Kiss You On The Brain.
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Kiss You On The Brain.
HopelessComedicAttempt Mon Oct 11, 2010 12:18 am
This is a story I'm working on. It is, actually, about zombies. Hope you love it! :3
The sky was the color of whitewashed denim. It could have very well been completely white – which wouldn’t have been exactly gloomy, thank you very much, the clouds were white – but there were chunks of pale blue peeking out from their blankets. Even the sky was deciding to wake up just now; I could see the darkening of the edges if I squinted hard enough. It was fading quickly, though, since the population of Portland was starting to get up.
It hurt my eyelids to look out my window, so I decided not to. My vision was hazy from last night’s shenanigans, and my stomach was close enough to full that I decided to skip breakfast. My pajamas – consisting of sweatpants and a loose T-shirt that probably wouldn’t be acceptable in public – were quickly thrown on the floor and replaced by cutoff jeans, a bra, a tank top, and a nice soft flannel. I didn’t plan on going out much, but flannels and cutoffs were mighty awesome on days like this, plus, I had to appear appealing to my certain someone.
Having a certain someone is just inevitable for someone like me. My brain isn’t exactly whole, in a sense, and boys are like toys to me. One each day, a chain of them, and they usually don’t come home. I’m running out, seriously, Portland only has so many good-looking, gullible men. That’s why I kept moving around, but I liked Oregon. Gloomy, discreet, it was, I could hide here. Though, in order not to get caught in the act, I had to keep moving. I did, at least, have half a brain. Next I was going to Colorado; those northern country boys looked tasty from where I stood.
But my certain someone, Ethan Hamilton, is different. No, he’s not really that different from all the other boys I’ve played with, he’s just different. He plays football, so he’s got some nice meat on his bones, and he’s survived more than one night with me. I’ve trained my mouth to do things other than eat, like kiss, and boy, was that something.
My room was a mess. I wasn’t a clean freak, that was for sure, and I swear I could smell last night’s meal on the floor. Sighing, I picked up a pair of boxers that clearly weren’t mine, and threw them out the window. The garbage guy, Teddy Beeson, was a clean freak. The only reason he was still alive was so that he could clean up the trash I left in my wake. Noticing that there was only silence rumbling outside my bedroom door, I remembered that everyone would be gone by now. My father would be at work, and my two sisters would practically be gone; they liked to spend their whole morning inhaling shit and doing their trashy makeup together.
Unfortunately, my bug wasn't genetic. I was the only one in the family that held onto it, which was kind of surprising, since my sisters had less of a head than I did. Still, no one but my victims knew who I was, and even they had only known for a moment or two. Sometimes it was a burden - wait, scratch that, it was always a burden.
Shoving my hands in my pockets, the smell of weed meeting me, I headed out of my room. It took me a moment to close the door, for some inside-out jeans were blocking the way. Pulling my hands out my pockets, I kicked the clothing out of the way and slammed the door shut. After that task was finished, my sisters’ giggling and whispering resounded across the hallway, and I heaved an annoyed sigh. One day, they were going to catch up to themselves, and I would probably be too busy devouring their boyfriends to help.
I had to get to Ethan’s game later, it was Saturday, I thought. If it wasn’t Saturday, then it was either Friday or Sunday. If it was Sunday, I had missed his game, and I would have to deal with that made up guilt. If it was Friday, I had to get to school. If it was Saturday, though, I was correct, and I had some homework to scribble over and hours to spare. Reassuring myself that I was correct, I concluded that it was Saturday, and my English essay wasn’t due till Monday, and I wasn’t going to do it very well anyway. Without thinking, I grabbed my cell phone off the counter, and then started thinking, and put it back down. My brain had little spasms like that, I had a disease. Well, it wasn’t actually a disease, it was more of a bug, and I had developed it all on my own. Momma would be proud.
There were little death cells eating at my brain, but not the important parts; no, just the parts that controlled my taste; now I had a fetish for human. They had stopped, at this point, as far as I knew, so I tried not to worry about it. I could control my fetish; I wasn’t a rabid, green, rotting creature who ate the nearest food source. Not even close, actually, I feasted willingly. I controlled it like a regular person controlled their regular hunger.
Chapter One:
The sky was the color of whitewashed denim. It could have very well been completely white – which wouldn’t have been exactly gloomy, thank you very much, the clouds were white – but there were chunks of pale blue peeking out from their blankets. Even the sky was deciding to wake up just now; I could see the darkening of the edges if I squinted hard enough. It was fading quickly, though, since the population of Portland was starting to get up.
It hurt my eyelids to look out my window, so I decided not to. My vision was hazy from last night’s shenanigans, and my stomach was close enough to full that I decided to skip breakfast. My pajamas – consisting of sweatpants and a loose T-shirt that probably wouldn’t be acceptable in public – were quickly thrown on the floor and replaced by cutoff jeans, a bra, a tank top, and a nice soft flannel. I didn’t plan on going out much, but flannels and cutoffs were mighty awesome on days like this, plus, I had to appear appealing to my certain someone.
Having a certain someone is just inevitable for someone like me. My brain isn’t exactly whole, in a sense, and boys are like toys to me. One each day, a chain of them, and they usually don’t come home. I’m running out, seriously, Portland only has so many good-looking, gullible men. That’s why I kept moving around, but I liked Oregon. Gloomy, discreet, it was, I could hide here. Though, in order not to get caught in the act, I had to keep moving. I did, at least, have half a brain. Next I was going to Colorado; those northern country boys looked tasty from where I stood.
But my certain someone, Ethan Hamilton, is different. No, he’s not really that different from all the other boys I’ve played with, he’s just different. He plays football, so he’s got some nice meat on his bones, and he’s survived more than one night with me. I’ve trained my mouth to do things other than eat, like kiss, and boy, was that something.
My room was a mess. I wasn’t a clean freak, that was for sure, and I swear I could smell last night’s meal on the floor. Sighing, I picked up a pair of boxers that clearly weren’t mine, and threw them out the window. The garbage guy, Teddy Beeson, was a clean freak. The only reason he was still alive was so that he could clean up the trash I left in my wake. Noticing that there was only silence rumbling outside my bedroom door, I remembered that everyone would be gone by now. My father would be at work, and my two sisters would practically be gone; they liked to spend their whole morning inhaling shit and doing their trashy makeup together.
Unfortunately, my bug wasn't genetic. I was the only one in the family that held onto it, which was kind of surprising, since my sisters had less of a head than I did. Still, no one but my victims knew who I was, and even they had only known for a moment or two. Sometimes it was a burden - wait, scratch that, it was always a burden.
Shoving my hands in my pockets, the smell of weed meeting me, I headed out of my room. It took me a moment to close the door, for some inside-out jeans were blocking the way. Pulling my hands out my pockets, I kicked the clothing out of the way and slammed the door shut. After that task was finished, my sisters’ giggling and whispering resounded across the hallway, and I heaved an annoyed sigh. One day, they were going to catch up to themselves, and I would probably be too busy devouring their boyfriends to help.
I had to get to Ethan’s game later, it was Saturday, I thought. If it wasn’t Saturday, then it was either Friday or Sunday. If it was Sunday, I had missed his game, and I would have to deal with that made up guilt. If it was Friday, I had to get to school. If it was Saturday, though, I was correct, and I had some homework to scribble over and hours to spare. Reassuring myself that I was correct, I concluded that it was Saturday, and my English essay wasn’t due till Monday, and I wasn’t going to do it very well anyway. Without thinking, I grabbed my cell phone off the counter, and then started thinking, and put it back down. My brain had little spasms like that, I had a disease. Well, it wasn’t actually a disease, it was more of a bug, and I had developed it all on my own. Momma would be proud.
There were little death cells eating at my brain, but not the important parts; no, just the parts that controlled my taste; now I had a fetish for human. They had stopped, at this point, as far as I knew, so I tried not to worry about it. I could control my fetish; I wasn’t a rabid, green, rotting creature who ate the nearest food source. Not even close, actually, I feasted willingly. I controlled it like a regular person controlled their regular hunger.
HopelessComedicAttempt- n00b.
- Posts : 12
Join date : 2010-10-08
Age : 31
Location : Your pants.
Guest- Guest
HopelessComedicAttempt- n00b.
- Posts : 12
Join date : 2010-10-08
Age : 31
Location : Your pants.
Guest- Guest
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