Into the mind of a Monster.
folder
Original - Misc › -Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
4
Views:
6,392
Reviews:
8
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Original - Misc › -Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
4
Views:
6,392
Reviews:
8
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.
Creating a monster.
A little look into his past folks. There is some animal violence, so if you\'re an animal lover; don\'t read the first part of this chapter. Have a nice read.
---
The sun had rose on England\'s foggy moor, giving way to the glistening dew that kissed every blade of grass--more gentle than a lover\'s touch and just as wet. Heavenly bells rang out to call the dawn, luring it in like luxurious fingers begging churchgoers inside the walls bathed with stained glass reflections. The saints seemed to look on him every time he slept, pushing catholic\'s favorited guilt inside of him--neglecting him of free thought, speech, and prayer. As a part of his life, he went to church every day. Rising to the harsh screech of a nun screaming into his ear, waking him up before the lark cried out the signs of day, prompting him to sit among the rich and privleged private students, while they ridiculed the rags the church could barely afford to fit on his growing frame.
Bowing his head, he read the stretch of mad-libs he believed at that time, taking them as gospel. Judas memorized his favorite passages from the bible, and recited them when a bullies bashed him with the blunt end of a cricket bat in the neighboring grave yard. For years he took the punishment, turning his other cheek as Jesus Christ did in the face of persecuting Jews, taking the abuse both physically and mentally. He took the pain out on himself, holding his open skin over the prayer candles until his skin began to smell and fester.
As the years went by, he became more inventive with his forms of revenge.
After one particular beating, he wiped away the dribbling blood trinkling down from his nose with a sleeve stained by grass and filth. Propping his body against a gravestone deteriorated by acid rain and erosion of the ground, hunching until his body was no longer visible over the edge. Long arms wrapped around his knees, pulling them toward his frame; and resting his chin on the caps--his teeth shattering from the cold blistering through the air, they couldn\'t give him a coat.
The neighborhood stray cat, crept across the blades of grass; rubbing affectionable across Judas\' calves, purring loudly and closing the bright green of his eyes. His hand dropped down to the sickly animals spine, stroking across the tabby\'s orange fur, his full lips perking into a rare, unadulterated smile. \"Hey, kitty. Are you as cold as I am?\" A voice he rarely used when not in prayer choked from his throat, spurring the feline to turn around and bash the flat portion of his head against his legs. His smile widened, fingers nudging underneath his chin.
\"You wouldn\'t mind if I took some of your fur, would you?\" Brows ferrowed together, nudging his hand into his pocket; withdrawing the silver handled knife. With a simple movement of his thumb, the blade smoothed open from his trembling palm. Small fingers surrounded the animals throat, pushing it down to the ground until it was laying on his side. At this point, the cat began to fight him, nibbling at his finger tips; hissing and lashing out.
Tilting his head curiously to the side, he watched the knife plunge into the beasts stomach, drawing the opposite end of the blade up his body; doing the same thing he would\'ve done if gutting a fish. Like a yo-yo unfurling on a string, the intestines came pouring out onto Judas\' shoes, steaming when the heat hit the frigid air. His bottom lip began to tremble, releasing the animals throat--watching the tiny body twitch and jolt, then fall limp and lifeless right before his eyes.
Falling onto the ground, he scrambled away from the sight, heaving up the entire contents of his breakfast on Mrs. Becket\'s gravesite. Saliva dribbled down his quavering chin, and he hastily wiped it away with the back of his hand as he spotted a group of his fellow orphans parading through the frost-laden grass. A few of the children merely laughed at the scrawny boy hunched in the fetal position in the center of the graveyard, but as they took sight of the animals carcass laying at his feet; a whole new brand of ridicule was created. Satan worshipper. Devil lover.
--
A gasp filled his lungs, and he sat upright in bed; the blood red sheets he had chosen for the queen sized mattress sliding provocatively down to the sharp razorblades of his hipbones. They sliced through milky skin when his hips bothered to raise from the pillowy surface, shuttering and bucking as he was physically roused from the horrible nightmare. He preferred to leave his past where it was, but these nightmares, these terrible nightmares kept coming back to haunt him each time he bothered to close his eyes. The palm of his hand smoothed across his ageless brow, wiping away any remains of sweat seeping from his pores, trying to remain the epitome of collected power as he always was.
His fear of the dream seemed to be washed away immediately when he saw the body laying next to him, some nameless kid he had picked up on the street most likely. The childishly freckled bridge of his nose rolled into a scrunching scowl when he spotted him. a bruise necklace dotting the area of his throat, his wrists, and other unnameable spots on his precious little body. Scratches from the tip of a coat hanger sliced down his back in ragged scars, and his lips were broken open from the manuel pressure of flat, grinding teeth. He was proud of his handy work, as he always was, but the fact he had allowed another person to sleep next to him disgusted him to the point of wanting to vomit. He surpressed the rising bile in his stomach long enough to plant his bare foot against the side of the boy\'s ribs, and kick him violently from bed.
The thudding body on the floor didn\'t bother him, seeing as he moved to pose infront of the full length mirror attached just to the side of his bed, idolizing the way his lean form could be powerful, yet the muscles slender enough that he didn\'t look in the least bit intimidating. He saw the black haired boys head peek over the edge of the mattress, quivering and shuttering as if he hadn\'t the slightest clue what to do. \"Get dressed and leave.\" Judas said without a hint of emotion to inflect his voice, and never wavering from admiring his own reflection. He even boldly rocked forward, full lips pressing against the reflective glass. \"I would fuck me.\" He whispered, hearing the rustling of clothing behind him; but not paying much mind to it.
The boy was pulling on his shirt as he rushed toward the door, leaving a nude and self-worshipping Judas alone to his thoughts. At that particular moment, he wasn\'t even sure he had any; simply murmuring to himself over the meaning of such a horrible dream; a part of his past he would have been happy to shove in the closet with the rest. He never breathed a word of his past to anyone, the one time he had spilled to a psychiatrist, she had been commited for having a mental breakdown. Only further proof his past should remain where it was, buried in the back of his subconscious causing no harm except to himself, and only further encouraging his insomnia.
His palms pressed boldly against the mirror, sliding down the reflected length of his torso; and stopping at where his stomach dipped between the bones of his narrow hips. And right between those chainsaw bones was a boldly inked tattoo, spanning between their width and dancing provocatively above a dirty blonde hairline. Reading--SACRILEGE. A word with more meanings in his own mind, than the dictionary had ever given him.
Pressing his forehead against the mirror, he rolled his nose into his own face his tongue forcing through the crease of his cherubic mouth, lapping at the bee-stung\'d curves of his lips haphazardly. Pulling his face away, an animalistic groan rumbled up his vocal cords and managed to escape from his mouth. Moments later, he slammed his face painfully against the mirror, his hands pulling away from the reflection, fingers crawling down the length of his torso in a painful tease. When his fingers finally found his erection ( brought on by himself ), he reluctantly fisted the base.
His brow was once more slammed into the glass surface, drawing his hand down the length of himself; his mouth gaping open senuously against the mirror. His wrist worked in hurrid triumph, wanting nothing more than for his will to be accomplished. And when he felt the familar feeling of tightening in his stomach, his face was crushed against the mirror; creating spiderwebs of broken glass until it shattered entirely. The pain was what brought on his orgasm, not the ministrations of his wrist.
It wasn\'t until the blood came cascading in his eyes, that he came across himself; blinded by crimson, and unable to enjoy the sticky sperm crawling down the length of the mirror.
TBC.
---
The sun had rose on England\'s foggy moor, giving way to the glistening dew that kissed every blade of grass--more gentle than a lover\'s touch and just as wet. Heavenly bells rang out to call the dawn, luring it in like luxurious fingers begging churchgoers inside the walls bathed with stained glass reflections. The saints seemed to look on him every time he slept, pushing catholic\'s favorited guilt inside of him--neglecting him of free thought, speech, and prayer. As a part of his life, he went to church every day. Rising to the harsh screech of a nun screaming into his ear, waking him up before the lark cried out the signs of day, prompting him to sit among the rich and privleged private students, while they ridiculed the rags the church could barely afford to fit on his growing frame.
Bowing his head, he read the stretch of mad-libs he believed at that time, taking them as gospel. Judas memorized his favorite passages from the bible, and recited them when a bullies bashed him with the blunt end of a cricket bat in the neighboring grave yard. For years he took the punishment, turning his other cheek as Jesus Christ did in the face of persecuting Jews, taking the abuse both physically and mentally. He took the pain out on himself, holding his open skin over the prayer candles until his skin began to smell and fester.
As the years went by, he became more inventive with his forms of revenge.
After one particular beating, he wiped away the dribbling blood trinkling down from his nose with a sleeve stained by grass and filth. Propping his body against a gravestone deteriorated by acid rain and erosion of the ground, hunching until his body was no longer visible over the edge. Long arms wrapped around his knees, pulling them toward his frame; and resting his chin on the caps--his teeth shattering from the cold blistering through the air, they couldn\'t give him a coat.
The neighborhood stray cat, crept across the blades of grass; rubbing affectionable across Judas\' calves, purring loudly and closing the bright green of his eyes. His hand dropped down to the sickly animals spine, stroking across the tabby\'s orange fur, his full lips perking into a rare, unadulterated smile. \"Hey, kitty. Are you as cold as I am?\" A voice he rarely used when not in prayer choked from his throat, spurring the feline to turn around and bash the flat portion of his head against his legs. His smile widened, fingers nudging underneath his chin.
\"You wouldn\'t mind if I took some of your fur, would you?\" Brows ferrowed together, nudging his hand into his pocket; withdrawing the silver handled knife. With a simple movement of his thumb, the blade smoothed open from his trembling palm. Small fingers surrounded the animals throat, pushing it down to the ground until it was laying on his side. At this point, the cat began to fight him, nibbling at his finger tips; hissing and lashing out.
Tilting his head curiously to the side, he watched the knife plunge into the beasts stomach, drawing the opposite end of the blade up his body; doing the same thing he would\'ve done if gutting a fish. Like a yo-yo unfurling on a string, the intestines came pouring out onto Judas\' shoes, steaming when the heat hit the frigid air. His bottom lip began to tremble, releasing the animals throat--watching the tiny body twitch and jolt, then fall limp and lifeless right before his eyes.
Falling onto the ground, he scrambled away from the sight, heaving up the entire contents of his breakfast on Mrs. Becket\'s gravesite. Saliva dribbled down his quavering chin, and he hastily wiped it away with the back of his hand as he spotted a group of his fellow orphans parading through the frost-laden grass. A few of the children merely laughed at the scrawny boy hunched in the fetal position in the center of the graveyard, but as they took sight of the animals carcass laying at his feet; a whole new brand of ridicule was created. Satan worshipper. Devil lover.
--
A gasp filled his lungs, and he sat upright in bed; the blood red sheets he had chosen for the queen sized mattress sliding provocatively down to the sharp razorblades of his hipbones. They sliced through milky skin when his hips bothered to raise from the pillowy surface, shuttering and bucking as he was physically roused from the horrible nightmare. He preferred to leave his past where it was, but these nightmares, these terrible nightmares kept coming back to haunt him each time he bothered to close his eyes. The palm of his hand smoothed across his ageless brow, wiping away any remains of sweat seeping from his pores, trying to remain the epitome of collected power as he always was.
His fear of the dream seemed to be washed away immediately when he saw the body laying next to him, some nameless kid he had picked up on the street most likely. The childishly freckled bridge of his nose rolled into a scrunching scowl when he spotted him. a bruise necklace dotting the area of his throat, his wrists, and other unnameable spots on his precious little body. Scratches from the tip of a coat hanger sliced down his back in ragged scars, and his lips were broken open from the manuel pressure of flat, grinding teeth. He was proud of his handy work, as he always was, but the fact he had allowed another person to sleep next to him disgusted him to the point of wanting to vomit. He surpressed the rising bile in his stomach long enough to plant his bare foot against the side of the boy\'s ribs, and kick him violently from bed.
The thudding body on the floor didn\'t bother him, seeing as he moved to pose infront of the full length mirror attached just to the side of his bed, idolizing the way his lean form could be powerful, yet the muscles slender enough that he didn\'t look in the least bit intimidating. He saw the black haired boys head peek over the edge of the mattress, quivering and shuttering as if he hadn\'t the slightest clue what to do. \"Get dressed and leave.\" Judas said without a hint of emotion to inflect his voice, and never wavering from admiring his own reflection. He even boldly rocked forward, full lips pressing against the reflective glass. \"I would fuck me.\" He whispered, hearing the rustling of clothing behind him; but not paying much mind to it.
The boy was pulling on his shirt as he rushed toward the door, leaving a nude and self-worshipping Judas alone to his thoughts. At that particular moment, he wasn\'t even sure he had any; simply murmuring to himself over the meaning of such a horrible dream; a part of his past he would have been happy to shove in the closet with the rest. He never breathed a word of his past to anyone, the one time he had spilled to a psychiatrist, she had been commited for having a mental breakdown. Only further proof his past should remain where it was, buried in the back of his subconscious causing no harm except to himself, and only further encouraging his insomnia.
His palms pressed boldly against the mirror, sliding down the reflected length of his torso; and stopping at where his stomach dipped between the bones of his narrow hips. And right between those chainsaw bones was a boldly inked tattoo, spanning between their width and dancing provocatively above a dirty blonde hairline. Reading--SACRILEGE. A word with more meanings in his own mind, than the dictionary had ever given him.
Pressing his forehead against the mirror, he rolled his nose into his own face his tongue forcing through the crease of his cherubic mouth, lapping at the bee-stung\'d curves of his lips haphazardly. Pulling his face away, an animalistic groan rumbled up his vocal cords and managed to escape from his mouth. Moments later, he slammed his face painfully against the mirror, his hands pulling away from the reflection, fingers crawling down the length of his torso in a painful tease. When his fingers finally found his erection ( brought on by himself ), he reluctantly fisted the base.
His brow was once more slammed into the glass surface, drawing his hand down the length of himself; his mouth gaping open senuously against the mirror. His wrist worked in hurrid triumph, wanting nothing more than for his will to be accomplished. And when he felt the familar feeling of tightening in his stomach, his face was crushed against the mirror; creating spiderwebs of broken glass until it shattered entirely. The pain was what brought on his orgasm, not the ministrations of his wrist.
It wasn\'t until the blood came cascading in his eyes, that he came across himself; blinded by crimson, and unable to enjoy the sticky sperm crawling down the length of the mirror.
TBC.