A smile slowly curled about its face
I knew the curve all too well
A maw with too many teeth
A scream curdles no blood but my own
Sight crowding me
Slick orb
Stroke my body. Alway-
-S watching
Moist slithering snakes up exposed thighs
Undulating it’s way into my pores
My ears
Wet from warm panting
Flesh on flesh
Feeling under my taught
Skin
Oozing down my back
Blood spills from a ceiling crack
Nails across chests of chalkboards
Limbs cover bare bodies in hoards
Sweat on sweat
Sinking into my aching
Skin
In a flurry
Nothing
I shiver in the absence of warm flesh
It leaves me wanting
About the Creator
Eric Jacobsen
Writer of short stories and lover of fantasy. Not much of a fighter, some consider a poet.
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By S. A. Crawford3 days ago in Fiction
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