Friday, February 09, 2007
The Count
After a long period of inactivity, he had decided to come back to life again. He never knew that he needed such a long break. At first, he was just thinking of shelving it aside because he was too busy with other things. Too busy with things that probably didn't really matter to him, things that were pretty trivial yet cumbersome and things that were almost meaningless but were obligated to do. So he decided to take a break.
He remembered the time when he lifted up the lid of the wooden box and marvelled at the roseate glow on the red cushions that lined the interiors of the box, beckoning him to lie on it. He thought that there was no harm lying on it for a while. Afterall, this rest he had been looking forward too had been long overdue. The moment he lay down, he felt himself unwind. The countless straps of elastic bands that were stretched and bound on him were suddenly released, and they didn't release a little at a time, it was all at once. The weight and tension that were wound up so tightly around him disappeared in a split second, the pressure release on his bodily skin was soothing, relieving and lulling.
He began to enjoy the interaction of his skin against the fabrics of the sheetings. He slid the palm of his hand back and forth the interior walls of the wooden box. After a while, he did not feel like getting up any more. He did not feel the need to get back to being busy. There was no need to be entangled with things that did not interest him. Resting his weight fully on the red cushions, he allowed his whole body to be pleasured by the comforts of the fabric.
He was savouring every moment of it. It was almost perfect. Almost, but not yet. He reached out for the lid and pulled it down, shutting himself in the wooden box, in complete darkness. The darkness was perfect. Darkness can only be perfect when light is not present, because as long as there is a tinge of light, the fragility of darkness would be exposed and literally be brought to light. Yes, the darkness he was enjoying was indeed good. He lay in the midst of the darkness, well hidden away from view.
Moments later, he seemed a little dissatisfied again. No doubt it was dark, but it was still not dark enough. He shut his eyes. It was not enough to be hidden from view, he needed to be hidden from himself was well. It was only then that he could truly set his mind at peace.
The serenity of this rest was certainly addictive. So addictive that he even thought he could rest forever. And be dead. It was this very thought that he suddenly woke up from his slumber. He could not be dead. Because he is Undead. He pushed open the lid of the coffin.
He is thirsty. The rosy redness of the coffin cushions can no longer satisfy his insatiable hunger. He needs blood. And he needs it now. He is not Dracula for nothing. He springs out of his coffin and disappears into the silence of the night.
He remembered the time when he lifted up the lid of the wooden box and marvelled at the roseate glow on the red cushions that lined the interiors of the box, beckoning him to lie on it. He thought that there was no harm lying on it for a while. Afterall, this rest he had been looking forward too had been long overdue. The moment he lay down, he felt himself unwind. The countless straps of elastic bands that were stretched and bound on him were suddenly released, and they didn't release a little at a time, it was all at once. The weight and tension that were wound up so tightly around him disappeared in a split second, the pressure release on his bodily skin was soothing, relieving and lulling.
He began to enjoy the interaction of his skin against the fabrics of the sheetings. He slid the palm of his hand back and forth the interior walls of the wooden box. After a while, he did not feel like getting up any more. He did not feel the need to get back to being busy. There was no need to be entangled with things that did not interest him. Resting his weight fully on the red cushions, he allowed his whole body to be pleasured by the comforts of the fabric.
He was savouring every moment of it. It was almost perfect. Almost, but not yet. He reached out for the lid and pulled it down, shutting himself in the wooden box, in complete darkness. The darkness was perfect. Darkness can only be perfect when light is not present, because as long as there is a tinge of light, the fragility of darkness would be exposed and literally be brought to light. Yes, the darkness he was enjoying was indeed good. He lay in the midst of the darkness, well hidden away from view.
Moments later, he seemed a little dissatisfied again. No doubt it was dark, but it was still not dark enough. He shut his eyes. It was not enough to be hidden from view, he needed to be hidden from himself was well. It was only then that he could truly set his mind at peace.
The serenity of this rest was certainly addictive. So addictive that he even thought he could rest forever. And be dead. It was this very thought that he suddenly woke up from his slumber. He could not be dead. Because he is Undead. He pushed open the lid of the coffin.
He is thirsty. The rosy redness of the coffin cushions can no longer satisfy his insatiable hunger. He needs blood. And he needs it now. He is not Dracula for nothing. He springs out of his coffin and disappears into the silence of the night.