Zaku's Writing Portfolio

I'll be posting some writing here and then, just to share. Mostly out of boredom, and or for practice.

Quote :

The constant thud of the sleek, leather boots echoed through his mind, rendering him a victim of paranoia. Thoughts raced about, the sudden anxiety that coursed through his veins was too much for a man to handle, the sick game he had been forced into has taken it's toll. His hands shook with fright, beads of sweat made their way down his cheeks, with them close at hand the sudden outburst of tears. Like dew gliding across a blade of grass they slowly plummeted to the ground...

He was bound, his hands tied, forced against his will to his own imprisonment. Mouth gagged, eyes hindered by the thick cloth that shielded their vision. He struggled, but it was useless, the hemp ties that kept him in his place were like shackles. It wouldn't be until his cries were shattered in the sudden creak of a door would his misfortune turn for the worst.

A shadowy figure slowly crept across the room, it's padded boots ran shivers down the man's spine, rattling his very cage as he shook in horror. A sudden swipe, and the rag was gone, sent astray carelessly. Their eyes met, a set of glaring, dark eyes stared at him, a sorrowful, teary pair stared back.

From the darkened end of the room, a wicked, sinful grin was brought forth, it's bearer a short, slim fellow. Messy brown locks had swept across his face, his eyes mesmerizing in their dark, though sinister blue. In hand, a large, crescent blade. The man's gloved fingers slowly worked against it's handle, feeling it's intricate decoration with sick enthusiasm. The one eye bound to his expression twitched, his grin only grew larger, and larger. And larger.

Muffled cries filled the warm, lazy air that lofted around the room. With slow, drawn out footing the sinner moved forward his grin slowly distorting into an almost sick, playful frown, as he leaned forward, meeting his face with his victim, bringing two fingers forth to slowly pull the rag away from his mouth, he asked, almost sympathetically,

"Scared?.."

That, disturbing, frown of his twisted into a just as repulsive grin, as he let out a cruel, bellowing laugh, throwing the man into a sudden twirl, as he forced him to set his blurry gaze on the back wall.. It's surface smooth, the smell of blood floated around the room, the warm draft that blew through added only to the suspense, the sheer moment brought a sick churn to the man's gut, as if he had to hurl.

With a quick yank, the rag was run across the captive's neck, being forced back, as the grinner leaned forward, his feline-like ears having made their way through his messy hair, he stuck his tongue out, playfully, as he whispered to him,

"Not so fun now, huh?..." Having asked, with delight, he moved forward slowly.

The man shook his head, tears being flung at his flanks, he sputtered, as if trying to make out words, but the moment had made itself a hold on his will, he let out a wailing cry, before he was muffled by a gloved hand,

"Shh, shhh..." a whisper came, "Shhh..." it repeated once more, before a pair of lips were brought close to his ear, in a soothing tone they spoke to him, "It'll be quick.. I promise.."

But before the cruel man could continue his.. 'fun' a set of teeth clamped down on his hand, he staggered back, grasping the digits that were laced to his palm, blood seeped between the crevices of his leather strung gloves, as he glared up at his 'specimen'.

He lost his grin for only a moment, having been stunned momentarily from the bite, silence gently drifted across the blood-tainted air of the room.

Before, slash-- and another. The killer brought his blade down against the helpless man in a few quick slices along his chest, making nothing of his shirt, as the sharpened edge of the long, crescent knife slide through the layers of his flesh, the crimson fluid that seeped from the gashes, intrigued the killer, as an almost, lustful gaze was set on the blade, drawing it back, so that he could run his tongue along the edge, savoring the vile taste of the thick fuel that kept the man alive for so long.

Before a the bleeding man could cry out, a boot smashed against his chest, forcing both him, and his crude chair to the ground. Those same, sleek leather boots slide across the wooden floor, with drawn out foot work...

To be Continued