Stories I Never Finished

In Madness We Trust

|————~ P R E V I E W ~————|

Ashton was, and always had been, a horrific type of man. The kind whose existence was shrouded by madness, an evil that would ooze from every wall of their home—dripping crimson upon white tiles and growing thorns of the sharpest kind from every shattered mirror.

He was evil, his mind darkened by raging torment and anguish, and though he knew he was the villain of every tale spoken by soft lips he also knew he was right to be.
Ashton was the god humanity deserved, the god they would pray silently at midnight beneath starless skies when their own selfish religion slept upon a bed of diamonds and rotting corpses of slaughtered children.

He was beautiful in his divine chaos, a beast of flesh and blood with hazel eyes like earthly crystals cut from diamonds within the lifeless depths of ocean caves, and a crude vibe that could singe the innocence from an angel's halo.
And it was this tormented beauty that reeled in his most endearing and misled darling of such rotten existence—a glow of the dying moon on a city's horizon.

He was tall yet slender, a pale physique brought upon by poor financial chaos and a solemn existence, and his eyes held the truth within the thousand broken shards of a broken mirror—one shattered by the fist of humanity's rage. He was perfection to the mouldable eye, a beautiful evil waiting to be brought to the world.

Unlike all the others who once came before, souls traversing the world lost and hopeless—seeking a thrill to bring purpose to their empty worlds—Luke was the perfect concoction of manipulation and devastation.

And so, when rough fingers cursed by the blood of innocent lives caressed ever so gently upon the smooth pale flesh of Luke's cheek the worlds of light and dark collided with great madness.
There was no right or wrong, no longer a good or an evil, in those moments of tender, sweet manipulation dipped in succulent obsession there was nothing on Luke's mind beyond Ashton's soothing touch.

No matter the fresh blood smeared from rough fingers now on his cheek, nor the feeling of pure sharpened silver slipping deeper and deeper into his side—guided by a cruel hand—Luke saw nothing but purpose in those vicious hazel eyes.

"It hurts..." he coughed, his voice rasped with agony as his hands clutched pure desperation to the soaked red of Ashton's once clean grey shirt.

Not an ounce of blood belonged to the devil, instead it had once called home to the tens of bodies strewn across the shipyard floor; a docking office now covered in slaughterous nightmares.

"I know." Ashton's voice was cruel, a sweet blend of honey upon poisoned razor wire, and yet he smiled; digging his blade deeper into tender flesh, destroying the once pure white of Luke's blouse. "It'll be over soon, I promise."

"I-I didn't-..." Luke choked, blood spat between pink lips now drooling down his chin as his eyes squinted against the pain. "I didn't want to do this-"

"What is it you said to me?" Ashton hummed, a sick tormented amusement now laden in his tone as he held Luke up with an arm wrapped low around his slim waist.

Luke's eyes strained open, peeling wide against the lead dragging them closed to give his love a longing gaze of confusion and wrongful trust.

"Til death do we part?" Ashton ripped his blade free, and for a moment in time—frozen still within the black of his mind—he recalled such a scene from before.

He made the wrong mistake so long ago, but now—as he held his dripping blade in one hand, silver wedding band now red with death, and wrapped his arm tighter around Luke, pulling his love closer—he knew such failure was far too costly to risk.