Chapter Two, An Onslaught Of IndecencyA Chapter by Thomas Reilly Thornhill Nero's adventure into the mind of a madman. An onslaught of indecency
I awoke to the stench of lust and death spewing from the nearby cadaver of one of the towns many w****s. I most certainly could not boast an intimate knowledge of the town’s inhabitants, however I believe this particular one went by the name of Claudia. But my memory failed me when attempting to recollect the situation in which I acquired the knowledge of this foul succubus’ name. As I did not by nature partake in the indulging of such animalistic pleasure, lusting only for an air of decorum to exude from myself. I turned my head towards the ceiling of the basement I now found myself in, which judging by the size I presumed must have belonged to one of the larger dwellings in the area. My neck cracked and moderate pain began to rise from my shoulders to my chin accompanied by the sensation of my head being pinned down. Forcing my eyes in the direction of my formerly erotic but presently necrotic ‘friend’. Following a few moments of reasoning I concluded the rigor mortis like stiffness was a result of what must have been hours or even days spent lying on my back upon this cold stone floor. After dealing with the initial shock of my desperate situation I brought myself, delicately up, to a seated position. The warm glow of the dim light fixture that slowly swayed from side to side seemed to calm the pressing panic that I could tell wanted to fester on this predicament. I frisked myself for my pocket watch but my heart sunk when my search was cut short by a stabbing pain in my side. The agony my body was now in became very clear to my conscience self. I was too frightened to look down for I knew that due to the recent confusion and fear, my mind would see the worst. I immediately threw my eyes around the room. Blood stained tables of a cold stone that would only ever feel warmth from the liquid life source of its patients. Dreary shelves that hollowed my mood with tools that were clearly used for dealings of a disturbing nature and so distant from common medicinal practice that they pressured fear unto their victims, in this case, me. Grudgingly I peered down at my abdomen, slowly lifting my shirt to reveal a poorly stitched wound on my belly where my left kidney is or, more likely, was. The mixed aromas of my mistreated wound and the porcelain pale abomination that lay next to me, rather suddenly, forced my body to convulse. Vomit hastily filled my mouth and as my attempts to swallow it down proved futile it spilled from my lips with immense force. A putrid waterfall filling my cupped hands and overflowing as I tried to catch it and prevent it from contaminating my wound further. I did my best to hold back my stomachs unrelenting fury but I was incapable. I turned my head unintentionally aiming my flow of escaping insides at the corpse which accompanied me, filling her mouth and drenching her face. Seeping into what I believe where the empty sockets once occupied by eyes that had seen too much. Finally after what seemed an eternity of retching and chocking the ordeal was over. With that out the way I drew my attention back to my immediate predicament, noticing the sound of footfall from above. For the first time I began a thought of the people that had brought me here. I had not seen them but I could tell that whatever their plans were, I had to stop them. What kind of monsters could do this to someone? If I want to make it out of here alive I’m going to have to match their savagery. Vengeance consumed my mind as I was overcome with bloodlust. As what must have been my captor drew closer, I took my place in this theatre of cruelty. Draped in a most profound quiet I waited patiently for my cue. And there it was, the shock of my disappearance scrawled across his face. No sooner had I stepped out from my shadowy corner than his blood had cleansed my tongue of the taste of vomit, as my teeth sunk into the back of his neck with all but enough ferocity to severe his spine. Leaving him motionless on the ground. Screams of agony leapt from his mouth. Sweet blood curdling screams that almost drove me to orgasm, but it wasn't enough. I pondered my next move for but a moment as his eyes stared at me. Silently begging for an answer to the question ‘why’. Could it have been that I had the wrong man? Could my succumbing to guidance of the voice of rage and anger from within have led to such an injustice? Well what led to this moment mattered not for it was no longer an act of vengeance but a pursuit of pleasure. I couldn’t help but smile as I took one of the loose stones from one of the walls and begun. My mind was made and nothing could stop me. Well, certainly not the man that lay in a growing pool of his own violence. There was little doubt left in me that he did not deserve this, or worse. Weapon in hand I set about crippling his arms, which I achieved with surprising ease. Then his legs, starting by bludgeoning each knee ‘til both of them respectively shattered. Then I somewhat cleverly used this new axis of movement to force him to kick himself in the crotch creating delightful screams like the sweetest music ever composed. Unfortunately one of his legs had become detached during the fun and games and never one to miss an opportunity that so eagerly presents itself, I used his leg to beat his face. Breaking his nose after what I would have been proud to say was only a few attempts. I then used my ‘finely crafted weapon’ to dislodge every tooth in his wailing mouth, almost one at a time over the course of the following hour or so. Every so often I had to rest, and take in my prize. I sat next to the cripple with my arm wrapped round his shoulder and tried to comfort him. I would remind him that he will have it lightly in Hell by comparison to my dealings. I would hold him tightly and reassure that there will be a grand finale. The perfect end to a perfect, show stopping, start. After which I became bored of his pain, well at the very least his physical pain. Mental torture seemed now far more enticing. So I lifted myself to my feet and turned his tattered face in the direction of the corpse of the vomit covered w***e. He tried to close his eyes blocking out all that was to come anticipating my proceeding actions. So naturally I took the dirtiest looking scalpel I could find from his arrangement of medical tools and began slowly cutting away his eyelids, using a saw like motion, ensuring the action was anything but quick. Once the operation was complete I unbuttoned my trousers and mounted the corpse politely placing a coin into her hand before defiling her body, after all, for her, this was merely business. I’ve never before or since seen such fear and disgust in the eyes of another as he unwillingly watched this act of horrific necrophilia. I bet he was wishing for his eyes to dry up and fall out or that the clutch of death to carry him to the ninth circle of hell, where he would be safe from me. Amusingly there was no rest, for his eyes did not fall out and death did not snatch him from me. I was having fun. And it would not stop until I wanted it to. I thought to myself while staring down at the pathetic blood drenched shade of life at my feet, could I be on the cusp of madness, the border of insanity? Was what I had done justified and do I really care? No! I had to continue. My new-found addiction had not been adequately nourished. What I really needed was a new way for my subject to feel the horror of my mission. A real vent for my blackened soul to personify its way through pain. I couldn’t think. My mind was too focused on the joy I had felt from mutilating this wretched man. Without warning and as quickly as the agony in my side had gone, it returned and left me on my knees. At this moment I looked up at the dying man before my eyes and I panicked. I felt it rise through the entirety of my body, an unrest, anxious, unease working its way through every nook and cranny of my soul until bursting out me and filling the air. I had to leave. I sharply rose to my feet and found a clean bandage to cover my wound. As I was leaving I stepped over the wriggling pool of distain beneath me and was stopped dead in my tracks to hear one simple word that crushed my heart. ‘Skylar’. My face dropped down to meet the eyes of the source of the word. It was his last. I had to move; in doing so I found my way to the bathroom where I was able to wash my hands and face, all that time just one word was ringing around my head. I screamed for it to stop but it wouldn’t leave where it shouldn’t have been, I had killed a husband. I hastily found my belongings and left the house of the dammed. The first light of the fresh summer morning stung my eyes and the air filled my lungs upon the smallest of breaths. The uneducated squalor of townspeople drowned my ears and the smell of rotten flesh and a horrid mix of death and decay still clung close to my nose. Many years to come from now I will be put before Him and deemed unworthy of entry to His palace, I will be cast down and forced to endure pain far greater than what I had so recently dealt. But right now I did not care, I was comfortable with what I had done and all I could think about was that name and leaving town.
Every vile inch of my body commanded me to run but I disobeyed for doing so would express a guilt I’m sure I would have felt if I was still but a man. I was not in any sense on par with the Gods but no longer did I fear their wrath. This brought with it feelings of freedom but also of loneliness. My path was no longer chartered by the stars but guided by my own will and sick perversions. The once narrow streets now seemed wide as if the very walls and buildings that contained me now feared me, keeping their distance. Where was I headed? I was unsure but the further I got from the house the quieter the echo’s of the name Skylar. Why and how did it persevere against every effort to forget and eradicate it from my memory? My
doubts that anyone was really looking at me did not put to rest the feeling of
their eyes upon me, however I grew calmer as I neared the edge of town and the
voice of my first victim grew quieter. Still though I feared it would never
truly leave me. Was this my curse or maybe my reward? I abandoned my muse on
the matter for answers to such questions often present themselves in time. I
stood now at the start of the road which led to where ever I wished. With my back
to the tired town, which I would everlastingly remember as the place where
‘she’ broke my heart, I walked...
© 2012 Thomas Reilly ThornhillAuthor's Note
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Thomas Reilly ThornhillGlasgow, strathclyde, United KingdomAboutI suffer from a multiple personality disorder. It had been a major setback most of my younger life but Ive found that I enjoy collaborating my writing with my other me´s. Ive been told its actua.. more..Writing
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