False Heaven (Content Warning!)
Posted: Mon Apr 25, 2005 2:00 pm
This post is totally rated M for mature and contains scenes of explicit violence, gore, disturbing imagery and mild nudity.
Viewer discretion is advised! If you are young, or don't want to read such things, please push "back" on your browser like, yesterday! Or right now is okay.
You have been warned.
Sunlight filtered through silk curtains - whenever had Sawyer witnessed silk curtains? Yet, she knew they were hers. They danced and swayed in a gentle summer breeze, motes of light their shawl to illuminate the small room.
And in sparkling rays that light gently touched everything. Stacked books, novels and tombs of interesting fact, were neatly piled upon a nearby desk, extinguished candles guarding over them silently. A plush and elegant carpet - regal, even - was comfort to her bare feet. The wall was decorated by beautiful paintings and tapestries, and a bed against the wall was luxuriously soft even to one's gaze. A chest, at its foot, was open - inside filled by beautiful clothes, interesting knick-knacks, a silver flute...
To be sure, it was a life Sawyer could only have dreamed for. Only one more noteworthy object resided in that beautiful little bedroom - near to the bed, just below the window, was a finely crafted wooden crib.
In the very center of that room, she sat, in a covered and comfortable chair, cradling to her bared, unscarred breast a tiny child. Fingers were carefully grooming peach fuzz hair, so very blonde it could have been white. The babe was fair, unlike the well tanned Sawyer, with ears just barely pointed. A long, satisfied sigh as two green eyes drew closed, and head tipped back.
There was no thoughts. This was purely heaven. A simple, quiet heaven, with no woes, no troubles. She began to hum a soft song.
Now came the quick smack of tiny lips, hunger satiated. Sawyer would turn her face, emptied of those troublesome scars, down to the child. Once more, her nimble fingers were fondly grooming the child's head.
"I love you," she would whisper, heart swelling to capacity. This was all she ever wanted, wasn't it? Simple happiness. A strong smile grew as her child's head turned to look her way.
...and then, her smile died.
The baby had no face.
Only one eye, huge and luminous yellow, would behold her - set behind a crack, in a purely white, porcelain mask. The eye was too large for the face - the face, in turn, too large for the body. It was the devil's mask, devoid of expression. Blank of everything, but hate. Smoldering, insane hate for all of creation, and its imperfections. It was an abomination, impossible to exist and difficult to behold.
"NO!" Sawyer shrieked, arms thrown up, eyes clenched shut. Bile rose in her throat, and tears welled in her eye. The child was gone, no longer in her grip, thrown away in horror. A moment of silence. And then a dull thump.
Both eyes flew open - mismatched eyes, only one capable of expressing her horror. Before her, on the damp stone floor, was that child. But no mask stared at her, just wide, blue eyes. Empty of everything. Of life. Fresh and young blood mingled with old and dried.
"No...!" she began again, tears falling in earnest with a sob. She stood, lurching forward. Yet she went nowhere - held back.
Eyes went wide, turning to look. Around her wrist, a chain. Panicked gaze would turn back to where her chair should be - no, only a construct of splintered wood, a cross. Draped in restrictive chains. Suddenly she was horribly aware of them, the chains around her arms, her legs, and one about her middle, pinning her lowered dress to her waist, leaving her humiliatingly exposed.
Mortified stare would sweep across the room. What of her heaven? Her desk! An altar, of stone, dripping the blood of a faceless carcass, throat slit and encircled by flickering black candles. Her window! A barred hole in the stone, shrouded only in loose chains, and illuminated by the flames beyond. Her bed! Loose planks of wood, hanging by more chains. The dessicated, bloody remains of what once may have been people were there... Her portraits! Now, more than mere portraits - people. People she once knew, all long dead, rotting, nailed to the wall with massive steel bolts. Mikell, Sera, Mrs. Green. Those idiot twins, the young girl Jianna, Anders, even Ash. All dead...
Her chest, of hopes, and dreams...? Gone altogether. Replaced by a lanky, grey-fleshed figure crouched low before her. He wore the mask, and peered at her from behind it. Oh god, no. She began to thrash, wail and scream - this couldn't be happening, what was this madness! The fiend, the Devil Himself rose up and crept forward. Two cold, clawed hands would rest against her stomach, and the hunched figure would force the mask up into her face, until it was all she could see.
"I love you too," was the grating, steely rasp. Sawyer was so still, tears streaming from her face. Then body convulsed as four fingers slammed between her breasts, piercing skin, and flesh. Second hand was lifted, rammed into this gap. It should've hurt, but everything was numb, swirling. Distinctly she felt it all. Flesh peeled open, rib cage split, parted on the hinge that was her spine. Two long, skinny hands plunged into her then, and head lolled down to watch in horror.
Blood gushed, everywhere. Spilled down over her beautiful gown - now tattered and old by the nightmarish miasma of this horrific place. It was all hers. So much blood. Arms dove in, deeper, to the wrist, up the forearm, to the elbows. It seemed he would go to the shoulder - how much could exist inside her? Fingers crawled across her lungs, her bones. Her soul.
Then out they came, two gore-dripping hands clutching a prize upon palms of glistening crimson. Her heart, still beating, still attached to her - still hers, but existing outside! This couldn't be! Why didn't it hurt, as it should.
Face was lowered - his horrible, masked face, to nestle the bloody treasure against a porcelain cheek. That single eye would rise to her, mad with hatred - delighted with madness.
"You are mine."
...and then, in a cold sweat, and with a shriek, Sawyer woke up.
Viewer discretion is advised! If you are young, or don't want to read such things, please push "back" on your browser like, yesterday! Or right now is okay.
You have been warned.
Sunlight filtered through silk curtains - whenever had Sawyer witnessed silk curtains? Yet, she knew they were hers. They danced and swayed in a gentle summer breeze, motes of light their shawl to illuminate the small room.
And in sparkling rays that light gently touched everything. Stacked books, novels and tombs of interesting fact, were neatly piled upon a nearby desk, extinguished candles guarding over them silently. A plush and elegant carpet - regal, even - was comfort to her bare feet. The wall was decorated by beautiful paintings and tapestries, and a bed against the wall was luxuriously soft even to one's gaze. A chest, at its foot, was open - inside filled by beautiful clothes, interesting knick-knacks, a silver flute...
To be sure, it was a life Sawyer could only have dreamed for. Only one more noteworthy object resided in that beautiful little bedroom - near to the bed, just below the window, was a finely crafted wooden crib.
In the very center of that room, she sat, in a covered and comfortable chair, cradling to her bared, unscarred breast a tiny child. Fingers were carefully grooming peach fuzz hair, so very blonde it could have been white. The babe was fair, unlike the well tanned Sawyer, with ears just barely pointed. A long, satisfied sigh as two green eyes drew closed, and head tipped back.
There was no thoughts. This was purely heaven. A simple, quiet heaven, with no woes, no troubles. She began to hum a soft song.
Now came the quick smack of tiny lips, hunger satiated. Sawyer would turn her face, emptied of those troublesome scars, down to the child. Once more, her nimble fingers were fondly grooming the child's head.
"I love you," she would whisper, heart swelling to capacity. This was all she ever wanted, wasn't it? Simple happiness. A strong smile grew as her child's head turned to look her way.
...and then, her smile died.
The baby had no face.
Only one eye, huge and luminous yellow, would behold her - set behind a crack, in a purely white, porcelain mask. The eye was too large for the face - the face, in turn, too large for the body. It was the devil's mask, devoid of expression. Blank of everything, but hate. Smoldering, insane hate for all of creation, and its imperfections. It was an abomination, impossible to exist and difficult to behold.
"NO!" Sawyer shrieked, arms thrown up, eyes clenched shut. Bile rose in her throat, and tears welled in her eye. The child was gone, no longer in her grip, thrown away in horror. A moment of silence. And then a dull thump.
Both eyes flew open - mismatched eyes, only one capable of expressing her horror. Before her, on the damp stone floor, was that child. But no mask stared at her, just wide, blue eyes. Empty of everything. Of life. Fresh and young blood mingled with old and dried.
"No...!" she began again, tears falling in earnest with a sob. She stood, lurching forward. Yet she went nowhere - held back.
Eyes went wide, turning to look. Around her wrist, a chain. Panicked gaze would turn back to where her chair should be - no, only a construct of splintered wood, a cross. Draped in restrictive chains. Suddenly she was horribly aware of them, the chains around her arms, her legs, and one about her middle, pinning her lowered dress to her waist, leaving her humiliatingly exposed.
Mortified stare would sweep across the room. What of her heaven? Her desk! An altar, of stone, dripping the blood of a faceless carcass, throat slit and encircled by flickering black candles. Her window! A barred hole in the stone, shrouded only in loose chains, and illuminated by the flames beyond. Her bed! Loose planks of wood, hanging by more chains. The dessicated, bloody remains of what once may have been people were there... Her portraits! Now, more than mere portraits - people. People she once knew, all long dead, rotting, nailed to the wall with massive steel bolts. Mikell, Sera, Mrs. Green. Those idiot twins, the young girl Jianna, Anders, even Ash. All dead...
Her chest, of hopes, and dreams...? Gone altogether. Replaced by a lanky, grey-fleshed figure crouched low before her. He wore the mask, and peered at her from behind it. Oh god, no. She began to thrash, wail and scream - this couldn't be happening, what was this madness! The fiend, the Devil Himself rose up and crept forward. Two cold, clawed hands would rest against her stomach, and the hunched figure would force the mask up into her face, until it was all she could see.
"I love you too," was the grating, steely rasp. Sawyer was so still, tears streaming from her face. Then body convulsed as four fingers slammed between her breasts, piercing skin, and flesh. Second hand was lifted, rammed into this gap. It should've hurt, but everything was numb, swirling. Distinctly she felt it all. Flesh peeled open, rib cage split, parted on the hinge that was her spine. Two long, skinny hands plunged into her then, and head lolled down to watch in horror.
Blood gushed, everywhere. Spilled down over her beautiful gown - now tattered and old by the nightmarish miasma of this horrific place. It was all hers. So much blood. Arms dove in, deeper, to the wrist, up the forearm, to the elbows. It seemed he would go to the shoulder - how much could exist inside her? Fingers crawled across her lungs, her bones. Her soul.
Then out they came, two gore-dripping hands clutching a prize upon palms of glistening crimson. Her heart, still beating, still attached to her - still hers, but existing outside! This couldn't be! Why didn't it hurt, as it should.
Face was lowered - his horrible, masked face, to nestle the bloody treasure against a porcelain cheek. That single eye would rise to her, mad with hatred - delighted with madness.
"You are mine."
...and then, in a cold sweat, and with a shriek, Sawyer woke up.