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16+ Violence

Crimson night

by RavenNaal

Warning: This work has been rated 16+ for violence.

I have finally been able to write something I'm proud of! After a couple of excruciating days of writers block, creating 3 different stories then giving up on them, I now have something complete. Hope you enjoy reading!

I could hear it. The rush of the warm blood. Clock thumpings of a heart. The wails of children blocks away. The crying of an old man, the squeals of dogs, and the shouts of man with wife! The beating of the drum like heart was echoing through every part of my head. Its rhythmic, nearly seducing sound caused every string that controlled my soul want to hold its warm, bloody shape in my cold hands.

Only one thing was stopping me from causing a harm that can never more be reversed, the child's locket I held so deep within my palm. Its edges piercing my flesh, breaking through skin and welling up blood from deep veins. My eyes shook with trembling uncertainty at what this night might fate me yet to do.

Without looking up for fear of the disgust and horror that which my dearest would look at upon me, I sprung up from my crouched position. Eyes locked on the iron form of a heart that my hands crushed, as if in retaliation the iron heart crushed back. I ran through the halls of wooden boards, my steps echoing with a malice that I have never had the opportunity to understand.

Blood trickled down my wrist at every urgent foothold I held onto, always propelling myself with faster vigor than each before it. I had to get away, so I grabbed onto the nearest exit. The window on my third story window. Its reflective skin granted my foggy eyes a clear vision of what I truly had become.

I could not bear the sight of the evil that stared back at me! Closing my eyes I burst through the window, shards of glass cutting the skin pale of color, creating deep wounds that festered with an aura of life. The pain meant nothing to me, my blood did not tempt me like the temptress that others possessed.

As glass shattered into thousands of sharper and smaller pieces, my weight landed on the stone cobble below. Cracks forming below me as I landed, dust thrown into the air, returning just as quickly to the ground below.

Tonight the air had a chill that crept into my very bones, dying them with its frozen breath. A waning gibbous loomed over my city, casting away the shadows and bathing London with its blue light. The moonlit city felt mysterious and eerie when it was so drowned within crystal light from above.

For the first season in what felt like eons of time I looked up, ceasing movement and breath with the sight of beauty incarnate above me. Its light renewed me and gave me clarity, and strangely enough acceptance for what my flesh had become. My hands held the locket even stronger, seeping blood onto the stone floor. Though only for a slick of time, as with the tear of gaze all good thought vanished from my dark mind. Replaced with the same fear and hunger I felt from just a moments ago.

The night was filled with a dense fog, blanketing the ground and hiding sights of far from any who may leave the safety of a warm home. I tread through the abyss like alleys, my figure overshadowed by the buildings that towered above my body. Their black stone walls and silver fixtures still a brilliant display of ingenuity. Designed with the intent of good housing and warding from creatures of the night.

I was always a skeptical one, never truly believing the basic metals and stone could keep something that comes from darkness away. But now I understand with perfect clarity that they truly did work. The sight of the silver linings made me sick. Their existence a reminder of what I shall never be again. I know not how my body instinctively feared the pearly white metal, but it truly did fear.

I didn’t want to spend any more time near these once comforting dwellings, so I continued my walk towards the gloomy, windy streets of London. The locket in hand swayed back and forth as I paced myself faster. Night was beginning to fade. I stepped onto the inky asphalt roads, still wet from the rain that poured from heaven nights ago.

Walking along the ebony floor, my hunger was ever growing. Gluttony was overtaking my mind and body. The dim orange lamps that dotted along the sides seemed to grow and shrink before my eyes. Glancing down my mind began to fool itself, pretending to be falling down some bottomless pit of hell. Though I imagine that should be a better fate than what circumstances I happen to find myself in.

Hunger was something I never knew could be so monstrous. My stomach was nonexistent, replaced with a void or chasm that must be filled. Despair began to grip me as I gripped my stomach from the anguishing pain it was in. I was terrified at the thought of eating, but knowing deep down within my very soul, hunger would overtake and I would feast.

I continued to walk down the misty roads, barely lit up from the light of lamps and moon. I could feel hunger eating its way through me. Devouring my flesh and organs, leaving nothing behind but a deep hole that can never be fulfilled. The world became nothing more than a blur of colors and shapes. My own senses began to flee from the enclosing famine. All that could be heard was my very own staggered footsteps. Often tripping over oneself, then desperately using all strength available to climb the mountain back up to my feet. My smell was also dissipating, before the smell of laughter, drinks, food, and rainwater would seep into my brain from houses near and far. Now however, the world was as void of smell as it was tasteless.

Not once had I stopped pounding my stomach with fist of desperation. I knew that it was a futile attempt, to hold off something as powerful as the lust of food. Yet it was all I could do to fool myself into thinking I could make it out. No one was out at night, I couldn’t get near the houses, and eating my own flesh did nothing to satiate my own hunger.

I thought death would ring its ivory bells for me soon. But something so more terribly awful came. The small pitter patter of shoeless feet resounded from behind. I stood up straight at the arrival of the newcomer. I could hear it again, just as powerful as before. A scarlet river of blood pounding against walls of flesh and vein. Its sound began to ring so loud within my head I began to believe the world was shattering. How I wish it was. I would rather eat my own body and drink glasses of my own blood than what I knew would come to be.

A quiet, angelic voice of innocence came to earshot. “Daddy! Why are you outside, let's go back inside, I'm so cold out here.” My heart pounded against my chest faster than ever. I could see it fiercely fighting its way outside of my own body. Stretching my muscles and skin around its fight to stop its insufferable pumping. I slowly began to shift my feet to look behind me. Every inch of revolving created a feeling of repulsion, sickness, and apprehension.

Then the sight far worse than any reaper that may come before me appeared. It was her, my dearest. Standing in her pink overcoat, staring into my eyes with curiosity at why I had wandered so far from her. That idiot, why must her love compel her to follow. Why did she appear before me, why would she not run and hide. Should she not fear me, I’m a monster and yet she looks at me with the same love and admiration she had when I was still just like her.

Curses the gods that gave her such determined love for her father. I could hear it now, the bells of death. Their white elegance swaying along the top of death's grim church. I knew however they were not for me, perhaps now the bells would never ring for me. But they did ring for her, the sweetness that stared up at me. It became too much, the racing blood, her small, living, beating heart. Every part of me became something disgusting, every fiber of my being was hungry. Needing to devour and consume.

Thought had escaped me and I became blind with the gluttony of a thousand nights. The moon as the only witness to the atrocities I am about to commit, I begin to step forward. The locket I cherished fell from my hands, breaking into bits and pieces as it hit the hard road. I felt as though to her I looked like a behemoth of death wearing the skin of her father, reaching towards her with pale shaking hands. I grabbed her frail tiny body in my arms, I held her with great strength. But this was not a hold of love and care. I could smell the sweet aroma of iron. I could taste the ghost of crimson liquid within my mouth. Before any semblance of what I once was had the time to stop my actions, I dug in. My teeth ripped open her flesh, revealing the pure spilt blood that gushed out her fair neck.

I savored every drop that fell from my dearest corpse. Guilt free I hungerly chowed down on her limp body. It was invigorating, its taste a delicacy never known within this cruel world. My sharp nails dug into her neck, opening wider slits for her nectar to drip onto my tongue. The sensation of the thick, viscous liquid running down my throat was a purer bliss than any felt before.

As I squeezed and twisted her body to spill more food for my stomach, ecstasy overtook me. My body was stained with blood, flesh, and bone. A crazed feeling overtook me as I ripped further into her body. Continuing devouring her, I went further than her neck. Smashing her face, ripping her stomach cavity open, and tearing off limbs, I licked and drank down any spillage that fell like waterfalls of divine.

Her body was no longer recognizable. Merely a contorted mess of biology. I licked remains off my lips, still enjoying as it fell down the tunnel of my throat. I cleaned my hands of the crimson fluid, trying to make this blissful moment last.

As hunger receded back to the hole it crawled up from, my senses began to return to me. No longer fearing the hunger that had so encompassed my every thought. However long I had kneeled there, eating my own daughter's flesh and blood still had not felt like long enough. I wished to return to the corpse and feast evermore, but now my stomach was bloated, one more bite I might have burst in a bloody mist.

I stood up with relative ease, still uneasy from past feelings. Staring down, the once beautiful girl was no longer recognizable. Any feature that might allude to her being was gone, replaced with puddles of blood and bits of fresh flesh. Now with the transparency of thought I could see what had become of me. Tears welled up in my eyes, I fell to the floor, throwing up onto the black road. Chunks of her flesh still very present in my teeth came pouring out. I held what was left of her corpse, my tears falling onto her clothes or falling through the holes that had been eaten out.

I stared up back towards the moon above me. I needed that same clarity and acceptance I had felt first looking up towards the starry sky at this time. But it did not come, perhaps god wanted me to know and look upon my crime. I looked back towards where my dearests eyes would be and gave up on all thinking. If thought had chosen to torture me, only pure guilt and sadness would fill me up. So instead I chose to feel nothing. Dawn was approaching, its golden rays began to stab through the horizon. Never did I choose to look up from her now cold body. Even as body became ash. Soon even thought became nothing more than darkness, and then I became nothing. Just as something so evil as I should be.

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20 Reviews

Points: 63
Reviews: 20

Sun Feb 19, 2023 12:55 am
KocoCoko wrote a review...

What a tragic tale. Bravo! It's nice to see that his true form was never truly revealed. It adds a nice layer of mystery and a good use of imagination for the reader. (Although I suspect he is a vampire due to dying from the sunlight and the hate for the metal [possibly silver?] locket). The poor daughter, I wonder if she even knew her father was a monster. I did not expect such a terrible ending for the two, but a part of me hopes they can finally be a peace in death. I also love the writing style of this! It feels so old and dramatic that it works perfectly for the setting, characters, and story. I especially loved the graphic descriptions, really adds to the horror and tragedy. Over all, a great short story!

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646 Reviews

Points: 37
Reviews: 646

Sat Feb 18, 2023 11:07 pm
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vampricone6783 wrote a review...

This was so sad. He really thinks that he’s alone. There could be others like him who might be willing to help. I guess that it’s too late for him. What is he, exactly? A werewolf, because of the moon and the silver? A demon, perhaps? I think that he’s a werewolf. I’m sure his daughter might still love him even after death, but maybe I’m wrong.

This was so beautiful and tragic. Good job.

I wish you a lovely day/night.

Il faut imaginer Sisyphe heureux (One must imagine Sisyphus happy).
— Albert Camus, The Myth of Sisyphus