The Severed: GrUeberfest 2005 (741 hits)
Category: Quotes & StoriesRating: 1.65 on 17 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by icarus1987 (View user info) at 2005-10-20 15:52:15 EDT
The first thing he could remember was the smell of meat torn off the bone.
It was the juicy kind; flesh so white and pure he could trace the spidery black veins and tally the squirming maggots before he sucked them from their warrens. He lived with the old man then; in the little house at the end of the tunnels. The old man who gave him meat, and make rich, chattering sounds while he cocked his head and chewed away. The doors of the house were locked then, and the years he spent nestled in the warmth of the earth, with the touch of damp roots and stones; the smell of stagnant leaves or sweet pine or cedar wood; were innocent of the horrible blue void or the blinding eye that turned through it.
Some nights, the old man would take him to the workshop where he prepared the meat. He would watch the old man lovingly lay the meat out, wash it with bitter-smelling antiseptics, massage the naked flesh until it was loose and warm. He would work his way over it with his needles of sweet-smelling nectar, put his scalpel into that little valley above the navel and suck all the juices out. Then, when the meat was clean and white, the old man would make happy noises as he sponged sticky layers of foundation and rouge on to the face. The old man always gave him something to do; showing him how to turn the dials on the powder blue clock radio or how gingerly to hold the conical glass vials of embalming fluid.
There were other nights the old man would take his black-calloused hands and lead him to the chamber where the old woman with the empty eyes lay. She would croon soft nonsense in the darkness as her wrinkled fingers picked nightcrawlers from the hair on his chest. The old man sat back on a stool, reading a paper or watching them with a smile.
In time, the old man taught him about mating. At first, he discretely left must-smelling magazines on the coffee table, leave it there beside the television remote and a mason jar of chocolate creams, open to pictures that made his throat clench with urges he couldn't name. Later, the old man would bring him mates from the workshop, leaving him alone with them for an hour or more. He remembered his first one; the naked scalp smelled of barbasol, and the pale honeymaple flesh had the rich, chemical taste of formaldehyde and water conditioner.
One night he came from the tunnels and could not find the old man. He looked about until he found the old woman's room. He crouched at the edge of the bed, bleating softly into the silence. As she lay still, he took her wrinkled fingers, moving them over the matted dust mats on his chest. She did not move. He cocked her head, and traced his fingers over the frame. It had the same long, pitted fingers; the same short, white hair that curled around his fingers, but it was not her. He picked the fingers up again, putting them to his lips, holding them between his canines as he savored the saltiness with his tongue.
The old man arrived to find them wrapped in her coverings. He smiled. Then came the blinding light, the sounds that exploded from the old man's cracked lips, the pine stool that splintered over his ribs. A mewing cough came from his throat as he staggered from the bed, moved forward on his knuckles, face lowered. Then there were the old, smooth hands around his shoulders, his neck, smacking his face -- the tang of Ben Gay and Old Spice and agression-- something that splintered between his teeth like a bamboo pipe and an urgent, gurgling sound.
That he'd bowled his way through a room full of strangers, past smoking metal giants in the long drive, barely registered. He was only aware of the footsteps coming through the narrow copse, the flashing lights on the roads. He kept running. No place was safe. Not for long. If one human saw him, others would come. He slept in drainage pipes, abandoned sheds, construction sites. He ate or hoarded anything an upturned rock could produce. In a week he had found the tunnels beneath the maze of asphalt, cement, and bright glass. Its walls were hard and smooth and ribbed like earth worms. They rumbled and echoed with the sounds of the surface world. But they were dark, warm, damp --and best of all-- enclosed. He learned to swim.
It wasn't long before he found meat.
It was naked, just like in the workshop, but the fat, young cheeks were smeared with dirt, and the ratty yellow hair was still attached. He lifted an arm, sniffed the armpit. Cologne, sweat, and human waste. He held back for only a second, then bit into the webbing between the fingers, tearing out gulps of flesh and muscle with quick snaps of his head. He didn't notice them standing behind him. He couldn't see or hear beyond the pain in his gut. Then something flat and aluminum pelted him in the back. He turned, showing his fangs as he bent over the remains of the torso. The two men saw the blood dribbled down his chin like cottage cheese, and stepped out of the light.
The fat one pulled out of his partners grip, stalking forward in a crouch. The skinny one chattered nervously. He bleated back at the two, showing a mouthful of rubbery lung tissue. The bearded one stopped, knelt, watched him behind smoke-colored glasses. A thick, hairy hand slid out of his pocket, motioning at the other one. After a soft, pattering exchange, the skinny one ducked back into the conduit. He emerged dragging something behind him. He sped up as the fat one gestured, and dropped it beside his companion before backing away to the conduit.
Keeping his hands on the food, he cast his eyes over the pair, then over what they had brought. It looked so much like the little gold-haired one, but larger, and dressed in a torn blouse and rumpled black skirt. The fat one gestured to him, showing yellow teeth through his beard. He crept forward on his knuckles, dragging his meal behind him. The bearded one fell back on his approach, almost falling on to his back. He smelled the bare feet. They were small, like the child's, with short, curved toes. He licked his way up the long legs, pressing the skirt aside. It had been a while since he'd answered this urge.
The next thing he knew they were on top of him, barking angrily. Hands tore him back, and his teeth sank into an elbow. There was an explosion of syllables, and a hard mass struck his cheek. The next thing could remember was lying on his back, staring up into a sewer grate. A river of soles were passing overhead; sandals, high heels, dock martins. He clenched one hand, tried to clench the other, but could not find it. He bleated.
The fat face floated above him, yellow teeth gleaming between the peppered red of the moustache and goatee. Fat fingers dangled the chunk of a hand above him. The meat was porous and white, divoted with calousses. The fingers were blackened nubs at the tips. It was making sounds, mocking sounds he almost thought he could recogize. His head came up and he took the meat, savoring the taste for the last time.
User Reviews
Submitted by AshK (user info) at 2005-10-24 12:57:42 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
I liked this a lot. I think there were a few too many he's floating around, but it was still a great read.
Submitted by Spam (user info) at 2005-10-22 15:30:07 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Fingers
Submitted by Spam (user info) at 2005-10-22 15:29:45 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
it was a little vague, but I liked it nonetheless.
When I read this line though: -
He cocked her head, and traced his fingers over the frame. It had the same long, pitted fingers; the same short, white hair that curled around his fingers, but it was not her. He picked the fingers up again, putting them to his lips, holding them between his canines as he savored the saltiness with his tongue.
All I really read was "Fingers, fingers fingers fingers. Fingers."
Submitted by Orgasmatron (user info) at 2005-10-21 16:39:42 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
It was certainly alien, foreign, and for that I felt disconnected.
But the disconnect made me appreciate the writing more.
Submitted by CaptainThorns (user info) at 2005-10-21 08:12:14 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Very vivid.
Submitted by Berty (user info) at 2005-10-21 08:09:39 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by kaos-king (user info) at 2005-10-21 03:10:22 (#)
Ranking: 2
I really dug this one a lot. I thought you captured the essence of an alien, inhuman feeling very well.
----------------
It all came across as quite innocent to me.
Submitted by kaos-king (user info) at 2005-10-21 03:10:22 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
I really dug this one a lot. I thought you captured the essence of an alien, inhuman feeling very well.,
Submitted by thecaes (user info) at 2005-10-20 22:56:01 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
WELL. I really really liked this. Though I did get confused with the abundance of 'he's' all over the place. The descriptions were what made it for me. Very poetic and visceral.
Submitted by MANICMOTHER (user info) at 2005-10-20 21:12:21 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
I followed it, fairly well. I'm beginning to wonder if that has to do with my unusually good
multi-tasking skills.
Submitted by Jack_McCallum (user info) at 2005-10-20 17:50:13 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
A little confusing, but good.
Oh and this made me think of my dear old dad. *sniff*
Then there were the old, smooth hands around his shoulders, his neck, smacking his face -- the tang of Ben Gay and Old Spice and agression--
Submitted by icarus1987 (user info) at 2005-10-20 17:01:17 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Meh. It was a quick rework of Lovecraft's "Outsider"... only seen through the eyes of the 'thing'. It isn't really human, and wouldn't think in terms of 'now I'm going to the city. Now the two criminals are baiting me into eating the people they've killed (so that it looks like I did it.)'
In hindsight, I should have gone completely 3rd person-Objective, allowing the reader to see both the creature's perspective and understand the human's dialogue. I also should have called it 'the thing' (would have saved on a bitchload of pronoun confusion,) but I didn't want to give up the possibility of 'it' being human. Can't write another, though, so I decided to run with the draft the way it was.
Submitted by Professional_Peon (user info) at 2005-10-20 16:45:04 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
Submitted by Brdn_Nkd (user info) at 2005-10-20 16:25:52 (#)
Ranking: 1
Submitted by pen_name (user info) at 2005-10-20 16:11:51 (#)
Ranking: 1
honestly, it was well-written, but i couldn't get a handle on what was going on.
a little too vague maybe? i don't know.
---------------
a little bit
Submitted by Brdn_Nkd (user info) at 2005-10-20 16:25:52 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
Submitted by pen_name (user info) at 2005-10-20 16:11:51 (#)
Ranking: 1
honestly, it was well-written, but i couldn't get a handle on what was going on.
a little too vague maybe? i don't know.
Submitted by badassmofo (user info) at 2005-10-20 16:13:08 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
No Comment
Submitted by badassmofo (user info) at 2005-10-20 16:12:51 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Fucking A I liked this.
Good descripts and it held me all the way through.
I hated the first line though. Sorry bout that.
It's a solid 1.5 in my book.
Submitted by pen_name (user info) at 2005-10-20 16:11:51 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
honestly, it was well-written, but i couldn't get a handle on what was going on.
a little too vague maybe? i don't know.
Submitted by icarus1987 (user info) at 2005-10-20 15:53:05 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Necrophilia, necrophagia, psuedo-incest... damn am I glad that's over!