antihero_wraith

Symon
The crashing waves of the blackened sea soothed Symon like never before. Every other time he came to the beach in the middle of a summer's midnight, the waves were dull miners to him, mining away at the moonlit white sand that rested under Symon's feet. Of course, every other night would have included the constant whisperings of sweet nothings into Symon's ear. The hissing of a slippery red tongue that had explored his mouth and lips time and time before. The deep brown eyes that had imprisoned him in their lusty gaze. Small nimble fingers that stroked Symon's hair with the slightest hint of sweetened wind.
God, how he hated her. Her girlish giggle, her pouting lips, the defied stance that blocked him from walking until he held her thin, small-framed body, and the plentiful kisses that greeted him each morning and left him in hatred in the late evenings after their many walks, their many talks, their many...
Symon remembered that amazing night second by life-loving second. The silver and red, the screams and moans, the heavy pouts and vigorous shoving. The biting and pulling, the satisfaction of refusing defeat.
The knife stood next to Symon's hand, the black opal handle glistening with blood. Her body floated in the surf, pale and lifeless. The once energetic girl who lived for him, obsessed by him....
God, how he hated her.


White breath, red lips. Symon sighed as he walked past the neon-lit windows of the town's local bar. The buzzing red light of the latest liquor sign haunted him. The same red, the same neon red as the streaks in her hair.
Symon sighed, nights of passion and hateful lust ripped through his mind as he tried to shut out the memories. Moans, tongues, perfumed skin. They ate at his brain like flesh acid rot. It stung...a little, but Symon waved it off.
Every night he spent with her, he regretted. Every touch he ever felt, he regretted. Every kiss, every rip, he regretted. Every taste. Every caress. Every shove. Every bite. He regretted it all...well maybe not every part of it.
He never regretted thinking of strangling her pale neck. Maybe that's why he always held her wrists down, his fingers trying harder to squeeze the bones. Ahh, the screams she let out as she tried to break free of his grasp. That's what made him cum time after time.
Symon shuddered as he recalled those forbidden times and pleasures. They disgusted him as well as taunted his every sexual need.
A bright blue newspaper vendor woke him from his trance. The wind whispered as he looked to the latest headline.
"Girl Found Dead in Bay, No Suspects."
Symon smiled secretly to himself as he walked on. God, how he hated her.


Symon moved down the blackened hallway, listening to the muffled whisperings of his parents. The stucco of the wall was cool against his cheek as he pressed his ear to listen to their conversation.
"I don't know. Would a shrink be able to help him?" his mother whispered softly.
He heard his father sighed. "God knows we have to try. He'll be even more out of touch with her gone. God, how he loved her," his father replied.
Symon couldn't help but smile. All those times he kissed her sweetly in front of his parents. Pink on pink, yet spicy and sweet, like an angel and a demon entangled in the silvery notes of a forbidden dance. He loved to...
Symon broke from his trance, frowning at his slip of faux feeling. Red streaked his vision as he moved to his room, locking the door behind him. His bed looked inviting with the many blankets tangled together, forming a braid-like rope.

"Will you love me forever?"she whispered, her tiny body warm and loving against his. "Will you stay with me forever?"
Symon wrapped his arms around her, pressing their naked bodies together. He smiled at the glowing stars that hung from his ceiling. "Until death, my love," he replied, his fingers tracing patterns across her warm skin. He felt her fingers responding, sliding over his chest and sides.
She kissed his neck softly and snuggled quietly into the soft curve of his side, her eyes drunk and disoriented with sleep.
"Until death," whispered Symon as his fingers wove through her hair, grasping clumps and pulling hard as he kissed her sleeping fingers upon his mouth.
She awoke abruptly, sitting up. Her voice trapped in her throat as Symon untangled his fingers.

Symon popped a CD into his stereo and lowered the volume. Peeling off his shirt and pants, he stared at the taunting figure and closed the closet door, hating his waif-like body. The sweet demonic voice of Jay Gordon slithered into his ear and tingled his ear drum.
He sat on the floor, twisting a pull in the rug between his fingers as the air seemed to chill quickly. A photograph scratched his foot as it fell to the floor from the shelf above him.
Her eyes stared at him, asking, "Why?"
Symon shuddered and grabbed his lighter from under the bed. As the orange flame licked at the corner of the photo, her grinned. God...how he hated her.


He was asleep, his vision black and silver with memories, fantasies, hopes and failures. A spider crawled across the insides of his eyelids, tainting a mere fantasy with exquisite pain. A lashing was always great when it involved Robert Smith singing "Why Can't I Be You?" and some unknown figure who seemed to visit frequently these days...or nights...or dreams....
Pain.
One of his eyes opened halfway to notice the fuzzy figure hovering over his crotch. A mumble came from his throat as he reached out to touch it. Another nip, blood. He moaned slightly, the drops sliding down over the skin of his finger Fingers slid over his thighs as a tongue worked on his sex, readying it. But for what?

Zane twisted under the quilts, muttering as his alarm went off, squealing high-pitched beeps at him as he rubbed his eyes, yawning. "Alright, shut the fuck up, you cock whore," he yelled throwing his alarm to the ground.
The squealing died down as he stood stretching his gaunt naked body slowly. The early morning sunlight left streaks of pale yellow across his ribs. He cringed, fully closing his black verticals.
His alarm laid on the floor next to him, the red light of the time slowly fading to a blurred burgundy. The wire was fringed in the back from the blow, it's face dangling from the white oval body by red and green wires. From where Zane stood it looked like road kill. He couldn't help but smile.
Pulling on a black satin stretch shirt and red patent leather pants, Zane got ready for his new school.Another town, another life, he thought, running his spidery hands through the black glossy sheath that hung from his head to his chin the front and gently sloped upward to the crown of his head in the back. He trudged onto the bathroom, holding back shivers.
The bright fluorescent white of the light hurt his eyes. He closed them tightly, red swirls and snakes slithered past his eyelids, caressing his eyes lightly.
Red.
Zane opened his eyes quickly, staring at the mirror. The reflection was there, but it wasn't Zane looking back. He closed his eyes again, rubbing them gently.
Silver.
He staggered back against the wall and looked to the mirror again. The figure was gone and Zane's frightened being stared back at him. He steadied himself and rubbed his head, mumbling, "not again."


School was the same.
Girls were the same.
Guys were the same.
Nothing ever changed. Lockers were always a dull yellow, red, or green. Never a hue of blue or purple. He liked those colors. Colors of bruises. Pain was always good.

Zane spun the dial on the locker until it landed on the white outline of the number twenty. He spun it back around, watching the white markings blur into the black until it became gray. He stopped it again at thirty-four and swiveled it back to nineteen. The door popped open with a small click. Bare...he loathed it. He pulled a black marker from his bag and scribbled "Sticks and stones may break my bones, but whips and chains excite me!" across the inside of the door. Much better.
Abruptly, he was shoved against the open locker. His head hit the metal shelf swiftly. A headache bloomed as he pulled back.
"Fucking homo!" screamed a tall, robust boy, his thin lips pulled across his face in an evil grin. "Get a fucking life, cocksucker."
Zane was appalled. Already they were starting in on him, just like every other school, but those schools usually gave him an hour or two, at least. Great, I'll be outta here in a week.
An object shifted beside him, moaning as it stood up. "Sorry," was mumbled across a pair of rouge pink lips. Zane stared. He couldn't help it. They were so perfect, so.....edible. He forced himself to look up, catching a pair of silver eyes with his. "I get this every morning. I didn't mean to hit you."
Zane tried to speak, breathless, the words a knot in his throat scratching at the fleshy walls. He breathed in slowly as the boy walked away, his black and blue spiked hair standing from his head, his face a pallor of white.
Perfect, yet so.....so....., Zane stopped himself. He closed his eyes and rubbed his head. Silver eyes, just like his dream. I must see him again. I know...
<BR>

He sighed, his day another usual hell. People consoled him, hugged him, even kissed him. We're sorry about your loss. That's what they all said to him. Yeah, well fuck them. He had other things to worry about, like Jeff Majors on his ass for his girlfriend trying to get with him. Not his fault if Jeff can't admit to Symon being better in bed, but of course, Jeff Majors also knows that Symon can give great head.
He smiled to himself and walked into the upstairs bathroom and chose the handicapped stall. Dropping his backpack to the floor, he dug in his pocket and produced a clove and a lighter. Mmmmm, cloves always soothed him when he needed it. He lit it up and sucked in the sweet tangy smoke letting it sit in his lungs before letting it seep out through his mouth.
Now what about that new boy. Mysterious, quiet, cute. Symon wanted to do nasty things to him. But of course, Symon wanted to do nasty things to a lot of people. But oh...what was his name? Oh who cares, Symon wanted him.
He threw the clove into the toilet and grabbed his bag. Time for algebra, he smirked to himself. Great class...for sleeping. He opened the stall door and stopped.
The boy stood before him, leaning over the sink. Reapplying his black eyeliner, strands of black hair hung in his green eyes. He stopped and looked to Symon. A small grin spreading across his lips. His mouth moved. I know...<BR>
Symon ran....


Zane frowned and went back to finishing his eyeliner. It was so easy now, black lines on white skin, so drastic. He loved it. Who cares what they thought? They knew nothing, they meant nothing to him, except that boy. Zane knew what he did, through the way his eyes watched his, the shivering of his brain as Zane watched him closely in History. Yes, it was all clear now. The death and the love.

School let out at two o'clock. The sun was a cheery light in the pale blue sky of the suburban town. Cheerleaders roamed the afternoon halls chatting about parties and sluts. The photo people snuck about the corners snapping blackmail shots they thought made them great. Zane laughed at them all as he walked out to his silver Bel Air. None of them knew anything. They knew she died, they knew he loved her. Well, let them live their lives, he thought as he pulled out of the parking lot, passing a memorial sign of a girl, her slanted eyes covered in red eyeshadow, her chin length black hair sweeping gently in, touching the corners of her lips. Pretty, but she didn't deserve him. No one deserved him......he was special and Zane knew it.

The images of past lives whizzed through his head like trees on the side of the road. Each was different yet similar and he was in everyone of them. Him, Symon. Everyone of them. Once as a slave, once as a prince who gave himself to his obsession. His lives had all ended the same way. Red and Silver brought upon his own skin. Zane didn't want that this time. He knew Symon was special and he wanted to tame that fierceness that controlled his soul, that hunger, that curse.
Zane had always loved Symon. He knew it. From the moment they met in the archway of the pyramid of the great Ramses down to the single moment in the bathroom when he confronted him. Unfortunately, Symon had been the one haunting his dreams lately, and Zane knew why. Because he was close. And Zane wanted him for himself this time.

He sat at the dining room table, his fingers twirling the spoon in his hand. He didn't want to eat soup and for some god awful reason, his "adopted life mother," as he called her, had decided to make it and wasn't letting her son leave the table until he finished it. Too bad, he thought. She was going to wait a while.
"How was school?" she asked him in her always cheery tone of voice. Her blue eyes watched him, searched him, trying to pry his skull with her apple pie fingers and her Motherly spirited nails. Well, it wasn't going to work.
Zane shifted his position and pulled his left foot under his right leg dipping the spoon into the soup. "The usual....nothing ever changes with school, Mom," he whispered, watching faint yellow drops of liquid drip back into the gory mess of white worms and pink flesh. Chicken soup, he hated it.
He heard his mother sigh and finish her drink. "Robert called today," she said a contemptuous tone overcoming her voice. She hated Robert. She used to love him, think him great, compare Zane to him, until....

Robert was.....was...absolutely beautiful. He had slanted doe-like eyes which were usually lined in black and painted a rainbow of colors. His skin was as pallid as death rockers wished and it complimented his black-blue hair that was usually spiked and teased in every direction. His was tall, about six foot one and lithe. A little muscle here and there but you could taste his hips bones and rib bones right through the skin if you wanted. Beautiful and a twin. Where as Symon was the innocent one, Robert was the demonic one who knew how to handle his curse.
"Take what you like, the world is at our fingertips," He would whisper when Zane licked the neck of some girl he had found on the street looking for company, usually his, once he came along.
But the talents that Robert had most possessed were seduction and sensuality.
He could charm anyone into bed. Man, woman, straight, gay, lesbian, children even. He preferred children on the weekends as an appetizer before going to the clubs.
Zane loved Robert, loved being with him, loved touching him, loved being seduced by Robert when he was in his mood. Robert had cultivated a killer fetish for giving blow-jobs, especially to those who moaned loudly and tore at his hair. He licked them wet and make them cum and shove them off, but not Zane. Zane was his special buddy. Long nights of passion and lust haunted their memories. And then Zane's mom found out.

Zane sighed and dropped the spoon into the bowl. He heard his mother sigh again and stop eating.<BR>
"Why are you so...." she stopped, the doorbell chiming in right on cue. She stood and looked to him. "No wisecracks. We're starting anew, remember? And this time, no trying to kill people."
Zane laughed...Not the neighbors, only you, mom....




Robert licked the red tips of his fingers, and looked down at the girl. Cute, he thought, but wothless. He dipped his fingers into the wound over her heart again, listening to it slow to silent death, as he licked at her blood again. The blood tasted sweet and tangy...tart and tasty. He liked it..pure virgin blood. Of course it was like all the other virgins he had had.
The grandfather clock struck eleven behind him as he dragged the girl up to her bed, wrapping her up in her black and white checkered sheets. He stood back and wiped his hands of her blood. What to do now? The room was rather simple...for his taste. white walls, red rug, mahogany bed with those damned checkered sheets. He hated checkered print....he hated the room. At least, he didn't have to come back anymore. Too bad for her parents though. They'll cry, but they truly won't care. They never did care for her, or so she told him at the club tonight.


Robert swam his way down the parkway towards the suburbanite towns of Vermont. He sat back in his seat, relaxed, his desires sated...for now. Only one thing stood out in his mind right now. Zane. Lovely, beautiful Zane. He missed him, he shouldn't though. He should still be with him, but he had a whore of a mother.
He didn't know where they had moved to until someone had mentioned Vermont and Zane in the same sentence. At that exact moment had it all been clear. Zane's mother had grew up there and had family there. She had told them long stories of her childhood and how she had missed it. Unfortunately, neither Robert nor Zane had listened as they sat next to each other, exchanging those familiar seducing glances whenever her back was turned.
Pain struck his heart like a knife. He pushed it back down into the pit of his aorta and ignored it. He was so close yet so far, but soon he would be with Zane again. And again, he would be happy.