Chapter 0 - Prelude
Submitted September 3, 2007 Updated August 26, 2008 Status Incomplete | This is a unique circus: it deals with horror, sacrifices, S&M, insanity, sex, even Death and many bizarre things beyond your mind. This is a tale of how a young, mortal girl entwines with the circus and secretive circus-member by mere bad luck.
Category:
Miscellaneous » Macabre/Horror |
Chapter 0 - Prelude
Chapter 0 - Prelude
Silent melody clatters in the music box as the pale, faded autumn leaves dance in the gentle breeze. The bitter air becomes colder as the sun sets behind the dead woods in its reds and oranges. The earth covered in leaves – trees completely naked. Yes, the woods is totally dead. The melody still echoes silently.. sharply as the springs play the clockwork.
The small and dim flame of the lighter burns the tip of a cigarette red. A deep sigh. White smoke is blown out from the parted, worn-out-red lips. Behind long lashes, he glances over the roudies, who take down the grand, monochrome material.
Another gig finished – rewarding, long gig. Another one still ahead, and another and another and another.. Same routine for over 15 years already. But no one ever seem to get tired of it. Nice working partners, boss with a very good eye, booze, sacrifices, blood, slaughter, sex – what ever could you wish more? No, no one could ever get tired of this. This is Eden.
The air gets colder and it’s time to move on. Yet another week had rolled over. How quickly the time passes.. The show must go on.
Fingers decorated with long, sharp nails clutch the shabby and grayish terry-cloth robe to wrap it tighter around the lanky body.
The time is limited. The schedules are full of performances and nights and festivals – it’s a miracle id the workers had at least five minutes time for themselves. Fortunately he had packed his things already and his caravan is set too: he has a moment for himself even after that one cigarette.
That awakened a thought in him – it’s been a week already, since the last time he got to spend quality time with himself. And, of course, in his case that means “satanistic masses” - like the people called it – and the most twisted masturbation. He could do it right there outside in the public eye of the others if he wanted – it’s not forbidden, nor unusual. But it was so damn cold, so he will leave it to another time.
The lips spit the filter-end on the ground and the heel of a shoe, wrapped in black latex, extinguishes it.
The melody slows down. Slower and slower, until it becomes silent as the long and bony fingers brush through the fair curly hair. He returns back inside his caravan. Better start immediately, before the roudies get everything packed.
The small and dim flame of the lighter burns the tip of a cigarette red. A deep sigh. White smoke is blown out from the parted, worn-out-red lips. Behind long lashes, he glances over the roudies, who take down the grand, monochrome material.
Another gig finished – rewarding, long gig. Another one still ahead, and another and another and another.. Same routine for over 15 years already. But no one ever seem to get tired of it. Nice working partners, boss with a very good eye, booze, sacrifices, blood, slaughter, sex – what ever could you wish more? No, no one could ever get tired of this. This is Eden.
The air gets colder and it’s time to move on. Yet another week had rolled over. How quickly the time passes.. The show must go on.
Fingers decorated with long, sharp nails clutch the shabby and grayish terry-cloth robe to wrap it tighter around the lanky body.
The time is limited. The schedules are full of performances and nights and festivals – it’s a miracle id the workers had at least five minutes time for themselves. Fortunately he had packed his things already and his caravan is set too: he has a moment for himself even after that one cigarette.
That awakened a thought in him – it’s been a week already, since the last time he got to spend quality time with himself. And, of course, in his case that means “satanistic masses” - like the people called it – and the most twisted masturbation. He could do it right there outside in the public eye of the others if he wanted – it’s not forbidden, nor unusual. But it was so damn cold, so he will leave it to another time.
The lips spit the filter-end on the ground and the heel of a shoe, wrapped in black latex, extinguishes it.
The melody slows down. Slower and slower, until it becomes silent as the long and bony fingers brush through the fair curly hair. He returns back inside his caravan. Better start immediately, before the roudies get everything packed.
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