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iStoleYurVamps
iStoleYurVamps
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 Posted: Tue Apr 15, 2014 7:44 pm
Part 1Alive(NSFW- Graphic descriptions of torture)
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Posted: Tue Apr 15, 2014 9:24 pm
Part 2
Dying
---
His mouth was dry. The taste of blood was lingering. Flecks peeling from skin. Painful. Each crack like a knife, breaking a seal. Letting it flow fresh. Letting it slither down old layers. Run back over him. Let it creep past lips and into his mouth.
Bitter.
Metallic.
Alive.
The sound in the room echoed. Yet only the chains that held him up clattered. All else was him. The drip of blood down onto the stone slab that he could see now. The shape a bowl. The shape of a full moon. In it, carvings he couldn't understand. Didn't want to understand. He didn't want to think why it had holes. Why there were little grooves made for the blood that dripped down to gather and vanish into darkness. He didn't want to think why.
He didn't want to think at all.
Yet he did think.
He thought about life.
About his mother, his stupid, selfish, racist, loving and broken mother- who had been so afraid for him that she'd ended up being afraid of him. She'd left him, even as he'd been ready to risk everything for her because she was his mother, and as broken as she was, as horrible as she was, she loved him in her way, and had always tried her best to show him that she wanted to be his mother yet didn't know how.
His mother, who was alive, only because he'd donated his kidney to her.
His brothers. One so broken with his girlfriend, with his wife, with his own son that he'd shunned Marcus. Denied him. Disowned him in order to protect himself, to win his father's fake love. A love that didn't exist. Just a selfish greed. A greed to have a part of his mother- the real target. His stupid brother, who only wanted his father's love yet had been willing to give up the real love that had surrounded him. To let his son die from something so simple, and to regret it only when it was too late.
His other brother- so full of promise. So full of life. So wanting to be heard, to be seen, to be loved. How badly then, his lust to be loved to sell his body. To take from others. To do what he was told just to feel accepted, to feel a fake love of peers and women. Sacrificing pride. Possessions. Drugs were his comfort. They made him feel like he could be loved. Yet he too was so blind. So blind to how much he was loved. How much love he had around him. How much Marcus wished he could have saved him, stopped his decent into depravity. How much Marcus had wanted to strangle him, show him how he worried, how he was afraid that his brother was killing himself. Dying. Marcus hated him. Marcus loved him. Marcus wondered if his brother was still alive.
He wondered if she was alive. Did she remember him? Did she remember the pain she caused him? How she hurt him? How her accusation cut his heart into shreds. How now, years later he still wondered. Wondered if she was alive and happy. How he hoped she was.
If maybe, they could have been happy.
If maybe, it really had been his.
A baby. He could have been a father. He could have had that life. Maybe, maybe.
A life he couldn't give her.
A life she deserved so much more than anyone.
Cass.
Cass, who had given him her heart, shown him that he was worth loving, who held him, sewed those broken shreds of his heart together, even as he struggled to mend, to heal. To live and be happy.
Cass. Who deserved to be happy.
Cass, who would mourn.
Mourn the fact that he wouldn't make it.
That he wouldn't make it out alive.
That in the end-
He wouldn't survive.
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iStoleYurVamps
iStoleYurVamps
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iStoleYurVamps
iStoleYurVamps
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Posted: Wed Apr 16, 2014 10:41 pm
Part 3
Fading
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He didn't sleep. Not really. Not truly. Dreaming was something that was impossible. Not after that ordeal. Not after what he'd suffered. Not with the promise of what was to come. Sleep would have been a blessing. Sleep was just a way to comfort him, give him relief before they started again. So he couldn't sleep. He couldn't rest. NO matter how much he body craved it, how much he wanted it- he denied it. Denied himself that one blessing. That one thing that would have let him for a moment, think that it might all be a bad dream.
Yet it was impossible to not dream. To not hallucinate. To not dive into himself, to drive away the sight of his blood running down into the pool of blood under him. To dream was not to sleep. So in those moments, his mind became fragments. Distorted. Desidero held him there. Begging. Pleading. Awake. Awake. Living. Taste the blood. Drink it. Relish in that bitter copper flavor. Accept it. Remind himself that it's flavor was the flavor of life, and life was disgusting.
"I hate you." His voice hurt. Raspy and hollow, charred and broken like knives and glass digging into his throat, past his lungs, blood spilling out with each word.
"I hate you." His right eye was swollen shut now, and he became aware that they'd marred his face somehow. That the pain came from his mouth, his words. He wasn't supposed to be able to speak. Just scream. Scream and feed them. Scream, and stay alive for them. No longer for himself. No longer to protect others. Scream, and live to feed and nourish them. The ones who would worship their new moon.
Do you, my Marcus? Desidero's voice was so cold. Ice dripping down his back like the gel they had applied, soothing yet still stinging, still something coating him and keeping him alive.
Do you hate me?
Marcus coughed up blood once more, red ripples cast down in the ever growing pool of blood under him.
"No."
It was an omission. An admittance. He loved Desidero. He hated Desidero. Desidero, so broken, so fragile, so full of hate and malice and pride and love and want and a terrible, terrible desire to have meaning, to have merit. Love and hate- He was alive thanks to his weapon. He would die, thanks to his weapon. Two sides of the same coin, life and death- just states of being. Just two forces that worked in tandem for give context to existence.
The clatter of heeled boots echoed around him, the soft caress of cold fingers across his body.
Desidero could be kind.
Pain shooting up his spine and he writhed in his bonds, blood scattering while Marcus screamed. Fire burning across his hand. Fire and ice as the weapon glowed, pulsating blue violet light.
Desidero could be cruel.
It hurt so much to move, to think. Yet he had to he couldn't rest. When he did the vampire would repeat the action. A soothing caress. A painful reminder. He was alive.
He was alive.
"I love you."
The vampire spoke to him. Reminded him.
"I love you, because.. you remind me of who I could have been I think."
It was unlike Desidero to talk. To express himself intimately. Usually he was guarded, reserved, yet now in the silence of the room where Marcus hung, waiting for the return of them, Desidero spoke. Perhaps because it was to keep Marcus awake. Or perhaps, because it might have been the only chance, given how lost the hunter's voice had become. How now all he could do was scream and writhe in agony.
"You are arrogant and full of narcissism. You are vain and hateful. You are bitter and you are cruel. Yet.. you still love. You love so deeply that it wounds you. You love so freely, even when it hurts you. I cannot understand you yet I find that I do. I do understand. You remind me of myself. A self I could have been, had I perhaps, had chosen a different path."
That soothing touch up his arm. That burning cold down each mark that had been left behind, causing him to thrash and scream until he had no other energy then to remain still, wounds weeping while his eye remained sealed, the other dry, unable to produce any new tears.
"I love you and this? This is not you. You do not deserve a better fate. To be worshiped is not to be loved. I have worshiped you, yet that was before I loved you. They would not love you. They could never love you."
Marcus heard the vampire.
He understood the vampire.
He understood Desidero.
"I love you."
His fist closed, the blue violet glow of his weapon getting brighter.
"So I will kill you"
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Posted: Wed Apr 16, 2014 10:44 pm
Part 4
Breaking
---
It burned.
It burned and burned and burned.
Cold fire.
Blue fire.
His body screamed at him yet his voice had no sound. There was no sound. Nothing.
A void of nothing.
The cold pool of blood under him. The flames licking at his body.
Nothing.
It had used every ounce of his power.
Every last drop of hope inside of him.
Yet the taste of blood was of copper. It tasted bitter. It tasted alive.
It tasted disgusting.
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iStoleYurVamps
iStoleYurVamps
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iStoleYurVamps
iStoleYurVamps
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Posted: Wed Apr 16, 2014 10:54 pm
Part 5
Remaking
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He felt a pull at something inside of himself.
Something painful.
The world moved and he wasn't moving with it.
He vaguely was aware that there was sound in the distance.
That he wasn't alone.
His chest did not move.
He did not move.
Yet he could feel.
He could see stars above him.
Dots of colors so vivid and bright they were gems.
Balls of fire flickering in far in an untouchable distance, burning away their lives.
He could feel wind on his skin.
He couldn't feel much else.
Only see the stars flicking above him.
And the cold blood running down his nose, down his upper lip and into the side of his mouth.
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Posted: Wed Apr 16, 2014 10:56 pm
Part 6
Reborn
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Copper.
Metalic.
The taste of blood.
The taste of life.
It had never tasted sweeter.
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iStoleYurVamps
iStoleYurVamps
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