"REBIRTH"

Like a drug, the music rushed through his system. He lay his head back, arms and legs at soft angles to his body. His limbs were becoming liquid, his brain soft goo. The heart in the centre of his chest was the only thing that remained what it should be. It thumped dangerously fast, it's every beat a dooming promise of devastation.

Lights out, she promised with her wicked smile.

Her face cracked open. Teeth like shining beacons of destruction. Glass cut his eyes and he winced. She wanted him. She needed him. Eyes, eyes, eyes. They raced up and down his submissive body like fire. Licking into the wounds of his soul, into every corner, every crack.

The world rolled beneath his stationary body. Seas passed under his feet; he lay back and let the currents lead him away. Away from the girl with the moon in her eyes and blood on her teeth.

Some part of him registered the worry. He should fight back, regain control. But of what? And how? The music came again. Loud and intrusive, cracking open his skull like an egg.

Did he scream? He wasn't sure. There seemed no point anymore.

Lie back and face the future. Let his limbs liquefy, his blood pour. Let the girl between his legs devour him.

She lapped against his body. She was the sea, he decided. The undercurrents of the sea. Soft and lulling; deadly to those innocent to her ways. He had been innocent. But not anymore.

Light poured through the thin flap of skin that made up his eyelids. It hurt. It felt good. It was divine. He craved for more and arched his back up off the bed. But it was already fading. Slipping back into the devil-girl's wide mouth, lost to the endless pits of her insides. What did she look like under that skin? he wondered. Black and rotten? Dead? He visioned large gaping holes, rotting flesh, charred organs, clotted blood. Arousal far deeper than hormonal urges spread down his body,

filling his head as well as his groin. Oh, he wanted to rip her open so badly. Not yet, baby, she purred.

She didn't speak. It didn't seem strange. He could hear her in his head. It was enough.

He lay back, let his limbs fill with weight. The bed was so very soft beneath his dying form. How he wished it was over, craved for it to last forever. Pain and pleasure rippled up and down his body. The girl lapped against him again. She tasted of copper and salt. Blood and sweat.

The screaming voice came again. Far away. In a room down the hall. A man was singing. Roaring the damnation of the world from his lungs. Spewing up the wasted worries of the human race, high upon his soapbox. Page wanted to devour that pretty noise. To stand over that gaping, screeching mouth and let its sound pour straight down his throat. His dry tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth and he forced his lips open.

He tried to ask for the only thing that would sustain him but his voice box was frozen. He wriggled his tongue like a dying dog. The she-devil smiled. Behind his eyes, Page saw her white teeth again, dripping with blood. His blood.

I want, he begged with his thoughts, remembering now that they no longer needed speech. Give me. Thoughts were so hard to form. To project across the millimetres of space that separated he and Rain. I want, he tried again.

Her mouth moved down against his lips. Her breath blew into his mouth. The scent of coppery redness spilled down over the back of Page's tongue. It filled his lungs, breathing new life into him. Give me, he began in thought, "my blood!" he finished in speech.

Wrapping an arm around the black vixen's scalp, he balled up her hair and opened his eyes. Blood poured from their corners, tainted the white surface. Weakness spread over his limbs again. He was falling, falling, falling. Down into the softness of the sagging mattress, the matted hair slipping free of his grip. His eyes rolled, unconsciousness beckoned.

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