He was wearing a long leather jacket, all straps and billowing edges. Its black dyed surface melted into the backdrop of the evening, the red scarf writhing around his neck outlining the breadth of his shoulders. His posture was one of utmost relaxation.
”I always thought you were the dominant one, to whom I had to bow down all meagre and shit. I felt as if I had no say in any of it, that I just followed you along like some dumb brute to his master. You must have felt it too. Yet here we are,” He encompassed the situation with a lazy twirl of his finger, ”and I have to wonder. On a scale of one to ten, how damn pissed are you?”
He peered down the length of his leg curiously, past the sturdy hiking boot, and at the feebly moving chest trapped under it. The man under his boot wore a similar jacket – though a bit longer and worse for wear – and a broad grin flecked with red, teeth flashing yellowish white in the illumination of the street lamp.
”Trick question, Terry,” the man on his back huffed out.
”How so?” Sharp, demanding.
”The scale broke when your rhino of a sister trod on it.” A cry of pain as Terry leaned forward and dug his boot into fragile ribs in the clutches of fury. A sickening crack rebounded on the empty street. Terry flashed a look in either direction, before turning back to the gasping man.
”You know she's got a disease you bastard!” he hissed. ”She can't help it, it's in her fucking genes. One more word about her and I swear I'll kill you!”
The man's hands pushed against Terry's boot and he got enough space to pant out:
”She squeals like a pig when... when someone even hints at her bacon.” A shaky, wild grin.
A scream of rage ripped out of Terry, lacerating the lying man's cheek. Terry brought up his boot and smashed it into the man's face again and again and again; choked gulps and crunches erupted from underneath Terry's assault.
”Die you asshole!” screamed Terry, ”Die, die, die, die, die! Die, damn your blackend soul, die!”
The man's hand clenched into a fist and Terry pounded all the harder. Up, down, up, down. Crunch, crack, gasp, crunch, choke. The fist tightened and the arm stiffened, then abruptly lost its tension and lay still, curled up slightly. Terry's boot connected with the man's face a dozen more times before he stumbled back and panted, exertion and adrenaline waging war inside his shivering form. He noticed his lungs were still trying to scream obscenities at the foul beast that had violated his sister, considered telling them to stop, decided against it. He spat instead.
Terry risked a look back at its corpse. Blood sloshed down into a gutter, the messy pulp that had at some point been a face spewing out the liquid in spasmic rhythm. He shivered and took a breath, held it in and let it loose, expelling the tension locking his muscles. He had killed a man. Brutal murder, brutal sentence, life in jail. But still... The shit-face had mentioned his sister. Had plunged his filthy... no. Don't go there, Terry counciled himself. No sense. Sense is gone, gone with the wind. Swoosh. Gone.
The lamp flickered, sputtering out. A steady sheet of rain splattered down, thudding against Terry's jacket, thumping against the metal of the darkened lamp. He held up his hands and turned his face skyward, the drops of water bulldozing their way into his eyes.
”Brilliant. Abso-fucking-lutely brilliant! Go on, make my day even worse! I fucking dare you!” he screamed to whomever had the power to do so.
”My pleasure.”
The lamp coughed and jumped back into existence. Terry looked down from the sky and into a man's face.
”But I... you... no. No! NO! Not happening. Insane. Dead. Dead is dead. Dead stays dead stays not alive. Nope,” chattered Terry, eyes wide.
Staring into those wide eyes was a single, coal black eye. It rested on the right side of a ruined face. The skin of the face was slowly crawling over the bloody mesh, the slow, steady crawl of something that will kill you in your sleep. A pointed half-of-a-grin illuminated the man's face. The tendons of the face snapped and whipped about like crazed vipers, snatching at bits of flesh still laying on the ground, embedding them into the face. Terry watched in horror as the flaying tendons brought back the last of the flesh with a final splatter of wet meat on meat. The skin of the face snapped shut with the twang of a well-strung rubber band, the man whispered, ”Ta-da!”, the light bulb quit on life.
Terry screamed.
A twisting sensation in his stomach, another in his chest. A ripping, shredding, clawing sensation followed. Then a weightless moment; hands swaying; legs jellifying; head rolling back; eyes rolling back. A jostle and the world seemed to have flipped sideways. A hazy black boot, coming closer. A dull shock as it grew bigger and enveloped his world. A slow blink, an eternity of foul redness seeping into the gutter, the clenching of a hand far away from him, somehow connected. No time.
Another shock. The rain was muted. He was muted. He felt the rain as a wetness. Or was it blood? Or piss? Or even semen? No thought. Just feel. The wetness ran down his face. It was hot. A twitching of finger, a curling in the stomach, then something uncoiled and sprang out of his abdomen. It felt wrong. It felt good. Terry sprang out after it.
**
The man looked over Terry's corpse. It lay there, guts leaking out as if his stomach had vomited, nose shattered, eyes sightless, fingers broken. It lay there, gurgling out globs of blood, cute little baby gurgling, out of every crevice. The man grinned and kicked the corpse in its overflowing intestines, watched them jiggle. He barked out a laugh.
”Terry, Terry, Terry. Terry. You idiot. You can't kill an idea.”
He laughed again, a short, rough sound. Jiggled the intestines again.
”You twisted me with your own hands, a straight brass wire into a jumbled mess. You created me with your need,” he cackled, ”with your lust. You cannot unmake me.”
He nudged the corpse with his toe and Terry's head lolled back on broken tendons. A shivering of cloth caught his eye. He bent down and grasped the red scarf from around Terry's neck. A quick, sharp tug and it pulled free with a slight sloshing sound. He wove it around his own neck, wrapping it close, smothering himself in its scent, its feel. It felt right. He liked it.
Where there is want, there is a way. The man shook his head, grinned and stalked off into the veil of rain, bathing in the acidic piss. Washing away his sins. His face shone with perverted amusement, twisted Terry's innocent features into a parody of human kind. If he correctly recalled, he had a sister who required a visit from her loving big brother.
A savage grin. ”Lovey-dovey.”
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