Post by flesheater on Aug 24, 2012 12:25:35 GMT -5
Note: I write in a very unorthodox style (as compared to the modernistic view) and realize many of my shortcomings with the idea of publicity or publishing. Currently I wish only to share my work for mere enjoyment and casual pleasure (or displeasure I suppose). However, any helpful tips will be gladly taken and as always I definitely appreciate hearing opinions of the emotions my story(ies) either succeeds or fails to ignite. My largest influences are Poe, Lovecraft and Machen so you can imagine the style I inherently possess and adore (so to speak).
“Her”
By Matthew A. Campbell
If there ever were a love so powerful, so pure, so paramount, it would have been that of mine for her. Never have I seen a woman with such exquisite beauty, which filled my mind, my heart, with such divine awe; she was a woman that could cripple me, engulfing my mind in malicious thought by her absence. This overwhelming allure, seductive in its vivaciousness, is what led me to commit such an immense, an atrocious, act of love.
Each morning I would watch her, intently, with the utmost devotion as she woke. Her beauty was christened by the glowing rays of the sun; her face illuminated in gold, its elegance invoking heavenly imagery within my mind. She welcomed the warmth, as it fell upon her soft, pale skin. Her angelic blue eyes would slowly open, filling her with life, with love. I watched her intimately, my gazes falling upon her unnoticed; and though I longed to touch her, to hold her, I dare not interrupt the elegant display. I would stay, watching her, until time allowed me no more. As each morning ended, I promised her my return; I silently swore to her, every minute of my existence and to this I held true.
When the monotony of the day would retire and my endeavors had been completed, I would return to her. On most days, I arrived just as the sun set upon the horizon; the dying, luminous light, cutting streaks through the impending darkness. Although the coming of dusk allowed us little time together, it also granted me the greatest of all sceneries. As the light dwindled from the interior, she would light candles amongst the rooms. The flames would flicker and dance about the walls, their subtle glow casting her delicate features in a radiant, celestial, golden intensity. Her hair, occasionally falling from behind her ears, like that of autumn’s dying leaves, shone in a vibrant, ember glow. Never had I witnessed such charming beauty; she was a spectacle of absolute perfection in creation.
As the hour grew late, she would extinguish the candles before retiring to her chamber. The darkness would cast beyond her as the moonlight’s dull, sullen hue would bathe her in a deep, dark blue. Lying upon the bed, her complexion contrasted against the white linens, creating a scene reminiscent of a fairy tale. I would drink in my last glimpse, as I bid her good night. My nights always ended in misery; watching her fall asleep, the loneliness of the room beckoning to me, her beauty agonizing me. I spent many months following her from dawn till dusk, each day consisting of a love hidden in secrecy, never sharing a moment together, always ending in torment.
It was on that one final night, that I realized the urgency of my disposition; the need then, to make my love known to her, to bind us together, forever. That last, lonely night, would undoubtedly mark the final farewell to my princess; for the following day would bring about the eternity of our love, the death to a love trapped within secrecy.
The following morning I sat, watching her intently; her luminescent glow could not be defined by words, her unearthly allure entranced my mind. She looked more beautiful than she ever had; her complexion radiated immensely and life and love flowed from her very entity. Though I could have previously described the minutest detail of her face, never had I been as near as I was then. Prior to that day, I had only gazed upon her magnificent beauty from afar: through windows, lost amidst crowds, always keeping my distance. Then, in our most intimate moment, I could touch her face, feel her warmth, inhale her scent; everything I had ever wished, ever dreamed of, was coming to fruition.
The sun rose slowly, washing over her face, its warmth flowing over her like a mellow brook. An intense feeling of trepidation rushed through me; my heart pounded with excitement as I awaited our first meeting. My mind raced with wild confusion, unable to conjure a legible sentence or thought. I concurred, then, with my conscience, that my actions shall speak louder than words, that she’ll understand my affection through them; no words could describe my immense feelings for her, I resolute that this would go without misinterpretation.
As she opened her eyes, a look of impending doom, of sheer terror fell about her face, destroying all of her beauty. Her lungs filled with air, intending to relinquish a blood curdling scream, a din of absolute horror. I faltered momentarily, nearly fainting; I soon gathered my wits as I realized the actuality of the moment at hand. In a maddening, virulent reaction, my hands grasped her throat; the strength of a thousand men possessed my will. Her face became stricken with fear; her attempted screams of horror subdued merely to a whimper. I watched as her life-filled complexion fell pale and purplish; her beautiful angelic blue eyes, cast over like a deep, dark abyss, void of life. I held her like that for many minutes until the loving embrace fell cold. As I released my hands from her throat, the last and final breath of life escaped her body.
I stared into her black, sullen eyes as they peered back into mine as she lay there lifeless; her pose mimicking a prodigious caryatid. The cold, empty eyes seemingly rolled about the sockets, never leaving mine, as if she were still alive. I sat looking over her, caressing her hand as I raised it to my face; I kissed her hand, a loving, sincere kiss. I reached into my coat pocket and retrieved my knife; the cold steel felt unwelcoming against the warmth of my hand. From the corner of my eye I saw her, sitting next to me, as alive and spirited as she was just minutes prior. Her hair was flowing in a seductive manner as light shone through it, illuminating her face brightly. Her complexion was pale, complimenting her white gown which also seemed a blinding, vibrant, luminous glow. Although her ghostly embodiment flowed with life, her eyes remained cold and empty; as she laid her hands upon my face, she kissed me, her loving embrace was warm and it was real.
She stared into my eyes; I could hear her speaking to me, though her lips did not move. As I raised the cold, unloving steel, she guided my hand as the blade penetrated her skin, consecrating our love. I felt her warmth run over my fingers, over my hand, as she guided the steel deeper and deeper. Her beauty flowed like a waterfall, contrasting vibrantly against the bright white linens. She looked like a crimson princess, bathing in a sea of rose petals: an angel of sinister seduction.
I watched as she reached within the bosom of her own body, her hands engulfed in the flesh and blood. Her grasp tightened as she tugged violently; her hand pulled from the wound, clenching a repugnant, dripping organ. In her hand she was holding her heart; its deep, crimson hues were accented by dark purplish tones, resembling that of a grotesque bouquet of roses. The once healthy, loving heart, which beat with vivacious vitality, now lay still, devoid of all spirit. I stared into her black, abysmal eyes as she raised it to my mouth. Without hesitation, I began to devour, to ingest the sole embodiment of her desirable love; I committed this with the most hideous and wild of passions. It was in this unholy communion, in which we became one: to live, to die, to suffer, together, forever.
As I sit here, writing this, my love is here with me in this dank, dark, empty cell. She’s always present, never leaving my side, constantly reminding me of her angelic beauty and of the unholy passion that we shared, as I yearn to feel her again. I’ve even grown fond of her deep, hollow eyes; their soulless gaze no longer afflicting guilt or despair upon my soul. Come tomorrow, we shall endure this suffrage no more, to find our love pervading all eternity and I shall once more, hold her, feel her, revel in her warmth; for not even the devil himself, the condemnation of his fiery, burning pits of hell, could separate nor perish our love. I will stand upon the gallows in absolute alacrity, begging the executioner to commit me to my ill fate. When life exhausts itself from my very being, as my final, dying breath escapes my lips, I shall live once again with my crimson angel, to peer into her abysmal eyes and embrace her, my True Desire.
My influence for this story came from a document titled "Hannibal Lector: The Real Cannibal". There was a small, frail Japanese man that possessed such an obsessive love for a woman, that he thought the only way to successfully show his affection for her was to eat her. As you can imagine that's precisely what he did. He spent (I believe) 5 or 7 years in prison; he was released with the idea that he did not pose a threat to society any longer...absolute madness if you ask me! Either way; it made for a decent, graphically documented tale for my traditional sensibility.
Thank you for taking the time to read my entry.
“Her”
By Matthew A. Campbell
If there ever were a love so powerful, so pure, so paramount, it would have been that of mine for her. Never have I seen a woman with such exquisite beauty, which filled my mind, my heart, with such divine awe; she was a woman that could cripple me, engulfing my mind in malicious thought by her absence. This overwhelming allure, seductive in its vivaciousness, is what led me to commit such an immense, an atrocious, act of love.
Each morning I would watch her, intently, with the utmost devotion as she woke. Her beauty was christened by the glowing rays of the sun; her face illuminated in gold, its elegance invoking heavenly imagery within my mind. She welcomed the warmth, as it fell upon her soft, pale skin. Her angelic blue eyes would slowly open, filling her with life, with love. I watched her intimately, my gazes falling upon her unnoticed; and though I longed to touch her, to hold her, I dare not interrupt the elegant display. I would stay, watching her, until time allowed me no more. As each morning ended, I promised her my return; I silently swore to her, every minute of my existence and to this I held true.
When the monotony of the day would retire and my endeavors had been completed, I would return to her. On most days, I arrived just as the sun set upon the horizon; the dying, luminous light, cutting streaks through the impending darkness. Although the coming of dusk allowed us little time together, it also granted me the greatest of all sceneries. As the light dwindled from the interior, she would light candles amongst the rooms. The flames would flicker and dance about the walls, their subtle glow casting her delicate features in a radiant, celestial, golden intensity. Her hair, occasionally falling from behind her ears, like that of autumn’s dying leaves, shone in a vibrant, ember glow. Never had I witnessed such charming beauty; she was a spectacle of absolute perfection in creation.
As the hour grew late, she would extinguish the candles before retiring to her chamber. The darkness would cast beyond her as the moonlight’s dull, sullen hue would bathe her in a deep, dark blue. Lying upon the bed, her complexion contrasted against the white linens, creating a scene reminiscent of a fairy tale. I would drink in my last glimpse, as I bid her good night. My nights always ended in misery; watching her fall asleep, the loneliness of the room beckoning to me, her beauty agonizing me. I spent many months following her from dawn till dusk, each day consisting of a love hidden in secrecy, never sharing a moment together, always ending in torment.
It was on that one final night, that I realized the urgency of my disposition; the need then, to make my love known to her, to bind us together, forever. That last, lonely night, would undoubtedly mark the final farewell to my princess; for the following day would bring about the eternity of our love, the death to a love trapped within secrecy.
The following morning I sat, watching her intently; her luminescent glow could not be defined by words, her unearthly allure entranced my mind. She looked more beautiful than she ever had; her complexion radiated immensely and life and love flowed from her very entity. Though I could have previously described the minutest detail of her face, never had I been as near as I was then. Prior to that day, I had only gazed upon her magnificent beauty from afar: through windows, lost amidst crowds, always keeping my distance. Then, in our most intimate moment, I could touch her face, feel her warmth, inhale her scent; everything I had ever wished, ever dreamed of, was coming to fruition.
The sun rose slowly, washing over her face, its warmth flowing over her like a mellow brook. An intense feeling of trepidation rushed through me; my heart pounded with excitement as I awaited our first meeting. My mind raced with wild confusion, unable to conjure a legible sentence or thought. I concurred, then, with my conscience, that my actions shall speak louder than words, that she’ll understand my affection through them; no words could describe my immense feelings for her, I resolute that this would go without misinterpretation.
As she opened her eyes, a look of impending doom, of sheer terror fell about her face, destroying all of her beauty. Her lungs filled with air, intending to relinquish a blood curdling scream, a din of absolute horror. I faltered momentarily, nearly fainting; I soon gathered my wits as I realized the actuality of the moment at hand. In a maddening, virulent reaction, my hands grasped her throat; the strength of a thousand men possessed my will. Her face became stricken with fear; her attempted screams of horror subdued merely to a whimper. I watched as her life-filled complexion fell pale and purplish; her beautiful angelic blue eyes, cast over like a deep, dark abyss, void of life. I held her like that for many minutes until the loving embrace fell cold. As I released my hands from her throat, the last and final breath of life escaped her body.
I stared into her black, sullen eyes as they peered back into mine as she lay there lifeless; her pose mimicking a prodigious caryatid. The cold, empty eyes seemingly rolled about the sockets, never leaving mine, as if she were still alive. I sat looking over her, caressing her hand as I raised it to my face; I kissed her hand, a loving, sincere kiss. I reached into my coat pocket and retrieved my knife; the cold steel felt unwelcoming against the warmth of my hand. From the corner of my eye I saw her, sitting next to me, as alive and spirited as she was just minutes prior. Her hair was flowing in a seductive manner as light shone through it, illuminating her face brightly. Her complexion was pale, complimenting her white gown which also seemed a blinding, vibrant, luminous glow. Although her ghostly embodiment flowed with life, her eyes remained cold and empty; as she laid her hands upon my face, she kissed me, her loving embrace was warm and it was real.
She stared into my eyes; I could hear her speaking to me, though her lips did not move. As I raised the cold, unloving steel, she guided my hand as the blade penetrated her skin, consecrating our love. I felt her warmth run over my fingers, over my hand, as she guided the steel deeper and deeper. Her beauty flowed like a waterfall, contrasting vibrantly against the bright white linens. She looked like a crimson princess, bathing in a sea of rose petals: an angel of sinister seduction.
I watched as she reached within the bosom of her own body, her hands engulfed in the flesh and blood. Her grasp tightened as she tugged violently; her hand pulled from the wound, clenching a repugnant, dripping organ. In her hand she was holding her heart; its deep, crimson hues were accented by dark purplish tones, resembling that of a grotesque bouquet of roses. The once healthy, loving heart, which beat with vivacious vitality, now lay still, devoid of all spirit. I stared into her black, abysmal eyes as she raised it to my mouth. Without hesitation, I began to devour, to ingest the sole embodiment of her desirable love; I committed this with the most hideous and wild of passions. It was in this unholy communion, in which we became one: to live, to die, to suffer, together, forever.
As I sit here, writing this, my love is here with me in this dank, dark, empty cell. She’s always present, never leaving my side, constantly reminding me of her angelic beauty and of the unholy passion that we shared, as I yearn to feel her again. I’ve even grown fond of her deep, hollow eyes; their soulless gaze no longer afflicting guilt or despair upon my soul. Come tomorrow, we shall endure this suffrage no more, to find our love pervading all eternity and I shall once more, hold her, feel her, revel in her warmth; for not even the devil himself, the condemnation of his fiery, burning pits of hell, could separate nor perish our love. I will stand upon the gallows in absolute alacrity, begging the executioner to commit me to my ill fate. When life exhausts itself from my very being, as my final, dying breath escapes my lips, I shall live once again with my crimson angel, to peer into her abysmal eyes and embrace her, my True Desire.
My influence for this story came from a document titled "Hannibal Lector: The Real Cannibal". There was a small, frail Japanese man that possessed such an obsessive love for a woman, that he thought the only way to successfully show his affection for her was to eat her. As you can imagine that's precisely what he did. He spent (I believe) 5 or 7 years in prison; he was released with the idea that he did not pose a threat to society any longer...absolute madness if you ask me! Either way; it made for a decent, graphically documented tale for my traditional sensibility.
Thank you for taking the time to read my entry.
It's so much fun when that happens. You could still create a truly gripping image by adding a little to that sentence. You should totally play around with ideas until something feels right. I would love to see what you come up with. ;D
) at first, but almost all of the stories I read had male leads, so that just felt more natural. While reading your story I was primarily fascinated with the psychology of the character, figuring out what made him tick, how he managed to consider what he was doing was reasonable, etc. I don't think it's sexist to be curious about different perspectives. I over analyze everything. It's fun 
I just don't have the time to dedicate to it.