Iniquity - Fictional Writing

Iniquity - Fictional Writing

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Iniquity - Fictional Writing

Something in the bed begins to stir. A face can be seen tinted by the
pale-cold moonlight revealing its twisted and scarred features. An
overwhelming sense of injustice, gloom and sorrow can be felt within
the tiny room. The lips are thin and cracked, weak and coarse, like
the rest of the ghostly white skin. Slowly an eyelid begins to creak
open, underneath an eye like a wispy crystal ball revealing a small
dark storm welling up in the middle is seen. Where the second eye
would usually begin to escape from its encasing a void of nothingness
replaces it. A never-ending pit of black darkness; the second eye was
removed against the possessor's will. With nothing to support it, the
lid sags slightly, as if in remorse. The single eye looks around the
ancient room, penetrating every dark crack and corner. It is not
surprised to see nothing has changed since it's owner's last defined
awakening.

A frail arm begins to protrude from the rotted bed covers and takes
hold of a tattered corner. Pulling the sheets to one side, a decayed
figure is revealed. As it rises from it's hard bed, a thick layer of
dust pours from the top of a bald scalp. A scar of surgery can now be
seen, travelling around the would be hairline suggesting the top of
the head was violently removed after or during death. The surgeon had
then crudely sown it back together with a synthetic wire. In some
places large gaping holes can be seen revealing an unnatural
hollowness.

The second hand, missing half an index finger, rises awkwardly and
feels a section of the gruesome wound. The face is suddenly stricken
with sorrow as it remembers what happened all those winter nights ago,
and what was lost that cold evening of December. The expression then
warps into complete lust and hatred towards the thief who forced
eternity upon a frail old man who meant no harm to any of God's
creatures. It lets out a long, ravenous moan as the sharp hunger

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pains, that come every other night, begin. It is quickly followed by a
second guilt-ridden moan, as it agonisingly remembers that once again,
it shall be forced to feast upon warm, sweet flesh and blood. The
ancient grandfather clock which has stood patiently in the room since
the horrific December night prudently chimes twelve o' clock. Feasting
time has begun.

The putrefied figure rises from the bed, standing tall but awkward. As
it begins to amble towards the heavy oak door in the far corner of the
cramped room it stumbles and comes close to collapsing to the floor
and splaying more blood over the already nauseating, cold stone
surface. A maggot infested portion of its right leg falls to the
ground, next to a half-eaten thigh bone well through decomposition
after being abandoned many winter fortnights ago. The figure clumsily
raises its arms, as if using them to guide itself and starts ambling
towards the door again. Several unidentifiable bones are kicked
ferociously to one side as the figure tries hurriedly to reach the
door.

A few minutes later, thin, decrepit fingers are fumbling around with
the cold, metal handle of the rotten oak door. It takes a while for
the bone-dry hands to get a solid grip and then finally the door
swings open with force and the figure begins it's ugly descent down
the spiralling and jagged stone staircase. A gruesome outline stumbles
through a decayed door and begins lumbering across a gloomily lit
street. Suddenly a thick, wispy cloud obscures a powerful full-moon,
shining fine streaks of pale light upon the sneering, macabre
creature. It has seen it's next victim for the night, who is now
standing terrified at a window pane which overlooks the dauntingly
ravenous figure.
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