Infestation

Infestation...

It breathed a sultry sigh of terrible seduction down the rocky ripples of her spine, a gust of rotten hot air caressing her skin, prickling her hairs unwillingly. Hunched and alone, she waited as it stalked her. What else could she do? Run? It would only kill her immediately. A piece of meat ripe for the taking, easy prey to be slashed in half. Cry? Who would care for her lost tears when there were selves to save in her place? Everyone had left. Yes, even him. He who had pledged his everlasting loyalty and love to her, he who promised...he promised. Yet here she sat with it. This beast who followed through on every promise it had made. To hunt, to infest, to breed, to survive. Who was she to argue with its logic? Attack the strong, the brave, the men. Parasitically destroy its mutated host so that it might live. Vanquish all threat and deal with the weak, the feminine, the children at will. Take what it wanted, spit out the rest. Trash, they were. Vessels, merely.
It perused her neckline with a lover's pleasure, noting each blemish, each hair, each vein. Strangely, it was somewhat moved by her silent mutiny. Her body tightly wrapped in its own arms, fetal and vulnerable, yet defiant nonetheless. Intriguing, yes, a bit of delectable vehemence in an otherwise brutish infestation. All had gone fairly predictably. Charge, colonize, vanquish, breed. But this? Something looked different. Felt different. Perhaps it was the small of her back, ripe for the snapping and brittle with humanity. How it had secretly lusted after bones, any bones, to squelch its taste for something other than blood. There was so much blood, so many screams. It wasn't sure who...or what...was screaming any more. Shattering glass, bones, hopes? That was its design, its purpose. How stealthily it lurked, born a killer.

She sat in the bleak darkness, the electricity
of presence humming in her ears, the heat of the desire creeping under her skin. Like a childhood monster under the bed, it waited until she was comfortable, she was sure. Any moment, any breath could, should, be her last, and as the tendrils of her thoughts choked her consciousness she wept for what could have been.

It waited.

The choked sob morphed into a rush of exhalation that cared not for its intention. Come what may, she was a human being, one who felt and cared and loved and lost and cried and hated; she hated its gaze. Do it, she thought, just do it. Why make me suffer?

It cocked its head with intrigue.

Clenching tighter against her own warmth, imagining the golden flax of her mother's locks as they enveloped her with sunshine, her father's wooly whiskers that tickled her cheek and that she begged repeatedly for him to lose, only to find on a special morning that he was clean-shaven for her and her alone. With each clench she felt the love of her bedtime routine etched forever in her memory - the warmth of the bath but the intense despise for the washing of her curly knotted hair that truly housed a bird's nest or two. The laughter of her father as he tickled her to death as she screamed, "No Daddy!" but laughed hysterically as she half heartedly pleaded. The tender touch of her mother's caress as they watched, but didn't really watch, their favorite program, as the sensation of the caress took precedence over a silly tv show. The sunshine, the laughter, the warmth, the touch, the comfort, the looks, the hugs, the bond, the need, the family, the future, the peace, the life...

It was too much. Too much. It couldn't. It wouldn't. It wanted it. It could have her in an instant, this vulnerable piece of flesh. This pretty piece of meat. Circling in the darkness, it meandered around her core. Wandered slowly about her soul, taking it all in, knowing that each heartbeat could be her last, and soon would. And then there was power in that, a dominance that rushed through its acidic blood, coursing through its inner labyrinths a secret lust and hunger.

She felt the hairy bristles of a leg stroke their way slowly and deliberately, yet tenderly, down her spine. Bump...slow bump...tender lingering...slow caressing...smaller bump...bump...bump...and gone, a ghost...Familiar, in a way, reminiscent of a love she once knew. Catching her breath at the first caress, she wasn't sure when her last breath was. But all she knew was that it took her breath away - something erotic, shocking in fact. Her breath shaken, the rest of her body followed suit. Tingling with anticipation, it shuddered and quivered, and it knew it.

It was pleased. It had completed its work. He already knew her well, and could predict her every move. She had always hated that about him.