FICTION

#1 Blood of the Covenant: Prologue — And So, It Begins

A paranormal fantasy

What is this place?

I gasp for air. I do not mean to, I just do. I do not mean to smash my head on the concrete floor, I just do.

Pain. Stabbing, pulling, tearing, cutting. Everywhere. I reach for death and it steps away.

A hazy confusion picks at my mind, stabbing with painful tendrils of distortion, stealing my thoughts and memories.

A small animal. No, that’s wrong. Unknown heat rises in me; anger. I do not understand why I am angry, but the soothing anger makes the pain subside so I let it come. My body shakes with the building rage. I suck in a huge lungful of dry, stinging air and forget to exhale before sucking in the next.

The animal is whimpering. I hate it, it makes my head scream. I grab it and throw it at the wall. There is a thud as the animal explodes and is instantly unrecognizable as something that ever lived. Blood and guts violently paint the wall leaving a splatter pattern that would be the envy of any forensic specialist. How did that happen? It seems… wrong.

“I DON’T WANT THAT!” a terrifying voice of pure rage screams too close to me; it stings my ears. I am shaking in the aftermath of the words grating across my throat. Oh. That was me?

I want the animal. I do want it, but it is gone. I didn’t want it. Did I?

I glower at him. Thoughts I do not understand dance in my head. They do not waltz to beautiful flowing music, they mosh to heavy bass and screeching technotronics. Why would he do this? What did he do? I do not… understand my own thoughts.

He is torn and tormented. My head pounds. He collapses into a crouch, his hands limply swaying by his sides. He looks defeated.

Beautiful pink albino eyes stare at me. “You have to,” he says with a delicately soothing voice. I think maybe he wants to help end my pain but the pain is the only thing real; it is all I know. Something twists inside my chest. I feel light-headed and dizzy. A strange wave of something flows through me and I lean towards the boy. I am pulled to him. I feel the twisting pain again — it is in my heart and it hurts, yet I like it; it feels right. I want, no, need, to touch him. It feels natural and I cannot control it… but it is just a boy.

Wait, I was angry, wasn’t I? Where is the anger? Oh yes, there it is, still here. His eyes are welling with red tears but as I notice them, his finger takes them away. The anger loosens and pain returns.

Hell! Give me back the anger, the pain is worse! The pain is like… hunger. Oh, the pain is hunger. So hungry. My throat is agonizingly dry and my stomach churns wildly and loudly. It increases in intensity with every passing drop of time.

Oh, god! My head, my stomach, my body. That… before… that was not pain. That was like a graze. This is pain, this right here. This…

A thousand scalpels dissect me from inside. A million bees, wasps, and scorpions stinging and biting and tearing, struggling to get out. Maybe if I curl into a tight ball, if I pull my knees into my chest, the pressure might help. Oh, dear god, I just pissed off the bugs!

I have no control, the pain takes over. I cry, scream, and scratch at the concrete as I try to grasp something, anything. Please, I don’t… I can’t… My head is pounding. My heart is exploding. My spine is liquid flame. My arms and legs are molten. I need to eat.

Please!

My body punishes me for asking for mercy. My head is being crushed. Death would be the relief and if I could speak, I would beg for it.

Oh hell, new torture. Every muscle in my body tenses and I sprawl out on my back on the cold, hard concrete. I cannot stop it. My toes and fingers curl involuntarily. My back arches off the floor, stretching me out, stretching too far; oh god, I am going to break! I cannot breathe. My eyes are stinging, I cannot close them. Fear attacks me.

The spasm stops as instantly as it began and I breathe a sigh of relief. I dare to hope… too soon. My body shakes uncontrollably.

I hear rattling iron. What is that? Is someone speaking? Yes, but the words make no sense. It is barely recognizable as a voice; it is hysterical with panic. I hear another voice too, this one I understand, it is saying, “No, stay back.”

A third voice drowns them out. This one is being tortured, slowly and deliberately. It screams a deep, guttural growl with waves of excruciating pain and I want to cover my ears. It sounds like death.

The seizure eases and I instinctively roll onto my stomach. My limbs move on their own command. Without willing it, I am on all fours and crawling across the room. Crawling? No, there is no ground beneath me, I am in the air.

I watch from a distance as the frenzied beast tears into another animal deliberately placed in their path. They lap at it and rubs it against their face. They discard the corpse, throwing it against the iron bars with such force that it wraps around a bar and stays there, molded like a contemporary art sculpture.

The poor thing now frantically tears at the remains of an animal they threw against the wall mere moments ago. They lap at the ground where the blood spilled even as he screams in horror for them to stop. I am disgusted.

They scratch and lick at the blood that has already been absorbed into the concrete floor. Blood oozes from their fingertips as their nails rip and tear. Their teeth scrape on the concrete, biting into it and scratching divots into the solid floor. How very sad.

Two males argue. One says, “No,” and the other retorts with a firm, “Yes.” Other words are lost behind the pathos of the poor, mad, beast.

A bag lands in front of their face and without looking up, they dig their teeth into the thick plastic, tearing it open wildly and tilting their head back as the red liquid flows down their throat. They cannot drink quickly enough and it runs across their face, down their slender neck, into their tatty, grey-white hair, and down their arms.

The bag is empty now and they lick the blood from their own body. The beast has no control. They tear their own skin open as they gnaw at their blood-covered hands. The skin comes together and heals even as they inflict new wounds.

I can barely hear his gentle sobs over the strange pulsing in my ears, though I can see his body shake. His lips move, yet I cannot hear the words. His pain torments me and I want to ask why he hurts. Is the mad beast making him sad? Does he know them? I try to put my arms around him, to comfort him, but I cannot reach him.

He comes to me offering a gift with reluctant care. The gift is wrapped in the most exquisite deep red cellophane and tied with a beautiful bow. It feels soft and warm. I gently take the package from him and crouch to protect it in my lap. I see something strange in his fearful eyes. Is it pity?

He speaks to me slowly and deliberately, yet I do not notice the words; my attention is on the wondrous gift. I have trouble removing the bow, so I lift it to my face and gently loosen it with my teeth. With care given to that of fine china, I slowly and carefully unwrap my gift.

I want to savor it; the feel, the love, the grief.

Now the mad beast frantically destroys another bag of red liquid. They crouch over it, violently tearing into it with their teeth. The beast looks up at me and I see their face for the first time. Oh. I am not shocked; I already knew.

Our hunger is so strong. They, I, we are weak. The dark falls over our eyes.

I am cold. So very cold. I am curled on my side in a tight ball. I am disgustingly sticky. I want to push myself from the ground but my arms will not move. My left cheek feels as if it is plastered to the floor by some thick, gluey syrup.

It is so brightly dark. The darkness is thick, heavy and unyielding, yet somehow it is a burning white darkness. I feel my right hand twitch near my face though I cannot see it through the impenetrable gloom.

I smell something sweet, like… like… I do not know. I cannot place it, nor can I resist the urge to take it into me as I breathe deeply. I try to inhale the fragrance into every molecule of my body; it is intoxicating.

Oh, my eyes are closed! I do not expect they will obey, but I will try to open them. I am surprised to discover that my eyelids have not succumbed to the same stubbornness as the rest of my body.

It is not dark; in fact, it is impossibly bright! I squint against a minuscule spot of light bouncing off the smooth concrete.

The boy. He looks tired, utterly exhausted. He sits on the floor against the far wall with his legs folded up into his chest and his chin resting silently on his knees. His hands lay limp at his sides. His eyes are tightly clenched and his forehead is furrowed with stress. He sleeps a shallow, tortured sleep though the tension in his shoulders tells me he is always poised and ready.

With no understanding of why, I want to take his hand in mine and gently soothe away his worries, but I still cannot move. I try to call out to him and my lips will not work, nor will my tongue, or my throat. Only a faint grunted breath escapes though it is enough to get his attention.

His body remains frozen as his eyes open and roll in my direction. He is so completely still that I wonder if the mysterious force that has taken control of my body has control of his too. His eyes find mine and he stares into me for an eternity. He is waiting, as if he is expecting something, as though perhaps he does not believe I am real.

He breathes slowly and deeply, inhaling, exhaling, and staring at me. Inhale. Exhale. His face slowly relaxes and his head rises from his knees. Inhale. Exhale. I see recognition and understanding.

He is inside the cage with me so fast — I did not see the door open, nor did I hear it. It does not matter though, because he is here now. He does not touch me. He seems apprehensive. His face comes down, close to mine. Strange words drift to me on a breeze, like a dream. His hand comes to me carefully and he rests it on mine with such gentleness.

“I’m here,” he says and I recognize the words though I cannot respond. All I can do is gaze into his eyes and hope the pain I see is not my fault. He gently tries to sweep the hair from my face. The matted mess sticks to me and pulls painfully at my skin but I do not have the strength to tell him. He seems sad and sorrowful.

I am so weak. My breathing is rapid and I feel nauseous. More pain is coming; it is picking at the edges of my mind.

Then it stabs me. I want to tell him it hurts, beg him to make it stop, but as I open my mouth, I feel every muscle in my stomach tense and a gush of liquid coming. He pulls my body up as if he knows, but it is too late and it pours from me. It runs down my chin and neck.

So much red liquid pours from me and pools around my hands. He pulls back but keeps his touch with me despite the disgusting mess reaching for him.

As if someone punched me in the stomach, I hear myself grunt as the muscles in my torso tense again though nothing more comes. He strokes my bloodied and vile hair and his touch is calming.

My body convulses with muscle spasms as my stomach heaves in spite of its emptiness. I shake with tears. I am crying? Oh.

Oh god, another pain. Stronger, harder, intensely tortuous. I push my forehead into the cold ground — it is soothing. I scream with horrific pain as I claw at my stomach, trying to get it out. He is holding back my already drenched hair. Another spasm pulls my head back and I try to resist it; I cannot. A final stab of extreme pain tears me inside like an internal grenade and a disgusting flow of burning, chunky liquid passes over my tongue.

It tastes putrid as I choke out the last of the sickly stuff. I feel utterly empty and instantly relieved. My stomach tingles and itches inside but it is no longer painful, just really, really annoying like an itch I cannot scratch. I feel completely spent and devoid of a single drop of energy. My body starts to sway. As I collapse, he pulls me into his lap, cradling my head. Without pain, I do not know what I feel. Oh, never mind, here it comes again. It is the pain of hunger, so intense, so… what?

My face hurts, my mouth is open. Huh? Something in my mouth. Warm. Tasty. It struggles against the tight grip of my teeth.

He is gone and my mouth is empty. A screeching snarl hurts my ears… and my throat. So hungry. Oh god, please give me food.

Where did he go? He is outside the cage again. What happened? His arm is bloody and torn.

Food, please.

I can smell it, where is it? He has wine, I can see it. Want it. Give it! He is teasing me with the wine. I reach but he will not give it.

I hate you.

This boy will die.

My wrists are bound. When? How?

Another boy, he is holding my wrists tight. He is yelling at me, I cannot understand, I do not care. Shut up, stupid boy. You will both die.

The first boy, the one that I am drawn to, the one I will kill first for teasing me, is holding the straw out as he edges closer. I try to reach but the other wretched little shit has me tight.

I push my face against the bars, towards the straw he holds out to me. Oh, he will let me drink. Just as fucking well, asshole. Something cracks in my face and I don’t care, because I have reached the straw.

Something in my head. Strange. Confusion and clarity. Thoughts, memories, flashing, then gone forever. Everything. Too much. Nothing.

Evil.

Darkn…

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Chapter 1: A Strange Boy

He shook his head, “That’s all for now. Later.” I closed my eyes and licked my lips but his finger got there first. The touch was arousing until I realized he had stolen the flavor from me. Anger ripped through me and I wanted to tear his face apart and crush his skull in my hands.

Copyright © 2021 Kai Parker (adapted from Awakening by Porle Joen — also me, lol). 2021 queer reworking — LGBTQ2SAI+ Paranormal Fantasy.

All rights reserved. No part of this work may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher. All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.