Vibrant Darkness
Soft skies echoed the vibrant sounds of its neighboring streets, carrying the melancholy tune to the tops of skyscrapers as a church bell tolls through the town on a funeral date. A sea, violent and stormy, flowed beneath mighty pillars casting shadows onto the trashy streets. Murderous and deadly, this sea sported life of all kinds, assorting itself into different factions of faces and dress, yet all wearing the same dull, stolid lips. Laughing with careless sin, teenage girls, young and ripe, blew as the leaves through the streets. Businessmen, cold and heartless, shot them with hating eyes. The protective mother returned the favor. Lugging around sacks and plastic bags, the homeless, unorthodox and unclean, drifted like dust through the city as they pleased, and repulsing the snobby rich. Middleclass of these two warring clans, Nailo absorbed the gravel of aging sidewalk between his toes. The unclear hum of vehicle's engines, and the agitation from nearby horns assaulted his ears with an unfavorable combination motion and hurriedness. Vines of fellow pedestrians ran through the streets like a rampant plague, spoiling the grandeur of city life with their incessant insults. Brushing along his loose shirt, the current of the pool seemed to develop a raging under toe which attempted to knock him to the ground. Public itself was no more than a soap opera being lived on the largest possible scale. Conversations around him dealt with lovers and fiends, dinners and dates, plots of revenge and soulful love. None were distinct, simply mainstream in the darkness of the individual's life. The night past seemed to leave and odd taste in his mouth. Before parting with his paramour once again, Seiko mentioned a meeting near the local mall built into the Hilton Inn. According to him, that meeting would be around three o' clock. As luck would have it, the hour was approaching in mere minutes, and Nailo found himself exhilarated at the sheer thought of seeing Seiko again. His destination laid a mere few blocks ahead, and butterflies burst into flight within his stomach. The sun shone with a gold glimmer on the sides of glass buildings, invigorating with heat and erupting with beauty. Garbage ran free through the streets to level out that beauty's intensity. Deciding to cut the trip short, he came upon a small alley which led directly to the building he sought after. Its cramped space was near emptiness, lined only with the occasional dumpster or trashcan. The ground here was moist, sporting soggy newspapers outdated and torn. Steam revealed itself from sewer grates as if flames ran through the intricate sewer system. Aside from this, the alley was innocent, devoid of life. Calm and casual, Nailo made his way across the damp cement path drawn in front of him with every sense of nonchalance. Reverberating noise littered its confined space, cycling through terribly deafening rings which irritated the soul. The shirt overtop of his t-shirt danced to the winds howl of angry revenge. All remained to be thwarted, though, for his presence and simple stature demanded attention. Silently, with little care for his well-being, they devised their plan to strike. With facial signals running through their minds like a telepathic consciousness, both were prepared to commit their deed, as dastardly and heartless as it may be. Glimmering like gold in the sun, the hilt of a reddened blade emerged from the calm hands of one of these two illustrious men, murder rising into their hearts. As Nailo's footsteps echoed down the tunnel of sound vacuumed by brick walls, they were eternally matched to his face, building an estimate of their target's every possible retaliation. Neither of them feared much for this simply matter anyway, for their objective had been successful before. This one proved to be as alike to them as any. Nailo's eyes weighted down to meet his feet, observing their matriculate curves ad grooves, the folds of his furry flesh and the sensation to match it. His mind elsewhere, the time to strike drew itself down to the final preparation. The knife dangling in one of the murderous one's hand clicked in its own personal tone, causing the walls to explode with life. Nailo's eyes evaded the ground, and met a dumpster positioned to his left. Buried six feet under with pale shadows, a figure emerged, accosting him slowly. It was too late for Nailo, for his eyes caught the blade too little too late. Without expectation, the senses of his back sprung to life, for another figure was upon him, grabbing around his waist and lifting him in the air. He struggled violently, kicking and yelling for help, like a small child, pathetic and helpless, doomed for eternity. The one holding him in the air finished his suffocating, and tossed his shocked body onto a smaller dumpster. At this, the knife bearer approached his throat with care and gently applied a small amount of pressure onto it with the blade. "Shut the fuck up and listen to me. You fight, I kill you. You scream, I kill you. So just fucking do what we tell you." Nailo was none to argue. With a blade tingling his neck like a razor, life was dangling by that thread every living creature fears. Lying upon the dumpster with his back upon it, he solely breathed, an intricate mix of panting from his retaliation and hyperventilating from mortal terror. After a brief few moments, nothing happened to draw his attention. Little could he expect these two criminal's true intent. The world was muted from his ears; save for the constant breathing of such an unnatural pattern chills ran down his spine. The criminal before him spread wide Nailo's legs, and pressed his wreaking body upon that sensitive area between his thighs. Puzzled, he acknowledged the no-retaliation rule which burned like fire, frustrating and impossible to escape from. Surreal waves and blurs impaired his vision, adrenaline rampaging, short-circuiting his system. Nothing made sense. Oxymoron of the year come alive. "What are you doing?" Nailo pleaded with a stuttering voice, trembling with fear and mouse-like in total. The sole response was an evil glance into his eyes that marked his death by some unknown words. "I told you before. Shut the fuck up, you faggot. I know what bastards like you like..." His voice trailed off at the final words, terrorizing and murderous. Finally, as expected and yet with a sense of surprise, the rapist tore off Nailo's pants completely, unveiling precious gems and a shaft having been hardened by the assault, shamefully. The homicidal instigator played insane for brief moments, developing an artificial affection for some God awful reason unknown. He himself calmly removed his pants, sharing the sturdiness of the knife's location with his partner. In turn, the partner as well unveiled his filthy self, both with pulsing red blood curdling within their tools. Satisfaction readying itself onto both their faces, the previous wielder of the knife position his member at the mouth of Nailo's most precious room, the other, now wielding the knife, climbing atop and kneeling on the dumpster, his shaft located uncomfortably at Nailo's terrified face. Hell was about to begin. These men weren't murderers at all. Rape was their master, and new meaning was brought to the old idea that one always will be in that wrong place at that same wrong time. Synchronized with a horrifyingly painful precision, each character began their objectives instantaneously, leaving their victim no time to adjust. As a probe of dry flesh tore his opening wide, Nailo's mouth was forced into ingesting a member of similar standards, dry and far too deep within for comfort. The rapist within his anus was professional in his care to avoid the prostate, inflicting the maximum amount of pain while retaining his own pleasure. The man within his mouth buried his meaty tool deep within his throat, allowing brief moments of retraction to allow a pitiful gasp of air. Each creature seemed to enjoy this activity more than anything, just as a child would enjoy going to a toy store. Nailo's thought process had ceased, all remaining mental function absorbed into a sponge of pain, engulfing his entire body into flames. Quickly and without a faltering movement, the bastard receiving oral sex ejaculated an immense portion into Nailo's mouth, grasping his cheeks closed as to force him to swallow. His deed being done, he removed himself, smearing a trail of blood along his victim's face. The other continued his job, enjoying the blood he himself had pulled out of him. He was as close to his climax as the other had been, and in a few seconds erupted a sea of semen leaking out of Nailo's bloody rectum. Acting precisely on time and quick to beat the clock, Nailo's new slave drivers removed all of his bloodied clothes and took them as their own. A near by fire escape served as their exit, and as mysteriously as they had appeared, they disappeared. The sole evidence remaining was the humbled soul bleeding onto a dumpster, naked and unconscious. The sea to either side of the alley continued about their business, oblivious, careless, and too concerned about their own lives. A young child approached the bleeding stranger, and after a pause of horror, a scream defying all sciences known to man finally attracted attention. Thank God for the children, for they immerse themselves into that which will never be understood, sacrificing their innocence, their purity, their lives.