Vengeance

A Story by TNT

A dark short story if you will.

My vengeance will come on the tattered black wings of death in the frigid stagnant night. The preceding odor of blood will creep into your home like a merciless intruder. It will rape and torment your nostrils relentlessly. And as the tears of terror and agony roll down your face. Your knees will give out and you will fall. And upon your hands and knees youll clench the coarse ground to look up and through the hall in your residence and see with tainted eyes and see with the veins in your eyes pulsating with rushing blood. My pitch black silhouette in the moonlit doorway. As my menacing visage sets its malicious gaze upon you, your heart will beat ferociously and the sound of its feverish heaving will blot out all others. The raging fire 'neath your mantle will subside into smoldering embers. And the warm comforting room of welcoming light will be usurped by the concealing darkness. With trembling lips you'll mutter to me pleading for mercy as i draw closer to your feeble body and foolish mind. The void within your home will be filled the stark melody of your begs and sobs. And as i see you lift your frail hand to me, as if to push me away with something, ill butcher it off like a bloody slab of meat. And the void will now consume your wails and cries of excruciating pain. The warm crimson blood will spatter on the walls and floor. The syrupy liquid will slide of my blade and stain the ceiling as i come down with each ferocious and bloodthirsty chop. The sounds of each sharp thud as cleaver meets open flesh. And your horrified eyes that peel back and stare into mine will see into my sinister, wretchedly joyful eyes that infernally burn like hellfire. Thats insanity has been unbound and runs freely through my enraged mind. The dilapidated morbid dance of the harlequin rotting from its grave. Thats putrid limbs smell of decay and flail and break like a leper. And in the lonesome streets of fallen rain in my mind will be a macabre carnivale of death. A black sea of carcasses, cadavers, and corpses parading through my mind wearing the masks of innocence to conceal their mutual insidious grins. Beckoning you to join them 'neath the black pall of night. The dead walk in the night. For as your sight fades with every infuriated chop upon your mangled flesh i will spread my grin upon the sight of your slaughter. For in the doorway now is nothing. An empty orifice at the front of the empty house. The moonlight shines through in its peaceful white an blue rays. The night now so quiet and calm. For the only thing that stirs within that house, is your slowly thickening blood as it rolls across the cold floor. My vengeance will come. This sick fantasy is not. It is the inevitable reality. That walks tenaciously towards us. This is a solemn promise. A homicidal vow. Tick tock my swine. Tick tock

© 2014 TNT

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Spamalot

"I prefer a free form of writing. "
- - - - - - - -
looked at a few of the dozen pieces you dumped in, and from what I can see it's just you overacting to the extreme. It may seem to work when you perform the pieces, but since no one else can hear that, or see your expression, it doesn't work. An author/publisher/playwright whose name escapes me now, suggested giving our writing to someone who has no acting talent (in other words the average reader) to read aloud, so you hear what a reader does in their head.

Give that a try and you'll see why yours isn't a more popular approach.