Revolution 5 (Extract taken from Echoes of Dawn)
Written by Sam Rawlings on Tuesday the 30th of November 2010
Quiet as only a morning could be, she crept, the shallow throb of her breath and the ever so slight tread of her feet. The house stood alone, its walls creaking as it waited beneath the orange sky. The door ajar, she eased her way in; damp halls and patchy carpet and nothing. Hollow as the sunrise, she sighed upon each disappointing corner. Though eventually she saw me; her 'him'; myself a character, shackled to her story.
Wasting little time, she nudged open the door, letting it swing shut behind her. Quickly she began to untie me. I woke as she was loosening the last of the rope, my eyes searching, trembling. A sudden click, the door handle. She dived to the floor, scampering towards the wall. I stood up but the man was intent on returning. Frozen to the spot, a bullet whipped past my ear. The second stung my shoulder, blood and fear as I rolled over and crashed to the ground. The man swore but she did not hesitate, she leapt upon his shoulders, hands and fingers clawing at his nostrils, eyeballs, tearing at his face. The man threw himself around in retaliation, slamming her into the walls and shooting manically into the air. Desperate, she clung to his hair, pulling the man's head back, forcing back his eyes; and in that instant she saw that I was still alive, her love had found his feet. She smiled and laughed, the man groaned in defeat, his gun empty.
"Now,” she yelled, "do it now, fucking kill him!”
Grabbing the chair, I took aim before smashing it into his knees.
Revolution 5 - Image by Matt Black
The chair exploded into a storm of debris. Still the man stood, gurgling against her grip, staggering and gasping in desperation. Her laugh shattered the room, she rattled hysterically as she fought to keep hold of him.
"Do it! Just fucking do it, just fucking kill him!”
A splintered chair leg in hand, I could barley look at them, a cloud of gurgling and screaming.
"Fucking do it!” she yelled, forcing the man's head back further, exposing his flabby neck.
I stuck it to him, the wood grating as it pierced the man's throat. A stream of blood burst into flower, a rich red upon the stale air.
Still struggling, the man spun around before slumping to the floor. She lay crushed beneath him, yet still she laughed; grinning and laughing, her limbs awkward and stained.
"I love you, I love you, I love you,” she screamed.
Peering over them, I saw that the fat man's weight was hammering her into the carpet. She looked so frail.
Kneeling, I tried to free her from our corpse, but instead she made a lunge for my neck. Clutching at my T-shirt she dragged me towards her, violently kissing my already swollen lips. I struggled for breath as she ran her bloodied hands through my hair. Like springs we repelled each other, gasping as we fought to set her loose.
Freed, she staggered as she found her feet, her hands immediately reaching for my trousers, lifting my T-shirt, once again stuffing her tongue down my throat.
"Fuck me,” she whispered, "fuck me, fuck me.”
Her light frame span wildly into the middle of the room as my panic pushed her away, her ecstasy though choking my resistance, her hands grappling at my jeans, fumbling at my zip, wrenching me towards her.
"Fuck me,” she groaned.
Yet again I broke lose.
"Fuck me,” she said, she screamed, "fuck me, fuck me,” her voice rising high and wide. "Fuck me,” she giggled, before a tear slipped from her eye. "Fuck me,” she cried.
Within the depths of that room she stood; wobbling, crying.
"Fuck me . . . Fuck me . . .” she cried, her salty cheeks resting upon my chest, arms wrapped around each others lives; daylight at the window, a long and heavy hug . . .
. . . such had been our lust for time.
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