08-03-2020, 12:35 AM
Saccharine and sweet, like flesh and milk, he smells her. Familiar, like one of the many bitches he'd found as the months he'd spent here drew on, his excursions out beyond the desert for a romp, for nothing more than his own selfish enjoyment, oh he remembered them all well, wolves and hyenas and other fucked up things, he'd spread his seed far, he'd sown his fields. And now, he would reap.
How strange it was to discover one in his home like this, how strange it was to know already, that this thief was of his own rotten flesh and blood, spoiled and maggoty to the core.
He knows his spawn when he smells them. He knows when his home has been disturbed. And ghe follows that trail she leaves, oh how it winds so curiously towards the border, her own rotten, milky stench mixing with the rot and the dew. His jaws share the grin of a bear trap, as he draws closer to her young frame, as he slinks around her and knows that she is his own.
"Darling thief you are," He says, his voice like oil. "Why stop here? Why stop now?"
These rotten woods are mine, he thinks, and they are ever so dark and ever so deep. He licks his chops wetly, his saliva dangling from his maw. He wants to reach out, to touch her, to hug her close and claim her, his daughter, one of many little maggots he has fathered. But he does not. The beast simply lingers, like a ghost, creeping closer to her, whispering into her ears.
"Why not stay?"
There were many games here for her to play, after all.
How strange it was to discover one in his home like this, how strange it was to know already, that this thief was of his own rotten flesh and blood, spoiled and maggoty to the core.
He knows his spawn when he smells them. He knows when his home has been disturbed. And ghe follows that trail she leaves, oh how it winds so curiously towards the border, her own rotten, milky stench mixing with the rot and the dew. His jaws share the grin of a bear trap, as he draws closer to her young frame, as he slinks around her and knows that she is his own.
"Darling thief you are," He says, his voice like oil. "Why stop here? Why stop now?"
These rotten woods are mine, he thinks, and they are ever so dark and ever so deep. He licks his chops wetly, his saliva dangling from his maw. He wants to reach out, to touch her, to hug her close and claim her, his daughter, one of many little maggots he has fathered. But he does not. The beast simply lingers, like a ghost, creeping closer to her, whispering into her ears.
"Why not stay?"
There were many games here for her to play, after all.
[table][tr][td][/td][td]
"the maddened illusion that hides the sick squirming reality of what i am. of what we all are, when you strip away the pretence that there is more to a person than a warm, wet habitat for the billion crawling things that need a home. that love us in their way."
- MAG 032
[/td][/tr][/table]- MAG 032