Post by Dakota Smith on May 2, 2020 22:10:02 GMT -5
When does it all end? When will those final moments finally be blessed upon us all. We’ve been waiting for some time now, it seems like forever. With every day that passes the body grows weaker, the bones become hollow and you start to feel it every waking second. It’s only brief surges of adrenaline that get you through the day, the hunt, the mayhem, the violence it’s what keeps us young… But only in those ever fleeting moments, the ones that you chase, the ones that get you high - the moments in life that we become defined by, that we live for. It’s not the same for everyone, what’s chaos for the fly is survival for the spider. A war as old as time fought everyday, that’s so inconsequential to us, but everything to them.
We often look past those suffering around us, those doing their own battles. For we as a species are only looking out for ourselves, we as human beings can only see the path that is laid out before that and any deviation from that path is nothing but failures. Mistakes we make while we try and find our way, when a spider gets into your house… You kill it, that’s nature, that's law. It’s a pest that you don’t want, so you end its life and then go about your day, never thinking of the spider again. But what if you didn’t kill the spider? What if you let it plant eggs and bolster in number, what if you feed the spider and watch as it weaves it’s web taking control of your domain. The spider doesn’t stop, it just expands, it breeds, it thrives when left alone.
When it’s allowed to survive.
But at the end of the day… You hold the spider's life in your hands, at any moment you could destroy days, months, years of work in just a matter of moments. So what is the point of the spider? What about their goals and ambitions? What about their horde of younglings just waiting to burst from the sack? It doesn’t matter because they are an insect in your world, you are the god that controls their fate be it good or bad.
Live life as an insect, and die like an insect.
The abrupt scratching sound of a record beginning to play shoots out through the darkness, penetrating through the words and bringing forth the scene. The record spins for a few moments in dim light before the classic “Put your head on my shoulder” by Paul Anka begins to project from the speakers.
With the opening line of the song the camera begins to gradually pan around the room, which sported a very natural, hippie like decor. Fleetwood mac posters, and healing crystals scattered the torn through abode - but the centerpiece of it all was Dakota Smith. The butcher was dressed in his usual affair, shirtless with white carpenter's pants that have become so torn and blood stained that they couldn’t really be called white anymore.
Wrapped in Dakota’s arm was his dancing partner, a pale fleshed corpse of a woman - her skin still warm and dressed in a nightgown that displayed the nighttime sky. Her face, painted with stars from her own blood, rested on Dakota’s shoulder as they two danced around the living room to the song. They danced slowly, Dakota methodically taking every step so that it was perfect. As he spun her around, you could see a tattoo of a butterfly on her neck.
In many ways the woman looked like Indi Rhyder, if Indi continued down the path she was on. Aged beyond her years, warped in the abyssal arms of the butcher himself. As Dakota dipped her back as any gentleman would, her head snapped back in a disturbing, limp manner. Pulling her back up, her head continued to hang backwards in a horrifying position showing the deep, dark purple and brown bruising around her neck in the shape of hands.
Pushing her head back up so that it rested on his shoulder, Dakota let his own head rest on hers - closing his eyes and letting himself get lost in the song.
His eyes opening back up, he kissed the neck of the corpse, his lips draining the warmth from hers as he ran one hand down her back and the other up to her head. The butcher coddled her in his arms, he kept her close as he swayed his hips to the rhythm of the music.
He stopped moving, almost going complete stiff as he smothered the girls head into his shoulder - adding pressure, shown by the flexing of his mangled muscularity. The camera slowly falls, still focused on the butcher but lowering it’s angle.
And just like that he dropped the corpse, letting his hands free the woman’s corpse let out a sickening thud against the carpeted flooring. Dakota’s hands drifted back down to his side as he stood as the camera’s focus, motionless. The song had quit playing, but the record never stopped, just a needle scratching over empty grooves bellowing from the speaker. This went on for a good minute before Dakota finally cracked his head over to the camera.
His body moved as if it was broken as he approached the camera - his eyes wide and glaring. Dakota crouched down like a puppet being lowered from a string and cocked his head to the side as a wide perverted smile took over his face - staring through his ragged facial hair.
“ Such a beautiful butterfly, such an abnormal insect… Spreading your wings and entrancing all who hear you sing… Child of the universe, matren on the stars… How I’ll enjoy tearing you apart, wing by wing until your just a little pathetic thing. You should of never followed in your father's footsteps Indi… You should have never awakened from your cocoon. It was safe inside of that shell, and out here there is nothing that can save you from myself. “
Lowering his head and crouching down, Dakota pushes back his matted hair, exposing a warped, badly healed scar the length of his forehead.
“A wound for a wound, you hurt me… I crippled you. Because for all that you did at Guerilla Warfare, for as much heart as you showed? It still wasn't enough now was it? Do you expect this time to be different? No!”
Barking at the camera with spit flinging from his lips.
“ This doesn’t get easier for you my beautiful butterfly, my lovely little insect… Because this takes away all the obstacles, all the additives… This is just me and you… The butcher, and the insect!”
As he places his hands on his knees, Dakota pushes himself back to a standing position and walks backwards towards the corpse, all the while licking his with perverted intent.
“ And I will enjoy every second of time that my hands grace your flesh, I’ll thrive in every moment of your suffering - let’s create something magnificent together Indi… Let me free you of life's cocoon, let me return you to her… “
Getting to the corpse, Dakota raises one foot and places it on the side of the woman’s head.
“ Fight… I know you will, toss and turn, try to get away… But my reach is never ending dear, there’s nowhere for you to hide… Nowhere for you to run… When you get inside of that ring with the face of death itself… You only get one option. “
In a very swift and quick motion Dakota raises his boot up into the air. And shoots it down into the side of the woman’s head. As his boot connects to her flesh the camera goes black, but the sound of it remained.
We often look past those suffering around us, those doing their own battles. For we as a species are only looking out for ourselves, we as human beings can only see the path that is laid out before that and any deviation from that path is nothing but failures. Mistakes we make while we try and find our way, when a spider gets into your house… You kill it, that’s nature, that's law. It’s a pest that you don’t want, so you end its life and then go about your day, never thinking of the spider again. But what if you didn’t kill the spider? What if you let it plant eggs and bolster in number, what if you feed the spider and watch as it weaves it’s web taking control of your domain. The spider doesn’t stop, it just expands, it breeds, it thrives when left alone.
When it’s allowed to survive.
But at the end of the day… You hold the spider's life in your hands, at any moment you could destroy days, months, years of work in just a matter of moments. So what is the point of the spider? What about their goals and ambitions? What about their horde of younglings just waiting to burst from the sack? It doesn’t matter because they are an insect in your world, you are the god that controls their fate be it good or bad.
Live life as an insect, and die like an insect.
The abrupt scratching sound of a record beginning to play shoots out through the darkness, penetrating through the words and bringing forth the scene. The record spins for a few moments in dim light before the classic “Put your head on my shoulder” by Paul Anka begins to project from the speakers.
“Put your head on my shoulder”
With the opening line of the song the camera begins to gradually pan around the room, which sported a very natural, hippie like decor. Fleetwood mac posters, and healing crystals scattered the torn through abode - but the centerpiece of it all was Dakota Smith. The butcher was dressed in his usual affair, shirtless with white carpenter's pants that have become so torn and blood stained that they couldn’t really be called white anymore.
“Hold me in your arms, baby”
Wrapped in Dakota’s arm was his dancing partner, a pale fleshed corpse of a woman - her skin still warm and dressed in a nightgown that displayed the nighttime sky. Her face, painted with stars from her own blood, rested on Dakota’s shoulder as they two danced around the living room to the song. They danced slowly, Dakota methodically taking every step so that it was perfect. As he spun her around, you could see a tattoo of a butterfly on her neck.
“Squeeze me oh-so-tight”
In many ways the woman looked like Indi Rhyder, if Indi continued down the path she was on. Aged beyond her years, warped in the abyssal arms of the butcher himself. As Dakota dipped her back as any gentleman would, her head snapped back in a disturbing, limp manner. Pulling her back up, her head continued to hang backwards in a horrifying position showing the deep, dark purple and brown bruising around her neck in the shape of hands.
“Show me that you love me too”
Pushing her head back up so that it rested on his shoulder, Dakota let his own head rest on hers - closing his eyes and letting himself get lost in the song.
“Put your lips next to mine, dear
Won't you kiss me once, baby?”
His eyes opening back up, he kissed the neck of the corpse, his lips draining the warmth from hers as he ran one hand down her back and the other up to her head. The butcher coddled her in his arms, he kept her close as he swayed his hips to the rhythm of the music.
“Just a kiss goodnight, maybe”
He stopped moving, almost going complete stiff as he smothered the girls head into his shoulder - adding pressure, shown by the flexing of his mangled muscularity. The camera slowly falls, still focused on the butcher but lowering it’s angle.
“You and I will fall in love”
And just like that he dropped the corpse, letting his hands free the woman’s corpse let out a sickening thud against the carpeted flooring. Dakota’s hands drifted back down to his side as he stood as the camera’s focus, motionless. The song had quit playing, but the record never stopped, just a needle scratching over empty grooves bellowing from the speaker. This went on for a good minute before Dakota finally cracked his head over to the camera.
His body moved as if it was broken as he approached the camera - his eyes wide and glaring. Dakota crouched down like a puppet being lowered from a string and cocked his head to the side as a wide perverted smile took over his face - staring through his ragged facial hair.
“ Such a beautiful butterfly, such an abnormal insect… Spreading your wings and entrancing all who hear you sing… Child of the universe, matren on the stars… How I’ll enjoy tearing you apart, wing by wing until your just a little pathetic thing. You should of never followed in your father's footsteps Indi… You should have never awakened from your cocoon. It was safe inside of that shell, and out here there is nothing that can save you from myself. “
Lowering his head and crouching down, Dakota pushes back his matted hair, exposing a warped, badly healed scar the length of his forehead.
“A wound for a wound, you hurt me… I crippled you. Because for all that you did at Guerilla Warfare, for as much heart as you showed? It still wasn't enough now was it? Do you expect this time to be different? No!”
Barking at the camera with spit flinging from his lips.
“ This doesn’t get easier for you my beautiful butterfly, my lovely little insect… Because this takes away all the obstacles, all the additives… This is just me and you… The butcher, and the insect!”
As he places his hands on his knees, Dakota pushes himself back to a standing position and walks backwards towards the corpse, all the while licking his with perverted intent.
“ And I will enjoy every second of time that my hands grace your flesh, I’ll thrive in every moment of your suffering - let’s create something magnificent together Indi… Let me free you of life's cocoon, let me return you to her… “
Getting to the corpse, Dakota raises one foot and places it on the side of the woman’s head.
“ Fight… I know you will, toss and turn, try to get away… But my reach is never ending dear, there’s nowhere for you to hide… Nowhere for you to run… When you get inside of that ring with the face of death itself… You only get one option. “
In a very swift and quick motion Dakota raises his boot up into the air. And shoots it down into the side of the woman’s head. As his boot connects to her flesh the camera goes black, but the sound of it remained.