Torn Cherub Wings
Intruder In The Inferno
I was drunk.
I’d never had a taste of a liquid so vile and raw against my tongue and throat as this amber colored poison was. Millions of little hot needles descended down my pharynx, pricking and burning my fleshy insides making me feel alive and vulnerable against my own self. The lurid, smoky light bathed my hands as I brought them to my face to inspect them thoroughly, seemingly in awe with all the tiny blood vessels webbing beneath my paper thin ageless skin. I could smell the alcohol in my blood and feel this sudden, soft weakness washing against me in waves of hypnotizing weariness.
My wobbly feet carried me through the overflowing streets, my body brushing past the bodies of others feeling their soft mortality, eyes seeing the life seeping out of their pores, ears hearing their weakening heartbeats letting the memory of their gushing thum-thumping replace the silence inside my own ribcage once I found myself standing alone in some dark street alleyway.
My kind, we have no need for food or drink, and up until now I was certain they had no effect on us either, but now, suddenly trapped in a drunken stupor I was forced to think otherwise as I watched the empty bottle roll out of my hand and smash against the piss-stained concrete. The putrid stench of filth and death embraced me like an old friend would, a rotten constant in my life. And now with my conscience strung out on amber verita-serum there was no one to shield me from the murmurs floating around this inflated head of mine, pricking and probing my tired sanity.
I lost count of how many days had passed since we parted ways, how many years or centuries even. All I knew was that the place where I once gazed at the stars with snowflakes in my eyes had turned into a concrete nest of rot and stench, of discarded TV’s and homeless, discarded men and women.
Glaring up at the grey kingdom of heaven, I trudged the inferno below, so much like the one I barely escaped. Sometimes, my mind worked in odd ways and it diverged into these stupid and useless thoughts of life and death and myself and those of my kind, immortals, creeping around with their heads bowed low in shame, in disgrace over something that felt so right before.
My feet were tired and I stopped to rest, perhaps even to try and remember which of these streets would lead me home. Home, I winced at the thought of that pathetic little dump of a two bedroom apartment that all but disappeared in comparison to the majesty of my previous home, my real and only home.
A reflection of a weary man stared back at me from a puddle. The blurred counterpart didn’t smile or show any signs of life, actually, hadn’t it been blinking, one could have easily mistaken it for a statue. A poor and pathetic statue, but inanimate stone nevertheless.
A hand grazed my cheek, its fair skin cold, but the sensation it had left was blazing fire on my face. It made me look up to meet a pair of eyes so heartbreakingly… violet and so, so sad.
I’d never had a taste of a liquid so vile and raw against my tongue and throat as this amber colored poison was. Millions of little hot needles descended down my pharynx, pricking and burning my fleshy insides making me feel alive and vulnerable against my own self. The lurid, smoky light bathed my hands as I brought them to my face to inspect them thoroughly, seemingly in awe with all the tiny blood vessels webbing beneath my paper thin ageless skin. I could smell the alcohol in my blood and feel this sudden, soft weakness washing against me in waves of hypnotizing weariness.
My wobbly feet carried me through the overflowing streets, my body brushing past the bodies of others feeling their soft mortality, eyes seeing the life seeping out of their pores, ears hearing their weakening heartbeats letting the memory of their gushing thum-thumping replace the silence inside my own ribcage once I found myself standing alone in some dark street alleyway.
My kind, we have no need for food or drink, and up until now I was certain they had no effect on us either, but now, suddenly trapped in a drunken stupor I was forced to think otherwise as I watched the empty bottle roll out of my hand and smash against the piss-stained concrete. The putrid stench of filth and death embraced me like an old friend would, a rotten constant in my life. And now with my conscience strung out on amber verita-serum there was no one to shield me from the murmurs floating around this inflated head of mine, pricking and probing my tired sanity.
I lost count of how many days had passed since we parted ways, how many years or centuries even. All I knew was that the place where I once gazed at the stars with snowflakes in my eyes had turned into a concrete nest of rot and stench, of discarded TV’s and homeless, discarded men and women.
Glaring up at the grey kingdom of heaven, I trudged the inferno below, so much like the one I barely escaped. Sometimes, my mind worked in odd ways and it diverged into these stupid and useless thoughts of life and death and myself and those of my kind, immortals, creeping around with their heads bowed low in shame, in disgrace over something that felt so right before.
My feet were tired and I stopped to rest, perhaps even to try and remember which of these streets would lead me home. Home, I winced at the thought of that pathetic little dump of a two bedroom apartment that all but disappeared in comparison to the majesty of my previous home, my real and only home.
A reflection of a weary man stared back at me from a puddle. The blurred counterpart didn’t smile or show any signs of life, actually, hadn’t it been blinking, one could have easily mistaken it for a statue. A poor and pathetic statue, but inanimate stone nevertheless.
A hand grazed my cheek, its fair skin cold, but the sensation it had left was blazing fire on my face. It made me look up to meet a pair of eyes so heartbreakingly… violet and so, so sad.
♠ ♠ ♠
y/n?