The trembling, hopeless footsteps of the little human silenced the crackling cacophony of the rising moans of the others. We were only staring at them for one moment with our vibrant, satisfying eyes, they needed not to be afraid. Merely were we but pushing them to the edge- the edge of humanity; an interesting process and the result, at the halt, even more so. Despite the desperate signals of pure anguish that they released out of their putrid, crimson mouths, it was empty outside; nothing but a sharp, frosty gale that could tame even the most agonizing procedures.
There is no we though really, only ñÏ_/zbßwqñ!!*. It gets so crippling, the tastes they generate within my tedious taste buds. A brutally excrutiating painful taste. The kind that makes me want to rip out someone's esophogus out through their def ear, merely to simulate how the tastes blind me, defen me, deplete me.
Sometimes, I ponder at how that itch has not become my very last emotion, before I close my eyes to the wormhole of gloriously flabbergasting light that will helplessly grope at me, until I take my first steps to the next dystopia.
She always does that to me; pierces my sluggish heart with her perfectly precise, spiked, sadistic words. After a plethora of discomforting language, she enjoys the creased look on my face when she rubs some strong salt and sour lemon on the incomprehensibly deep, soaking hole that is left situated in the middle of my deteriorating torso.
That sadistic smile.
Those disturbingly wide eyes.
Those large breasts.
That beautiful construct of a face.
A shell of an ugliness that can never be completely restrained and hidden away from the next unsuspecting victim of this very perilously intoxicating young siren.
I can still taste it.
