the skin to the tip, and leaving a blossoming blood garden in its wake. The affronted, with his flap of chewy flesh still dangling, responded by clapping his utensil over the ears of his aggressor, but apparently seeing-impaired, he also managed to knock over multiple bowls of discoloured sludge in the process. The old woman who served the dishes bustled about, desperate to clean everything up the second it hit the ground, but with such a long table, the work never ceased, and her proper intentions only served to subject her to the life of a show pony nursing a broken hip.
Still on the skirts of this brewing rage, I steadily devolved into delirium. I doubt you'd do any different hearing such clangorous cracks of bone against metal, or smelling sweaty curses and tasting odorous humanity as they swell like sewer musk. Your eyes water if you leave them open, but induce a splitting headache when you squeeze them shut, so I chose the former and witnessed those seated juxtaposed rip each other’s hair out till their scalps bled, claw oblong rectangles out of ribs and thighs, and not one greedy scoundrel get a morsel to their mouth.
The closest attempt was in the third seat nearest to where I stood plastered to the wall in a stupor. One man, or perhaps woman- it’s hard to tell when everyone’s balding and bludgeoned- got purchase on another’s left eye, digging from the top, cutting through the lid, and popping it out of the socket. Delighted, the creature (for that is what they all had become) began stabbing frantically at the retina to obtain the delicacy, however, they couldn't sever the nerve. They worked tirelessly at the jelly chained to that adjacent face, so close but yet so far. Ultimately, they only ended up mashing the other's squiming meat to nothing in an attempt to swat away others' greedy hands, devolving the violently moving target to a still one. The victim shrieked hideously throuhgout the process, blood quickly transitioning from blue to red to crusty black as it erupted from his orifice as though it were lava from a volcano. He was infuriated, pained that someone else might get to eat when he could not, and started pulling at his own flattened eye to consume it himself. This roused whoops and hollers from guests who had caught on. The trend spread like wildfire as they dropped their spoons and began mutilating themselves, smashing and slashing their faces with shards of victimized bowls and plates. The lukewarm meats and nuts remaining got ground in as supplement to their flesh, salting the wounds. Whether anyone managed to digest a thing, I cannot and do not wish to remember, but soon enough, every face had melted clean off. Skulls caved in, limbs lost motion, and irritated throats let out their last scratchy cries before the room fell dead silent.
Flies migrated from the less appetizing dinner to the bodies, now voiceless and bloodied, for they were perfect pickings. Mere meat draped over chairs. I could hardly see when the doors clicked open again.
“Selfish pigs.”A young ponytailed girl spat, unlocking the entrance to the hall and parting both big green doors. “ALRIGHT, OUT WITH YOU ALL, DINNER’S OVER!” She yelled, breaking off to the left side as if anticipating a stampede.
I was the only one who managed to make a move to leave. I hurriedly toppled toward the door to escape the sights and smells and that traumatizing, ringingly still silence. I paused, balancing against the yellowing door frame with my elbow, and hurled.
This is the exact opposite of a dinner. Empty skulls, empty sockets, and empty stomachs, surely purged of any remnants of their last meager meal. The final thing I remember from that night was watching the running portion of my puke seep through the rough red carpet loops and growing feverish seeing the oil separate form the chunks. I began sweating like a maniac. My heart rate spiked and my eyes rolled back. I was unable to stay up, and soon was face to face with my insides turned out.
A/N: I noticed a trend of over explication. I hated it so much I wrote an entire 1,104 words of it.