I have to write fast, you see. Time, never one to stand still, or obey the desires of the needy and hubris, races on against my will. I feel raped of goodness and want nothing more than to wrap myself up in blankets and the clothing that has been stripped off of me.
But, none of that matters. I don't have to analyze any of it. I have to write. I have something to say. A last testament, if you will. I sit at the hard wooden desk with my back dripping beads of perspiration. My hair stuck to my shoulders, neck and back, with a plaster made of my own sweat mixed with blood.
The blood is foreign to me. My naked body, shivering in the heat, and long stripped of of its protected clothing, is void of any gashes that would allow blood to seep from it. The dark red body fluid that I wear is of the two dead bodies that call the dirty hotel room floor home. The blood has hardened on my light brown skin and provide a protective shell against the heat of the night. The sweat that slithers along this covering could not even penetrate it.
"Write faster," he tells me; nudging the back of my skull with the barrel of his gun.
"I am." I tell him. My adversary is shaking.
My quick response to his, and his cohorts, planned attack was not what he had expected. All thee men; tall, muscular, and heavy handed as they proved when they grabbed me, figured they could have their way with me. I'm sure they had anticipated some sort of resistance on my part. I think, deep down where secrets are buried and inner voices are heard, they looked forward to it. What they didn't bargain for
what they had no way of knowing
was that inside my petite frame resided a darkness, that when unleashed, reviled Hell's deepest pit.
They never got the chance to rape me. Pinning me down, one man keeping my arms held in under his weight, while the other two busied themselves removing my clothes.
There were tears of course. As I write these words I find them to be useless. They don't convey the horror of the moment. The terror that he is experiencing right now as I feel the gun tremble against my bloody head.
"What the fuck are you writing?" He whispers. Spittle forms around his mouth. His eyes, once blackened by the sheer harm he intended me are now a light brown and bulging from their sockets.
The sight of the gun, held intently in his hand, was such a surprise moments earlier, that I had paused in my retaliation. The pause
that split second of humanity that had shown through the blackness
was enough to cause something within me to be still once more. That stillness was what gave him his edge.
I have to bring back that darkness in me. The evil that lurks down below. I have to capture it all so I can finish what I started.
My failure to answer his question does not cause my enemy to pull the trigger. He is in too much shock to end my life. He stands behind my blood drenched body
with his sweat soaked striped shirt and piss stained brown pants
with a morbid curiosity that I'm betting he's never experienced.
As his weight began to cut the circulation in my arms, the other two monsters were preparing their decent into my world. The darker one, with numerous prison tattoos and long blond hair, pushed my legs open. He laughed, even high fiving the blond, pale skinned man that sat at my rib cage. He wore only his socks and shirt. His small erection told me he was ready to meet me next.
Poor foolish bastards. Men, with their straight spines, large hands, and alpha thoughts, they always think they are stronger than their opposite gender. How wrong these imbeciles are.
How deadly wrong.
I felt his heat before he entered me. I know this now. I am also sure of the knowledge that it is this heat
the fire if you will
that diminished the light within me. That brought about my darkness.
"This isn't going to happen." I told him. And before he could laugh and mock my stupidity, I began to eat him.
I targeted the jugular. As my mouth quickly filled up with the bitterness of his life, I reached over with my left hand and tore his partner's jaw completely off.
I can not tell when the man with the gun leaped off of my arms.
Blood. It is an unusual substance. I have found in my past adventures that the taste has often reflected the owner's soul. These men
were rabid at heart. Their darkness contained demons that seemed to have escaped from the darkest corners of Hell.
The second monster's body began to seize as I ripped open his throat. His blood was rancid. It burned as my saliva mixed with it and carried the fluid to the acidic home of my stomach. I could feel it churn as it made its way through my digestive system. I almost vomited back up.
"Stop," the man had screamed. My head, snapping to look in his direction so quickly that my neck bones cracked, held a smile that appeared to frighten him more than the carnage that lay out before his eyes.
"Uh....stop." He whispered.
I stood up slowly, all the while swallowing back the rest of the life I had drained.
"So," I said. "Are you next?"
"Fuck you. You're going to fucking die, you fucking whatever-the-fuck-you-are."
"I have to write first," I told him. "I have to tell my story. When I'm done, then you can put a bullet through my head if you still want to."
He eyeballed me suspiciously as I reached behind me into the desk, that I'm now sitting at, to pull out a pen and stationary. Forever the wanna-be monster, his eyes took in my small breasts. He looked hungrily at my sex, and then snapped back to the reality of the present.
I smiled and began to write.
I was normal once. As I sit here, bathed in someone else's blood and angry over the events that brought me to this moment, I have to remember that I was once normal. Of course it wasn't these men that caused the darkness to form initially. No, they just turned off the light. Not, it had happened a long time ago.
One day I walked this world normal. Then one night I broke. Simple. In a moment's time, I fell apart. And I was never the same.
He's telling me to write faster. He is in a hurry to end my life. I do not know the time. There are no windows in this room. How did I find myself in an old roach ridden hotel room with three strangers? Easy. I was searching for pills. Pills that would forever keep me walking in darkness.
I know they planned this. There is no guessing to it. As I write these words, retracing my steps of placing the phone call that lead to the dealer, who gave me the directions to this run down hotel room, I see that they've done this to countless women before. Of course, admittedly, none of that crossed my mind as I returned the brutality. Now, though, I can even hear their past victims screams. They echo off my skin, having been released from the monsters spilled blood that I wear. I hope my words calm them like a lullaby soothes a disgruntled infant.
my wanna-be monster
curiosity has turned to impatience. He has yet to say it, but I know he will soon inform me that my time is up and he will expect me to make good on my promise. What he has yet to realize
and what I can not figure out
is that I rarely speak the truth. I am not sure what's inside of him that has caused him to believe that I would ever allow anyone to shoot me. Or cause me any harm for that matter. This statement is simply to inform those who happen upon it of the facts behind the carnage that will be found after I've left the room.
He is starting to shift his weight again. I don't have much time left at all. My window of opportunity is closing and the darkness has returned. I will lower my pen now. His neck is exposed.
The darkness is hungry.