Thursday, August 6, 2009

On The Run, Hunted, Weary

Xeones’ shadow loomed on the sides of the rain-slicked alley as Warty dodged between abandoned shopping carts and split-open garbage bags. Sweat trickled down between Warty’s shoulder blades despite the cool night air. His breathing was ragged. He coughed and Xeones’ shadow shifted.

“W-W-W-Warty,” Xeones voice echoed in the night-empty city streets, “I’m coming for youuuuuuu.” The Ripper gleamed in his hand. He licked the teeth of the blade, cutting a shallow groove into his tongue. He let the blood fill his mouth as he chased the fleeing figure.

Warty ducked behind a dumpster to catch his breath. The frightened rabbit of his heart beat madly in his chest. The alley smelled of vomit and gardenias; he clapped a hand over his mouth to keep from retching. As he rocked back and forth, gagging and beginning to cry, a tremendous fart crept out--slow at first, then gathering speed and volume and wetness.

What felt like thick rain sprayed down on Warty. Xeones had crept onto the dumpster under cover of fart and had spit the blood out so he could snarl. “The eagle,” Xeones rasped, “I shall have your lungs out and fuck your heart to mush.”

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