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post #9 of (permalink) Old 02-04-12, 07:01 AM
deathbringer
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not really my style of writing but couldn't resist


The tale of the red cape (1089 words)

I is a slave, but they say I is a cunning one, much thinkin is done in my head. My master he does thinking too, but not as much as Garlak, oh no, a lot less than Garlak. When master does thinkin, he is thinkin about flesh, roasting and spitting, flames dancing up walls, tearing across floors, but Garlak has to be thinkin about other things.

Garlak has to stop master splitting his skull, is very difficult sir.

Master is good to garlak, lets him gnaw the flesh off the bones once he's done with them, a good master he is sir.

They say he isn't good, they say he's bad, that he's going to leave Garlak here when the ship is finished. Garlak doesn't believe them though sir, but maybe they...... no, master lets him fill the tanks. Lets him watch the flames as they gnaw at flesh, pretty flames curling, coiling smoke, languorous spirals floating.....

Unless Garlak spills the precious nectar for the flames, lets it seep into the dust..... gork have mercy.... Garlak must scrape the flaming juice up, it seers my arms, agony, leaving me writhing and rolling, pleading for relief, death give Garlak death, split my skull, cleft it you heathen brute, end my torment..... please.

More of them is saying it, more and more, Garlak doesn't want to hear it, master is good, scrap of squig meat today and another tag around master's neck. Lots of them now, lots and lots, one for Garlak amongst all them. Maybe even two for Garlak if he is good.

Revolushun they say, they mutter to Garlak, trickery and deception. They would not say it if master was here, no sir. Garlak is hungry, no food for Garlak while master is fighting in the wasteland, just parts to sort. Master will come back before Garlak starves.... they doubts it.

Garlak is holding boring cans of bright red, he does a good job for master, lots of red, very fast truck. They say red is the color of the revolushun, they will wear the red of master's blood. Madness, Garlak could not hurt master, master is too big, no no Garlak like master, he would not hurt master. The paint is running out, not enough for the whole vehicle, but master says if not enough Garlak must use his blood. Better get Garlak's long knife.

Garlak is working, master is watching him but Garlak does not like masters eyes, the way his fingers runs across his choppa, blood is seeping down the edge of the blade, yet master doesn't care. He is fixed on Garlak, Garlak must work faster, quicker, harder. Master is standing up, massive muscles uncoiling their bulge becoming leaner and meaner, the axehead that I sharpened is glinting in the light I created. I is running, fleeing but master is taking 1 stride to every 15 of mine. The flames are dancing in his wide staring eyes, eyes that scream of my demise, my end, enveloped by those flames of hatred.

I am falling, curling, raising arms like willow branches before my eyes, desperate to block out the behemoth pounding towards me, to stop the nightmare. A massive cry of challenge echoes through the door and sends master twisting round, a great crescendo of salvation as he leaps around and thuds away.

Garlak is trembling, Garlak is wet around his eyes and between his legs. They say Garlak means nothing to master, he would have killed Garlak just cause master was bored. He would not waste a tag on Garlak. Garlak knows, but why do they tell Garlak of this? Garlak must tell the others, Garlak is popular. The others will listen to Garlak. Garlak must help the revolushun.

Garlak is holding his masters cans, lots of other boyz around, lots and lots, a long, long line, Garlak can barely see the end of it, but must not lean too far, master hurt Garlak if he lean too far, but who is master fighting?

Garlak is shocked, tis a line, 3 times as thick, Mad gretchin, silly gretchin, they shout at master but glinting choppas make silly gretchin flinch.

"You wantz tags little uns" bellows master, he leans down snatching one of the tags from his neck and bends towards Garlak the chain held out. Oh sweet mercy a tag for Garlak, Garlak's eyes are wide and wet, streams of joy pouring down Garlak's chest.

Words escape Garlak's mouth, stuttering and mutterings of pure ecstacy. It is round his neck, oh sweet master, how could they doubt.... but wait, the chain is choking me, I am rising, I cannot breath, no..... no, master is lifting me, my salvation twisting into a noose that is choking me, strangling the very life from my body. I writhes, legs beating upon air even as air ia forced from my lungs, hands beating upon empty air. The fire is in his eyes once more, a foul strench burning the back of my throat as goblets of spittle smash against my cheeks washing away my joy, my hope, my devotion in the ringing sounds of raucous laughter.

My long knife is near my hand and I grips it's hilt in tremulous air starved fingers, sudden strength is granted in death, conviction granted in the face of mortality. It is a sudden movement, a sweet singular stab straight into the epicenter of the inferno. The whole eye suddenly in view, ocular jelly oozing as I withdraws the knife, the fire now embers naked and empty.

Delight, a second stab and I slice deeper thudding against something fleshy within. A third stab, forth, fifth, I forget the numbers but the stabbing is intoxicating. The chain is loosening, I am falling as master begins to crumple like a towering oak under the woodsman's axe. Desperately I lash out the knife hitting flesh, a shower of viscaera loosening my grip yet I am fighting against the force desperate to break my body upon the dunes. Would it matter to die, in this shower of sweet red viscera, in this beautiful rain... would it matter? Master hits the ground, with a tremendous thud, dust flying around him even as I hit master with a thudding crunch that jars my very bones.

I is standing atop master cape drenched and sodden in deep red blood. They are laughing and I laughs with them even as the dust fades away. I can see the silly gretchin looking at us with awestruck eyes as we shout

"Red is the color of the revolution"

kudos to lillian thorne for the awesome sig

Last edited by deathbringer; 02-05-12 at 06:16 PM.
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