As the midnight sun burned through the clouds, a misty light pours upon my city.
For somewhere in this city, lies my Razor Winged Angel. She is of the ranks of the forgotten, that have overwhelmed this land, and are cursed with a hollow exsistance.
She sits in a puddle, back to a damn brick wall. Her black cordon hair, half cocked behind her ear, with the rest in her eyes. The mascara runs from her eyes, leaving the darkness of her torment upon her surface, for all to scoff.
Her blood runs from the cut on her left temple, and dribbles down her bruised cheek to match her lipstick crimson lips. She tries to wisp it away as the glass from her wrists merely adds more life essance to the mess, and drives the shards deeper.
She pulls her knees close to her chest, revealing the gaping holes in her once perfect fishnets. She shivers to see the cigarette burns up and down her thighs, along with the finger shaped bruises.
Holding a cry, she clutches her legs. Head buried in her knees, somewithin her masses, something dark. Something putrid in thought, and irreverant in speech, yet justified against those who seek to violate our barriers…
….Vengance…..
Her nails bury deep within her legs as her sobs become laughs, with the resonance of a banshee. The cross that has adorned her neck has become inverted and ultimately the hands of the clock which scream for the judgement hour.
She reached her shredded arm into her back, and wrapped her wicked nails around the frozen grip of a .44. Her blood soaked teeth matched her lips as she glance a wicked grin, and lept to her feet.
“My love!” She screamed like a heretic goddess, “Now I have something to show you!”
No sooner did her rage pour forth then did my Razor Winged Angel speed into the night, to return one final debt left unpaid, as society was the one to label princesses to “whores”.
The device of our times, which lead men to turn our ravishing queens to mistresses of pennance. Armed with blades, guided by eyes that only see misintent, their wings of iron spread wide.
Go, my seraphim, cut the defiling souls with the edges of your wings. Give to them a mere taste of your demensia, and leave them craving pain. Let the barbed wire line their throats and pierce their veins, until your bruises turn away and your eyes are not blackened.
As you were besieged with the feelings of filth, let them be overrun with the frozen edges of temperance.
“And let us not forget the pains we took to recreate the most perfect of the most imperfect beings on this planet….. We must hide her from the eyes of the imperfect of the perfect as the same opposite will be her downfall… Arise my Angel of Death and repay the horror that bespoke your creation! Arise and kill the killers, murder the murderers, rape the rapers, destroy the destroyers, torture the torturers, and above all create the creators that begin it all again! Never stop the cycle that began you and shall end you!”-from a story I wrote 3 years ago, entitled Death’s Angel of Life… I leave you to figure out the story..
Interesting! You leave me wanting more. I NEED to find out more. What happens? Don’t leave me guessing guesses that are what they should be…
As true, I agree that it is our duty as Angels of Vengance to “…kill the killers, murder the murderders, rape the rapers, destroy the destroyers”….yet, I believe not in the idea to “..never stop the cycle that began you and shall end you”. Those of us that have been truly burned by the misdoings of others, do not wish our fate to create more of the forsaken. We didn’t ask for this hate, and we shall not give it.
i thought the stroy was good and i dunno why but i pictured me in the story, as the angel, with my black hair like hers and my crimson lips. hope to hear more from you. feel free to e-mail me or sumthin. homie_t2@hotmail.com
But it is necessary…. is it not?
Misery is not a necessity to life.
my eyes got addicted to ur words. great story. keep writing.
that was beautiful. i could picture the person perfectly.
“Misery itself is a life beside of the smiles, the joy, the heartfelt peace that one feels. Why misery? Why not sadness? Why not depression? Why not anger? Why not hatred? Why not pain? Why not deceit? Why not fear? Why not oppression? Why not destruction? Why not death? Why not?
Because Misery is the least of all evils.”
“We give the hate, we take the hate, we feed upon it, our fear wants more, our heart screams for it, while we hate the hate itself.”
That was beautiful. Misery is the essence of the human state of mind and life that defines the other good emotions from life. Without Misery we could not define what happiness was, it would be like trying to define what a void was from a just an empty black space. Am I making sense? i don’t think I am but the point I am making is that misery is a necessity. Much as we dislike misery, it is at least not hate. However, you’re words created a vision of astounding misery and vengeance that I was impressed. That doesn’t happen often being an avid reader of any and all literary works almost. I hope you write more.
It was very interesting. I liked it a lot. Most excellent read. Morbid Soul
Razor wing when will you come down? descend now and save this earth from the corruption of its ingrateful tenants…kill and save.
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i loved it ive been reading your work and it seems to be catching my eyes..please write more