Kirsten
November 27th, 2005, 05:24 AM
((this is so pointless, lol. im still waiting for someone to make a comment...even a rude one...but a comment on one of my stories. o.o; ))
I am walking alone down an icy street of concrete and shattered glass. Great broken buildings lean wearily against each other and moan loudly as the wind whips through them. The moon dips in and out of shadows and the world flickers as though a great silver flame. In the distance I hear a whispering, and a small silhouette darkens the path before me. At first I think he is a boy, but then I see he is a man, pale as moon-cream and lovely. His eyes are like frost, almost mechanical in their coldness, and they remain expressionless as he smiles at me.
Then...back in my apartment, all is cold and dark except for the icicle stab of moonlight that pierces through the window. He is with me and I... I am staring into a mirror, where I see my own eyes staring back at me with strange emptiness, and I look away... troubled. He wraps his arms around me and they feel like stone, eminating a coldness which runs deeper than any soul. I shiver and he whispers in my ear that he loves me. I kiss him and the night melts away into an eternity of heatless passion.
I awake as daylight warmth creeps across my skin. The room is afire with golden hues of sun and life. I stir and turn toward the man who even in this warmth is pale and cold as death. I move to kiss him but his lips melt away into darkness as though he is bleeding shadow. And suddenly I am covered in this blackness, which though unnaturally dark, is just as sticky as any real blood. I push him away with fright and he shatters. Broken pieces of porcelain mingle with the night-blood and spread across my floor.
I sit now, confused, as I stare at the scene before me. A man lies on my apartment floor, his hair matted with blood that has darkned... but not as dark as the blood I saw. His skull is shattered, but it is not the white porcelain I remember. And his eyes, open now and although empty with death, are not the unearthly coldness of the man I held. And as I kneel down and feel his human flesh for any pulse, I know that the creature I brought home was not this man... nor any.
((why must my mind be so morbid and condemned...))
I am walking alone down an icy street of concrete and shattered glass. Great broken buildings lean wearily against each other and moan loudly as the wind whips through them. The moon dips in and out of shadows and the world flickers as though a great silver flame. In the distance I hear a whispering, and a small silhouette darkens the path before me. At first I think he is a boy, but then I see he is a man, pale as moon-cream and lovely. His eyes are like frost, almost mechanical in their coldness, and they remain expressionless as he smiles at me.
Then...back in my apartment, all is cold and dark except for the icicle stab of moonlight that pierces through the window. He is with me and I... I am staring into a mirror, where I see my own eyes staring back at me with strange emptiness, and I look away... troubled. He wraps his arms around me and they feel like stone, eminating a coldness which runs deeper than any soul. I shiver and he whispers in my ear that he loves me. I kiss him and the night melts away into an eternity of heatless passion.
I awake as daylight warmth creeps across my skin. The room is afire with golden hues of sun and life. I stir and turn toward the man who even in this warmth is pale and cold as death. I move to kiss him but his lips melt away into darkness as though he is bleeding shadow. And suddenly I am covered in this blackness, which though unnaturally dark, is just as sticky as any real blood. I push him away with fright and he shatters. Broken pieces of porcelain mingle with the night-blood and spread across my floor.
I sit now, confused, as I stare at the scene before me. A man lies on my apartment floor, his hair matted with blood that has darkned... but not as dark as the blood I saw. His skull is shattered, but it is not the white porcelain I remember. And his eyes, open now and although empty with death, are not the unearthly coldness of the man I held. And as I kneel down and feel his human flesh for any pulse, I know that the creature I brought home was not this man... nor any.
((why must my mind be so morbid and condemned...))