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She was starving for it, wriggling against the ropes, starving, and the demon just smiled. Smiled with her face, and traced the knife along her collarbone. "No, this is less of an entree, more of a snack." It sounded bored.
He had a scar behind his right ear, which was chipped by a knife in the same fight. He wore an earring, a silver hoop and a celtic earcuff on that side, to emphasize his battle wounds. One tough motherfucker - always wore his hair slicked back like a greaser. Always smiling. But when the cops asked her if he had any defining marks, or tattoos, or scars, she blanked, and found herself dry in the mouth as she tried to reduce this imposing structure of a man down to his imperfections.
Beyond my vision, screens and screens - they stretch farther than I could imagine, displaying dates on calandars, photographs, memos, video messages and strings of numbered code. The four holographic screens project before me, closer than the physical - all plastic and LED anyway. I manipulate the data of the panorama with my fingertips, and then scatter them throughout the television sets, hungry for more.
There was only one flaw. The paint chipping, just next to the volume knob. Other than that, it was long, shiny, black, the kind of guitar God would take to a show. Really blow them all away with an axe like that. So when her oil dark eyes found it, and she felt them at her back, sneering, like she didn't even know how to play, she picked it off the shelf and plugged it the fuck in, and ripped out a Chuck Berry lick that made 'em cringe.
I'd had it with him. Lounging around all day, thumping on the bass. He wasn't even a good bass player. The straw that broke the camels back, though - now this is ironic - was when I came home and there was no bass. Everything was gone. He sat in the corner of the room shooting up, pawned his passion for the shit. I kicked him out the next day.
Between them hung silence following a round of hinted accusations. Aidan dropped his head. His lips were sealed tight in a characteristic smirk - God, Rigby hated that smirk. He glared at Aidan over a cigarette.
"I think you killed that kid back home and I think that's what you been runnin' from," Rigby said curtly. "How the hell is that for deduction?"
Aidan's smirk dropped till his mouth was a thin line and still he wouldn't admit to anything.
There was a subway car that he found rolling in and it let out the people like steam. The doors snapped shut, gobbling up the last of the passengers before he even got a chance to get his feet on the platform... the headache dulled his senses and he barely picked up anything aside from crowd ambience and moving blurs of color... and he banged against the doors but they were closed to him.
Science gave him the power to read God's work; they gave him the comfort of a universal language. Science gave him the genetic codes to stretch and bed, the cybernetic structures to recreate nature. Science gave him the technology to rebuild himself.
When he looked at Seneca Cabbot he told her that he loved her and he wanted them to live forever.
She had screamed in the hallway when his artificial heart and lungs gave out on him - the biomechatronic implants shorting when the grid went down. And she fell to her knees and did not damn science when she prayed for faith.
"Who the hell do you think you are, some kind of Irish cowboy?" She threw his clothes, gathered from a cluttered bedroom floor, on the ground and grit her teeth. "We. need. you."
"Jesus, it's only the traveling, Mary, nothing more. No girls or anything like that." Colins voice had gone weak.
"You can't be playing like a rover anymore," she snapped. "Stop riding your horses around, we've a farm to run and you're not a little boy no more."
"All the world is a stage dive, all the world loves a clown...."
When Eddie saw his first band live in concert, it had been a thrilling mix of drugs, punk music, and swing dancing. It was at that moment that he decided to paint the World Inferno Friendship Society logo on his first black leather jacket - he'd been fifteen, and they had changed his life. He began to be more and more absurd for the sake of absurdity. wheres the fun in being boring? and all he knew was he wanted to live his life on a stage----
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writing since 2010 · 12 entries · 12 days shown up
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