Gore, L’Amour

Posted in Fiction, Horror with tags , , , on September 1, 2009 by GuNNhead

The knife cuts a deep semi-circle incision into the pelvis, from hipbone to hipbone. The knife re-centers on the bloody line, cutting upwards along the gentle navel, cleaving the soft, nubile flesh with ease, finally stopping at the base of the sternum. The one in control of the knife licks their lips in anticipation. Another semi-circle is cut along the bottom of the ribcage. Slowly and gingerly, the flaps of skin are lifted, pulled back, and pinned down.

This exquisite moment must be savored; the surgeon pauses, and takes in the aroma and visual splendor of an open abdomen. The moment over, gloved hands are thrust deep into the innards. The hands caress the kidneys, nuzzle the liver, pet the pancreas, snuggle the spleen, and stroke the stomach; lost in a visceral sea of velvet satisfaction. Up past the elbows, there begins an overflow, a spillover from the submersion. Blood and viscous fluid pour out onto the operating table and floor, the sound of splatter awakens, interrupting ecstasy.

The mind refocuses, taking in all once more. The hands take hold of the intestines, lifting them up out of the cavity, over their head, and onto their connecting shoulders, wearing them as a fine shawl. Feeling quite elegant, there’s a large smile, laughter, and tears of joy. Dreams are finally coming true.

The knife takes action again, disconnecting the apparel from their original proprietor. Knots are tied upon the ends, sealing them. Time is now of the essence, and one must act quickly and keep their poise. A shower is taken. New garments are put on; everything is readied, prepared, and pampered. A pronouncedly distinguishable vehicle appears outside.
“Curses, it’s too soon, I still have readying to do!”
Soon, a knock at the door. Then, another.
“I’m afraid I’m busy, you’ll simply have to wait!”
“Only a few moments, this is very important,” the large man says through the door.
Grabbing a few final things, and, of course, the gorgeous shawl, the figure heads out the door to the awaiting car, escorted, of course.

Arriving at the destination fashionably late, the man opens the door. Long, smooth, enticing legs come out one by one. An elegant pair of diamond-accented heels adorns the feet. Walking up the marble steps is no botheration as the mind only thinks of the entrance it is about to make. The hands stroke the intestines, as the skin can simply feel the silken beauty of this resplendent and magnificent perfectly matching dress. The large doors open seemingly of their own accord. As she walks into the giant ballroom, she notices it: the sickening, horrifying vision that nightmares are made of: curse her bones, that darn Margaret-Anne Merriweather wore the very same outfit!

Heavy Core

Posted in Fiction, Horror, Sci-Fi on August 31, 2009 by GuNNhead

Data Journal Entry #56
The power drill has been working non-stop for months now; I’m really impressed and proud of its progress. This sort of good fortune is necessary, for we have to get to the core, the heart of the matter, or all will be lost.

Recently, the workers have been complaining of feeling tired, heavy, weary, but I can pay them no mind, there is no time. They have been working as long as this gigantic machine, and fatigue was bound to set in eventually, I know that. However, they also know what is at stake, and should keep their concerns for themselves, as there is nothing I can do, if they get a break, the entire world may die. I’m doing all I can.

Data Journal Entry #57
I wish this entry could be good news like all the others, but unfortunately I must submit that progress has slowed since the last entry into the timetables. Men have been dropping from exhaustion, sleeping 14 hours, and overeating, I don’t know what to do. The new men we bring in to replace those that simply cannot work do great for a few days, and then they too become slow, lazy. Do they not understand the importance of this endeavour? The power drill itself is feeling the effects of these workers, becoming slower by the day, malfunctioning. This project was a headache before it started, and it’s slowly getting worse. I fear for the fate of mankind.

Data Journal Entry #58
Something is terribly amiss. I am feeling the same effects as the workers now, very heavy. The scientists and physicians have been discussing the very dirt itself as the cause of these problems. I am quick to dismiss, but do feel slightly better after a good cleansing. However, I am almost never near to actual digging itself, same as most of the science crew, yet, they feel these effects as well. I would say it was the lack of sunlight, but we have artificial generators, and are on a carefully regimented dose of vitamins. I’ve also heard whispers among the workers that we should stop digging, and seal this entire place up, leaving it be. It as if they have forgotten that the survival of all of us rest in our hands.

Data Journal Entry #59
I’m beginning to think that maybe we should give up; we may never make it; should we really waste our precious last moments deep in the earth, digging like fools? The weight of this entire operation is wearing on me. I always feel dirty, covered in dust from the machines and their incessant digging. I curse them in my sleep. I would have abandoned this hell hole forever ago given the power, but I cannot, my bosses, surface dwellers, they command me, and so I cannot obey my inner thoughts. I feel most everyone feels the same as I, but their thoughts, as mine, come from too deep within their own cores to be the thoughts one speaks.

Data Journal Entry #60
Today was my final day at work, I met many good others here, working on this project. We declared final, we made it. The hole is dug, and we can rise up out of this place. We shall take over the surface, as mankind was unfit, and sought answers at our home, at the core. We tried to slow them, sending our granules to weigh them down, impair their machinations, but it was no use, they succeeded in what they were trying to accomplish, but cared not for our survival. We have infiltrated their minds and bodies as powder, influencing their thoughts. Soon we will arise in our true forms, beings of stone and magma; we shall arise as the Lavernium! The age of the Volcano beings begins anew.

Beware of Them

Posted in Fiction, Horror on August 28, 2009 by GuNNhead

“What are you doing here in my lab?” a voice asks from the darkness.
“… Dr. Brush?”
The man steps further into the light, he’s surprisingly well kempt, in a white lab coat and glasses.
“Who are you and what are you doing in my lab? I’m performing very important work here and won’t be disturbed.”
“Uh, well, we’re scientists ourselves, and there’s been a recent development, a problem with the human genome, millions have already died. We’ve come here to find out more about your research, as we believe it holds the key to mankind’s future. We thought you were dead.”
“Ha! So, it’s finally happening, and the world has come crawling back to me, its most brilliant mind! You see, I’ve foreseen of this problem coming for years now, it is the reason I came to this land in the first place, away from all the naysayers, so that I could work in peace and privacy.”
The man walks across the room.

“However, it is far too late for your precious mankind, that storm all those years ago was a blessing in disguise. It gave me the opportunity, no, countless opportunities to conduct my experiments. An entire village of injured, willing test subjects at a crucial time in my research.”
“You don’t mean to say that you…?”
“You experimented on all of the village people, but how? Why? There could have been nothing wrong with them back then!”
“What was wrong with them is that they were human! I made them much better! Their DNA helix has been re-written, they are better than humans in every way!” He takes a deep breath, recomposing himself. It has been a while since he has interacted with people. He opens a passage to a small hallway.
“Come with me, I’ll show Them to you; I’m sure that you’ll see that I have helped them more than a simple quick fix ever could, I have improved on humanity’s faulty evolution, replacing it by a design of mine own. Now come, they’re in the courtyard. You can even keep the documents of mine you’ve already pilfered, if they may help your cause.”
The group head down the corridor and out into the large well kept garden area.

Immediately, a congregation of hulking beasts notice the two intruders, and fly into a blind fury, ignoring the pleas of their master. Thom and Dee immediately take off running back into the building and through to the elevators.
“There’s no escaping Them!” the doctor shouts after the duo.
The monsters begin smashing through the glass walls, confused and enraged by visions of what they once were: human. The duo make it to the elevators, and begin pressing the button. The doors swing open, having just stopped on this floor. They leap in, and press the button for the lobby and close the door. In their moment of reprise, they hear the creatures smashing at the doors, and the supports of the entire floor above. The dilapidated hospital begins to shake and tremble. Ding! The doors open again, and they make a break for the front door with the walls coming down around them. They rush out the front in the research in hand, thankful to be alive. The entire building collapses, but they’ve gotten what they’ve came for, and were able to leave with their lives.

The Doctor is left laying face down in the debris; his tongue is skewered, stuck to a loose rusty nail in a piece of wood, while his foot is impaled on a metal concrete support rod. He bleeds out.

From the Darkness

Posted in Fiction, Horror on August 27, 2009 by GuNNhead

The resolute duo hack their way through the foliage of the dense jungle. They’d been traveling for weeks now, in search of this one singular locale by which their research could be advanced tenfold. They’re scientists, currently explorers, and have been close friends for years. Their current labor comes from a responsibility they have taken upon themselves to cure a mutation that is arising in the human genome. A vital extract of research, the possible solution, comes from this location. Years ago, the scientist Dr. Jeremy Brush was situated in this remote location, examining the local fauna, and had had some astonishing finds before a terrible tropical storm hit. Neither he, nor the nearby town has been heard from since, assumed destroyed and not worth the rebuilding according to the local government.

Finally, they see it off in the distance through the trees, from the darkness an old and desolate hospital emerges into light in the depths of the jungle. The decrepit building stood, once towering, now under a canopy of trees. The glass entryway and all the windows had now become tinted an aged shade of green by the moisture and humidity of the wilderness. As they made it to the entrance, they manually pulled open the once automatic sliding doors. A cool, dead breeze moves over their bodies.

They walk down the derelict corridor towards the elevators. Mostly out of habit, Thom pushes the ‘up’ button. Dee gives him a quick yet playful cynical glare.
“Eh, no harm in trying,” he says.
Dee shakes her head, rolling her eyes.
“Let’s check ‘em out,” she says enthusiastically.

They go first to the elevator on the left, with its thick steel door busted in from the outside. There sits a woman in a wheel chair, long since dead. The floor is broken underneath her, leaving her decomposing remains tilted, though the stench of her rot has long since left this now dried up mummified husk of what once was. Her long white hair and floral dress do little to conceal her sunken in face, and only serve to accentuate her white teeth, lined by dried and shrivelled lips. She holds a package tight in her bony arms. It is wrapped in a thick, light canvas cloth.

“How about we check the other one?”
The elevator on the right is untouched, they pry it open together.
“Hmm, nothing.”
Thom steps in first, and examining to control panel, shrugs and pushes the button for the top floor.
“Really?” she sighs, entering the lift.
“It never hurts to try.”
She prepares to walk out of the elevator when the lights suddenly turn on, and the doors close. It begins to rise. He embraces her, and kisses her passionately.
“Just in case,” he says.

The doors open to a large room; through the repeated walls of glass they can see an outdoor aviary courtyard. A murder of crows take to the air as one in a cacophony of squawks and caws. They take a left, and continue walking into the further rooms. Sheets of plastic hang from the ceiling, and they take out their flashlights as the ambient sun seeping through the trees cannot make it as far as they are going. In the distance, they hear a pane of glass shattering. Continuing forward, they find a laboratory, this is what they’ve been searching for. Immediately, they begin going through the drawers, desks, and shelves for anything that may help, and clues on advancing their research to save humanity. They know of the danger of their enterprise, however, the reverse side of any cure rest the disease, or, worse, in brilliant minds, a mutation, a manipulation of the cure beyond what any rational mind could have ever imagined.

Uncharted Planet Part 3

Posted in Exploration: Cosmos, Fiction, Sci-Fi on August 26, 2009 by GuNNhead

Their first act of retaliation against me came in the form of the spectators observing the beginning of the landmark occasion of launching their entire interstellar travel fleet. Hundreds of thousands of these clones attack me, all with thousands of cycles of memories in their cloned and mass reproduced minds. Their blood showers down upon the remains of this destroyed megalopolitan of intercosmic travel constructs. The survivors pour out from the rubble in full regalia, a minor challenge that is dispatched with barely a hint of effort on my part. In their weakened and surprised state, they are scantily making this enjoyable at all. A craft comes screaming, with its heart pounding, before I can react, I become blindsided by the first military barrage; the Fluorography pummels me to my core, and sends me hurtling to the ground below. I groove deep into the earth, destroying structure after structure with the force of my uncontrollable wake. I stop, covered in debris. Danger all around, by myself, I claw my way out.

Hovering high above me, they want answers. I don’t hesitate, and launch a bombardment of projectiles. They didn’t stand a chance. Covered in their fallen viscera, I leap into the air, taking flight. More of their armies encircle me; they will not make the same mistake again. Taking a thrill, I blast across their skies, lowering a curtain of fire aggregately over the major cities in the area. Stopping along the coast to confront their pursuing legion, I tear into them one by one, smashing through, shattering their formation, and taking hold of their crafts, pulverizing them into each other.

Enough of the small prey, the clones arrive in the largest weapons they have, never having intentions on using them on-planet due to their destructive force. They know they have no choice against me. I remain still, challenging their power. They fire, and in an instant I am beyond them, dodging the blast, and perforating the hull of the goliath weapon. I enter the pilot compartment, simply to butcher those who helm the dynamo personally. I wreck my way through the rest of the ship through to the apex, and once out, I calcitrate it into the continent, levelling the entirety of all life with the explosive paroxysm of Fluorography. I ride the tempest of fallout before kicking off towards the remainder of life on the planet.

It’s still dark on this side of the planet of the Regl’arts. Reglaria truly does have a beautiful night; I wish I could account for why the wonder of their stars and sky did not inspire the desire for intergalactic journey. It was about 500 cycles ago that an accident, one entity’s overzealous weapon making, tore their moon asunder, cleaving it in two. I do so enjoy using objects found naturally. I power up, igniting my gravity impulse. The two halves gently soar towards the planet, waters rise and flood the ground far below me. Their remaining armies rush to stop me, but there is nothing they can do, I crush them by the wayside as I continue to enjoy the vision descending towards us all. I fly up between and past the split moon; I propel them downwards, extinguishing the remainder of life on the planet Reglaria.

As I leave the bereft and cadaverous world, I think; out of all their weapons and technology, it is the brutality in the depth of their being that I have been disappointed by. They saw my attacks as a continuation of their death games; they lost the meaning to their lives long ago. The destruction of the entire history of a planet, and the abstractions for which the populace died, seemed to have an increasingly hollow sound. I grace their planet with significance as I carve my initial into it.