In The World Of The Demon King
(A Dark Tale by Doc Martin.)
His world has always been, at least to you and I that is, so colorful and yet...look further, delve deeper, mostly it is dark, blurred too, not just around the edges but throughout all of the journey's he chooses to take and to inflict upon his hapless victims. In this toxic world he inhabits, this sepia tinted landscape, it is strange that it is, at first, inhabited by his ladies, his 'chicks', beautiful angels with smokey purple glasses, beads and pearls and Paisley mini-dresses shrouded in swirls of flowing chiffon , never is he seen without one on each arm and two at his feet, just like flies around the proverbial, the queue never ends and the chicks just keep on buzzing. During their stay and their chance of being with the most notorious of Demons, like tea lights, so small and fragile, they burn brightly for a while, during these days of pure carnal pleasure, they will dance and move to the flicker they create, with each playful sway of their arms,until the light goes out, and it ALWAYS goes out only to be replaced by another, then another and another and they all look the same...for the most part.
Within time the innocent beauty, all mascara and 'perma- pouts' on porcelain skin tones begin to give way to something more, unsettling, more disturbing. Their eyes become darker, black streaks of mascara moistened by tears trickle down the now graying cheeks, they reach the once kissable lips that have become dry and cracked and no words do they utter, they have become hollow, devoid of any emotion, like ghostly mannequins, each chick has served her purpose, they have pleasured The Demon King.
The Demon King plays with his victims creating the illusion of love, making his victims believe they are the One but he is clever, this is an enticing web that he spins and the false love is short lived and soon becomes lust and when he tires of the lust, he prepares himself for the end game, the finale which each 'spent' chick is to be put through.
The droning sound soon begins, a sound that is pure evil and yet, so entrancing to the ears of the chicks, for this is the bass-line from Hell, a Riff born of Hades, it is hypnotic, there is no escape, not that his victims crave it, for there is no escape, they are hooked, they are captivated by the primeval sound which gets louder and louder...and then they begin the Spin. Arms slowly begin to stretch out, bodies start to lift off of the ground and they will begin to spin, round and round, faster and faster, all of this ritual is played out before the Demon King, slouched on his throne, with narrowing eyes and a mouth that is grinning, sneering and drooling, his finger is raised and twirling to the rhythm of the Spin. Like some sort of spider, his prey is twirled around in his demonic game and a web soon will cover each victim, each willing victim, getting tighter and tighter until they are engulfed in this unearthly gossamer the Demon spews forth which crushes the very soul of each chick. As slowly as it starts building to a crescendo of sound... it abruptly stops when his fist smashes down onto the arm of his throne. The droning ends, a silence descends and the chick falls to the floor, she has served her purpose, she has made the Demon King look good, she has made him feel, desirable. Then, with a piercing glare at his victims, he will then snap his gnarled finger and thumb and snigger mockingly at the chicks waiting so patiently in line, who demand that they be the centre of his attention! They jostle to vie for his attention, unaware and uncaring of the doll-like figures beneath their feet who are kicked aside only to break into dust, their image of innocent beauty scattered, soon to be forgotten...forever.
Above is my first attempt at a 'very' short story, just a few lines really, believe me, I am not anywhere near as dark in my thinking as perhaps it may give the impression, I just have a few ideas buzzing around in my head that's all! Maybe The Demon King is a euphemism for heroin and how it smiles at beauty and eventually destroys it, then goes on to the next and the next yadda, yadda. (not that I would know at first hand you understand, purely my 'vivid' imagination!) Make up your own minds on future stories and poems. Comments welcome, preferably nice ones
Although I do a more 'serious' blog (kind of!)
An Unwelcome Visitor, chronicling my life with 'This Bastard Thing' (M.S) that will run in conjunction with this one, usually once a month, I have plans to unleash another box of delights in this form, Sleep That Burns .
So bare with me, early days and all that and there will be times when I will just ramble on and the stories will make very little sense to the reader but complete sense to me, the writer and as I have an incurable medical condition...I couldn't give a shit (in the nicest possible way you understand) I will look upon this venture as a form of de-stressing exercise.
So until next time,
Best,
Doc.X
(...and remember, it's no use crying to the sky, so do something about it!)
The Demon King plays with his victims creating the illusion of love, making his victims believe they are the One but he is clever, this is an enticing web that he spins and the false love is short lived and soon becomes lust and when he tires of the lust, he prepares himself for the end game, the finale which each 'spent' chick is to be put through.
The droning sound soon begins, a sound that is pure evil and yet, so entrancing to the ears of the chicks, for this is the bass-line from Hell, a Riff born of Hades, it is hypnotic, there is no escape, not that his victims crave it, for there is no escape, they are hooked, they are captivated by the primeval sound which gets louder and louder...and then they begin the Spin. Arms slowly begin to stretch out, bodies start to lift off of the ground and they will begin to spin, round and round, faster and faster, all of this ritual is played out before the Demon King, slouched on his throne, with narrowing eyes and a mouth that is grinning, sneering and drooling, his finger is raised and twirling to the rhythm of the Spin. Like some sort of spider, his prey is twirled around in his demonic game and a web soon will cover each victim, each willing victim, getting tighter and tighter until they are engulfed in this unearthly gossamer the Demon spews forth which crushes the very soul of each chick. As slowly as it starts building to a crescendo of sound... it abruptly stops when his fist smashes down onto the arm of his throne. The droning ends, a silence descends and the chick falls to the floor, she has served her purpose, she has made the Demon King look good, she has made him feel, desirable. Then, with a piercing glare at his victims, he will then snap his gnarled finger and thumb and snigger mockingly at the chicks waiting so patiently in line, who demand that they be the centre of his attention! They jostle to vie for his attention, unaware and uncaring of the doll-like figures beneath their feet who are kicked aside only to break into dust, their image of innocent beauty scattered, soon to be forgotten...forever.
***************************************
Above is my first attempt at a 'very' short story, just a few lines really, believe me, I am not anywhere near as dark in my thinking as perhaps it may give the impression, I just have a few ideas buzzing around in my head that's all! Maybe The Demon King is a euphemism for heroin and how it smiles at beauty and eventually destroys it, then goes on to the next and the next yadda, yadda. (not that I would know at first hand you understand, purely my 'vivid' imagination!) Make up your own minds on future stories and poems. Comments welcome, preferably nice ones
Although I do a more 'serious' blog (kind of!)
An Unwelcome Visitor, chronicling my life with 'This Bastard Thing' (M.S) that will run in conjunction with this one, usually once a month, I have plans to unleash another box of delights in this form, Sleep That Burns .
So bare with me, early days and all that and there will be times when I will just ramble on and the stories will make very little sense to the reader but complete sense to me, the writer and as I have an incurable medical condition...I couldn't give a shit (in the nicest possible way you understand) I will look upon this venture as a form of de-stressing exercise.
So until next time,
Best,
Doc.X
(...and remember, it's no use crying to the sky, so do something about it!)
