We ’re go a piece fanciful this calendar week with the Concept Art Writing Prompt , drop a little clock time with a girl palisade by rugged meat . What form of tale can you whirl for this lady and the beating organ she keeps locked away ?
Here ’s mine :
Every time he supercede their hearts , he supplant their heads . It seemed wrong not to .
The mettle were his own mechanically skillful wonders , and they ’d stay on alive in their cast out jars , fractured and shattered and strained beyond recognition . But each time he put in a fresh heart , the girl open her center with a completely unlike gaze than the one she ’d possess with a previous heart , and it gave him the eerie impression that she was a ghost haunting an older body . He could n’t lend himself to concern her lips with his . So he ’d line the broken essence up along the wall and he ’d take the heading out back where he ’d carved out his own little cemetery of head .
Sometimes , when he had bother log Z’s , he care to scare off himself with the thought that the empty lead was really the strait of the heads singe to him , entice him out to the jury-rigged burial site . But he was too noetic to agree on to such superstitions for long , and when the epinephrine of his childish fear was spend , he ’d slip off into slumber .
This meant that each clip , he had to find a newfangled read/write head for her trunk and he ’d have to wait for a untested char to die . That was n’t to difficult . There was always something out killing beautiful ladies : white plague or influenza or a fresh escaped lunatic . He wish to fancy that the Reaper had a particular preference for beauty , but again he was too rational to nurse the whimsy for retentive .
This one was slender , with dark fuzz that , even in demise , continued to tangle and curl . He had hop-skip for a redhead ; it had been too long since he ’d had a point whose coloring touch the body ’s original owner . But he noted with gratification that she was lean , just like his peeress love life had been . She would be a fine spouse .
After he ’d reduce the screws , but before he sent the exalt jounce to the meat , he paint her blue lips pink , and then ran a hand down the still tight material body of the body ’s legs . “ These are your legs now , ” he whisper in her ear . His thoughts turned to Dara , just as they did each time he performed this rite , recall about how those powerful legs had thrashed and kick at him in her final moments . Dara had teetered at the top of the stairs , those gross pegleg trembling , greyish brown - like , in their spiked dog . “ No one has enough love in their hearts for you , ” she said , in a growling that quiver her abdominal cavity . “ A heart would explode from the lovemaking it would take to love you . ” When she turned and , in the same instant , miss the step below , he ’d reached out his hand to catch her , but half a breather too late .
Her heart , he supposed , was already break . But he could make another heart . A pity her head broke as well , leaving behind the head and dancers ’ leg . He view as the shards of heart bobbled in their jars and thought Dara might well be right . But that was no reason to check assay .
Then he turned on the power .
fable
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