Part 2 The five men bled to death, filling glass after glass, elating the Hostess’s precious guests whose vast experience and their creatively, imaginative ways of cutting, carving and mutilating, made sure that not one drop was wasted on the marble floor. With the man’s heart inside her palm, Alithia approached John who was standing at the corner of the room, pale and sober, his eyes fixed on the bleeding men that hung upside down from Giambattista Crosato’s decorated ceiling, like gourmet meat at a butcher’s. His lips were a tight line and his hands shook. Alithia showed him the pulsing heart she was holding and then opening her mouth and closing her eyes, she sucked it dry, until it was nothing more than a shrunk lump of pale flesh which she dropped onto the floor. “That, was mine for the taking, your life isn’t.” she said wiping her smeared mouth with the back of the hand. “Do you still want to give it to me, in exchange for this?” she asked. “It doesn’t have to be like this..” John said and shook his head. “No. But it will be… Do you still want it or not?” “I do.” he said and nodded. Before his eyes had time to open and close again, Alithia had pulled his hair back and had buried her head between his collar bones, breaking through the skin, going for the artery that anchored him to life. His blood was warm and familiar and his beating heart a tune she had drunk to many times before, but this time it broke her heart because she liked the way it pulsed and fluttered when she was near, and because she knew she would never listen to its beat again. It was a death, as real and bitter as every death is, and when John would open his eyes to look at her again, it would John no more but someone else, someone cold like herself. And she would leave in search of warmth again. Before long, his knees grew weak and she placed him flat on the floor. Sad and sick from the blood, she heard Alastair’s whisper inside her head. “Another lover dead, Alithia…”
Posted on: Wed, 19 Mar 2014 17:00:01 +0000
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