Sunday, 17 August 2014

Acrylics And Warmth

Acrylic. That’s what the sky was. Acrylic. The clouds danced in and out of one another in rivulets of thick sunset tones. He imagined what the clouds would taste like at this moment. Marshmallows. Fruit salad. As he inhaled gradually, savouring the aroma of the forest, he felt the caress of pine scents and damp soil. It felt of nature.

He was tugged violently from his vivid ponderings as the girl said something. It was muffled, indistinct; he could hear it no more than he could be bothered to try to. As she tried desperately to tear the gag with her words, he looked down upon her. God-like. He was God, God to her at this moment anyway. He had the power over her breathing, her blood flow. Everything was his. He delicately brushed away pieces of bark stuck to her cheek, grazing her warm flesh with the tip of his finger; leisurely tracing a line down to the screaming pulse in her neck. In the years to come of his life, people would wonder how rapidly his composure snapped and morphed into pure, sharp malice. Only she, Lia, would have been able to tell you that it was like the attack of a snake. Quick, unexplainable, vicious. That calm trailing of her neck mutated into two fierce hands gripping her throat, his muscular thighs straddling her torso; claiming complete authority over her final seconds. He felt his chest rise and fall as hers slowed and her face reddened. Her last specks of life blew from her chapped lips and he felt something he had never experienced, a penetrating and searing feeling. Something with no word, no emotion to pin it to. It was just a warmth.

That was the first time he killed.

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