Jun 13, 2019 17:48:31 GMT
Post by terrorbyte on Jun 13, 2019 17:48:31 GMT
Bobby Drake
I sin but I've paid more than ten thousand graves
If you said there would be a time when monsters didn't exist, I would call you a liar or a fool. Monsters do exist. They are very much real. They are flesh and blood and weakness, and they exist in every one of us. Some of us let our monsters out a little bit more frequently, but they are all there. Lying in wait like the bastard of a secret you wish you could desperately contain. The faucet to the sink ran without supervision. Bobby leaned over the toilet and released what little he had eaten back into the toilet. Fuck.
They always tasted so bad when they suffered from anxiety. Fear, from a panic attack tasted sour. It wasn't pure fear. It was chemical imbalance and it tasted like shit. Especially when the sorry asshole tried to medicate the problem away. "Oh, you miserable prick!" Bobby groaned. Between his feet on the dirty truck stop bathroom floor was a body. A twitching, yet dead fresh corpse. Bobby didn't know he was a sufferer of panic attacks and anxiety. Needless to say he was starving now. Thanks to deputy dipshit and his shiny star badge.
Blood dripped across the tile. It moved slowly down the side of the slightly slanted floor into a crack in the baseboard. From there it broke off at a right angle and traveled along the wall. Bobby didn't take heed of this. The blood on his face, speckled and everywhere stung at his eyes as he breathed heavily. Here comes the next wave. Bobby's stomach twisted in a tight knot as more medicated anxiety fear spilled out of his lips as black bubbling bile. It burned as it came out. Smoke rose up from the spewage pot in front of him.
Small tendrils of smoke spilled off his burning wet lips as he shook violently. The sad part was there was no way of knowing if someone had anxiety. He did not sense it, it was a roll of the dice. A gamble and with 9/11, terrorism, global warming and about a billion other crises being medicated wasn't even a rare occurrence. Bobby wiped his lips and stood up on shaky legs. Moving over to the sink with the still running water He splashed some in his face. He did the best he could to get the blood off of his face. He had to loose his over shirt entirely because it was just too completely drenched in blood.
It always got messy in the end. Syphoning off fear was bloody disgusting. It sort of looked like you were ripping someone's soul out of their face. Blurry, distorted, And all too entirely ghastly. Like TV static snow hazing across a broken screen. Their fears faded in and out... Blinking too and from reality as he inhaled it or licked it off. In the end pours and blood vessels exploded. Nerve endings overloaded and fried themselves. It was traumatically painful...For the victim at least.
Bobby looked back at his last meal. His face was stretched out and horrified. Twisted into supernatually unnatural expression. His eyes wide and almost popping out of his head as his jaw was practically dislocated it had stretched so far in the screaming final moments. His whole body had a pale, waxy quality to him. Bobby sighed. He didn't really enjoy the killing. In fact, it made him sick. Sicker than this actually. He had to kill. He had to eat. He didn't hate killing enough to give up living in it's place. He was just selfish that way. He didn't ask to be born like this. With these cursed powers. This terrible affliction.
Bobby looked back into the dirty stained mirror and hated what he saw looking back at himself, but at least he was clean. He didn't see any signs of blood on his person. The man on the floor, the sheriff's deputy had blood everywhere from where he was partially eaten. But not in a physical sense. Bobby never took a bite out of flesh, not unless he was truly, truly hungry, but the exploding pours and blood vessels had left enough of a mess. Imagine microwaving a balloon filled with red dye. Bobby left the bathroom after taking one last look at his carnage and stepped out into the pouring rain.
Thunder and lightening claimed the skys. The downpour had him soaked to the skin. His black wife beater tank top hugged his finely chiseled muscles, flattening his hair and making his shoes squish as he ran across the gas station parking lot. He took shelter by the pumps. This late the place was all but deserted. He glanced at the sheriff's car sitting there with the lights still blarring blue and red, and figured he didn't want to be caught by a security camera stealing the cops car; when the body was inevitably found later. That was when a car pulled up to the pump.
Bobby was desperate. So much in fact he would offer this stranger what was needed to secure a ride out of town. Bobby walked up to the car. He had a backpack over his hunky shoulder and a friendly smile on his face. As she got out to pump the gas he noted that she smelled terrible. Not because she was oderous mind you, but because she had a strong will and a strong confident personality.
The weak scaredy cats were the ones he found to smell the best. She had to much promise of greatness for him to find it anything other than disgustingly putrid. "Uh... Scuse'me miss. I reckon it's a might inconvient, and a hell of alot shadier than you'd like, but iff'n you wouldn't mind I could sure use a lift to Kentucky. Take me as far as you can and I'll pay for gas an snacks along the way. Sorta stranded here. I'm hoping that my guardian angel just showed up is all..."
Bobby had a very southern country boy way of talking. He was a southern country boy at heart and it showed. He was trying to get back to Kentucky. To his family. He had made off on his own not wanting to be a burden to Mother anymore, but he realized how much he needed the call of family and the safety of familiar. He didn't like this world on his own. The things he had to do... Well, it was downright distasteful. Bobby offered Kiara his nicest smile and his deep dark brown eyes softened at her expression. He was starving, and she wasn't going to be his next meal. At least he didn't think so. She seemed to strong of a woman, but he had to put distance between him and this fuckup. He could worry about what he'd eat later.
They always tasted so bad when they suffered from anxiety. Fear, from a panic attack tasted sour. It wasn't pure fear. It was chemical imbalance and it tasted like shit. Especially when the sorry asshole tried to medicate the problem away. "Oh, you miserable prick!" Bobby groaned. Between his feet on the dirty truck stop bathroom floor was a body. A twitching, yet dead fresh corpse. Bobby didn't know he was a sufferer of panic attacks and anxiety. Needless to say he was starving now. Thanks to deputy dipshit and his shiny star badge.
Blood dripped across the tile. It moved slowly down the side of the slightly slanted floor into a crack in the baseboard. From there it broke off at a right angle and traveled along the wall. Bobby didn't take heed of this. The blood on his face, speckled and everywhere stung at his eyes as he breathed heavily. Here comes the next wave. Bobby's stomach twisted in a tight knot as more medicated anxiety fear spilled out of his lips as black bubbling bile. It burned as it came out. Smoke rose up from the spewage pot in front of him.
Small tendrils of smoke spilled off his burning wet lips as he shook violently. The sad part was there was no way of knowing if someone had anxiety. He did not sense it, it was a roll of the dice. A gamble and with 9/11, terrorism, global warming and about a billion other crises being medicated wasn't even a rare occurrence. Bobby wiped his lips and stood up on shaky legs. Moving over to the sink with the still running water He splashed some in his face. He did the best he could to get the blood off of his face. He had to loose his over shirt entirely because it was just too completely drenched in blood.
It always got messy in the end. Syphoning off fear was bloody disgusting. It sort of looked like you were ripping someone's soul out of their face. Blurry, distorted, And all too entirely ghastly. Like TV static snow hazing across a broken screen. Their fears faded in and out... Blinking too and from reality as he inhaled it or licked it off. In the end pours and blood vessels exploded. Nerve endings overloaded and fried themselves. It was traumatically painful...For the victim at least.
Bobby looked back at his last meal. His face was stretched out and horrified. Twisted into supernatually unnatural expression. His eyes wide and almost popping out of his head as his jaw was practically dislocated it had stretched so far in the screaming final moments. His whole body had a pale, waxy quality to him. Bobby sighed. He didn't really enjoy the killing. In fact, it made him sick. Sicker than this actually. He had to kill. He had to eat. He didn't hate killing enough to give up living in it's place. He was just selfish that way. He didn't ask to be born like this. With these cursed powers. This terrible affliction.
Bobby looked back into the dirty stained mirror and hated what he saw looking back at himself, but at least he was clean. He didn't see any signs of blood on his person. The man on the floor, the sheriff's deputy had blood everywhere from where he was partially eaten. But not in a physical sense. Bobby never took a bite out of flesh, not unless he was truly, truly hungry, but the exploding pours and blood vessels had left enough of a mess. Imagine microwaving a balloon filled with red dye. Bobby left the bathroom after taking one last look at his carnage and stepped out into the pouring rain.
Thunder and lightening claimed the skys. The downpour had him soaked to the skin. His black wife beater tank top hugged his finely chiseled muscles, flattening his hair and making his shoes squish as he ran across the gas station parking lot. He took shelter by the pumps. This late the place was all but deserted. He glanced at the sheriff's car sitting there with the lights still blarring blue and red, and figured he didn't want to be caught by a security camera stealing the cops car; when the body was inevitably found later. That was when a car pulled up to the pump.
Bobby was desperate. So much in fact he would offer this stranger what was needed to secure a ride out of town. Bobby walked up to the car. He had a backpack over his hunky shoulder and a friendly smile on his face. As she got out to pump the gas he noted that she smelled terrible. Not because she was oderous mind you, but because she had a strong will and a strong confident personality.
The weak scaredy cats were the ones he found to smell the best. She had to much promise of greatness for him to find it anything other than disgustingly putrid. "Uh... Scuse'me miss. I reckon it's a might inconvient, and a hell of alot shadier than you'd like, but iff'n you wouldn't mind I could sure use a lift to Kentucky. Take me as far as you can and I'll pay for gas an snacks along the way. Sorta stranded here. I'm hoping that my guardian angel just showed up is all..."
Bobby had a very southern country boy way of talking. He was a southern country boy at heart and it showed. He was trying to get back to Kentucky. To his family. He had made off on his own not wanting to be a burden to Mother anymore, but he realized how much he needed the call of family and the safety of familiar. He didn't like this world on his own. The things he had to do... Well, it was downright distasteful. Bobby offered Kiara his nicest smile and his deep dark brown eyes softened at her expression. He was starving, and she wasn't going to be his next meal. At least he didn't think so. She seemed to strong of a woman, but he had to put distance between him and this fuckup. He could worry about what he'd eat later.
thanks malin @ adox
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