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. Heâs crushing her small weak body. Soft. He doesnât bother freeing himself
from his slacks. Soft. Weak. Weaker. Sheâs 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.
âYOUâRE
NOTHING! A USELESS LITTLE BOY!â 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. âYOUâRE WEAK! PATHETIC!âthe 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.
Advertisement
STAB STAB!
The
knife cuts her soft weak throat.
Soft.
The
painted whore laughed.
Hard.
Advertisement
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.
Heâs panting, moaning. Dry leaves around them are now soaked. Black. They look
black. Moan. Sheâs 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.
Advertisement
Hard.
The
knife cuts the girlâs 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.
Advertisement
Wiggle.
Warm.
Moan.
Slippery.
Slide.
Advertisement
Grunt.
A
wild boar.
HARD HARD!
Face
buried the sticky slippery crimson wet.
Lapping
at the bloody gashes.
Advertisement
Split
cherries.
Wet. Oozing.
Grunt.
Moan.
Pant.
Advertisement
Oozing.
Shiver. Shudder.
HOWL!
Red.
Bursts of flashing white.
Advertisement
Black.
Red.
Grunt.
Grunt.
Grunt.
Advertisement
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
Advertisement
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.
Continuing our AI journey from last time exploring Little Red Riding Hood herself as the Big Bad Wolf… All of these are based upon the AI generated art and prompts using NightCafe and then created as posters in Canva.
How very… Phantom of the Opera predatory… this is definitely not what I had in mind. Maybe something more cutesy?
Ugh. Maybe not.
Wow, that seems like such a cop out, cropping off the head so you don’t have to depict it. And I don’t want to lose the Little Red Riding Hood reference completely.
So no surprise there, I knew that was too many references to work.
And as promised in Big Bad Poetry, we shall embark on our next AI journey, this time looking at Little Red Riding Hood. I had wanted to depict her as the Big Bad Wolf one and the same, although maybe not so big nor bad. But it just wasn’t happening quite as planned. All of these are based upon the AI generated art and prompts using NightCafe and then created as posters in Canva.
So I actually like this even better than my original vision, it is playful and even a bit serene (especially given the Sinister style). The wolf is just being a wolf. It’s quite lovely, really. But it wasn’t what I had in mind, so I revisited the idea later to see if I could get that result…
Over the river and through the wood flashed the fleet-footed Red Riding Hood on her way to her âgrandmotherâsâ house.
When running past, who should she see but just one of the little pigs three cowering like but a tiny mouse.
âBut my dear piggy, what do you fear?â Red Riding Hood asked as she slunk near, teeth hidden under a sheepish smile.
Advertisement
The nervous small pig looked up in fright and decided that Red was alright, missing the subtle clues by a mile.
âThe Big Bad Wolf, that horrible beast upon the other wee pigs did feast!â the last little pig said with a squeal.
Red Riding Hood laughed with a great growl and threw back her heavy long-robed cowl, in a vast terrifying reveal.
For she was really the wolf Big Bad hidden beneath the cape that he had stolen from Red Riding Hood at point.
âAnd now Iâve caught you too my pretty and surely tâwouldnât be a pity if I gobbled you up in this joint.â
Advertisement
Tâwas then the wee pig leapt to his feet And cried, âBig Bad Wolf, I shall defeat, for I am no ordinary swine!â
The little pig also wore sheepâs clothes spun in spells every woodland witch knows; Old Granny herself was quite divine.
âNow give me back my granddaughterâs cape, before I grab you by your ruffed nape and send you pig-squealing down the roadâŠâ
The wolf dropped the cape and ran, that cur, but Granny was swifter and hexed his fur and the wolf she turned into a toad.
Thus the moral of this story goes, when in the woods, no one really knows what sheepish sheepâs clothing is a ruse that big bad wolves and old witches use.
Advertisement
So this is actually an intro to my next AI art journey with NightCafe which developed from me not getting the results I wanted (Little Red Riding Hood herself as a wolf). Here’s a preview with Eric’s versions as he is much more literal in his prompting than I am, but where’s the fun in that? đ
Prompts (from left to right) in Dark Fantasy style, executed Aug. 1, 2023:
Bipedal wolf in Red Riding Hood’s cloak
Bipedal wolf in Red Riding Hood’s cloak close up portrait
Bipedal wolf in red cloak close up portrait
Portrait of myself with dark makeup and crow skull headdress, backlit by the sun.