Deviant_Angel
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emptyness said:
Yes. Cock without substance is boring.
And yes artistic. I've seen your photos young man.
probly shouldn't....
- Thread starter emptyness
- Start date
Yes. Cock without substance is boring.
And yes artistic. I've seen your photos young man.
Deviant_Angel
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emptyness said:you mean, like a hollow cock?
they make those, ya know...
and you've seen my photos of young men!?
You know what I meant ya brat.
I'm no good at this whole.. witty banter thing.Deviant_Angel
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emptyness said:
Read your stories to me.
Deviant_Angel
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emptyness said:you want the one about the demon in a box?
or the one with the guy killing his family?
Both.
emptyness
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The Small Black Box
The gray sky hung clotted with dark clouds that threatened to open. A chilling breeze swept through the air, rustling the last of the leaves. I figured it was maybe three hours before the first raindrops fell; my skin felt damp already. A couple kids tossed a football back and forth across the park, this Saturday one of the last where they could get outside without having to be bundled up. I sat hunched over on the bench, the metal still cold through my jeans though I'd been sitting there for already half an hour.
I snuck a glance at the car parked at the curb and I shuddered. I didn't want to get back in it. If I could, I'd walk away from the damned thing, never mind that it was Jimmy's car, never mind his body laying in the back seat, never mind the house that sat at the top of the hill. I didn't want to get back in the car again. Not with that.... thing in the trunk.
To keep from thinking about it, I turned my mind instead to Momma, how she had cried when Children's Services took us away from her. How they said she was an unfit mother. We didn't see it ourselves, of course, me and Jimmy. Hell, what did we know? She was either drunk or stoned, but we weren't starving. We never went to school with bruises or our arm twisted. It didn't seem to matter the woman was as much a stranger to us as the men she came home with, she was our mother.
We'd seen her twice after that, when she came to the foster home we'd been put in. The first time was okay, she seemed almost there, but she was a mess the next time, strung out on God knows what. The Johansons, the family we were living with, had to call the police to get her out of there because of her yelling and throwing anything she could get her hands on, and after that we didn't see her again. We didn't even know what happened to her, only that she was gone. It was years later I found out she died, some accident involving drugs and a robbery. By then she was only a myth, a barely-remembered whisper.
Or, maybe not. Maybe what she was kept with us, growing in us. Jimmy wasn't fifteen yet before he was stealing cars and drinking. After four years in the state prison, he swore he changed, saying it was time to grow up, but I know what all he keeps in the garage, why he doesn't use the phone any more.
And look at the mess I'm in.
I shuddered against the park bench, remembering Jimmy staring up at me from the bed. "Take it back to him," a tired voiced scraped out of him. "Take it back for me, Henry. Take it back. I had no right; you have to take it back. "His eyes held mine, bright and wet, and whatever was making him burn inside was also eating him up. There were places where I could see the strong outline of bone pressing against the skin from underneath, as if he were melting away. If it was something I could do, I would have held his hand, but that'd involve touching him, touching whatever was in him.
The bag was tucked in his tool chest in the garage. Just a simple brown bag, the same we used to take our lunches in back in grade school, bologna and cheese sandwiches almost every single day. I grabbed it, knowing instantly that it was what he'd stolen.
Inside the bag was a box. Just a box, something like them Rubik's Cubes that were so big years ago, just a little bigger. My mind remembered a line of cheesy horror movies cnetered around a box, but this one wasn't all shiny and fancy. Just a plain black box, no way to even open it, from what I could see. I hefted it in my hand, wondering what made it so heavy. My skin shuddered under its weight, out of disgust, and I could feel something inside moving, humming. My palm felt frozen, as if I gripped metal taken from the icebox, and I dropped the thing back in the bag, expecting it to burst open. I think I knew then that whatever was inside that box was inside Jimmy too.
Jimmy let me borrow his seventy-two Malibu exactly three times the entire nine years he owned the car. But I thought if there was ever a time to take without asking, now would be okay with him. I didn't want to touch the bag again- I couldn't explain how the box totally creeped me out beyond anything I ever imagined- but it had to go in the car. Jimmy wanted me to take it back, and I had to, for him. It sure wasn't going up front with me, not a chance in Hell. I popped the trunk and, like a scared girl, I grabbed the top of the bag and tossed it in against the spare tire, slamming shut the trunk and jumping back back in one movement, watching my hands shake like Mrs. Johanson's old dryer. My lungs huffed for more air and I could see my breath in misty little clouds hanging in front of my face, forgetting that it was nearly seventy degrees outside.
I thought I was scared then.
The address was somewhere outside of Chicago, and I figured it would take me maybe two days to make the trek. I thought that would be quick enough, until I picked up the telephone and heard that voice.
"Your brother took something of mine, boy," the voice whispered into my ear. I sagged against the wall, the phone almost falling from my hand. I envisioned a gaunt old man sitting somewhere in his darkened library, bent over the phone while the wind howled against the windows behind him. He was talking to me; he knew what was wrong with Jimmy, that I had his box now. "You will bring it back." the voice said, full of rasp and coldness. "You will bring it back, or you will die."
Static hissed and I did drop the phone. An hour later, I was on the road.
Jimmy'd been shot at three times in his life. One of those bullets found him, and two days later he'd been laughing about it at the bar. That's just how he was. Always sure that he'd come out unscathed, even when he'd end up busted. It wasn't a bullet that put Jimmy down. Something was inside him, and I wasn't going to leave him to die on his own. Getting him into the back seat was struggle; even as he was seriously thinned out, he outweighed me by probably forty pounds, and none of that was helping me move him. I tried not to notice the sour smell on his breath or the raspy groans that breathed against my neck.
For a while, I could hear a gurgling sound coming from his chest, like he'd drank too much beer again. It was quiet, barely audible over his constant muttering. Every time I looked back at him, he seemed to be shrinking, falling in on himself. There was no way to make him comfortable back there and he twisted constantly under the thick quilt. His eyes stared at the ceiling, never blinking, and I knew he didn't hear a word I said to him.
"You're gonna be okay. You'll be fine." I kept repeating the words like some chant, more to myself than to him. After a while, even his muttering stopped and all I could hear were the bubbly burping sounds coming somewhere from his chest. I wiped tears away with my shirt cuff and blinked my eyes clear, trying to focus on the road. Could this old man save Jimmy? Would he? There wasn't any argument to support hope, but I did have what he wanted. I didn't know what it was, but he seemed to want it back bad enough.
From the back seat came a strangled rumbling sound. I bit my lip and stared at the highway. Miles passed by, states passed by. The lights outside blurred past and I pushed the car faster.
Daytime traffic slowed me down a little, but I was a few hours outside of Chicago by late afternoon. My hands were rigid from clenching the steering wheel and my lips were dry. I stopped a few hours earlier for gas but I pulled off again, needing something to drink. Needing rest. The outside air burst into the stale car and I breathed deeply as I stepped outside. It felt as if I'd been holding my breath for hours. Maybe I had; the air inside the car had become thick with whatever Jimmy was breathing out. I didn't know it as the smell of rotting, but the meaty dankness felt thick in my nose and I couldn't imagine ever again eating.
I took a deep breath and stuck my head back in the car. Jimmy's eyes flickered towards the ceiling and he appeared to be breathing. He didn't seem to notice me staring down over him and I doubted if he was much aware of anything outside his head anymore. Thick beads of sweat ran across his face, his forehead knotted and soaked. I bit my lip and ducked out of the car, jogging towards the soda machine inside the rest area.
The door handle thrummed in my hand when I returned, like taking hold of an electric mixer that had been left on high for too long. The air was chilly already, but opening the door felt like winter blowing on my face. My legs buckled and I grasped the frame before I fell, settling down against the pavement in a pile. The two cans slid from my hand and rolled under the car. I leaned back against the door panel, my eyes looking past the seat to Jimmy's still face. Gummy trails of black blood leaked from his mouth and nose, slowly running down over his chin. His eyes stared glassily at the windshield. I didn't realize I was crying until I was choking on the sobs in my throat. Once, when I visited him while he was still doing time, he told me he wasn't here to take care of me, but he would never leave me alone. He would always be there for me. The only family I had. The only family I needed. Unsteadily, I got to my feet and reached in the car. Letting my fingers rest against his cheek, I could still feel whatever was in him still burning in him. Not looking away from his face, I pulled the quilt up over him. I didn't want him to see me cry.
The rest of the drive was a blur after that. I saw Jimmy's face more than I saw the road, heard his laughter. The tears gave up after a while and I drove through Chicago feeling my heart pulsing through every vein. I found the house easy enough, the place looked like a funeral parlor overlooking a small corner park. Whatever was in the box knew we were there too. The car hummed like an old refrigerator and I could feel vibrations shaking up against me. Dimly, I wondered if it was doing the same to me as it had to Jimmy, and I didn't wonder at all about what was inside the box. It didn't matter. Not anymore. I glared at the house, wondering if the bastard was looking out at me. Instead of going up its hilly drive, I pulled to the curb and shut off the engine. Without the sound of the car around me, I could hear the tiniest chattering coming from the back seat. I didn't want to think about what it could be, I didn't want to accept the image of Jimmy being devoured from the inside out. I got out of the car and walked over here to think for a little while. Whatever was going to happen, I wanted to remember first.
But the time for stalling was over. Jimmy wouldn't sit here moping, no matter what the odds ahead. He'd go in there grinning. I got the bag out of the trunk, disgusted at the way the box rustled inside. "That's right, you bastard," I muttered. "You're home." I reached past the tire to the other bag Jimmy kept in the trunk, shaking the gun loose. I didn't need to check; he always kept the thing loaded. I slammed shut the trunk with the heel of my hand and turned towards the house. The kids had gone home a while ago and now it was just me on the streets. I couldn't remember more than three cars even driving by the entire time I sat in the park. I twisted the bag in my fist, ignoring the burning cold that was creeping up my arm, and I started up the drive.
The gray sky hung clotted with dark clouds that threatened to open. A chilling breeze swept through the air, rustling the last of the leaves. I figured it was maybe three hours before the first raindrops fell; my skin felt damp already. A couple kids tossed a football back and forth across the park, this Saturday one of the last where they could get outside without having to be bundled up. I sat hunched over on the bench, the metal still cold through my jeans though I'd been sitting there for already half an hour.
I snuck a glance at the car parked at the curb and I shuddered. I didn't want to get back in it. If I could, I'd walk away from the damned thing, never mind that it was Jimmy's car, never mind his body laying in the back seat, never mind the house that sat at the top of the hill. I didn't want to get back in the car again. Not with that.... thing in the trunk.
To keep from thinking about it, I turned my mind instead to Momma, how she had cried when Children's Services took us away from her. How they said she was an unfit mother. We didn't see it ourselves, of course, me and Jimmy. Hell, what did we know? She was either drunk or stoned, but we weren't starving. We never went to school with bruises or our arm twisted. It didn't seem to matter the woman was as much a stranger to us as the men she came home with, she was our mother.
We'd seen her twice after that, when she came to the foster home we'd been put in. The first time was okay, she seemed almost there, but she was a mess the next time, strung out on God knows what. The Johansons, the family we were living with, had to call the police to get her out of there because of her yelling and throwing anything she could get her hands on, and after that we didn't see her again. We didn't even know what happened to her, only that she was gone. It was years later I found out she died, some accident involving drugs and a robbery. By then she was only a myth, a barely-remembered whisper.
Or, maybe not. Maybe what she was kept with us, growing in us. Jimmy wasn't fifteen yet before he was stealing cars and drinking. After four years in the state prison, he swore he changed, saying it was time to grow up, but I know what all he keeps in the garage, why he doesn't use the phone any more.
And look at the mess I'm in.
I shuddered against the park bench, remembering Jimmy staring up at me from the bed. "Take it back to him," a tired voiced scraped out of him. "Take it back for me, Henry. Take it back. I had no right; you have to take it back. "His eyes held mine, bright and wet, and whatever was making him burn inside was also eating him up. There were places where I could see the strong outline of bone pressing against the skin from underneath, as if he were melting away. If it was something I could do, I would have held his hand, but that'd involve touching him, touching whatever was in him.
The bag was tucked in his tool chest in the garage. Just a simple brown bag, the same we used to take our lunches in back in grade school, bologna and cheese sandwiches almost every single day. I grabbed it, knowing instantly that it was what he'd stolen.
Inside the bag was a box. Just a box, something like them Rubik's Cubes that were so big years ago, just a little bigger. My mind remembered a line of cheesy horror movies cnetered around a box, but this one wasn't all shiny and fancy. Just a plain black box, no way to even open it, from what I could see. I hefted it in my hand, wondering what made it so heavy. My skin shuddered under its weight, out of disgust, and I could feel something inside moving, humming. My palm felt frozen, as if I gripped metal taken from the icebox, and I dropped the thing back in the bag, expecting it to burst open. I think I knew then that whatever was inside that box was inside Jimmy too.
Jimmy let me borrow his seventy-two Malibu exactly three times the entire nine years he owned the car. But I thought if there was ever a time to take without asking, now would be okay with him. I didn't want to touch the bag again- I couldn't explain how the box totally creeped me out beyond anything I ever imagined- but it had to go in the car. Jimmy wanted me to take it back, and I had to, for him. It sure wasn't going up front with me, not a chance in Hell. I popped the trunk and, like a scared girl, I grabbed the top of the bag and tossed it in against the spare tire, slamming shut the trunk and jumping back back in one movement, watching my hands shake like Mrs. Johanson's old dryer. My lungs huffed for more air and I could see my breath in misty little clouds hanging in front of my face, forgetting that it was nearly seventy degrees outside.
I thought I was scared then.
The address was somewhere outside of Chicago, and I figured it would take me maybe two days to make the trek. I thought that would be quick enough, until I picked up the telephone and heard that voice.
"Your brother took something of mine, boy," the voice whispered into my ear. I sagged against the wall, the phone almost falling from my hand. I envisioned a gaunt old man sitting somewhere in his darkened library, bent over the phone while the wind howled against the windows behind him. He was talking to me; he knew what was wrong with Jimmy, that I had his box now. "You will bring it back." the voice said, full of rasp and coldness. "You will bring it back, or you will die."
Static hissed and I did drop the phone. An hour later, I was on the road.
Jimmy'd been shot at three times in his life. One of those bullets found him, and two days later he'd been laughing about it at the bar. That's just how he was. Always sure that he'd come out unscathed, even when he'd end up busted. It wasn't a bullet that put Jimmy down. Something was inside him, and I wasn't going to leave him to die on his own. Getting him into the back seat was struggle; even as he was seriously thinned out, he outweighed me by probably forty pounds, and none of that was helping me move him. I tried not to notice the sour smell on his breath or the raspy groans that breathed against my neck.
For a while, I could hear a gurgling sound coming from his chest, like he'd drank too much beer again. It was quiet, barely audible over his constant muttering. Every time I looked back at him, he seemed to be shrinking, falling in on himself. There was no way to make him comfortable back there and he twisted constantly under the thick quilt. His eyes stared at the ceiling, never blinking, and I knew he didn't hear a word I said to him.
"You're gonna be okay. You'll be fine." I kept repeating the words like some chant, more to myself than to him. After a while, even his muttering stopped and all I could hear were the bubbly burping sounds coming somewhere from his chest. I wiped tears away with my shirt cuff and blinked my eyes clear, trying to focus on the road. Could this old man save Jimmy? Would he? There wasn't any argument to support hope, but I did have what he wanted. I didn't know what it was, but he seemed to want it back bad enough.
From the back seat came a strangled rumbling sound. I bit my lip and stared at the highway. Miles passed by, states passed by. The lights outside blurred past and I pushed the car faster.
Daytime traffic slowed me down a little, but I was a few hours outside of Chicago by late afternoon. My hands were rigid from clenching the steering wheel and my lips were dry. I stopped a few hours earlier for gas but I pulled off again, needing something to drink. Needing rest. The outside air burst into the stale car and I breathed deeply as I stepped outside. It felt as if I'd been holding my breath for hours. Maybe I had; the air inside the car had become thick with whatever Jimmy was breathing out. I didn't know it as the smell of rotting, but the meaty dankness felt thick in my nose and I couldn't imagine ever again eating.
I took a deep breath and stuck my head back in the car. Jimmy's eyes flickered towards the ceiling and he appeared to be breathing. He didn't seem to notice me staring down over him and I doubted if he was much aware of anything outside his head anymore. Thick beads of sweat ran across his face, his forehead knotted and soaked. I bit my lip and ducked out of the car, jogging towards the soda machine inside the rest area.
The door handle thrummed in my hand when I returned, like taking hold of an electric mixer that had been left on high for too long. The air was chilly already, but opening the door felt like winter blowing on my face. My legs buckled and I grasped the frame before I fell, settling down against the pavement in a pile. The two cans slid from my hand and rolled under the car. I leaned back against the door panel, my eyes looking past the seat to Jimmy's still face. Gummy trails of black blood leaked from his mouth and nose, slowly running down over his chin. His eyes stared glassily at the windshield. I didn't realize I was crying until I was choking on the sobs in my throat. Once, when I visited him while he was still doing time, he told me he wasn't here to take care of me, but he would never leave me alone. He would always be there for me. The only family I had. The only family I needed. Unsteadily, I got to my feet and reached in the car. Letting my fingers rest against his cheek, I could still feel whatever was in him still burning in him. Not looking away from his face, I pulled the quilt up over him. I didn't want him to see me cry.
The rest of the drive was a blur after that. I saw Jimmy's face more than I saw the road, heard his laughter. The tears gave up after a while and I drove through Chicago feeling my heart pulsing through every vein. I found the house easy enough, the place looked like a funeral parlor overlooking a small corner park. Whatever was in the box knew we were there too. The car hummed like an old refrigerator and I could feel vibrations shaking up against me. Dimly, I wondered if it was doing the same to me as it had to Jimmy, and I didn't wonder at all about what was inside the box. It didn't matter. Not anymore. I glared at the house, wondering if the bastard was looking out at me. Instead of going up its hilly drive, I pulled to the curb and shut off the engine. Without the sound of the car around me, I could hear the tiniest chattering coming from the back seat. I didn't want to think about what it could be, I didn't want to accept the image of Jimmy being devoured from the inside out. I got out of the car and walked over here to think for a little while. Whatever was going to happen, I wanted to remember first.
But the time for stalling was over. Jimmy wouldn't sit here moping, no matter what the odds ahead. He'd go in there grinning. I got the bag out of the trunk, disgusted at the way the box rustled inside. "That's right, you bastard," I muttered. "You're home." I reached past the tire to the other bag Jimmy kept in the trunk, shaking the gun loose. I didn't need to check; he always kept the thing loaded. I slammed shut the trunk with the heel of my hand and turned towards the house. The kids had gone home a while ago and now it was just me on the streets. I couldn't remember more than three cars even driving by the entire time I sat in the park. I twisted the bag in my fist, ignoring the burning cold that was creeping up my arm, and I started up the drive.
Last edited:
Deviant_Angel
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emptyness said:awww...you're such a romantic...
I know. I worry about me sometimes. I know an author I think you'd like. Self published his first book last year.
You posted one
emptyness
puer aeternus
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Deviant_Angel said:I know. I worry about me sometimes. I know an author I think you'd like. Self published his first book last year.
You posted one
it's an unfinished bit.
actually, how it ends is how it ends, there's just more to the insides than what is here.
but i did okay on short notice?
Deviant_Angel
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emptyness said:
More than okay. I'd like the middle bits some day.
Night night E
Ember Faye
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emptyness said:
randy as in..."do i make you horny baby, do i?" heheh
which is good....cuz i was too damn moody and depressed all week...it's a nice breath of fresh air to be giddy and feeling naughty and horny
oh...but i can be really bad when i want to
did you say...hard.. ?? mmmm *drools*
Ok ok.. I'll stop
really though...love seeing you again hon
FilthyCute
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wow!!!!
ummm....Nope...still stuck on WOW.....
I'm usually far more eloquent than this...bear with me...
*Set's mode to slightly more articulate*
I had a quiet few hours this morning, and spent them mooching around Lit, as you do, and after several clicks and turns, found myself at your thread...What a great place to while away some time!
You are equal parts inspiring and intriguing. Sexy as all hell (don't you think Hell's got to be sexy?...all those sinners?) and you write like a dream.
I'm not suggesting that you're lonely, not for one second, but the piece you wrote - Black - that really touched me. I thought it was the ultimate description of modern loneliness, and it made me think of the thing Hammarskjold said : "Pray that your loneliness may spur you into finding something to live for, great enough to die for"
Just wanted to let you know.
*Sets mode back to FilthyCute and wanders off murmuring "wow"*
ummm....Nope...still stuck on WOW.....
I'm usually far more eloquent than this...bear with me...
*Set's mode to slightly more articulate*
I had a quiet few hours this morning, and spent them mooching around Lit, as you do, and after several clicks and turns, found myself at your thread...What a great place to while away some time!
You are equal parts inspiring and intriguing. Sexy as all hell (don't you think Hell's got to be sexy?...all those sinners?) and you write like a dream.
I'm not suggesting that you're lonely, not for one second, but the piece you wrote - Black - that really touched me. I thought it was the ultimate description of modern loneliness, and it made me think of the thing Hammarskjold said : "Pray that your loneliness may spur you into finding something to live for, great enough to die for"
Just wanted to let you know.
*Sets mode back to FilthyCute and wanders off murmuring "wow"*
~:~Lilly~:~
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I E
E~:~Lilly~:~
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Missed you! Missed you! Missed you! I need more E!!! If you get a chance, please pm me and let me know how you are doing and what you have been up to! I need details! I'm going through withdrawls! Okay...so I'm a drama queen...but it has been a while since we have talked about your ball-sack...remember??? Hehehhehe!
~:~Lilly~:~
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Was just looking through some of your pictures. So cute and sexy! You should Index ya know! Then I can perv on them easier!
~:~Lilly~:~
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~:~Lilly~:~
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Holy hell! You are sexy!
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