12 June, 1982 by Harry Fernando

Shudder. A shiver runs down his back. Throb throb. His temples throb in a frenzy of anger. A buzz of excitement runs through his body. She shudders underneath him. Leaves crunch and twigs snap under the weight of their bodies.  The fabric gives away in his hands, to soft flesh. Screams fill the air. Deafening. Shrill. Shut up! Shut up! No! He had stuffed handfuls of dirt into the mouth of the whore before. Grunt grunt. A hungry pig. He’s crushing her small weak body. Soft. He doesn’t bother freeing himself from his slacks. Soft. Weak. Weaker. She’s so weak. He laughs. Howls. Loud enough to drown out her shrill screams. Morphing. He howls like a beast. A God. A man. Mad. The Devil. Hungry. Insatiable. He is everything. Nothing. He is nothing.

‘YOU’RE NOTHING! A USELESS LITTLE BOY!’ the ugly old hag would scream as she beat him bloody. He lets out a guttural cry. Hot tears stream down his face. His fingers pull fistfuls of his hair in a primal desperation. He paws at the limp body beneath him. Spit spraying her plain pale pubescent face. Grunt grunt. His tongue against her cheek. Warm. He touches her chest. Soft. Pinching, squeezing and pushing down so hard he feels her brittle ribs crack. He wanted to crush her. His teeth graze her cheek biting at the soft flesh. Warm. Weak. Soft. Wet. Slippery. Pungent. Urine. She had started mewling. Weak. Small and pathetic. Weak. Weak. ‘YOU’RE WEAK! PATHETIC!’the old hag would snarl. He snarled. He had her ugly scowl, her hot ugly rage. The soaked dress tossed, she lay bare under him.

Heaving.

Her ugly scowl.

STAB STAB!

The knife cuts her soft weak throat.

Soft.

The painted whore laughed.

Hard.

STAB STAB!

Again and again! Blood pours out a crimson velvet. Hard. He spreads her legs. Crotch against hers. Hard. Slashes across her chest blooming red. White skin sliced. Hard. She squirms. Warm. Warm. He’s panting, moaning. Dry leaves around them are now soaked. Black. They look black. Moan. She’s beautiful, colored red and warm. His fingers digging into the cuts. Violating her flesh.

Her soft meat, like a sweet peach.

Her ugly scowl, a laughing whore, meek disappointment.

Throbbing.

Hard.

The knife cuts the girl’s flesh, he carves her face. Just for him. He peels her skin back like a split cherry. His mouth meets the gash on her check. Thrusting. His tongue in and out the warm gash.  Thrusting. The knife in and out her soft stomach. Thrusting. His hips against her slack body. Hard. Hard. Grunting. He frees himself. Knife tossed, gripping himself, he stares down at his masterpiece. His. His. His. Throbbing. His body shakes. Shudder. Her eyes were wide open, staring, blank. Her face carved. Red spread over the pale white canvas of her body. Legs spread wide. The white of her inner thighs and the soft pink are unstained, untouched, unharmed. Grunt grunt. Both hands on her middle. Smearing the blood across her stomach. Up and down her body, fingers reaching into the warmth inside of her gaping bloody slashes.

Poke.

Warm.

Prod.

Wiggle.

Warm.

Moan.

Slippery.

Slide.

Grunt.

A wild boar.

HARD HARD!

Face buried the sticky slippery crimson wet.

Lapping at the bloody gashes.

Split cherries.

Wet. Oozing.

Grunt.

Moan.

Pant.

Oozing.

Shiver. Shudder.

HOWL!

Red.

Bursts of flashing white.

Black.

Red.

Grunt.

Grunt.

Grunt.

Handfuls of wet dirt and leaves soaked. A broad swipe of black across her torso. Mud on her face. A little woodland nymph. A bed of leaves, thorns. Her soft pink, cut, carved. Soft. Eyes wide, staring, accusing.

Her ugly scowl, a laughing whore, meek disappointment.

Grunt.

Slash slash! The blade slices. A soft pink oozes. An X carved on each eye. Boneless with release. He lay back down in the mess he made.

THE END

H. Fernando is currently completing her Bachelors in Arts and Social sciences, double majoring in Gender & Sexuality studies and Writing. As a horror enthusiast, she enjoys dabbling in disturbing oddities and unconventional narratives.

The author has not provided a picture.