teetheyes | Hell is just around the corner.

Hell is just around the corner, and the moon was waning beyond midnight.

It wasn't that the little nightmare enjoyed depravity ravaged by time and the indifference of a culture taught not to care for their own. No, The Corinthian was a realist, and for every drop of cynicism in his veins there was a pint of self-awareness. He knew his duty, his function. Through the waking world he chose to walk among those he had touched and those he would, in a matter of time.

The Corinthian studied this dilapidatedly thriving district, teeth-eyes hidden behind smokey lenses roving gaze from the sidewalk to the other side of the street. He still had hours before the Dream King would send for his return, as such he may as well make them worth his while. The nightmare had needs, of things warm and sticky to web between his fingers, deep red or pearl white, preferably the latter. Here people didn't just fall through the cracks, they crawled within them like swarms and vermin, finding one would not be difficult. Even now he could hear the less than rhythmic thrust of a man exploring desire--no, taking it. They were tucked under the wing of a brick shadow, muffled by the sounds of traffic. The woman's pain coursed through her loins as her nails dug into the metal of the fire escape. The man forced pleasure from her body without mercy, just as The Corinthian reflected from his dark mirror wholely and completely.

In his cool and casual way, the nightmare mused that this man had just finished serving time and was now helping himself to a plate of ecstasy denied him when the other inmates would bury him thick. Perhaps it was an incident at age 9 when the boy received his first erection at the sight of his father against the kitchen table and his mother on it. Whatever the case, The Corinthian was sure this man's darkness would be sweet, and very red. The poor hooker might even relish in 'justice' being served.

He lifted one foot from the curb and stepped into the street, upon old and rank scents that had been driven into the asphalt. He heard the quickening of breath as the taker prepared to expel himself, the taken's keening silent to mortals but screeches to the dreaming, the deafening explosion, the scraping of metal against road as sparks flew from the Yamaha's flank.

The motorcycle hit him first, followed by the car that had thrown its rider like a wild dog tosses prey.

The nightmare was wrapped in metal and black in an instant. Noise ceased to exist but his thoughts were loud and clear. He expected that she'd be standing over what was left of him now, offering her hand and smiling that calming smile, but Death did not come for him. Even His Lord did not come for him. The Corinthian could not see but he could hear the pulse of what would have been his heart were he born with one.

The beating faded slowly until all he heard was a steady tick.