April 2006: After-taste
Title: - After-taste
Prompt: “Something of vengeance I had tasted for the first time; as aromatic wine it seemed, on swallowing, warm and racy: its after-flavor, metallic and corroding, gave me a sensation as if I had been poisoned.” - Charlotte Bronte
Character: Anakin Skywalker
Your character's fandom: Star Wars
Word count: 158
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I do not own. I will never own. Purely for entertainment. Star Wars and Anakin and all that fun stuff all belong to George Lucas.
He had slaughtered them all. Men. Women. Children.
They had not had a chance with him sweeping in on wings of vengeance and rage in the dead of night. Like an avenging angel with a flaming sword that blazed blue fire in the darkness.
The act itself had given him such a heady rush of power. Filled him up with it and his blood had run hot and fast. But now, here in the aftermath of it, the silence of the Lars' garage. Here with the memory of doing something wrong, here his mouth grew sour and his blood turned to ice and all he could hear were their screams -- screams like that of a dying animal's -- and all he wanted was to feel that hot rush of power again. To push away the ice, wash his mouth of the terrible taste it held. Like retching.
And he knew, nothing would make it go away. He was already tainted.
Prompt: “Something of vengeance I had tasted for the first time; as aromatic wine it seemed, on swallowing, warm and racy: its after-flavor, metallic and corroding, gave me a sensation as if I had been poisoned.” - Charlotte Bronte
Character: Anakin Skywalker
Your character's fandom: Star Wars
Word count: 158
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I do not own. I will never own. Purely for entertainment. Star Wars and Anakin and all that fun stuff all belong to George Lucas.
He had slaughtered them all. Men. Women. Children.
They had not had a chance with him sweeping in on wings of vengeance and rage in the dead of night. Like an avenging angel with a flaming sword that blazed blue fire in the darkness.
The act itself had given him such a heady rush of power. Filled him up with it and his blood had run hot and fast. But now, here in the aftermath of it, the silence of the Lars' garage. Here with the memory of doing something wrong, here his mouth grew sour and his blood turned to ice and all he could hear were their screams -- screams like that of a dying animal's -- and all he wanted was to feel that hot rush of power again. To push away the ice, wash his mouth of the terrible taste it held. Like retching.
And he knew, nothing would make it go away. He was already tainted.