A Funeral Affair

     He was so pretty when alive. But dead, he was breathtaking. The dark lacquer and light satin of the coffin complimented his creamy skin and onyx hair beautifully. His eyes, so empty in life, were now hidden permanently beneath his lids. Slender, delicate, and folded with care, his hands rested on his unmoving chest. The air was thickly permeated with the bittersweet scent of roses and grief. The poor pretty creature met face to face with Death far before his time. He would have had many years ahead of him, filled with pantomimed emotions, if he hadn’t come across one who took too much of an interest in him.

     Every pair of eyes fixed upon the coffin was brimming with tears. Every pair except for one. Absent from them were the proverbial funeral emotions. Hurt. Disbelief. Anger. Wretchedness. Instead they were filled with the most inappropriate emotion of all. Unadulterated lust. These eyes belonged to the one who had ended the boy’s life. A pale pink tongue licked over full lips as they stared at the one in the coffin. Slowly the funeral ended. The people filed out, no doubt going out to someone’s house to eat food and reminisce. Soon the room was empty. Except for the killer. With casual grace the murder walked up to the coffin. A hand moved into the coffin and fingers ran across the cold, hard skin of the deceased. It was a lecherous touch, taking into no consideration that the other was dead. In fact the cold blooded killer seemed to like that fact that the boy was dead. With pale, dry lips the person leaned down placing a kiss on the corpses glued shut lips. The hand roamed under the button down shirt, feeling the wound that it had inflicted. That it had bestowed upon the male so lovingly. The murdered fingered the wound tenderly. That sick mind wandered over the events that had lead to this poor pathetic boy being in this coffin.

     The cemetery was packed. The person well-loved. The soon to be murderer held a rose as they watched the coffin be lowered into the ground. So bored. The insane one was so bored. That is until eyes met vapid eyes. It was the pretty creature now lying in a coffin of his own. With murmured words and soft touches the killer had gotten what he wanted from the other quickly. Sinful gratification. It was amusing how quickly the killer had managed to get the clothes off of the other. On the day of a funeral too. They didn’t even bother to leave the cemetery. They partook of their pleasure right there on the soft grass with the stones and statues watching over. Again and again, they explored each other’s bodies. The boy may have been an idiot. A shallow fool. But it could honestly be said that he was a genius when it came to desire. The sun had set by the time the two were finished with their carnal games. They dressed and left the abandoned graveyard. Parting ways to never be reunited. At least that’s what the boy thought.

     Oh how wrong he was. The very next day he was face to face with his lover from the day before. The lover made it impossible for the boy to leave his house. The two spent more time engaged in games of the flesh. Days melted into weeks and the two continued to seek pleasure in each other’s skin. They language they spoke together was one of moans and groans. Grunts. The sound of skin on skin was the only music they heard when together. The future killer knew the boy, despite being pretty, had an almost empty skull. Soon the killer got annoyed. Soon the killer was sick of the emptiness of the relationship. The murderer didn’t want love. Didn’t want an actual relationship. All the murderer wanted was one conversation. One meaningful conversation between them. The killer’s mind was made up from that moment. If they couldn’t have one conversation together the other would be dead. It was as plain and simple as could be. The killer was a jealous person and didn’t want other’s to use the boy’s body. The murderer was the only one who could possess that boy’s body. So if the other couldn’t hold a conversation, he’d have to be killed. That way the murderer wouldn’t have to worry about anyone else with the boy. It was the only way that things should be done.

     So after another night in bed together, the murderer tried to start a conversation. Five topics, previously picked, were presented to the boy and he couldn’t carry on a discussion about any of them. He thought he was safe though. Instead of talking he tried to coax the other into more sex. Poor. Poor. Pitiful boy. He never saw the nice coming. He never suspected that a hand that had given him so much pleasure would be the hand that killed him. But it was. With glee the murderer watched as the blood poured from the other. Staining the sheets a lovely scarlet color. This was a better release than any previous. The killer watched the last breath pass through the luscious lips before cleaning up and leaving. Now the murderer was standing before the dead lover with a smirk on the pale lips and a strong sexual desire. Looking around and making sure no one was near, the murderer commenced to have one last fling with the boy. One more night of carnal pleasure.  

 

Reviews

[Aaron J. Wald]

A new meaning to death do us part. I like this story... pretty creepy and disturbing. I love that isn't all that gory but still makes you think. It's more psychological.