I watched the world darken and smiled. It was a somber smile, one of the joys to come, yet with the knowledge that this was the world now. Dark; Dead; Hostile. A person in my profession should be overjoyed with this glorious turn of events. Truly, as it were, I was as depressed and devoid of life as any other would be survivor. Where is the joy in the hunt when there is no sun with which to warm my bones and the cold skin of all my potential lovers? Another day brings another false promise of sun rise and the notion of becoming something’s dinner; Tragic indeed. Once upon a time I reveled the notion of being discovered as the monster I am. Now? Now I am no monster. In this dusty, dark existance, I am just as any of these other cretins walking the streets. Quite annoying, I admit.
Taking one last drag of my crooked cigarette, I flicked the butt over the lip of the rooftop. I watched it fall, my final lungful of wispish cancer following on the wings of a stale breeze. Up, up, up it traveled into the already cancerous atmosphere. Poetic and pathetic. That’s my style.

I turned back towards the open portal to my personal paradise and allowed the pungent odors within to assault my sinuses. Closing the window behind me, I surveyed the room. To some, it was clothed in a drape embroided with Hellfire and brimstone. To me? Why, to me, it was a play room. A carnival hall of games and fun. Giddy, I glided across the stained wooden planks of the converted attic room to my prize. My, was she lovely.

A table stood in the center of the room, draped with white satin sheets I’d found in a closet below. On this, my dais of desire, open to all the world and it’s filth, was a young African American woman. Her abdomin was a glistening, gaping hole. The tips of her ribs shone bright white in the glow of the candles I had placed around the spanse of the room. Her organs were in a large mixing bowl on the floor. I had it covered with a towel so the flies wouldn’t get them and the smell wouldn’t attract unwanted attention. I licked my lips at the thought of them. I think tonight I’ll sample a brain and kidney stew.  Anyway, back to my Black Beauty.

Her lips were grayish and pale; parted just enough to see her white teeth. She had very good dental hygeine before her death. I traced a finger along her high cheekbones and down to her slightly pointed chin. I felt my pulse rise in anxiousness as I caressed the large smile across her throat that my knife had granted her the night before. Quite a tale, that one.

I’d been traveling all day and needed a place to lay my head. Finding myself in the surburbs on the outskirts of the city, I was in a prime area for some comfort. It wasn’t hard finding a lovely two story home to call my own for the night. Needless to say, I wasn’t the only one with that idea. My Black Beauty was sleeping in a back bedroom on the second floor, the door barricaded from her side. I’m assuming she wasn’t expecting company of my sort, because upon forcing myself inside out of curiosity’s sake, she was just shying out of her sleeping bag, baseball bat at the ready. I smiled my most award winning smile and put my hands up, a show of friendship. She didn’t lower the bat, but after a bit of light conversation and much convincing, she did. Her mistake, hehe.

The feeling of my knife skating across her chocolate flesh was bliss in every sense of the word. Her scream was muffled into my hand, her breath warm against my palm. I felt her gnash her teeth, trying to gain purchase upon my flesh, her spit dampening my already sweaty hand. The gurgling started as her jugular began to spew precious crimson. Music to my ears. A symphony of darkness. She died quickly in my arms, going limp and beginning to cool. I caressed her as a lover and as such, had my way with her body. We lay together afterwards, me smoking a cigarette, her staring deeply into my eyes. Oh those lovely, glazed over brown eyes.

Snapping back to reality, I let my eyes wander ever more over my Black Beauty. Her skin was supple, soft to the touch. It gave beneath my touch, reminisent of a memory foam mattress. I walked my fingers along her inner thigh and down to her vaginal lips. Sucking the tips of my fingers to make them moist, I slowly inserted them inside. Her cunt was cold and sterile. My fingers slid cooly over her inner flesh and I quaked with excitement. No longer in control of my own faculties, I dropped my trousers and proceeded to lubricate my cock with spit. Slowly, ever so slowly, my God, I slid deep into her crevice.

The pleasure shot through me like a syringe full of pure Columbian heroin. I pumped my hips faster and faster, my cock spearing her pussy harder and harder. I cried out as my seed screamed into her body, the table rocking with the force of our ungodly love. Slumping forward, I rest my head upon her left breast, a pillow of slowly rotting meat. I breathed in deep her stomach churning scent with relish. I would keep her for a few more days for sure. Why not rest here and enjoy the fruits of this world for a bit? Survival takes a step down from my cardinal pleasures.

I commenced to clean us up when I heard the noise below. The shattering of glass and wood, the cries of the hungry. “They’re here!” I croaked, my throat going dry. Is there no privacy for love? Maybe not unholy, necrophilic love, but God has turned a blind eye to this world. I ask not for light but beg for peace and privacy. There was pounding throughout the house as the dead searched for me. They must have heard my lovemaking to the lovely Black Beauty. I cast one last look upon her heavenly form and kissed her pale lips one more time. “Au revoir mon amour.” With that, I took up my knapsack and and gun belt and headed for the window.

The darkness seemed sentient in that it immediatly wrapped itself around me like a living shroud. I crouched low, my breath coming in small gasps. The sound of the house being searched echoed below. The sounds of the hungry grew louder and more urgent. They must have caught my lover’s scent. Creeping along the roof lip, I peered over the edge. It was quite the drop, but there was a balcony below and the drop from there wasn’t too brutal. I didn’t think twice.

Swinging my legs over, I slowly lowered myself down until I hung by my arm’s length, my legs swinging just above the balcony railing. Grunting with excerssion, I let go, a soft prayer upon my lips. I landed hard upon the railing and flailed. Tis the end of me, my dears. Falling backwards, I screamed as I hit the hard ground a good eight feet below. My pack cushioned the fall, but I felt my right ankle snap, the bone shearing through my flesh and exposing itself to the tainted world. I cast around wildly to see if I was alone. Wouldn’t you know it, I wasn’t. Three beasts loomed upon the porch. They leered down upon me, their black silouettes even blacker than the darkness surrounding us. I screamed again and began to crawl backwards, drawing my pistol. Oh cruel fate, thy name is irony. A cannibalistic necropheliac about to be devoured by walking corpses. You better believe there is a God and he a is a sick fuck, laughing down at me for my sins.
I fired two shots before the first of the hungry reached me. Claws like white hot spears impaled my thigh as the beast drug me towards it and it’s dinner guests. I heard the gutteral croak in it’s throat as it groaned it’s success at a live meal. The others within the house began to pour out as well. It was over. I had a great run, with many lovers and many succulent meals in my life. Now, I was the meal. I couldn’t help but start to giggle. The two hungry from the porch caught up the the leader and sank their greedy claws into me as well. There was no pain anymore as their needle like teeth began to rend the flesh from my bones. Blood pooled beneath me and poured from my mouth. I coughed and shook, the laughter never stopping. My final image was of a beaked tounge shooting from one of the gaping maws over me as my eyes were plucked from their sockets. Still, I laughed. Then, silence. My final living thought was of her. The night I shared with my morbid Black Beauty. Poetic and pathetic. That’s my style.

Owner of Dedman Productions, a small production company that focuses on bringing entertainment in both fiction and film.

One Comment on “Black Beauty: A Tale of Morbid Love by Mark Armstrong

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