Author Topic: Euphoria  (Read 258 times)

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Offline Anonymous

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« on: July 18, 2009, 12:00:24 PM »
As I stood holding Barker's severed head, I felt an incredible purging and cleanliness cover my soul --like a warm blanket covering the body of a naked child, during a cold wet evening.

Then I heard the screams, the relentless screams, which brought me back to my current unfinished task.

Lybbi was still in the trunk of the 1972 Black Cadillac sedan. Shelly was still hanging from the rafters.

For a brief moment, I thought she looked like a snow angel. Somehow, the lights from the passing cars, made the nearly dried blood, appear white. It must have been the reflective light, I though aloud.

Below were her hands and feet, which lay in a graying and clouded mass on the floor below her. She was still conscious and groaning. I told her, "What a mess you have made of things."

However, the screams had not been hers. Shelly was still alive because here severed extensions had been cauterized, and the tourniquet, kept her from bleeding to death.

I giggled to myself as I noted the words carved into her chest... The Seed Indeed!

How easy it was to carve that into her flesh, and how easy it was to read, once her sagging breasts had been removed.

She begged for me to finish her!

I thought...

Not yet.

I was a bit angry at myself, because Barker was already dead. I didn't want it to be that easy. I wish he was still alive, but he proved what I already knew -- he was weak, and spineless. He had been screaming, kill Shelly, kill Libby, please don't kill me. I will show you were I hid the millions. Yes, yes! There are millions. You can have it all.

I blew up, because over the past several weeks of the daily torture of this infamous trio, that I had to endure, I had refrained from allowing him to die. He screamed, Lybbie was a whore, a cunt, a liar, and thief and a junkie. He said that Shelly was really to blame. He said that he really wasn't nothing more than a misunderstood comedian and that this entire thing was a charade and act. A comedy that played out too long. He swore with an oath that he would return to the streets of New York and never darken south Florida's door again.

He swore he would put it all in writing. Sign it in his own blood. I was so angry that I shoved a pen up his right stump. Then, realized he was left handed - removed it, and shoved it up his left.

And as he was ready to write, I stopped him.

Ahhh, you'll just cry duress.

He rambled on and on. Incoherently!!!

He said he'd suck my dick, and he'd suck it "real good."

He said, he only fucked all those teenage girls, because he was hiding the fact that he was a latent homosexual.

And he mentioned money again.

But, he crossed the line when he thought this was about money.

I had warned him...

I blurted - its about revenge! It's about my lost year, which I can never get back!

I hacked, and hacked and hacked at each limb. One at a time at a furious pace. First the wrists, then the blow torch to stop the bleeding. Then the ankles. And the blowtorch. Geez, its true what they say! Once you cut the Achilles heal and remove the ankle, the calf muscle rolls up, like a snail inside the shell when it is dropped on a hot flame.

Barker's legs now resembled little red elf shoes.

I returned to my task.

The elbows, then the knees. I jabbed at the knees again and again, but it was already too late.

Barker was completely in shock, and although his legs from the knees down were only attached by a few mere muscles and sinew, he didn't feel a thing.

I shouted to the sky - "Show me you have some goddamn feelings, you monster!"

I dragged Barkers near lifeless corpse to the trunk, where Lybbi had been well-secured for the past three days. Her husband was already dead, and the gators had eaten most of his flesh -- but she was not aware of this fact.

Neither was she aware that Johnny U. had been completely devoured as well.

His remains were in a small heap Under a Stack of Wood.

I heard Lybbi kicking and wimpering. She was flailing away.

I stood at the trunk and jingled the keys.

Her futile attempts fell silent. Frozen.

I toyed with her.

I tired one key, and then another. And then another and then another.

And finally -- that familiar, you got the right key sound...

I heard one last pathetic pout...


Suddenly, I flew open the trunk and before her giant orbs that she called eyes, I tore at Barker's neck flesh with that dull rusty blade.

Although the frog sounds had fallen silent, the air was filled with a shrill, it came to me what it was. It sounded like the movie soundtrack from NIght of the Living Dead.

As difficult as it was, I was managing to cut down to Barker's vertibrae.

He made a mess of my God Save the Queen T-shirt.

No worries, I had plenty of other shirts I stole from Lybbi's husband.


Lybbies screaming began to fill the night air. I realized it was no movie, but it was her who was slobbering and blobbering on and on. But - no worries, we are in that old Highway 84 tombstone of a building and the shouts were drowned out by the night time singing of the swamp frogs, and the chomping jaws of them swamp gators.

It reminded me of the time, I wore number 72, and won the trophy for the best defensive back of the N.M.B gators, and won the Cranberry Bowl 6-0 against Miami-Dade.

But, that was long ago.

I had taken the time earlier to nail Lybbie's eyelids open with a powerful staple gun - the kind roofers use to secure unruly tile shingles. Her top eyelids were stretched to about mid skull, and were secured, nicely to the middle of her forehead. The lower lids were yanked hard, below, reaching to about mid-cheek and clamped down in like fashion.

I am sure the pain was excrutiating, but not nearly as bad as the 17 beatings she had endured with a 4" thick steel pole, that had been used to entrap, enslave, and imprison "Seedlings" years earlier.

I could see well now.

The moon came out from behind the dark cloud masses.

The night air was cooling, and clearing.

I could see Lybbie's eyes were dry so I lubricated her mostly white large orbs with a bit of mucus, newly formed in my mouth, that had co-mingled with Barker's red river.

I softly sang to Lybbie, one of the new Seed songs, and she knew to join in.

Come and sit by my side if you love me.

Do not hasten to bid me adou.

But remember the old Opa Locka Blimp Hangar

And those rotten old deeds you did do.

We sang that verse in harmony for hours.

Lybbie never failed to hit the right notes. She knew well the consequences if she had not.


I continued cutting away, feverishly at Barker's neck.

Barker squealed loudly. I was surprised he was still alive. He had been motionless for the past several hours.

When he squealed as I began to cut into his spinal cord, red blood spurted on Lybbie's face.

Barker did his part in helping to lubricate her eyes.

So, she continued to watch.

She really had no choice!

With one last striking motion, the head came off the stump.

I tossed the stump in on top of Lybbi.

Lybbie now was silent.

I asked her if I had her undivided attention.

She said yes.

I said - now tell adopto daddy how much you love him. Tell him how RED with envy you are that he succumbed so easily.

A fate you wish so deeply for yourself now.

She did.

Then I made them kiss and make up.

She stretched her tongue ever so deeply in daddy dearest's severed throat.

Her tongue twisted and lapped away, like a greedy and hungry child who had been waiting for Sunday dinner, all day, and it finally arrived.

I could see it dangling and probing out the back of Barker's neck.

It was a real turn on!

Oh, the horror!
« Last Edit: December 31, 1969, 07:00:00 PM by Guest »

Offline Anonymous

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Re: Euphoria
« Reply #1 on: July 18, 2009, 03:37:49 PM »
« Last Edit: December 31, 1969, 07:00:00 PM by Guest »