Friday, June 17, 2011

Dried blood



I woke up in the morning with the familiar sweet scent in my nostrils. It is a warm, dark summer day where no birds are tweeting and everything is silent. I rise from the bed and walk nude across the floor. Semen drips from my half erect cock. I look out of the window. A long, long row of bloody corpses hang outside. Birds with bloody beaks serve themselves from the bountiful table. I glance back at the bed. The bird still slumbers in her beauty sleep. She is a cold botch. Nothing can disturb her rest. I stumble into the hallway. There is a lot of shit on the floor, dried blood and lots of stuff blocking my way and make my walk more like navigation than anything else. My feet keep hitting something. Several severed heads have been dumped into a corner. I ignore their watery, accusing eyes.

The kitchen is generally speaking very dirty. There are lots of hair and pieces of skin everywhere. I finally find a table that is somewhat clean and sit down. The food is still on the table and is still warm. It was warm last night and is still warm, now. I wolf it all down. It tastes like heaven. Eggs, bread and ham are all first class. The hot juice sates my thirst in a way I hadn’t dreamed possible. The hotel is quiet. I can’t hear a single sound anywhere. Both guests and employees seem to have abandoned the place. Or they’re still sleep, like the hot cunt I spent the night with. Some people can sleep through anything, I guess.

I return to my room, pick up my jacket and the little suitcase and continue my wandering. The bodies are still dripping blood. They hang in two rows, on both sides of the little alley of tall trees. The branches bend slightly and make the stiffs dip up and down, up and down, and the quirts of blood to reach a little farther than they should have, logically speaking. The birds stare at me with their cold eyes and I enjoy lovely trickles down my spine. I pull the camera from the suitcase and snap many pictures. There are fabulous opportunities for excellent composition here and I apply every single one. I imagine how the photographs will look after a stint of two in the electronic darkroom, in Photoshop and others, and I almost jerk off on the spot. I’ve used a pirated copy of Photoshop for ten years, now, and I am quite pleased with it.

The photos practically snap themselves, like they did during my first session last night. I’ve got many Gigabytes of storage on hand, but everything sadly comes to an end. I put my stolen SLR camera and equipment away, and make a final content sweep at the many works of art surrounding me, before I carry on on my eternal walk.

The sun is rising slowly above the horizon. This will be yet another beautiful day.

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