by Mae Day

Created on: December 05, 2007

"Symbolism."

"So tell me about your dream, Daniel."

She sat there, painted lips wrapped around the flimsy paper of a cheap cigarette, and a pencil clenched between her equally painted fingers. The pad of paper placed before her was blank. The sheer whiteness of the paper disturbed him greatly. It was so stark, so violent, and so completelyblank.

She was waiting for him to speak, she was not so great an actress that she could hide her anticipation, nor mask her impatience. She craved his anecdotes, his metaphors, his symbolism; she craved his depravity, his heartbreak, his anger, his fears.

She was a leech.

Scrunching his face, and relaxing his eyes, he was almost able to see the large, swollen bag of borrowed blood that was her body. Of course she still had her face though. After all, not many people would willingly wait around to converse with an oversized, mutant slug, now would they? No, she'd keep that beautiful, flawless, angelic face of hers, with those large, voluptuous, welcoming lipsthat'd be the thing that attracted the masses. After the initial shock have having such a beauty turn out to be a monster, they'd probably start overlooking, or making allowances for the lower portions of her body, too. He could almost hear their comments bursting and echoing throughout the recesses of his head. It reminded him of the Fourth of July, of confetti and fireworks and gattling guns.

"Oh she's not that bad, she's wonderful even! I mean she just looks so stunning in that yellow dress, it hides her tail so well"

Even better, just think about the men! She'd still have throngs of them, the smitten, deceived youth of the era. He knew this without a doubt. Hybrid mutant slug monster, or no, she'd still have those surging crowds of soft bodies, blind with admiration.
"Her suckers are so charming, so quaintand the way she sways from side-to-side when moving? It's so serpentine, so graceful, so, sofantastic!"

He wanted to puke!
No!
He wanted to kiss her!

He was unsure, maybe a bit of both, just not at the same time. Puking while kissing was not his forte.

And suddenly he was overcome with the knowledge that if he was to stick his steak knife into her at this very second, her blood couldn't possibly be as red as those lips, those soft, enticing lipsHe could do it too, his knife, at this very moment, lay in that uncomfortable limbo between his mouth an his dinner plate, and with a little bit more decisiveness and dexterity, it could be planted solidly in the center of her

• 1
• 2
• 3
• Next Page >>