The Dark Inside of Me [10% Complete]

[Wesley Bishop]

Prompt List

• Secret
• 3 AM
• Hate
• Obsession
• Wine
• Break-Up
• Lie
• Introduction
• Fight
• Hide

NOTICE: All of Wesley's prompts come with a warning of violence and/or otherwise explicit nature.

[Wesley Bishop]

Secret


This thread takes place in the past.

  It wasn't really happening. It wasn't really happening. It wasn't really happening. It didn't seem to matter how he put it to himself, as he squatted down in the corner of the hotel room, nostrils stinging of the coppery scent of warm, moist blood (and it smelled so good to him, so very good). No, it didn't matter what part of the word he put emphasis on, it didn't change the fact that he was covered in blood, and there was a dead body on the bed. His breathing was shallow - he was trying not to tempt himself with the scent of raw meat, the idea of rolling the chewy parts around in his maw before using bones to sharpen his teeth almost such a temptation that he could feel the edges of his vision blur again, hear the strange thumping heartbeat of the Serengeti, and the scent of blood fade away to arid, grassy plains..

  Black and gold crept into the corners of his vision, and he put his hands to his head, bowing forward so that he was in a sort of worshiping position. His forehead touched the ground in a rare area that did not have the blood soaking into the carpeting (it had been an awkward teal shade with many questionable stains, but there had been so much blood that it had sat on top of it, making strange glimmering pools of not-red but not-teal liquid). He held his breath, the sensation twisting in his ribcage and pulsing out through his limbs. It was the most sensational pain he had ever felt, as though something were about to burst forth from his flesh and bone and form anew; he felt as though he were being turned inside out - but only, only if he fought it.

  If he gave into it, like he had before, than it was better than any high that he could ever hope to experience. It was like ecstasy; lightning rolling through his veins and attacking every nerve that he had, splitting them and dividing them and filling him with an elation that could be comparable to eating Ambrosia and being elevated to the status of a god. A loud and very inhuman groan escaped his clenched teeth, something between a mixture of a roar and a cry of pain as he pushed the thunderous, demanding power down and away. It fought with him, and it took every ounce of his being to push it to the dark recesses of his body and mind, to a portion of his soul that he truly believed was splitting and becoming a different sort of bizarro half of him.

  He pushed off of the ground, reaching up to steady himself against the door frame of the bathroom. The tangled mess on the bed finally hit him; he felt his gut wretch as he realized what it was. Fawn. The blood and the twisted, broken body sprawled out with giant, jagged tear marks in the limbs, so much that it made it nearly impossible to tell what it might have been -- but then a tuft of blonde hair and a familiar article of clothing -- Wesley vomited. It started in his hand and spilled forth between his fingers, coating the wall as he tried desperately to turn and direct himself towards the bathroom.

  He puked until there was nothing left to puke; his stomach and insides felt twisted and inverted, like before but not. A glimpse in the mirror showed him pale and disturbingly run-down; dark circles ringed his eyes, blue eyes that had hints of gold in them. It frightened him. He didn't recognize the man that he was looking at in the mirror, at all. Frantically, he began washing the blood and vomit from his hands, the putrid scent of rotting meat and stomach acid and Dove soap stinging his nose and permeating every available area of space around him until he could taste it in his mouth and in the back of his throat again.

  He scrubbed his hands until they were raw and red, threatening nearly to bleed on their own. The water was scalding hot, but it was all numb to him, all ice cold. The pressure in his chest wouldn't go away; his stomach was at a permanent, anchored sinking spot, like he was falling and falling and falling except the sensation didn't go away when he realized it wasn't a dream. He couldn't force himself to stop feeling the way he felt, and he knew why he felt the way he did. He couldn't piece the moments together; not chronologically, or at least not in a way that made sense, but he knew that he had made that mess on the bed. He knew that he had killed Fawn.

  He just didn't fucking know how.

  Memories flooded him as he began the methodical cleaning of the room. She'd agreed to meet him there, happy to have received a return phonecall from such a cute man she'd met in a bar. She was only looking for a good time, drinks dancing and more - and everything had gone fine. Something had triggered him to being not fine, and the situation had gone downhill. She wouldn't stop screaming, and when he tried to quiet her, she threw the lamp at him and called him a freak of nature. She'd called him a monster and an animal, and she'd threatened to tell. Something inside of him had snapped, and he'd only meant to...

  Fuck sake, he'd only meant to stop her screaming.

  The cleaning didn't do a goddamn thing for the room, and he put his head in his hands again and tried to figure out some course of action for what he needed to do. The hotel was small, in a small town in Nevada. They were far enough from any big cities that he could easily make it look like a sick trucker came in and had a serial-killer good fun time, but it didn't seem secure enough. It seemed like he would leave too much evidence behind. He paced and paced and paced, feeling like a strange jungle cat in a cage. The smell only got worse, and he realized he couldn't leave the room in the state he was in. He had no change of clothing, and his own were soaked with blood so much that they looked like they were stuck to his skin, drying, brown and crusted with bits of flesh and chunks of scalp, blonde strands of hair sticking out awkwardly.

  He sat in a chair by the door for a very long time, long enough that the line between reality and that all-encompassing darkness that consumed him and filled him with madness and rage and violence began to blur. He sat in the dark as still as death and as quiet as a shadow, laying in wait; a jungle predator, camouflaged by their own environment and using their natural prowess for hunting as their weapon. Hours dragged by slowly, painfully. People came and went, days passed. Wesley sat in the darkened room.

  The smell worsened.

  Finally, on the fifth day, housekeeping came to see what was happening. The hotel wasn't the nicest, and mostly the housekeeping did as minimal of a job as possible, but the smell had been driving the rest of the staff insane. The door opened slowly on the fifth day, and the housekeeper turned on the light. Nothing happened, and so with a groan, she entered further, calling back to someone to check the circuit breakers for room twenty-seven. She smelled of alcohol and fear, and the creature in the room had been sitting for a very long time with nothing but an old kill to feed on. Nothing but maggots and rotting meat to sate his appetite, one that was impossibly large.

 

  Two days later, Wesley leaned against the back of a high-backed stool at a diner in Reno, Nevada. His eyes were fixed on a news report about a massive fire that had started when a truck struck a gas station next to a hotel just off of a small road that lead to the interstate. Black smoke billowed out from it as the tanker blazed, the hotel nothing but smoldering ash.

  "Can't imagine what them people in the hotel thought," an older gray-bearded trucker drawled, staring at Wesley.

  Wesley looked back, a boyish smile on his face. "Oh, I imagine the flash from the heat was so heavy, it probably vaporized anyone inside before they had a chance to think at all," he said casually. He turned his hazel-blue eyes back up to the television set, and waited for his check.

  The trucker seemed content with this answer, at least for a moment. He cleared his throat a little, and nodded to Wes. "You sure are a big fellow. What're you doin' out here, anyways? You don't look like the type to come out this way for work," he said. One of his eyes was lazy, and wandered to the left a little, giving the impression that he was staring at both Wesley and the waitress behind the counter.

  Wesley smiled again. "Oh, sir, I take that as a compliment. I'm a Air Force. Actually, I'm on my way to visit some friends in Las Vegas. Just stopping through here to relax before I start the rest of my drive." he said. Something in his smile was sincere, despite his size.

  The trucker laughed. "Well, then. Thank you for your service, son. Always wanted to be a Marine myself, but I got bad eyes, y'see. Couldn't do much to help them out. That was a long time ago, though."

  Wesley turned back to the counter and tossed a twenty dollar bill down. "Well, sir, I'm sure you'd be glad you didn't. I just got back from the desert, and I'll tell you, it's a lot different than the good old states," he said honestly. "Even for the Air Force," he added with a grin.

  "I hear ya. I heard some boys coming back over here were needing counseling. Some such about them losin' their minds. Like they were usin' experimental drugs on you over there or somethin'. I dunno. I reckon a man sees so much his mind can handle, and maybe he turns into a little more of an animal because of it, but I reckon he's entitled to."

  "Speaking from personal experience, sir, I agree with you. Have a good day now," Wesley said. He nodded to him and departed the diner, his massive form disappearing around the side of the building and towards his car.

  The trucker wiped a bit of sweat from the brim of his greasy hat and laughed to himself. "What a nice young man," he said to himself.

[Wesley Bishop]

3 AM

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[Wesley Bishop]

Can You Hear Me?

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[Wesley Bishop]

Dangerous

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[Wesley Bishop]

Deep

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[Wesley Bishop]

Give Up

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[Wesley Bishop]

Creation

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[Wesley Bishop]

Introduction

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[Wesley Bishop]

Words

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[Wesley Bishop]

Everything

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