~One~

~One~

A Chapter by Tabatha P.

 

 

~One~

     Long, slender legs. Luscious lips adorned with two metal hoops. Black hair falling into an acidic green eyes fringed by thick lashes. Alabaster skin. Slender fingers gripping a glass full of a drink the same color as the eyes. A gorgeous, androgynous creature seemingly glowing in the dim light of the noisy bar. The music was annoying. Grating. But I willingly went to the club, if the small and dirty room could be considered that. I went to the club for creatures like the one I was watching right now. He knew he was being watched. It was easy to see as he carefully lifted the glass to his lips and took a sip. Unable to keep a smirk from my lips, I slipped off the stool I was sitting on and went over to him. My hands found their places on his shoulders and my lips moved to his ear. I felt a shiver rack his body as I whispered meaningless words into his ear, playing off his vanity. After only a few moments of seduction, I had him right where I wanted him.

     He followed me obediently to my rather barren apartment. The fact that it only served one purpose was evident in that the bed room was the only room fully furnished. I rarely ever needed to sleep in my own bed when so many people were offering theirs. On spotting the velvet covered bed a smirk came onto the metal clad lips of the nameless creature. Like so many others he was willing to come and go without a name.                                                                         

     The door had barely been shut behind us before he was all over me. Placing violent and almost blood thirsty kisses on my lips and neck. Within seconds I had him out of those deliciously tight clothes that clung to his willowy body perfectly, looking almost painted on. I stood back from him, taking in the flawlessness of his body. The color of his skin was uniform. He wore no makeup to make his face and hands so pale, it was natural. Whether it was because he never went outside or that was just the pigment of his skin, I didn’t care. And that’s how I liked it. I preferred any mark on the bodies of my “lovers” to be made by me and nothing else. I’d often brought someone home only to discard them when they were out of their clothes. They were imperfect. Some had birthmarks. Some scars. Either way they weren’t to my liking. But the thing before me was. Completely perfect. My lips found the tender flesh which covered the area above his collar bone and I bit down, feeling him shudder. I tasted the skin with my tongue. Sampling and savoring it the way one might sample and savor a fine wine. Soft noises came from his soft lips and soon we were on the bed.

     Afterwards it took only one glass of “fine” wine to persuade him to get dressed once more. Wretched creatures, humans, they lose their senses so quickly. I, myself, never partake of inebriating substances. I prefer to be in control and to relinquish that control would be worse than death. With promises of more wine and more sex I led him from my place and out onto the street. A few blocks away I abandoned him in another dirty club where he would no doubt fall prey to another eloquent individual’s seduction.

     My echoing footsteps became my only company as I strolled down the streets, invigorated by the brisk breeze. The air was heavy with the lovely, revolting scent only a city can have. It was the scent of desperation, rife with the agony and pain of thousands of lost souls. People came to the city with hope only to leave in a pretty box…if they were lucky. Some died on the streets. Victims of murder and excess. Their bodies would stay for days and even weeks, rats burrowing into their flesh and digging themselves out a temporary home. This is life and it’s courted most often by death.

     They say a hero will come and save us. The infamous they. Well, they lie. There are no heroes in this world. The only place one is able to find a “hero” in this day and age is if one turns on that horrid brainwashing box called a television and flips to the right channel. Or if one prefers large crowded places full of imbeciles, there is always the movie theatre. I, myself, loath both. The only heroes I like aren’t even really heroes. They’re villains in disguise and one finds them on the stages of the theatres in this city. One just has to know where to look. The stage is the only place where real life is acted out perfectly complete with all the lies and deception. On stage things are never as they appear. One minuet the “hero” could be saving the wilting damsel and then the next he’ll be raping her in front of the admiring audience. It really is quite magnificent. I, myself, have no need for rape but I have no aversion. How fun it is to be taken violently! Violence is always enjoyable. Played rape is a wonderful pastime. I recommend everyone try it at least once.

     But I digress. I was speaking about the futility of believing there is a hero that will save all of us pitiful souls. Even if a hero exists out there placing hope in them means you’re an idiot. No one cares enough to save people they’ve never even met. People don’t care about others. If you believe this you are delusional and need to be locked away. Yet if you insist upon believing in your hero I do not care. You’ll waste your whole life waiting to be saved only to die miserably. It’s amusing. I only hope that when you die it dawns on you what a waste your life has been and your death becomes a blessing. It’s fun to watch as people’s hopes are shattered and crushed to dust when they realize that life is nothing. It’s nothing at all.

     Finding myself a familiar area, I leaned against the grimy wall keeping a lazy eye out for an acquaintance that regularly stalked the general area. Suddenly I found myself overcome with that all too familiar sensation of being watched. Turning my eyes from the sky and to the dirty blackness of an apartment complex, I spotted a huddled figure clad in dingy rags. Two brown eyes stared lethargically out at my from a face caked with dirt. A pale pink tongue licked over the cracked lips as the…thing, it was impossible to tell the gender of this creature, rose slowly off the grey steps and came forward. The thick scent of alcohol permeated the air around it, mixing in with the horrid smells of unwashed skin. Mildly interested I looked the thing over and waited for it to speak. Stumbling as it walked I waited for the crash as it hit the ground but sadly there was none. Somehow it managed to keep its footing. He, I am almost positive that it was a male, began to speak in a rough croak. “Got some spare change, sir?” He asked.

     I had to resist the urge to laugh in his face. I found it impossibly funny that I was being called “sir.” For one, there was no way for him to be sure of my sex in the dim light of alleyway and I wondered why he assumed I was male. Are men the only one’s who give charity? Or maybe he would never assume a woman would be walking the streets late at night. Either way, I wasn’t going to give away anything. Whether he was right or wrong is up for the reader to determine. Another reason I was amused was simple; I was probably three times younger than this man. Surprising isn’t it? Most people think I’m older than I am because of my manner. I’m an anachronism to quite a few people and I adore it. Slipping my hand into my pocket, I pulled out a large amount of money. With a deliberately lazy manner I held it out to him. His eyes widened in astonishment, I wasn’t lying when I said it was a large amount of money, and he looked between me and the money as if expecting to wake up any moment. I made a gesture for him to take the money and pulled a kind smile out of my acting repertoire. Slowly as if waiting for the money to be pulled away he accepted my gift. After a moment of staring at me with wide eyes, he uttered a quick, “thank you” and made a hasty retreat. Now I’m sure many of you gasped in shock at this seemingly random act of kindness. Well shut your gaping mouths because I didn’t do it out of the goodness of my heart. I did it because I knew that the man would spend all that money on vices that would bring him even closer to self-destruction. I couldn’t help but want to encourage him. It’s one of the greatest feelings in the world to know that an action of yours has helped destroy someone.

     Sliding down the wall I could no longer suppress my laughter. I knew my clothes were getting filthy but why should I care? Sitting on the dirty ground, my hands to my face as I laughed insanely anyone walking by would probably think I was crazy. It was behind the point of control. This mirthful laughter. Tears streamed from my eyes and into my cupped hands. This had happened before. Uncontrollable laughter found my quite often these days. After a few moments I was fine. Slightly tired and dirty I decided to go spend the night with someone. We were “close” friends. His name was Brendan and his sister lived with him which made nights spent there all the more enjoyable. Not to mention neither of them expected any sort of relationship to come out of it and both were stunning. All in all it was the perfect arrangement. Whistling cheerfully, I rose gracefully to my feet and walked the familiar path to their large mansion on the outskirts of town.

 




© 2008 Tabatha P.



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I like your imagery and detail in your write. This is very good

Posted 6 Months Ago


From the begining I am caught up in the detail and imagery you use to create the settings of you stories. They are utterly amazing and leave the reader with a vivid image of where they're at.

I'll be honest and admit that the detailed sub-story of the night out with "flawless" was not to appealing. As always the imagery and detail was stunning and left nothing to ache for. But it seemed that for the narrator to give into such idle and inevitably pointless desires was more of a sign of weakness then anything else. Seems contradictory to the statements of always having control.

Then there was the rant for a lack of hero. You portrayed the truth perfectly with your words. More or less this was my favorite part of the story-

Even if a hero exists out there placing hope in them means you�re an idiot. No one cares enough to save people they�ve never even met. People don�t care about others. If you believe this you are delusional and need to be locked away. Yet if you insist upon believing in your hero I do not care. You�ll waste your whole life waiting to be saved only to die miserably. It�s amusing. I only hope that when you die it dawns on you what a waste your life has been and your death becomes a blessing.

-again you capture a sense of dark understanding in your words. You have the courage to say something that someone would otherwise skirt from. This excert is something someone would want to avoid but you confront the topic head first. Very interesting style in writing, yet you seem to pull it off effortlessly.

To wrap things up, I find this to be a magnificent peice, if not for the lack of subtleness. I can't wait until the next chapter and I will be keeping an eye out. Great writing. Amazing as always.

Posted 11 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

I'll get this out of the way first..."He knew he was being watch."

Anyhow, the imagery is great, and I didn't notice any "jarring" kind of areas. In other words, it read quite smoothly, but most of all, it left me wanting more.

Posted 11 Years Ago



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Added on April 8, 2008


Author

Tabatha P.
Tabatha P.

Memphis, TN



About
I'm a sophmore at Hollins University majoring in Creative Writing with a tenative minor in Gender and Women's Studies. At the moment the majority of my new writing is the result of my Creative Writing.. more..

Writing
Martyrdom Martyrdom

A Story by Tabatha P.


Chapter One Chapter One

A Chapter by Tabatha P.