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Winged One
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#1
Old 10-14-2010, 11:00 PM

This is the beginning of a short story I'm writing entitled "Carneval". It should be finished just in time for Halloween. If you could all give what I've written so far a look and critique it'd help with what direction I want to take this in.

Carneval

Have you ever placed a small puppy within a box and shook the creature to confusion and disorientation before opening the box, dropping the small animal out, and watching, deviously entertained, as he tries to fetch his bearings? If you have not, you are certainly missing a great form of entertainment. If you have, then you can picture how I felt as I awoke in that damned place (though, unlike the dizzy pup, my life wasn’t snuffed out by the heel of a boot).

I found myself in a space devoid of matter. I lay on the very pitch black which surrounded me, nude. I lifted my head and viewed all directions, finding nothing but this encroaching blackness, which nearly threatened to swallow me whole. I sprung to my feet, with the first instinct coming to mind being to yell. I yelled and yelled, but I heard no response. And even more unsettling, I heard no echo. My voice seemed to travel on forever, never returning, as if even it feared what was now happening.

I quietly found humor in the irony that, if I were on the outside, watching another suffer this confusion, I would be sublimely satisfied. I am not a good person by society’s standards you see. According to them, my crimes are unforgivable sins to humanity. I have tortured the animal, caged the woman, branded the man, and drowned the child. You may call me the serial killer or the psychosocial madman, the pervert out to fulfill his dark fantasy. As the weak defenseless creature before me cradles his broken arm and begins to sob through broken teeth, I can’t help but smile delightedly as I advance upon the poor wretch. However, now that I was the one confused and suffering psychological torment and fear…there was no satisfaction to be found. Only dull fear.

I needed something. Something other than this blackness. Something to detract from the dark.

I spun and spun, afraid to move from my spot, until, quite suddenly, I saw the most peculiar thing. Before me, contained still within the black, was what appeared to be a carnival. Lanterns on poles lit the area, and I could see that this curious place extended far in all directions. It seemed to be a labyrinth of faded green and red-striped tents and wooden stands. It was all ensconced within large wrought-iron fencing, extending farther than I could see. And there, at the entrance, hung the banner. On bone-gray cloth, printed in black lettering, was “Carneval”. And than I smelled it. The intoxicating scent of meat.

The only construct within this black space, I approached this “carneval,” at first cautiously, then at a more hurried pace as I felt the darkness consuming me. Upon crossing the threshold of this establishment, I realized some unsettling features of this place. First of all, the smell of cooked meat that was alluring from outside this mysterious place had turned into a burned, stinging scent, naturally repelling. Second, these tents and wooden stands had the unmistakable stains of blood; unmistakable especially to one such as I, whose cellar walls are caked with dried blood and similar tissue. And more disturbing, the entrance to this place had disappeared. That iron fence was no more, it seemed like I was placed in the middle of this curious, quickly becoming unsettling, place. It was upon bone-shaded cobble, not the blackness, that my bare feet rested. This “carneval” extended forever: as far as I could see, these striped tents and wooden stands existed and persisted. The sky, however, was still missing, replaced instead by that same blackness from before.

As I aimlessly wandered among these flag-topped tents and stands, I suddenly felt a strange presence. Something brushed against my leg which prompted me to jump back and see a cat sitting there, staring at me with these piercing green eyes. It’s black fur was patchy, and its beige skin hugged its bones tightly, unhindered by any semblance of muscle or fat. The way it held its paw, I knew its front leg was broken and the right side of its face was almost rotten, blood dripping from an open wound. It stared and stared and gave a mournful cry. It may have been a normal cat meow, but in these surroundings, in this absolutely silent place, the sound pierced me like no other time. So lonely, so pained, so…mournful. But as it was the only creature I encountered here, I approached it in anger.

“Are you the reason for my presence here, you foul beast!?” I yelled.
I approached the malnourished mammal and roughly grabbed it by its neck, eliciting a short yelp. I choked and choked the poor creature, its good legs scrabbling in the air and its green eyes bulging. Those green eyes…staring…staring…staring…

Without thinking, I absent mindedly pushed my thumbs into its eye sockets, slowly and deliberately. I felt the soft organs squish and rupture as fluid was released. With both halves of its skull in my possession, I ripped its head in two, enjoying the momentary spray of blood as its brain was pulled to and fro. Its fate cemented, I tossed the limp body to the cold ground.

Last edited by Winged One; 10-20-2010 at 03:57 AM..

Amethyst Lavenlight
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#2
Old 10-20-2010, 04:08 AM

Wow, this story just sent shivers down my spine. O_O I love the perspective this story was written from; everyone loves a good psychopathic killer. But what adds a chilling theme to the story is the main character's striking intelligence and his lack of concern for any life other than his own. You have a very colorful vocabulary and your descriptions are brilliant. You described the "carneval" excellently and the scene where the cat is killed has just the right amount of violence, invoking a sense of horror within the reader. I can't wait to see where the story goes from here. ;)

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#3
Old 10-20-2010, 02:10 PM

I'm going to move this to the main forum. All short stories belong there, and people can stop in, read your story and comment.

Winged One
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#4
Old 10-24-2010, 02:33 AM

What the fuck are you on about?

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#5
Old 10-26-2010, 10:31 PM

I like how descriptive you are without being overly descriptive. A lot of writers tend to overly describe everything then the story just gets annoying to read. I also like the character development a lot as well. You really get a feel of who kind of person the main character is and how creepy and uncaring they are. I would like to see more of this story.

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#6
Old 01-14-2011, 01:29 AM

IT'S SO GOOD O.O!!!

Winged One
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#7
Old 01-23-2011, 05:04 PM

Wrote some more.



Suddenly, a stench reached my nose. So very pungent…akin to rotting meat. I spun on the spot to see the most disturbing sight to ever grace my far-from-virgin eyes.

Fat literally bulging from skin, lumpy masses for legs, only a bloodied apron to cover the front, a wildly circling eye, the other eye sickeningly bulging from its socket. A missing ear, a disgusting chef’s hat resting on a lop-sided head. A mouth with more sharpened rusty metal than natural teeth, lips that were gnawed, scars deforming what little pleasantry remained to the face.

Except for the apron, this disgustingly horrid being, who I shall refer to henceforth as the “Butcher,” was nude like myself. His sweaty skin gave off such a ripened pungent aroma. His mouth was twisted in his own rendition of a smile. In his right hand he clutched a bloodied meat cleaver. And he was at least three times my size in terms of his girth. Fatty tissue literally ruptured some areas of his stretched skin.

Silently, he approached the victim of my merciless animal cruelty. He bent over at the hip, sloshing his insides in the process. He inspected the mangled corpse of the cat with an almost curious expression. Without a word, he plucked the creature from the ground and took a ravenous bite of the fleshy body. I could swear I heard a soft giggle escape the freak’s mouth as he chomped and chomped the tattered body, blood dribbling from his face. The cat fully ingested, bones and all, he turned slowly to face me, his bloated face eyeing me over.

He spoke with such a terribly haunting voice, so tortured, yet so calm.
“Follow me, please.”

I considered ending his excuse of an existence here. I quickly fantasized stealing his meat cleaver and slashing his belly open. I would then reach through fatty tissue to his bloated guts, and rip them out. To end his death, I would wrap the rope-like organ around his neck and twist, choking the very life force out of him. How I wanted to see him clench his jaw and dig those rusty metal implants into his gums. How I wanted to see his blood on the cleaver and my hands. How I wanted to see him suffer and die at my whim. Alas, at this point, his death would only be a mercy. And mercy was not something with which I dealt.

And so the Butcher waddled away, leaving me to apathetically follow. Past the tents, past the empty wooden stands, across cobblestone and pavement. And past the occasional whiff of blood.

As I followed the disgusting behemoth down the aisle, I noticed ahead of us another pair. Another nude man, and another large monster who looked like the Butcher leading me. I wondered now how many Butchers there actually were in this otherworldly place.

Contrary to the Butcher’s size, he abruptly turned on a dime and took a right turn. Just where was this putrid bastard leading me to?

A surprise greeted me as the Butcher halted. A staffed wooden stand. And staffed, may I add, by the most beautiful woman I had laid eyes on. A milky creamy complexion, long straight brunette hair, an adorable face, and a breathtaking body. A thousand devious fantasies swept through my depraved mind.

A sign above the stand, lit by lanterns, only cemented my perverted thoughts: “Damsel In Distress!” it said in lettering that would be at home at a fair attraction.

The Butcher looked at me. “This is our first stop. This damsel is to be given your special treatment. We shall not leave until the deed is done.”

I eyed him. What game was this beast playing? How was I being offered such a treat in the most abysmal of places? But I only received a cryptic answer for my paranoid gaze.

“The pervert preys on the weak and defenseless until all that remains to be raped and ravaged is himself.”

“Indeed…” I responded, not fully understanding his insinuation. “However, I do not believe I am in danger of being ‘raped and ravaged’ by myself. So, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll take care of this damsel being offered on a plate here.”

I nearly vaulted over the stand to stand on the same side as the woman. Under the vigilant stare of the Butcher, I grabbed the woman’s throat and threw her to the floor, eliciting a misplaced moan of pleasure. It was this moan that spurred me further.

I grabbed a long length of rope, conveniently placed on the shelf under the wooden stand and roughly grabbed the wench, causing another sound of ecstasy. A smile graced my face as I tied her hands together behind her back, and secured them to her ankles. This hogtied woman, helpless before me, made me salivate in anticipation. I grasped an iron collar chained to a weight, likewise conveniently on the shelves under the stand, and attached it to her neck, and she did start to cough as her airway became partially constricted. I grabbed her hair roughly.

I had my way with her. By the end of it all, her body was bruised, she bled at places. Bloody, terrifying instruments of torture extended from her formerly child-baring nether regions. A ball-gag had been shoved in her mouth, and even as she bled, even as her ravaged body cried in pain, even as tears of pain, anguish, and shame flowed from her eyes, she still managed to moan.

Before I left, I took the time to admire a particular scar I had left her. On the underside of her wrist, I had carved with a knife (another conveniently placed tool) my special mark, three interlocked circles, to officially make her mine. This mark was deep enough to scar, but not deep enough to hit one of the many arteries in that area of the human body. I wanted to claim her, not kill her.

I left her there as I climbed over the wooden stand to join the Butcher once more, who I assume had been watching the entire affair with some perverted motives. His deformed face gave me what I could only imagine was a look of approval and motioned for me to follow.

As I walked along side him, I suddenly felt…injured. I started to limp as my body began to ache at every joint. I looked at my arms and legs. To my great concern, dark blotches blossomed under my skin as tiny blood vessels spontaneously burst and bone inexplicably bruised. I fell to my knees as the Butcher stopped in his tracks and calmly watched me writhe in agony on the floor.
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