What’s Your Poison?

Charlie’s breathing sounded like gravel scrapping down steel tubes. He was trying to run, but his deadened leg raked the concrete in long strokes. Charlie clenched the mutilated limb to try and decrease the crimson breadcrumbs he was leaving behind him.

The normally busy street was empty at this lost hour. No one. He limped to the intersection of Lincoln and Andreson. The accent of Charlie’s breathing matched the pulsing agony through out his body. A disturbance from the abyss of the alley caused Charlie to cringe. Metal trash cans slammed to the ground as they were turned over with a vengeance.  There was the ever-conscious thought of the need to move. He couldn’t. He was paralyzed by what was coming out of the deep shadow. A tear escaped his blood shot eye as he heaved his weight on his good leg and shifted his body, so that he could see his demise approach.

Growling was the first warning of their proximity. Clanking of chains followed, as did the devilish snickers of a bloodthirsty woman that made acid rise up into Charlie’s mouth. The cat crossed the black wall first. A big cougar, bloodstained fur surrounding it’s muzzle. The chain around it’s neck led back into the world of evil, pulling the succubus across the border. Her eyes were hazel daggers. The blood made her death black dress seem morbid.

“The Ceremony must be completed.” Her slithering tongue made Charlie convulse with disgust.

All he wanted was to buy this beautiful woman a drink in hopes of taking her home. He got what he wanted. Now this demon wanted him on a cold black slab. His flesh a feast for sacrifice.

“Please…I…just…want…to…go…home.” The rasping made talking difficult and ineffective. She took a step in Charlie’s direction, wrapping the chain around her delicate hand, gripping it with her spider fingers to keep the cougar from pouncing.

“Don’t be afraid, my little monster will make the ceremony quick, if you don’t struggle.”

Another tear made its short journey to the side of his nose before Charlie lifted a blood-encrusted hand to wipe it away. He was to be a sacrifice in a demonic ceremony dedicated to the coming of the antichrist. There was no escape.

His head hung, like one in the gallows, as he dragged his mauled leg toward the black portal. The woman tracked him with the same intensity of the feline.

Blood. Tearing. Screaming. Crunching. Purring. Hungry hazel eyes. Crippled hands reaching, searching for life, for goodness. Hecate Ishtar, goddess of the underworld and fertility beckons her servant to snap the seeking hands; the bloodcurdling crescendo to her latest symphony.

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