Short Story – BLOODLUST
Once again, this is a taste of my earlier writing. It’s quite rough, actually it’s very rough, but writing it helped me achieve the internal visualization skills I now employ with some of my characters in order to avoid direct descriptive narration.
BLOODLUST
The scent filled the air and he breathed in deeply. It was fresh blood, and not too far away. Loping through the undergrowth and conserving his energy, Thaknaus moved stealthily towards the scent.
A noise to his left caused him to instinctively swerve and a blade swept down to where he had been only moments before. Leaping upon the wielder, Thaknaus tore his throat apart with his fangs – relishing the taste of blood coursing down his throat until he realized the faint bitterness which bespoke illness or disease. Contemptuously spitting out the chunk of meat, he turned and ran on towards the original scent.
Branches crashed against his face, but Thaknaus ignored them. Such was his bloodlust he could have run through flames and barely noticed the singing of his fur.
This was what he had been bred for – all those long years among the pitiful humans had created an abhorrence which bordered on rage. They’d always treated him with disdain, no matter what he did to aid them in their everyday lives. And now they would pay for it with their lives.
The scent grew stronger and Thaknaus felt his mouth begin to drool in anticipation. It had been a long time since he had tasted fresh flesh which was neither diseased nor rotten. He had been cooped up in that pen for an eternity listening to the stupid humans ordering him around. Every now and then they would throw him a scrap or morsel, but always left him hungry.
Pausing at the edge of the tree line, Thaknaus scanned the open area in front of him before spying the source of his hunt. Lying in the middle of the road was the body of a human, surrounded by others. Skulking low to the ground, Thaknaus suddenly surged forward and through the group, scooping up the motionless, bloody figure and sprinting off into the shadows before the other humans had time to react.
The body was light, probably a female or a child. Thaknaus could barely stop himself from tearing it to pieces in his hunger, but self preservation and fear prevented him from feeding before he knew it was safe. The figure struggled feebly against him, but such was Thaknaus’ strength that such struggles were useless against him.
He continued on, once more within the more favorable scrub, until the cries of his pursuers faded far behind. Even then he did not stop, continuing on for many miles before fatigue finally gripped him and he dropped the body to the ground. His strength slowly seeped back in. He wanted to be fresh for the feeding, not gasping for air in between mouthfuls of flesh.
Moving towards the figure, he saw that it was now struggling feebly away from him. It had been injured somehow and it appeared to have a broken leg – bone was sticking through the skin; hence the strong smell of blood which now intoxicated him.
Savoring the experience, Thaknaus slowly stalked his prey. Letting her fear grow and increasing his own anticipation at the same time.
Eventually he bored with the game and decided to finish the kill. Leaping upon his victim he moved to tear out her throat when suddenly he paused. Her eyes stared up at him in terror and she was saying something to him in the incomprehensible human language.
The face was familiar to him, but he had no idea why. Behind the terror and the pain he recognized the features of the woman beneath him and he struggled to place it within his memory.
Finally, however, the bloodlust overcame him and he attacked her savagely, tearing at her flesh and rejoicing in her screams of agony. Never before had he enjoyed feeding so much – each and every mouthful was like a river of joy flowing down his throat.
For over an hour he fed, until he was so full he felt sick. Noises disturbed him and he lifted his head and sniffed the air, picking up the scent of more humans getting closer. Soon he heard voices coming through the trees and he sprinted off into the undergrowth.
Yelling told him they had found the body, but he was unable to run far after such a colossal meal and hunkered down into the shadows, preparing himself for the fight to come.
Soon a man came running into the field and Thaknaus leaped out to meet him, instantly bearing one to the ground and tearing out his throat. Yells of surprise came from the others and they pointed their weapons at him, but he was unafraid. Human weapons couldn’t harm him anymore and he prepared for the next kill. Just as he was about to hurl himself into their midst, a loud noise went off and he collapsed to the ground, pain flaring through his side.
The men around him approached cautiously, and their language came strangely close to making sense to him. Suddenly, like a light switch being turned on, knowledge flooded through him and Thaknaus could understand what they were saying.
“Yeah Paul, we’re gonna need the guys from the psych ward for this one,” said one of the men as he rolled Thaknaus to his belly and secured his hands behind him.
“He’s a nut bag, that’s for sure,” said the other. “He killed that woman like a feral animal, and running around in the dark naked. Bring on the padded cell for this guy.”
“We just got word on who he is,” said the first man, a man Thaknaus now recognised as a police officer, but was unsure how he knew this. “This is Terrence Nausken; an accountant who went missing a few days ago and, get this, the woman he killed was his own damn wife! She was just heading home after spending all day in the station filling out missing person reports when she had a car accident. Then this piece of crap grabbed her . . . well you know the rest.”
“I heard he killed some farmer as well. Jesus man! What the hell would send a man off the edge like that?”
“Tax time,” growled Thaknaus from the ground before beginning to laugh hollowly. Soon the laughter turned to howling, mixed with a strange kind of screaming.
Copyright(C) 2009 Luke Romyn
Post Footer automatically generated by Add Post Footer Plugin for wordpress.
Topics: Short Stories | 4 Comments »
Short Story – BLOOD
I’ve noticed my blog getting a little bit too sensitive and flowery for my taste. There’s nothing wrong with that, but I don’t want to suddenly look down and realize I’ve grown a vagina and I’m crying at daffodil commercials. And so I wrote something to remind us all what I truly am. Enjoy.
BLOOD
There was so much of it, covering him, consuming him. He could not escape its cloying effect upon his skin; its bitter, coppery taste as it gagged him.
And he loved it.
Or at least a part of him did.
Part of him rebelled at the things he had done to people he did not know, but the greater part, the stronger part, quashed what little rebellion remained within his mind to such a point he could barely remember his own name anymore. All he knew was the exultation he felt every time he cut open an artery and the hot, crimson liquid of life flowed out and over him.
They would eventually catch him, of that he had no doubt. The lack of control he had shown had resulted in crime scenes thick with evidence – almost as thick as they were with blood – but he didn’t care. The addiction was too strong, the need to cut and tear, maim and chew… he had no control anymore.
In the start he’d had control, or at least thought he had. He could stop himself back then, in fact he had done so on more than one occasion when the morality he still held within had rebelled at his actions.
But no more.
He could no more control these urges than a fisherman could control the tide, and though he might try to stop himself, each time he knew it was futile. Eventually they would catch him, and he would go peacefully, hoping they put him with other prisoners, but if they didn’t… oh well.
For now, however, he had other things on his mind. He stared at the young man who had tried to terrify him in the bar with bravado, mocking him in front of the young man’s friends and prancing like a peacock. He was no peacock anymore, had no cock at all, in fact. The young man had first been angry, then disbelieving, as they all were, then afraid, and now he was terrified.
The crying had finally stopped, but not before he had threatened to slice the man’s eyelids off completely in order to get to the ducts hidden beneath; this was the only way to stop the crying without blinding or killing the victim, and it wasn’t time for killing… yet. He was enjoying this far too much to end it so soon.
For all his bravado, the fight the young man had put up was pathetic in its incompetence. Versed in various forms of martial arts himself, the fact the young man had been so easy to incapacitate and handcuff had been a true disappointment. He had made up for that by slowly severing the man’s feet and sealing the wounds with duct-tape. It really could fix anything.
Such an action was ultimately messy, but he didn’t mind. The blood contained the life, the soul, of the young man, and to be touched by it was like a special kind of sacrament. In a way, what he was doing to the young man was the greatest compliment; he was worshiping his life in a way no other ever would, but the young man didn’t appreciate that, he merely kept trying to scream around the duct-tape sealing his mouth.
The man kept flopping around on the floor like a fish whenever he made a cut, making things difficult. Several times he had come close to nicking an artery, especially when he was working up near the man’s groin, but that was the price he had to pay for working under these conditions. He brandished the scalpel once more and moved forward, deciding this time to take the legs off at the –
SLAM!!!
The door to his storage shed banged open and before he knew it a dozen bodies were converging on him, smashing him into the ground, cuffing his hands behind him. The young man cried out like a bitch as they tore the duct-tape from his lipless mouth.
Stupid cops.
But they’d been smart enough to catch him, and before he knew it he was sitting in a padded cell, restrained in a nice canvas jacket with leather buckles going all the way up his back as well as one which went between his legs. It was very secure.
He was done.
There was no arguing it; he was going to rot in this cell or one exactly like it for the rest of his life. He might not know much, but he remembered the state he was in didn’t support the death penalty, so this was it forever.
No more blood, no more life, no more joy.
Glancing up at the camera, he turned away from it, sitting with his face pointed towards the corner, his legs pulled up towards his chest. This would be difficult to do without getting caught, but those many sessions of yoga would finally pay off, as would his meticulous dental care.
It took a while of nuzzling and digging, but he finally found it and clamped down hard with his incisors, sawing back and forth at the thick leathery texture. On the cameras it would probably look like he was trying to satisfy himself sexually, but by the time they realized what he was actually doing he would be free.
As he felt it start to sever between his teeth, he heard the door open behind him, but they were too late. Once he was free they wouldn’t be able to stop him, not this time. The rushing of feet sounded and he gave a last, final wrench –
And was loose.
The blood from the severed femoral artery in his thigh sprayed hard against the white padding, and he pushed his face into it, savouring the last time, drinking deeply just before hands grabbed him and pushed his face into the ground. But they were too late; the scene was already fading before him.
The last thing he saw was his own blood congealing on his eyeballs, and he licked his lips, savouring the taste for the final time….
Copyright © Luke Romyn 2011
Post Footer automatically generated by Add Post Footer Plugin for wordpress.
Topics: Serious, Short Stories, Writing | 7 Comments »
