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| Rotten Hell (Kane, Henderson) | |
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| Topic Started: Saturday, 17. August 2013, 22:53 (175 Views) | |
| Zola Van Gundy | Saturday, 17. August 2013, 22:53 Post #1 |
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Die Slow
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The chemical aftertaste of sterile vomit hung tight nooses in the air, clutching tight the throats of whoever smelled the night air near that pocket of rotten hell. One strand of police tape half torn tickled the rusted pole, waving occasionally to the distant forms of life too smart and fearful to draw near. When the wind kicked up, it became a weak flag declaring the last sign of Zola Van Gundy, and her mark. Meticulous in torture, blind in violence, but all the physical spectacles had been removed in sheets of black plastic, sealing up the horror from public eye. Only one nervous temp was willing to leak the crime scene location, to invisible promises across electric pleas. Below the waving flag, still freshly swept of the years of collected dust and debris, was the manhole leading into deep descents past sewers and into bomb shelters that were built to protect human life. Built and then forgotten, peeling paint and only protecting generations of insects and vermin that waged territorial war eternally, only briefly stalled by the presence of human forms, two corpses. One of those dead things climbed up out from the tomb, perverse in behavior and in its own being. The other began to rot and stench, until men unready for the sight plunged into those depths. Out they took the body, and tried desperately to find clues to the culprit. But only flakes of nothing and heavy shadows. But something lingered that no human could find without the right eyes, and no officer could see without the right point of view. Still so young in those first nights, wrecked wild with such a poison darkness it gasped and gurgled in struggle. Against the current of a thick river, its water like bloody syrup. When all the noise left, and dust once again began to collect, final images returned to focus. No longer struggle against the instant, violent, blind fury and fear. No, now it was the press of eternity, a murder with no resolve, and the rest of time to ponder towards insanity. For now, at least, this was a place where the quiet was now ruler. An atmosphere of unnatural acts still hung in the air, but this was a place forever changed. It was now barren. Bleak. Where silence has lease. |
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3:19 PM Jul 11