The Icarus Descent @theicarusdescent - Tumblr Blog

Posts

I stood in the shadows, hidden, waiting. The cold, crisp air tasted fresh as I took it in shallow gulps under the night sky. A thousand thoughts ran through my mind, none of them quite registering. Like sitting in the back of a theatre, making out with that beautiful girl; oh how I loved her; with one eye open, seeing the picture, but not remembering any of it afterward. That thought sat with me; those far gone days, when we were so happy, so in love. I still waited in those early hours, the moon past its crest and me past my bedtime. I listened to the wind, softly humming, sometimes rusting the leaves. I waited for it to carry me her footsteps, for any moment she'd make her way through that little patch of wood, on her way home. On her way home, no doubt, from her new lover's flat. The thought broke me inside; her in his arms, he in hers... That image in my head made my tear ducts burn in anticipation; ready for the spill to come. I quickly hid away the thought, the feeling, and focused on what lay before me. I focused on that wind, and to my surprise, it brought not her sound, but her scent first. That scent of melons and honey, how refreshing and sweet it was; and how long it had been since I had last inhaled it. I remember the day I'd bought it for her, such a happy, wonderful day. I inhaled further and I realized, that was not the scent that I'd given her... Yes, it was there, but something else... It was tainted; soured by a sick musk. Oh, how I hated her in that moment. But how could I hate that which I love? Such a rage of emotions; I burned hot with anger, chilled to the bone with fear, and the two met in the middle to fill me with a pure tornado of passion. I could now hear her footsteps inching closer. I could hear her short breath in the cold air; my own coming in flurried gasps. I stepped out from behind the tree I was leaning against and she stopped in her tracks. She looked at me; a look of irritation. This is what I had become to her... an irritation. A once inseparable pair, bound by the chains of love, and now, she couldn't even bear the sight of me. She sighed, then drew a breath to scold me. Her air smelled of rum, her clothes visibly soaked with sweat, even still, in this cold night air. I again pushed the thought out of my mind and I held my index finger to her lips, catching her before her words could spill. I shushed her softly and shook my head gently. My hand took the place of that finger, cupping her mouth. I quickly but gingerly, spun her around and held her close to me. Her scent overwhelmed my senses. I breathed it in deep so as to remember it forever. "I Love You..." I slipped my words into her ear as I slipped my blade into her chest. Just below her perfect right breast I entered her again and again as I had so many times before, this time overcome with a slightly different taste of passion. I still can't decide which climax felt better, but this one came with closure. I was now free. I was free of the pain that had plagued my very soul for so many sleepless nights after she had left me that note. I left it with her that night I might add, tucked into her coat pocket after I laid her on the ground so still. This was a freedom like no other I had ever felt. I felt lighter than air. Every breath I drew from that night on, tasted so much richer than any before it. Life had such a vibrance that I never knew. God, how I felt so alive...

And I was so in love...

The door opens slowly, a sliver of light peeking through. The sleek, hardwood floor shines as the sliver grows to a slice. The air is warm, but not too warm. A cool breeze lingers; it tastes like spring giving way to summer. At first thought, the air seems still, but further contemplation reveals that the air circulates beneath itself... the house is breathing. A shadow forces itself upon the lighted floor, and closes the shadow door behind it, shutting out any hint of moon. A man puts his over shirt on the back of a chair; sits briefly to remove his shoes; empty his pockets. He rises and begins to stalk to the hall, running his fingertips along the cool wooden trim on the walls; over a framed picture, no doubt of he and his love. He grips the wooden sphere from which the rail sprouts. He mounts the stairs, one at a time, slow and sure; a wicked grin beginning to cultivate itself upon his face. The smooth rail is cool to his touch, his hands slide softly over it as he nears the summit. He turns and stands. Still, framed against the stairwell in the moonlit hall, he is a part of the house itself. He breaks stature and creeps down the short hall. He feels the slightest trickle of adrenaline warm his veins. His excitement grows as he nears the door; he licks his lips. He stands again, picture perfect in the doorway. He peers into the room. His jaw hangs open, aghast. There before him, in his king-size bed, in his king-size room, nestled within his king-size house, lay his love. Long, flowing, beautiful hair kissed her back all the way down; her full rosy lips pulled back in the slightest of smiles; her perfect breasts uncovered, voluptuous in the brilliant moonlight; her smooth skin, teasing for his touch; and her big brown eyes, closed, calm. Beside her, black satin sheets, rose petals, and another man. A white flash, brings a stabbing pain behind the man's right eye. He slowly, carefully recedes back down the hall, back down the stairs, back into the kitchen. Fast and unsteady his shaking hands scan the counter tops. Soon he finds himself in the grasp of a steak knife. Long and slender, razor sharp. He finds his way once again up the stairs, down the dark hall, into the moonlit doorway. The sharp pain returns, this time in his chest, through his heart. A single tear hits the floor as he rushes the bed. Attack after attack, the blade's tip meets the bed, through her fragile body. The sharp metal cuts through the air like her shallow screams would have. The man feels his hand, his forearm, grow wet with the life that had once flowed through her precious veins. He is careful not to damage her heart, so as to save his best gift for last. He pauses to roll her over. Slowly he runs his hand up her arm and grips her shoulder. With a shudder, he lets go and steps abruptly back. She was cold. He looks closer in the moonlight to see the small wound in her temple, just past the hairline. He finds his way through the hair to see in that same moonlight that had felt so good five minutes earlier, a small bullet hole. Another tear traces his cheek to his chin from which it falls to his love's eye, making her seem to cry, as he carefully looks over to the man next to her, his eyes are open... but they do not see. They are bloody sockets. He recoils, lifts himself from the bed, drops the knife. He stares down at his bloody hands as he begins to sob. A shot rings out and he feels hot, stabbing pain in the left side of his head. He is now blind in his left eye. As he staggers backward, falling for a thousand years to the floor, he sees a man step from the shadow behind the half open closet door. He stands quite tall. And lanky. He is completely naked except for the blood smeared violently around his lips and his erect penis. And, of course, the gun. He has shoulder length medium-brown hair and big eyes that seem to protrude from their sockets. As he hits the floor, the man sees into the killer's eyes. He sees something so not human. Insanity, rage, pain, pleasure, hunger. The beast parts his lips in an evil, erotic grin; exposing thin, jagged and pointy teeth. The last thing the man felt before he slipped into oblivion, aside from sharp, stinging pain as the predator sunk his teeth into his chest, was a sorrow like none ever felt before by anyone, that he had doubted the woman he loved with so much of his being for so long. With this pain, this remorse, he closed his eye, and welcomed his fate.