The amber fluid could have been honey glinting, yet it was flowing like a beautiful river of fire and lava
Death in a glass. Not that she knew it.
She smiled, teeth flashing white and beautiful like the golden neck she flashed like a bird singing at its own beauty.
Head thrown back, lips parted, red and white and the song of her laugh filled the air. It filled the room and stirred the men. Each and all in the room licked their lips and drank down her lightly applied perfume.
Those with girls on their arms pretended they were happy, pretended they’d choose the same again. Pretended.
She knew, and they knew.
And the girls bared their teeth too, and the tiny struggle and hate and power flashed in the air.
Old and bitter, he sat in the corner. A corner made from slumped shoulders and lines on the face. From a drawn look and eyes that just stared through.
He felt the lines in the air, saw them bright and sparkling, unlike his eyes which were dull and tired. Eyes of darkness, despair, the moon on a night filled with blotting clouds, a moor filled with the stench of drowning animals and their fear.
And the neck called to him. Young and soft, she loved, lived and cried out for all that he had once sought, coveted, found, held and lost, like the beaten old buck in the forest that falls dying as it gives up it hold over the pack. Held in fear and held together with lies, until a younger one dips its antlers in his blood and discovers the brittle and worn bones inside.
He snarled into the depths of his bottomless drink, swilling down the fumes that brought the fire and desire and despair flushing to his face.
The poison flowed, and the room was hot. The talk drifted, and the lust followed her as she flowed around the bar and all that it contained. It was her kingdom, it bowed and fawned before her. The chest beating and want. The lust sucked at her. She glowed.
He ordered a double of red blood that sloshed across his teeth as it flowed down his throat. The fire ate at his mind and knotted sweating body.
She came over to him, and touched his arm. An accidentally deliberate gesture that melded them as the poison had also done. Souls linked in the brutality of what had been and what was to come.
The pact of death held them together, and they locked faces, tongues writhing together. The wet slithering muscle thirsted down her throat. She gagged as he exploited her soul and drew her to him. His teeth brushed her gums, gently running their sharp and broken edges across her tender nerves.
His fingers probed at her flesh. The rasping edges of his dirt covered nails leaving red welts across her so white skin. The flawless white giving way to the pink and purple of disease.
The music ground out like the rhythm of the blood pumped by his heart. Grinding, heavy, a dying metal sound. Leather, sweat, smashing drums and guitar that fingers bled from.
The heat haze ran sweat rivulets down their bodies, tingling mingling droplets of drenching ooze.
The envious faces were distant. His was the power of the dying, the irresistible stench of power in loss and the starkness of truth. Real truth, not that held up in books of purported power and hope, but those hidden under floorboards that told of the coming of the end.
Muscles, thin, stretched, scar tissue upon scar tissue, fought her body, that resisted just enough, before supplicating, and dragged her through the door. The dense darkness and twisting shattering light bursts that echoed with the coughs, shouts, blood thinned alcohol stench filled screams … faded.
She blinked, the fatalistic truth drew her on, her mind filled with confused images of the shouting and dying. Of mud filled trenches, the screech of bombs flashing through the air, and bloated exploded limbs and gore smashing into the ground.
Down by the river his snarling face smashed her down. His arms held her fast, and she quivered and screamed bubbles as he held fast. The flush of life and love faded as her eyes, opened wide, staring into the muggy darkness that shimmered … closed.
The white body flopped as the wind and waves lapped. He stood tall, the decay eating at his flesh. Done.
The flesh was cold, already losing the flush of the pumping blood. Soon the ooze of filth and the fading of the soul. The coming of the decay, the stench that would fill the air.
It was good. It was right.
He sniffed the air, and went to teach the world anew.