balam - female - domestic dog
Aug 14, 2013 23:41:18 GMT -5
Post by BALAM on Aug 14, 2013 23:41:18 GMT -5
balam;
***
BASICS:***
NAME: Balam.
ALIAS: None.
AGE: Six years.
GENDER: XX.
SPECIES: Domestic Dog.
BREED: Border Collie x Bernese Mountain Dog x Rough Collie X Border Collie x Alaskan Malamute x Border Collie.
SEXUAL ORIENTATION: Necrophiliac.
PACK: Packless.
***
APPEARANCE:
IMAGE SET: click.
SET PERMISSIONS: Images are CC.
COAT: Thick, fluffy, and rough. Unclean, often.
COLOR: Tri-colored; White, black, and tan.
EYES: Brown.
SCARS: To many to count.
HEIGHT: Twenty inches.
WEIGHT: Thirty-four pounds.
COMPLETE APPEARANCE:
Let’s face it, I’m a damn pretty little thing. I was blessed with momma’s good looks, and assuming my father was actually a handsome fellow, I perhaps got his looks. Either way, I stand at twenty inches, and weigh about thirty-four pounds. I have the typical appearance of a Border Collie, which you would expect, since Border Collie is the most… Well, I have more Border Collie in me, than anything. Though, my coloring is more typical to a Bernese Mountain Dog, with black white and tan. My fur though, feels like a mixture between three breeds; Border Collie, Rough Collie, and Alaskan Malamute. However I look, I know I am attractive.
I have many scars, most of which lace my forelegs. To figure out why, well we’ll get to that later. I don’t much like talking about my appearance. Why would I, when the most important things are inside? Either way, I’m tired of talking about my appearance. I’m a bitch, with black white and tan fur, and brown eyes. I’m slightly under weight, but it’s whatever. See, nothing interesting now get the hell onto the more important things, what’s in my mind, and my past, child.
***
PERSONALITY:
TRAITS: intelligent || cruel || wicked || rude || no clear understanding of right and wrong || loyalty means nothing || believes she is a demon || vengeful || holds grudges || compulsive liar || bipolar || paranoid || believes females are stronger than males || selfish || reckless || no respect for life || addicted to self-harm || insensitive || necrophiliac || addicted to asphyxiation || morbid sense of humor || isn't against cannibalism || a monster and an abomination in so many ways || no sexual orientation || sick in the soul
COMPLETE PERSONALITY:
You look at me, and you see my mother, and her whorish ways. You see the strange things of me, and not the even remotely normal things. You assume that I am merely a freak of nature. Quite the contrary, my lovely friend. Did I happen to mention that you have quite the fine body? Now if only your heart would stop, and your flesh go cold then I believe I could be in love. See? That is all you see. A creature who defies the little normal things that a dog like me should be. I am not a damn copy; I am myself. I do not wish to change. I am not ashamed. As you may have gathered so far, I am quite the intelligent individual. My brain is much like a sponge, or a piece of cloth. It soaks things up, and while something’s I do forget, as they drip out over time. Is that not what you experience? Perhaps not, since you probably assume yourself to be better than me, above me because you do not think the way I do, about anything. But we all have those dirty little thoughts, those times where your mind wanders off. Perhaps to bliss, and ecstasy, perhaps to hell on earth, however you may view it. But here’s the difference. I act upon these thoughts. I do not banish them, like you may. I allow them to live.
Now, we all have that little cruel bone in our body. That ounce of compassion that has been torn to bits, that small part of you that wants to laugh when someone gets hurt, or sheds a tear. Admittedly, I take that not only to the next level, but to the ones high above that. Let’s face it. I enjoy hurting others. But then, that goes both ways I suppose since I enjoy getting hurt. Cruel, is just another word to describe me. Wickedness. We’ve all got it, now whether we show it is another story entirely. But let’s just face the facts here. I’m a wicked creature, wonder where I got that, father dearest? Perhaps I’m just fucked up, or perhaps you are. Which is it?
I’m sure we’ve all heard that ‘wrong and right’ lecture that momma and daddy give us when we’re young. But what happens when you’re a bastard child? What happens when you’re left to your own devices, while your mothers off selling herself for getting some ugly male stuck up inside of her with his seeds possibly spreading through her? You never get that lecture. You either learn wrong and right, or you don’t. In my case? It should be pretty damn clear that I didn’t learn the fuzzy line between right and wrong. But, for the sake of your sanity, I’ll just say I’m inbred, that I’m mentally fucked up. Oh wait. I am mentally fucked. As far as I know, I’m not inbred, but hey, momma would let anyone in. Why would her own brother be any different, when I touched my own sister? I had to get that screwed up gene from somewhere, didn’t I?
Momma never showed any loyalty to her lovers; she slept with everyone. I never learned what real loyalty was. How should I know? Why should I care? Loyalty doesn’t mean a damn thing to me. It is pointless, to sell your soul to another. I won’t do it. I may, for a short while, but let’s face it. I truly am a whore’s daughter. I may be ‘loyal’ to you for a short while, but then I’ll find something else that interests me.
You’ve never realized before, that I have an unusual name? Do you not know of my history? My twin, Zazriel, had been given the name of an Angel, while I was christened with the name of a demon. Clear who momma favored. I can’t help but wonder what momma did. Did she like Zazriel the way I had? Had she taught her things by showing her? I doubt it. My mother is… Was, a saint compared to me. I have lived up to my demonic name. I know the things I do, are not normal. I know they are dark, taboo. I love them for that. What creature could do so, and not be screwed in the mind, and somehow hold a piece of a blackened, demonic soul?
You know that little feeling that you get, when someone really makes you mad? You want to hurt them, cut them open, pull their heart out before their very eyes and laugh as they watch their own heart stop beating? Well, perhaps not on that level, but you know that hot feeling in your stomach, you get when you’re enraged, where you just really want to hurt someone? Well, I have that quite often when someone angers me. And people wonder why they always wind up hurt around me. Guess I’m just a vindictive little imp, ain’t I? As you may know, vengefulness, and holding grudges goes hand in hand. If there is one thing I can do though, is hold a grudge. It doesn’t matter how long it takes for me to feel like I’ve made things right in my mind. A few minutes, to years, I won’t let that grudge go, until you’ve paid. And eye for an eye, so to say.
We all lie. You may say you don’t, but we all do it. It’s natural to want to save your own hide, face it. I tend to take it a bit too far though. No one ever told me not to lie. Momma didn’t, and my nonexistent sire sure as hell didn’t. No on in my life ever told me not to. So, how was I supposed to learn? I didn’t. I developed into what you may call a compulsive liar. I don’t think about it, I can’t help it. You ask me something, chances are I’ll spit out a lie. I’ve gotten pretty good at the art of lying. I never give anything away. So, how, you wonder, do you know when I’m telling the truth? You just don’t know, simple as that. I could be lying, right to your face, right now. I could be telling you nothing but the truth. I could even be mixing the two, and you wouldn’t know the difference. But, give me the benefit of the doubt here, and assume that I’m telling the truth on my own personality, since I actually am. Don’t believe me? Watch me, I’ll prove you what my real personality is.
Bipolar. What is that? How does it become considered part of my personality? Why? Well, looks like you may just learn something to day. Bipolar Disorder is what causes me to have those serious shifts in my mood, my behavior, really everything. What’s so different from the mood swings you may have, you wonder? Dear, that is simple. My mood swings effect my daily life, relationships I may have, everything. I can go from the happiest little thing you’ll meet, to the most depressed thing. I’ve noticed though, that my own moods go from as close to happy as I’ll ever come, to seriously angry. It’s not something I can help, so don’t play that ‘oh it’s all in your head, you can help it’ card. No. I’d like to see you have my personality, my mind, and see how you deal with it. Perhaps it’s why I’m so messed up… No, that’s my mother’s fault. It always will be her fault. Another thing you may notice about me, is my paranoia. I’ve always been a paranoid individual. I blame others for many things that happen, and I accuse others of purposely doing things to me. I’ll constantly feel like someone is watching me, or following me, or plotting against me in some fashion. Perhaps that’s why I do many of the things I do, why I find dead things so inviting. They can’t hurt you, they can’t stab you in the back. They don’t even complain! It’s a perfect relationship really, that is until they rot away. But, I guess it’s that way in a normal relationship. You break up, because your feelings rotted away. Just my relationships take that literally.
Now, you’ll probably call me a feminist, or sexist individual for the following statement. Females are stronger than males. But, they are! Look at how things work. If the female didn’t give it up, the male wouldn’t never get anything, his genes would never get passed on. Females can bring a guy to the ground, quite easily. A nicely placed paw, or a more bravely placed bite is all it takes. Just you sit there and think about it for a second, and you’ll see why I think it’s so logical.
Momma always told you not to be selfish, right? They always told you to think of others, to help others. My momma told me that too, one of the few life lessons she tried to give me. I didn’t listen though, because I never cared for anything she had to say. I had no respect for her. Not after seeing what she was like, so early on. I became a selfish creature, living only for myself, doing things only for myself. Perhaps I’m cold for saying this, but I couldn’t care less about others. I may fake it, sure, give them a false sense of kindness. I guess I do care for them, in a strange way. But, if it came right down to it, I’d probably walk off if it was a situation where it was you, or me. I just don’t go out of my way for others, unless it benefits me in some way. We’ve all seen it, right? That reckless individual that you wonder how they’re not dead yet. Well, I am that individual. I have a bad habit of going into things muzzle first, without even thinking about them. Sometimes that can be good, right? Has good out comes? Yeah, probably not. With that being said, you could probably safely assume that I really have no respect for life.Which my dear, dear.. Friend, is so true. Life isn’t fun unless you spice it up a bit, and without a little action your existence would be boring as hell, and what fun would that be? So, yeah, I really have no respect for life. I could die, others could die, I wouldn’t care.
I am covered in scars; you may even know a few with the same curse that I have. Self-harm. We’ve all thought of it, yes, but few of us actually have the balls to do it. And even fewer do it to the point where it is an addiction. Bleeding, feeling pain; that is my way out that is how I let emotions out. Some may curse, and scream, and fight, or simply lock up. I let out my feelings, just not in the same way as you. But don’t judge. I know you’ve thought about it. We all have wondered what it would feel like to cut our own flesh. To me, honey, it is an ecstasy, for I cannot let emotions out any other way, and so that flood of emotion going out exhilarates me, gives me an adrenaline rush. Perhaps it is the rush that I’m addicted to. But, no other ways to get an adrenaline rush work for me. Putting myself in a life or death situation, or fighting, or anything that should, gives me an adrenaline rush quite like myself harm does. Let’s face it though; I am many types of taboo, what is one more to the list? Label me a freak and get the hell over it.
Perhaps you have realized something by now… Or maybe not, maybe you’re just too damn stupid to pick up on it. But, encase you haven’t, you should know, honestly and truly, I am quite the insensitive little bitch. Honest, sell my soul honest.. Oh wait, not quite that honest, since I’m sure I’ve already sold my soul to the devil, the day I was born. Hate me? I don’t care. Did I anger you? I’ll laugh in your face. Your heart? Fuck it; your feelings? Love, I’ll eat them, along with your dead body.
Now, for me to admit something that I have been quite obviously hinting at. Take a guess? Feel free to? No? Well then do you know the word for someone who has a love of the dead? What is that addiction; that obsessive love called? Necrophilia. It is a bit sick, it is a taboo, I’ll admit that. But, do you think I would have it any other way? No, I would not. A body cannot say no, nor do they break your heart like something with its soul still in it. I feel sorry for those I fall for, because, they usually end up dead. I cannot help myself. I have to kill them, I have to be the one that is charge. I cannot stand the thought of something warm, with a heart, living beneath me, or on me. I just cannot. I prefer the coldness, the hardness, the smell of a dead body. Sorry, lovely ladies, and self-confident dicks; if you aint dead, you aint getting any.
Something that actually tends to be quite the trend in my blood line; an addiction to asphyxiation. Can you say ‘the choking game’? Yes, it is true; I do enjoy getting choked to the point of blacking out. You should try it sometime, it’s a rush, that high you get once you just get oxygen back into your brain. It’s a pure rush.Curious? Mind you, it isn’t a game for children. Ah, well, normal children. But then… I do love the smell of children. Look at me, getting all creepy. Have you noticed something else about me? Why yes, I do have quite the morbid sense of humor. But let’s face it; a freak like me is bound to have a sick mind. Or, well a sicker mind. I find sick things funny, why? I do not know, I just have always found myself laughing hysterically at them. Might as well add to the list of things that are messed up about me. Unlike many, I am not against cannibalism; in fact, I’ve even done it several times. There’s nothing wrong with it. It’s all mental. Dog is meat, every living creature is meat, and there for most are edible. Some are just poisonous. But, you know, dog meat isn’t, and therefore you can eat it. Taste quite good, actually.
Dear child, for something we all know. I am a monster, and abomination in oh so many ways. Why? I simply am. I, am in every sense of the word, a creature with a screwed up mind. Blame my mother, since she is the one who birthed me. Blame her, for putting the monster, the beast that is me into this world.
Sexual orientation? I have none. I don’t care much what you are, if you are anything. I suppose I do actually have an orientation, but who knows. I consider myself more like someone who doesn’t judge. But, since those I screw generally are straight females that I’ve taken a liking to, perhaps I am a lesbian? Perhaps I am a pedophile, because I enjoy those younger than me. But I’m not against those older, or males. I don’t care, just so long as you’re dead, to be quite honest. Either way, let’s face it. I’m sick, honey. Sick in the soul, which I have more than likely sold to the devil, without realizing it.
***
HISTORY:
MOTHER: Persephone - unknown.
FATHER: Unknown.
SIBLINGS: Zazriel - twin, deceased, murdered.
OFFSPRING: N/A
COMPLETE HISTORY:
I don’t remember much about my birth. My mother, Persephone, will tell you that she burned from within, while I was developing with in her womb. She will tell you of how she wished to rid herself of me, but how instinct would not allow her to do such a thing. She hoped, prayed to the Gods that I would not be the creature of which she felt growing with in her. She told me, when her contractions had started, that a pain worse than any other had rocked her body. Mind you, I am a bastard child, my mother was a whore. She slept around. I had many half siblings, and I was certainly not her first child. I was more along the lines of the seventh litter, perhaps even the ninth. She never truly specified. With that knowledge, know that my mother knew what to expect to feel with the contractions. The violent ones that brought me into this world, she said, felt as if they would rip her open from the inside, tear her up. Disgustingly enough, much like how she described the morning I was conceived. My mother was always the one to give too much detail on private things. Not that I ever cared. My mother said that as I slipped into this world, she felt me die, felt my fragile heart stop beating, and something else slip into my empty body. She said that I was never meant to be born, that I was always meant to be a demon. As you may not know, I was born into a litter of two. I had a sister, a twin actually, completely identical. My twin’s name was Zazriel. Now, I may as well inform you that my own name, Balam, is actually a demon’s name, while my twin’s name was an Angel’s name. Ironic, how my mother managed to know that. Apparently, the stupid whore wasn’t such a bimbo after all.
As my sibling and I grew, we learned of our creation. My mother made it clear that she hadn’t wanted us, and only cared for us enough to keep us alive. For a while, we were both normal, despite the insanity that was our lives. Watching what the males did to my mother, how she threw herself to them, and let them in so easily made me sick. It only intrigued my sister. It was at three months, did our personalities actually split from how they were to begin with. I abandoned the kindness, the love, the actual ‘normality’ that I had. Some traits, I actually got from my mother, the same being true for Zazriel. She was a whore, just like my mother. She flirted it up, but mother, surprisingly wouldn’t allow her to be tainted just yet. While, both me and my sister were an odd duo I took a different route than what Zazriel took. I turned into a more.. Well, I became what my mother said was a child with many messed up qualities.
It was then, that one of my stranger traits began to form. While Zazriel went off with my mother to let males explore her landscape, I ventured off, having long since found an old abandoned warehouse where I spent more and more time. There, I found many things. Rats, mice, squirrels, reptiles, cats really anything I could imagine there I managed to stumble upon. It wasn’t until I had been visiting the old warehouse for nearly two months did I stumble upon a body of a dog. It seemed as if the poor creature had died, after having managed to slip from a pile of crates – they had been knocked over, which led me to that idea – the dog’s neck having been snapped upon its impact with the hard pavement below. Its skull was cracked open, dark crimson blood pooling around its head. The dog was female, her fur being made up of various different shades of brown, to create a lovely looking brindle pattern. Something stirred with in me. At first I thought it was merely vomit churning in my stomach, but no. This feeling was much lower, and it created many strange ideas with in my mind. Even now, I blame my mother for those feelings. If she had not exposed me to her nightly swings with males, I wouldn’t know of such things, I wouldn’t think about them. I wouldn’t have a secret curiosity about the landscape of my own body, as well as those of others.
I would never tell anyone of what I had done, of course. I still wonder even now, why I did it. I could have just said no, and walked away, went to play with my rats, and mice, and to feed upon their flesh. But no, instead, I allowed my curiosity to overtake me. I touched, I violated that dead she-dog in ways that I shouldn’t have. In ways that not even the nasty males that my mother attracted would do to a living thing. It was nearly morning before my curiosity died down. Scared of what I had done, I pushed the dog’s body behind the pile of crates, hid it as well as I could, before I ran back to mother and sister. I told them nothing of what I had done, what I had learned. I still felt it though, that strange urge. I wanted more. I couldn’t wait until night again before I could go back to that curious place of ecstasy with that dead dog. I knew it was sick, that I really shouldn’t do the things I had done to anything. But I could not help it, I was curious, and it fascinated me exactly what you could do to a dead body. ”Where have you been?” They questioned me. ”Why do you smell of blood? Did something happen? Why do you smell of female dog?” My mother asked the strangest questions. She asked me mostly if I had gotten into any trouble. I denied that I had even done anything. What could I tell her? That I had violated a dead female dog? My mother may have been a whore, but even she wouldn’t have done such things. I blamed her, and I blamed the father who I’d never known. He had went inside of my mother, and created me. I was the product of their messed up genetics combined.
Even so, I somehow found myself addicted. I frequented that old warehouse, even during the day. It became my sanctuary, my place of learning, my palace. It soon became apparent though, that I couldn’t keep ‘Baby’, as I had come to call the beautiful dead female. Her fur fell from her body, every time I touched her, and soon her body bloated, swelled, her scent sweet and inviting to me, even laced with the aroma of death, soon faded and she began to wreak like rotting flesh. I needed another body, and quick. I dragged her from the old warehouse, enjoying her one last time, before I left her body for good. I set off onto the streets, to find myself a score. I sounded like my mother; addicted to nasty things, and to dull to them to really, honestly care about the sickness of it. I was an addict at their worst. But.. Would I go so far as to take someone elses life? Could I kill someone’s child, mother, sister, or lover, to satisfy my own sick desires? I wasn’t sure, until the chance actually presented itself.
I spotted her, her coat snow white, fluffy, but dirty. She was attractive, and even with life coursing through her, I wanted her. I stalked up to her spoke to her in my sweetest voice. ”Ma’am, would you please provide a poor lost pup with some conversation?” She trotted over. ”Hello there, dear. Aren’t you a pretty little thing? Someone must love you a lot! Where do you live? Nearby, I presume?” She said, a strange accent lacing her words. Raging desire sparkled from my body. I looked down at my paws, looking absolutely pitiful. ”No, I don’t. I’m a loner. My momma died, a few days ago you see.. And, I don’t know where my sister is. I’ve looked all over for her, but I can’t find her you see! I.. I think she may be dead, like my momma. I’m scared of being alone, and I just need someone to talk to for a little while.” I said. I made myself get all choked up, and even made myself tremble. ”Now, now. Don’t you worry. Lady will take care of you, shhh, don’t you worry.” She said, reaching out with her nose, touching my own reassuringly. Electrical sparks exploded through my brain. I wanted to touch her, explore her, most of all – and this fact terrified me – I wanted to hurt her, to kill her, and make sure she knew who I was. I wanted her to say my name, like my mother said the names of those males. Oh god, how sick was I? A voice rang out. ”Oh! Come on, little one. My lover will treat you nicely. She loves helping little one.” The poodle said. She turned, and started to walk off. I watched her for a second, before I turned, and ran, hiding behind a trash can. I peered out from behind it, as she turned around, still talking. She stopped when she realized I wasn’t there anymore. ”Little one?” She called out, glancing around. She stood there for several moments before her lover called her again. There went my chance at filling the addiction I had so quickly built. I frowned. I just couldn’t kill someone. I would just have to find another means as to fill my addiction.
By now, you probably assume that I went over the deep end trying to fill my addiction. I didn’t, no, I actually slowly forgot about it. But, with the lack of dead bodies lying around, something else began to stir with in me. It seemed as though it was one sick thing after another. I didn’t spend as much time at my warehouse palace as I once did. It wasn’t the same without the knowledge that I actually had a purpose to go there for. Things went from strange, to just freaky next. I began tagging along with my mother and sister on their nightly outings. I of course never participated in their games, but I did watch. I began to realize something. My sister was an attractive little whore. Granted, she looked just like me.. Or, so everyone said. I could see the differences though. She was slimmer, prettier, and curvier. She held a more feminine figure. A more attractive figure. A new thought entered my mind. I couldn’t find a dead body to explore… So.. Why not get my sister to teach me… To show me just what she had learned from my mother? I waited until she chose her one night of the week to stay at our little den site before I went up to her. I poked, and prodded her with my muzzle, like I always did before I would lay down beside her. I brought my full weight down on top of her. ”Balam! What the hell?” She barked, dragging herself out from beneath me. She turned and looked at me, once she was on her paws. I saw my reflection in her eyes. I was no longer her sister. I.. I had become some sick, and twisted creature. I found myself laughing hysterically. ”You know, for a bastard, you’re pretty hot,” I told her. She looked at me, confused. ”What are you doing? Are you crazy? I’m a female, and furthermore, I’m your sister!” She barked at me. I laughed, and shook my head. I walked right up to her, backed her into a corner, and stuck my muzzle in her face. ”I. Don’t. Give. A. Damn.” I said to her. I won’t go into much detail after that. She wasn’t happy about the things that we did, but she didn’t disagree, neither. We were both at fault here, we were both sick. She said my name.
I didn’t like Zazriel much after that though. I found that it wasn’t the same when they made noises, or tried to move away. I preferred ‘em dead, than alive. Perhaps, it is with that thought that my actual decent into pure insanity began. I was sick, I was sick in the soul, I admit it. I had lost all moral values – the few that I’d had – when I’d discovered Baby. My personality began to change. I wasn’t the shy little, ‘innocent’ daughter of a whore anymore. I was different, I needed help that I would never get. One thing led to another, and words were swapped between my twin and I. I wasn’t sure if I actually wanted to do it, or if I just acted upon some dark emotion that stirred with in me. But, I held her down, and I killed her. I made sure her eyes were open the whole time, that she could see me, that I could see the fear on her face. Again, I felt that strange urge I had felt when I had first stumbled upon Baby, but, it wasn’t the same. It wasn’t lower down, and it didn’t make me think bad things. Instead, it just made me hungry. Really hungry. I stood back, and looked at the body of my slaughtered twin. I felt a laugh bubble from my throat. In a strange way, it was like I had committed suicide, after all I had killed myself.
So, I did the first thing that came to mind. I bent my head, and sunk my teeth into her flesh. I chewed her up, and swallowed her down. I ate my own twin. I didn’t feel any guilt until I had eaten a lot of her, and found myself sitting back, for once in my life overly stuffed, my stomach actually descended from having eaten so much. I didn’t feel as if I was going to throw up though, despite the knowledge that my act had been taboo. No, rather I feared what would happen when my mother found out that Zazriel was dead. I stood, and began to run as far as my now fat body would go. I’m not sure how far I ran, or for how long. I was alone, and just past the two year marker of my life, and already I had a history most wouldn’t be able to even imagine. I found myself in a new city, with a fresh start at life. I could hide my morbidly twisted past, and start anew. I could forget about my mother, Zazriel, Baby, and everyone in my life. I could find a nice man to take care of me, and deny every part of my past. Especially the fact that I was the product of a whore, and perhaps even more messed up than what I should be at my age.
I aged, and grew reaching the age of three and a half years before I stumbled upon a new friend. His name was Glass. He was an attractive young fellow, more mutt than me, with dark brown eyes and a thick coat similar to that of a German Shepherd. He said he liked me, but, I wasn’t sure what actual attraction was anymore. I’d liked to many dead things, done too much to Blood, to know anything of love anymore. I knew that it wasn’t the one night stands that my mother produced. I was once again, just a confused little pup, unsure of the world around her. If only. Even though I knew I should like this better, a male, living, breathing blood pumping through him… I couldn’t convince myself otherwise. He couldn’t figure it out though. I wanted to rip his throat out, and eat him. I wanted to touch him when I couldn’t feel that cursed heart beat anymore!
It was strange, what he showed me. That I will not deny. But, like many of the strange events in my life so far, it only triggered the beginning of another addiction. I had angered him, taunted him, teasing him to the point of attacking me. He wanted to teach me a lesson; a lesson that females are no match for males, in any sort of way. He wrapped his jaws around my throat, and put enough pressure to cut off my oxygen, but not to break my wind-pipe, or to break the skin even. I didn’t expect the strange high that came once he let go. Imagine, feeling a hundred fireworks going off in your brain, for colors to flash wildly before your eyes. You feel light headed, and wobbly, you feel like you are flying like a bird. It was one of the most amazing feelings I’ve ever had. Somehow, that became a new thing for me, to be choked. Just another strange fascination with things I shouldn’t enjoy, I suppose. We all have that list, don’t we? That ‘crazy’ list that we secretly want to flaunt to the world, but know that we would be outcasted should we ever even show a corner of it.
Even so with this new found high, I still secretly craved my first upon that list. Hell, I even craved the second. I’d found, that I honestly didn’t care either way what I ate, non-dog or dog meat, it didn’t matter. I know that sounds horrible, perhaps even disgusting to you. But, let’s face it. Everything about me from the heartbeat I was conceived, to this very second is absolutely disgusting. I’ll gladly admit that I am an abomination to the world around me; I simply don’t care what others think of me. I have no reason to. I lost my soul the moment I was born. I lost reality the moment I touched a dead body. I lost my sanity the day I touched my sister. I lost everything else the day I killed my own sister and ate her.
The inanity never seemed to end though, with me anyways. I craved his body more and more. Not his soul, or his heart, or anything, simply his body. I truly was my mother’s child. I knew I could kill, I knew I could do it without guilt, without even thinking about it. I had slaughtered my own twin, after all. I watched him, I even flirted a bit much to my own disgust as I waited for my moment. He was stuffing his face, at that particular moment. I walked up to him the way I had Zazriel, and pressed my body against his. My body vibrated, as a growl shook my frame. I grabbed for his throat, working more like a machine. With his mouth full of whatever he was eating, breathing in as I clamped my jaws around his throat didn’t help him at all. He merely helped me by getting something lodged in his throat. I moved, where my body was laying on him, holing him down, waiting for the last beat of his wretched heart. I didn’t know why I preferred things dead rather than alive. Perhaps somehow I was the product of inbreeding, messed up by brother and sister love. I doubted that, but I always wanted to throw the blame back to the parents who had sired me whenever I did something crazy. Finally, Glass stopped moving, his heart failing to beat anymore. I let him go, and stood up. I circled him, looking his body over. He was far more attractive in death than he ever was in life. I came to a simple conclusion in that moment. I was messed up, and there was really nothing I could do but embrace it. I set to work.
It was hours later, and I had given up on messing with Glass’ corpse two hours prior, and was now busy eating him. My stomach was full, and I was happy. I left him, I left that city. I don’t know why I bothered to leave, since there was plenty of stupid fools, and dead dogs alongside the road to make my life good for quite some time. I gave up there though, and decided to travel. I found I liked that a bit better than staying in a place that gave you strange looks, since almost everyone knew of your dirty little secret. I was every bit a whore as my mother; just with different standards.
I was nearly five years old now, my life taking; you guessed it, yet another turn into the hell of insanity. What can I say? A freak will be a freak. Though, perhaps out of all of my bad habits, this was is… Well, not the worst, but a pretty close second. I met this pretty little bitch. She was much like my mother. A regular, cheap whore. She was nice though, a nice personality. As if that actually mattered to me! Lucky for me, she didn’t care one way or another, just so long as she got it. And she would, of course. I wasn’t sure if she’d feel it, or anything but hey.. I was in the business for my own pleasure, no one elses, and I sure as hell didn’t care what others felt. But, not to long after I met her, I noticed something. She had a lot of scars. All were tiny, about the same size, and looked fairly deliberate. I wondered what could have made such neat, and orderly little scars. I asked her. She didn’t tell me what made them; she showed me. It was a curious act, to watch her that is. She looked for a spot, licked it clean, before nipping sharply and cleanly at it, blood welling from it almost instantly. I stared, transfixed. ”Go on. Try it. It’s amazin.” She said, looking at me expectantly. I copied her movements easily. What happened when I bit into my own flesh, I really don’t know. I didn’t really have a reason for doing it other than curiosity. But, every bad emotion I had been holding in, seemed to flow out with my own blood. This poked even more at my curiosity. I left that girl alive. Her life and her amazing body were spared, though… Had I picked up yet another bad habit? Perhaps.
Again, my wanderings started.
I was just short of six years, by two weeks to be quite honest, when I found myself here. It will be interesting to know what sort of trouble I can find here…
***
PLAYER:
OOC NAME: Harlequin.
OTHER CHARACTERS: Ampelios.
EXPERIENCE: Nine years.
HOW'D YOU FIND US?: I OWN THIS PLACE, HOE.
PASSWORD: accepted