Categories > Original > Horror > Flames of Fury: Rekindled


by shortone1286689 0 reviews

Rage Release

Category: Horror - Rating: R - Genres: Angst, Horror - Warnings: [V] - Published: 2006-02-25 - Updated: 2006-02-25 - 1193 words

He couldn't stand it any more. He stared out the window of his second story bedroom. At the riverside across the street, a few younger boys played soccer. He smiled at their childish innocence. Then he sighed as he remembered that portion of his own life. There had never been innocence for him. He had never been allowed to show innocence.
He was different. At least, that was how his parents put it. He growled lightly at their pitiful explanations. He could still hear his mother's voice the last time he saw her...
"Wait! Milo please don't do this! We love you! We don't care if you're different! Wait Milo, wait!" He grinned, revealing two sharp canine teeth. She had taken a while to dispose of. He had always been fond of her, but she couldn't be allowed to live. Not with her imperfections mucking up his world.
His mouth curved negatively as he remembered the creature that had claimed him as his own. The image of dark brows, always drawn together, came to him. A frown matching his own materialized. A sense of untamed power came with the image. He chuckled as the image morphed and changed leaving an older and much weaker form in its place.
Oh, how that man had challenged him. Calling him all sorts of beastly names, torturing his artistic soul and mangling him in ways no other living being could. He shivered at the memory of that beast's hands on him, how he had violated him.
He shook the memory from his mind. He would not let the memory of the dead haunt him. He smirked as he remembered the pungent odor of burning flesh penetrating his senses. He had made sure to let that one suffer.
He looked back from the window down at the notebook in his lap. He tilted his head in mild curiosity at what he had written. He hadn't even been thinking of her yet here was his only good memory before him in black ink. He sighed and re-read the poem.

Angel's Light

Alight in an Angel's light
Hoping to be alright
In the starry night
Times races while my heart beats slowly
Shining with eternal love
I feel my spirit rise above
And though it seems the end of things
I fly with joy on Angel's wings

He remembered that night well. It was the first time he had dominated another. It had been his first taste of undeniable power. He licked his lips at the memory.
He could see her again, tied to the desk, fear clearly flashing in her eyes. Her lips, bruised black from his force, trembled as she tried to force her words out.
"P-please stop... This isn't... ugh! This isn't you..." He chuckled now, as he had that night.
"This isn't me? How would you know?! Nobody ever took the time to know me! How the hell would you know the real me?!" He again felt the blood singing through his veins as he cut into her flesh again. She shrieked in pain and he chuckled again. Finally, he was giving his pain to somebody else. It was their turn to suffer, not his...
His image became distorted with red blotches and then vanished. He sighed peacefully at the memory of his first release.
Calmly, he flipped through the pages of his notebook. He stopped at a nearly blank page. He was puzzled for he rarely left a page blank. Upon closer investigation, he saw that it was not blank but quite full. He grinned manically and read the poem.


Some say eccentric. Others say free-spirited.
I say crazy.
Some say special. Others say strange.
I say crazy.
Some say queer. Others say weird.
I say crazy.
Some say odd. Others say unusual.
I say crazy.
Plain and simple. Crazy.

He giggled at the memory of this release. She had been a foolish one that was sure. She was too trusting; too giving. He had used a different method with her. He sighed as her image came forth from the recesses of his mind.
Long blonde hair danced about her shoulders as she struggled to escape his grasp. He cackled manically and threw her to the ground before him. She scrambled to stand but he stomped down on her with a booted foot.
"Where do you think you're going?" He pushed down with his foot harder, wrenching a gasp of pain from the young girl. From the pocket of his baggy pants he drew a small vial. He captured her face with one hand and restrained her with the other. He removed the vial's stopper with his teeth and placed it at her lips.
The pungent odor of ammonia reached her nose and she immediately clamped her mouth shut. He chuckled at her resistance.
"Aw, you aren't gonna make this easy for me, are you?" She simply narrowed her eyes at him and tried to get up again. He pushed down harder with his boot on her back and heard a sick crack. He grinned as he continued to say, "Don't you know that this is for the best? With people like you, there is no happiness in the world for people like me? Don't you know that I'm doing this for the good of our world? It will be a much better place without you in it."
With this, he pried her mouth open and force-fed her the ammonia. When he was sure the vial was empty, he took his foot off of her back to watch the results.
She futilely tried to run away, bent double from the extreme pain in her gut. She staggered a few steps and fell to the ground, expelling the contents of her stomach on the ground. She collapsed to the ground in a series of convulsive jerks and finally went still.
He chuckled at the wonderful memory. She had been a beautiful test subject; willing and prosperous. He silently filed the memory away for further enjoyment in the future. He looked down at the notebook to find his favorite poem written in gothic lettering...

Flames of Fury

I see her burning. Burning. Writhing in agony. I see her flesh melt, turning red, and then black. I watch as she falls, crumbles into dust. I feel a slight pull at my mouth. I know what's coming and I welcome it. I throw my head back and laugh as she is consumed by the flames of fury.

Tears of blood crawl down her face as a scream of agony escapes her lips. A cloak of shattered glass is drawn over her back. Again I feel the pull. It is not welcome. But I do not deny it. I smile; a huge insidious grin: But no sound comes with it. All is consumed by the flames of fury.

I feel the pull, but this time it is wrong. It is my turn now. My eyes burn, but the tears feel like ice. Against my protests, they fall. Full of guilt and remorse, I step into the flames. And I too am consumed by the unmerciful, ever-burning flames of fury.
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