Urges
Bright sparks in my mind mask everything and they coat my thoughts like falling drops of flaming gasoline. I feel them crawling in my head, and spreading to all parts of my body. I breathe hot steam.
All I can hear is my heart beating, and the steady rush of my blood racing through me.
The want.
The want that reaches out of my skin. It seems like need but it isn’t. I know it isn’t. Pure Want. The want you see in your lovers eyes when you’ve tantalized them so much they ache.
Bound in want and begging for release, ...I hunt for something to release me.
On the street I walk bipedal but my urges, they walk beside me, inside me, on four legs, hunched lupine and angular. Its senses are keen and alert and it tugs me forward on its invisible leash. Prey is plentiful on the crowded street. Their bodies constricting in laughter and breath in the humid eve. Plump, Ripe, and ready to rupture under the fangs of my urges. My senses peak. I can smell their artificial scents trying to mask their own. I can taste their shallow need for a quick fix that they would claim as desire. His fix to get drunk and laid so he can forget about his shitty job for another night. Her need to attain the self perfection as advertised in glossy magazines and tv screens. The subconscious knowing she can never have it, and the envy for others of her sex she believes does.
Trivial.
What they really want is deep inside, sleeping and hidden manifesting itself as petty frustration or small acts of “justifiable” cruelty.
Her aroma nearly knocks me off balance as I see her walking in my direction. My urges are centered on her visage. I get closer and closer to her. My walk is steady but my urges have the aims of a beast. An aim to stalk, to lunge, to ravage and slake the deep hunger and quiet the longing thirst.
Then I sense it. I smell it. I really smell it as she walks by. She has them too. Urges. I feel hers course through me all of a sudden. They tingle and arch through my body like bolts of electricity starting a fire in my mind. As she steals a glance of me she exhales her breathe on to my neck and it mixes with my sweat. I feel it start to weaken me, until I see her smile as she looks back at me and then I feel my strength return ten fold, and my urges howl inside me.
As I watch her walk through the crowd, a wind blows through her hair and it sends me a sweet hint of her scent. I salivate as I turn in her direction and a guttural growl escapes my lips. There is an ere of crispness in the air, the scent of the rural wild cutting through the stifling smog, city light, all matter of noise pollution and rotting concrete.
It’s going to be a good hunt……
All I can hear is my heart beating, and the steady rush of my blood racing through me.
The want.
The want that reaches out of my skin. It seems like need but it isn’t. I know it isn’t. Pure Want. The want you see in your lovers eyes when you’ve tantalized them so much they ache.
Bound in want and begging for release, ...I hunt for something to release me.
On the street I walk bipedal but my urges, they walk beside me, inside me, on four legs, hunched lupine and angular. Its senses are keen and alert and it tugs me forward on its invisible leash. Prey is plentiful on the crowded street. Their bodies constricting in laughter and breath in the humid eve. Plump, Ripe, and ready to rupture under the fangs of my urges. My senses peak. I can smell their artificial scents trying to mask their own. I can taste their shallow need for a quick fix that they would claim as desire. His fix to get drunk and laid so he can forget about his shitty job for another night. Her need to attain the self perfection as advertised in glossy magazines and tv screens. The subconscious knowing she can never have it, and the envy for others of her sex she believes does.
Trivial.
What they really want is deep inside, sleeping and hidden manifesting itself as petty frustration or small acts of “justifiable” cruelty.
Her aroma nearly knocks me off balance as I see her walking in my direction. My urges are centered on her visage. I get closer and closer to her. My walk is steady but my urges have the aims of a beast. An aim to stalk, to lunge, to ravage and slake the deep hunger and quiet the longing thirst.
Then I sense it. I smell it. I really smell it as she walks by. She has them too. Urges. I feel hers course through me all of a sudden. They tingle and arch through my body like bolts of electricity starting a fire in my mind. As she steals a glance of me she exhales her breathe on to my neck and it mixes with my sweat. I feel it start to weaken me, until I see her smile as she looks back at me and then I feel my strength return ten fold, and my urges howl inside me.
As I watch her walk through the crowd, a wind blows through her hair and it sends me a sweet hint of her scent. I salivate as I turn in her direction and a guttural growl escapes my lips. There is an ere of crispness in the air, the scent of the rural wild cutting through the stifling smog, city light, all matter of noise pollution and rotting concrete.
It’s going to be a good hunt……
posted by Fictional Correspondant at 4:35 PM
1 Comments:
You know you wrote this for me, admit it. Even if you didn't know you were doing it at the time. ;)
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