It came from him. He started to sputter, his body shivered. The light emanating from him flicker again, dimmer than before. As it did, his upper torso became partly visible: white against fading black lines, outlining the soft, chiseled, toned details of his body. The body lay there, sprawled like an assault victim, an aura of blue vapor radiating from him; beyond him, the world around him began to become distorted and chaotic. The air hummed and vibrated, the trash can shot up into the sky, the walls began to explode, the street cracked open. The body just lay there, slowly dying as the environment tore itself apart.
An inception buried under layers of the conscious and subconscious, intertwined by the very strings of fabric that wove the existence of this nightmarish dream.
Then the images appeared, fast and disjointed. Rapidly ascending into a tunnel vision of pure insanity.
The sound of glass breaking, cracking, and reassembling, and repeating, chimed like bottled pain to the ears. A plane flew into a tall building, followed by an explosion; only for the blast to stop and reverse into and reform a glass of black liquid falling onto a table. A young blonde with black lipstick and Marilyn Monroe hair, smoking a cigarette and blowing smoke rings looked at a mirror with no reflection, cackling hard enough the mirror cracked and then imploded as all sounds were instantaneously silenced by a gunshot blasting out like cannon fire.
The sound so loud it deafened everything.
A gun barrel smoked, attached to a pale hand of a shadowy figure with a snarling face. His eyes were obscured by the darkness of the shadows, leaving only the whiteness of his bare teeth to indicate the emotion radiating from him: Hatred.
A single word came from his lips...
Abomination!
A wrist was gripped gently and fearfully until the hand went limp. A white vase is imploded from within, shards of the stone edifice mixed with viscous black liquid stretching outwards slowly and menacingly until they froze in the air—until they then reversed melded together to form a massive sword made of opaque, black glass. The sword hung in the air blade downward, dripping red liquid from the tip of the blade into a running, flowing sea of pure, bright red...
The images changing and repeating faster and faster as wind whooshed past him, as he was still tied down and flying faster than the speed of sound and light. The velocity getting louder and louder; his stomach dropped, and his gut wrenched. The chains grew ever tighter, and the images zoomed by at blinding speed harder than anything he ever felt.
And then in a split second before an explosion of light, the young one's face flashed a moment. His eyes were wide open and shined like crystals and his cheeks were ashy black. He was bruised and scratched, blood bright red dripping from his mouth, neck, cheeks, nose, and various cuts on his face. His breathing labored and heavy, he trembled and shook quietly and violently.
There were tears in his eyes.
Images of water steaming, boiling, condensing, and dripping sped up and reversed continuously choked the air with heat, fear, and sulfur, followed by a pale bald man clutching his head and screaming. Gasping and moaning, the young man arched his back up and coughed up a hock of dark blood, spluttering it and bubbling out of his mouth. The whooshing increased, the increase of the gravity weighing down on the chains kept the darker He fixed like cement while the pressure of 5000 tons weighed down on him, crushing and tightening. Suddenly the chains glowed bright red and smoke seeped from the pores in the iron, increasing in heat as the length strengthened. When it finally touched the darker one's skin, however, it did not hurt, nor was it painful, but the heat still was searing and constricting to the body. His muscles burned and his bones felt like twigs, cracking and bending under the power of its grip.
Suddenly, a long, slow flash blanked out the images immediately, reducing them to nothingness, snailing their momentum and erasing their value altogether. The flash intensified with each image erased, like a mental bleach of the past: a mental/psychological lobotomy.
The voice returned, louder and more foreboding. It words looked down upon the restrained Keante, and with a disgusted grin, these words sneered at him with no remorse. It words drove an animalistic fear into his heart, for he could sense the truth in them.
Beware the coming destruction.
Beware the eternal hunger.
All shall fall.
All shall be die.
And you shall be thy witness, you shall be the bedrock of my ascension.
Now. Watch as you sinful desire is consumed in the unholy union that is your greed and your lust.
Thundered crackled in the distance, and lightning pierced the sky above the boy. Keante shook and rocked, bucking and tossing himself furiously in an effort to extricate himself from the chains that held him. Pain, pity, and rage welled up inside him, so much so that it did not take long before he quiet struggling quickly gave way towards loud yelling and roaring. His shoulders steamed and hissed until finally exploding in flames and the profanities and obscenities of a sailor flew from his mouth until he instantly stopped.
The reason why presenting itself not long after.
The flashes were slow at first, all the while zooming in on the body sprawled on the pavement.; by now, the alley has dissolved into nothingness thanks to the flashes, leaving the boy alone and dying. Keante once again tried to move, to at least reach out to him, but couldn't. He could only watch as each flash began erasing and wiping away the boy's delicate bodice and disintegrating his visage. Then as the emptiness settled across the little boy's face, his blank stare of pain became frozen in a sea of white void, the world began to darken and throb as black and red veins appeared all about.
Pain. Mind numbing, bone breaking, flesh tearing pain welled up inside of Keante. The pain was undeniable, unbearable just as the throbbing increased in beating, and in that last second before pure darkness, the boy opened his bloodied mouth, and Keante looked upon him for one final time.
He said two words, there echoes reverberating throughout the very core of this world.
"Save me", he whispered.
Two words; two simple words. The sound of deafening rush of wind drowned all else.
And then...
Gaaahhh!
Terrified beyond comprehension, Keante bolted upright, throwing off the weariness of sleep in exchange for the bliss of pure panic. His hands shook tremendously, his legs felt numb, and he felt a shiver crawl along the length and entirety of his spine. His room was dark, dimly lit by the TV that flashed images of a lousy commercial at him. He looked to his right. The window was open, letting in a small breeze that felt abrasively cold to the touch of his skin. He closed his eyes and rubbed his temples, sounds of police sirens and cars driving by echoed in the neighborhood outside.
A typical night in Los Angeles. Or rather, the part of Los Angeles in which he lived.
He laid back down and turned over in bed, looking to his left to see the numbered clock shone with red numbers in the dark that surrounded it.
It was 2:15 a.m.
He grunted, both annoyed and visibly disturbed at the same time.
Immediately turning back to his original position, he felt wet and soggy underneath the sheets. Confused, he flipped them over; his bed was damp with sheen, sweat, and cum—enough to fill a pitcher. His boxers were drowned mostly, but that didn't really compare to the twitching, aching, boner that lay between his legs.
"Ugh", he sighed, grunting, "Damn, that hurts like fuck."
Tired and sheepish was an understatement at this point, so with some reluctance, Keante moved to get out of bed, or at least to try.
His legs felt lifeless and limp as he slid them over the edge, and as they dangled there, not by accident did he find himself just staring at them. I need a drink, he thought, a good stiff drink.
And not for the first time did the youth drum through his own thoughts of what exactly is and isn't considered proper drinking material to cure grogginess, as if any of these notions truly mattered to his existence. But, as quickly as his intense thoughts came, just as so was as they went, and when Keante woke up from his trance, again staring at his legs and subsequently pinching himself a dozen times, and after making sure his legs were less prosthetic and more actual limbs, he hobbled his tired ass to the bathroom. Turning on the light, his winced as his eyes were subsequently light-raped by the sudden burst of bright that seemed to sexually assault them.
"Shit, man. Fuck!"
Yup, I really, really a fucking drink.
It took only a few seconds for his eyes to adjust before he was able to look himself over in the mirror.
It wasn't like he missed anything.