Kelly - Heat Wave
Nov 3, 2014 4:23:06 GMT -8
Post by ◊◊BLOODBEASTER◊◊ on Nov 3, 2014 4:23:06 GMT -8
INTRO EXCERPT-- (unedited crapola)
The sun slit the room in half, motes of dust sparkled in the ray, almost beautiful if it wasn’t just more filth, more stagnant air. Outside and down six floors, someone laughed. It could have easily been a barking cough or the grunting of a strange creature. Only the harshest, bluntest sounds made it up that far, so Trevor was used to shrieks of delight, whoops of drunken excitement and relationship shattering screaming matches. He didn’t open his eyes. The blinds were closed as far as they’d go, but that huge window facing the sun magnified the light until the room was a sweltering orange hued sweatbox. The ceiling fan whirred and wobbled on its unsteady loop, its chain clanked irregularly. Even with the train-like racket, it did little more than help those dust specks swirl a little faster.
He opened his eyes, they felt swollen, he imagined them looking like boiled eggs, bulging out of their sockets. Plop, they’d roll down his cheeks and splat onto the dusty floor, bits of lint stuck on their gluey surfaces. Come to think of it, his eyes did look a little like boiled eggs. ‘Baby blue’ they were not, just lifeless dirty water. If he’d been a bigger drinker they’d be a mottled pink like his father’s, but they were usually just glassy and bland, maybe over-large for his face. He had to stop thinking about his looks, this never ended well.
It was too hot to think anyway, to move. It wasn’t supposed to get hot here, that’s never how they showed it in the movies. It was supposed to be all grey skies and misty rain. That happened sometimes but this horrible heat dragged on and on. This was the sort of weather people acted like they enjoyed, but here in this glass jar of an apartment, it was just hell. A very empty hell. Sweat crept down the small of his back, ringing below his eyes and leaking salty drops into his parted lips. He thought for a split second of opening the window, but the horrible truth was that it was already open. This was the coolest it was getting. He took shallow breaths of the bathwater-hot air, almost feeling the subtlest breeze coming off that useless fan. It even sounded hot outside, noisy traffic as ever, irritable honking and the engines running a little louder than normal. Even the whooping and laughing from the students seemed forced, tense. Much as people liked pretending they’d prefer to live in the tropics, everyone’s patience had worn to the bone. Those summer people in shorts and flip-flops were seconds from assault if you got in their way.
And of course, he needed to go out there today.
He let his skull sink to the back of his head, the air coming from outside did nothing but parch his eyes and mouth to ragged cotton. If only he could dry up like one of the flies on the windowsill, never again to feel this torment. But he knew his corpse would be far more disgusting than theirs would be. As hot as it was, he’d be bursting with horrible fluids. If he died here, he’d be more like a rotten chicken breast by the time anyone found him. A good reason to live through this.
Somehow he fell asleep again, and when he opened his eyes, he’d turned inward, away from the door. It opened, slowly.
This always happened, these stupid dreams. He couldn’t move, trapped in a useless body. He could never wake up, not in these dreams. He could know everything that was going to happen, know that he was going to open his eyes to that scorching sun in the same airless room. It never mattered.
Slippered feet padded closer. It didn’t matter if he closed his eyes or not. Dribble splat, drip. Viscous liquid fell on the scratched wood floors. Oily bile rose up his throat as he waited for the inevitable. That raw hamburger smell, sulfur, burnt hair… The clammy hand— this was so old! Why wouldn’t it stop— like greasy fried chicken smearing up his body. Needling fingers pinching and jabbing at his torso. Always checking for something. He was shaking with rage again, clenching his teeth until his molars threatened to shatter.
‘wegubmybaby,’ sludgy teeth dribbling out of a broken mouth, “leddmeloogatyou”
Tatters of withered skin sloughed off as she brushed the hair off his forehead. He didn’t bother with wincing, with closing his eyes. That horrible face looked at him, tried to form an expression. Half cooked, black and brown, torn skin, hair gummed with stringy globs, startling white teeth in the parts that were still intact. Crooked in that memorable way, the way they were in smiling photographs. The rest were long gone, fallen away or shattered into white specks in the frizzy hair.
It was trying to smile.
Wake up.
The sun slit the room in half, motes of dust sparkled in the ray, almost beautiful if it wasn’t just more filth, more stagnant air. Outside and down six floors, someone laughed. It could have easily been a barking cough or the grunting of a strange creature. Only the harshest, bluntest sounds made it up that far, so Trevor was used to shrieks of delight, whoops of drunken excitement and relationship shattering screaming matches. He didn’t open his eyes. The blinds were closed as far as they’d go, but that huge window facing the sun magnified the light until the room was a sweltering orange hued sweatbox. The ceiling fan whirred and wobbled on its unsteady loop, its chain clanked irregularly. Even with the train-like racket, it did little more than help those dust specks swirl a little faster.
He opened his eyes, they felt swollen, he imagined them looking like boiled eggs, bulging out of their sockets. Plop, they’d roll down his cheeks and splat onto the dusty floor, bits of lint stuck on their gluey surfaces. Come to think of it, his eyes did look a little like boiled eggs. ‘Baby blue’ they were not, just lifeless dirty water. If he’d been a bigger drinker they’d be a mottled pink like his father’s, but they were usually just glassy and bland, maybe over-large for his face. He had to stop thinking about his looks, this never ended well.
It was too hot to think anyway, to move. It wasn’t supposed to get hot here, that’s never how they showed it in the movies. It was supposed to be all grey skies and misty rain. That happened sometimes but this horrible heat dragged on and on. This was the sort of weather people acted like they enjoyed, but here in this glass jar of an apartment, it was just hell. A very empty hell. Sweat crept down the small of his back, ringing below his eyes and leaking salty drops into his parted lips. He thought for a split second of opening the window, but the horrible truth was that it was already open. This was the coolest it was getting. He took shallow breaths of the bathwater-hot air, almost feeling the subtlest breeze coming off that useless fan. It even sounded hot outside, noisy traffic as ever, irritable honking and the engines running a little louder than normal. Even the whooping and laughing from the students seemed forced, tense. Much as people liked pretending they’d prefer to live in the tropics, everyone’s patience had worn to the bone. Those summer people in shorts and flip-flops were seconds from assault if you got in their way.
And of course, he needed to go out there today.
He let his skull sink to the back of his head, the air coming from outside did nothing but parch his eyes and mouth to ragged cotton. If only he could dry up like one of the flies on the windowsill, never again to feel this torment. But he knew his corpse would be far more disgusting than theirs would be. As hot as it was, he’d be bursting with horrible fluids. If he died here, he’d be more like a rotten chicken breast by the time anyone found him. A good reason to live through this.
Somehow he fell asleep again, and when he opened his eyes, he’d turned inward, away from the door. It opened, slowly.
This always happened, these stupid dreams. He couldn’t move, trapped in a useless body. He could never wake up, not in these dreams. He could know everything that was going to happen, know that he was going to open his eyes to that scorching sun in the same airless room. It never mattered.
Slippered feet padded closer. It didn’t matter if he closed his eyes or not. Dribble splat, drip. Viscous liquid fell on the scratched wood floors. Oily bile rose up his throat as he waited for the inevitable. That raw hamburger smell, sulfur, burnt hair… The clammy hand— this was so old! Why wouldn’t it stop— like greasy fried chicken smearing up his body. Needling fingers pinching and jabbing at his torso. Always checking for something. He was shaking with rage again, clenching his teeth until his molars threatened to shatter.
‘wegubmybaby,’ sludgy teeth dribbling out of a broken mouth, “leddmeloogatyou”
Tatters of withered skin sloughed off as she brushed the hair off his forehead. He didn’t bother with wincing, with closing his eyes. That horrible face looked at him, tried to form an expression. Half cooked, black and brown, torn skin, hair gummed with stringy globs, startling white teeth in the parts that were still intact. Crooked in that memorable way, the way they were in smiling photographs. The rest were long gone, fallen away or shattered into white specks in the frizzy hair.
It was trying to smile.
Wake up.