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Thread: A Rose By Any Other Name... [R]

  1. #1
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    Default A Rose By Any Other Name... [R]

    Approved by Sandra.

    Now I must warn you, dear reader. The following may disturb or disgust you, I don't know. The themes that run throughout this are Torture, mutilation, sex and drugs and if you are uncomfortable with the mentioning of any of these topics then I urge you to turn back now.

    You have been warned.

    I shall also warn you that it isn't terribly long and is the result of a night's typing, I've checked over it but I've probably missed some things.




    A Rose By Any Other Name...




    Her name was Rose D'Angelo.

    Wife of the famous Mickey 'Finn' D'Angelo and mother of their two daughters, Marina and Rosa.

    Socialite, Junkie, Certified whore.

    In modern slang, to 'fuck up' implies doing something wrong, very wrong. Not in Rose's case, she fucked up, all the way to the top.

    You'd think after marrying a local gangster and living a financially secure life would calm her down - douse her raging desires - but it seems Mickey 'Finn' can't keep up, or should I say “it” up. She gets her kicks in private, with scum and parasites, whilst her husband sleeps, she sleeps – with a different person each night, just so she can 'get her fix'.

    Injecting, inhaling, consuming, snorting – whilst her body, contorting under throes of meaningless pleasure and debauchery. Ill-gotten substances poisoning her mind, her passions without reasoning, an embarrassment to her kind.

    An easy to persuade woman, Rose is willing to divulge information about some of her more “risqué” affairs. She tells of a meeting in a penthouse suite with a suave businessman. She tells how more than anything he wanted to dominated. She tells of how, in his briefcase, he had brought everything he needed, he assures her they are have all been sterilised, she grins mischievously, proclaiming that she 'likes it dirty' she rips off his suit and with a singular claw she drags a deep gash down his back, she delights in how he squeals with pleasure.

    There she stops.

    She is a lady after all - not one to kiss and tell.



    It would have been easy to extract more, yet enough has been divulged.

    A deep unknown bubble of... something, a burning, sizzling sensation. A sign to stop?

    Never.


    Movement, she's waking up. The sweet caress of the unconscious slowly sweeps away leaving only the harsh reality.

    She screams.

    Happiness. Joy. Ecstasy. Ironic, no?

    Her pale arms wrestle against thick, coarse rope binding her to the rickety wooden chair. Legs aren't so lucky... or what's left of them.

    Seafood? Yes, I do.

    Skin flaps pointlessly around her raw, red ankles.

    Weren't they blue?

    She struggles still, there is some fight left in her. Determined not to die, she pulls one leg free of its binding. A small victory perhaps, but you take what life throws at you. Inevitable, one might say, under that degree of dessication. Rope soaked with crimson lubricant, it was bound to happen. Surprising she had enough muscle to move it.

    With precision akin to that of a great surgeon, the leg was amputated... quickly and cleanly. Not much blood left to spill. Again she screamed, such unnecessary noise.

    There will be no more freedoms. Go directly to Jail, do not pass Go, do not collect two hundred dollars.

    She hangs her head and whimpers, such a pretty face - untouched, unharmed. The face that seduced many men, the face that forged her path in this world, a path that lead directly to now. This is her Jail.

    If only I had some dice. I'd give her the chance to role a double.

    Her torso bore cuts and bruises, some recent, some weeks old. Across the soft stomach flesh, the word 'Betrayal' is carved. Although she winces each time the blade pierces her skin, it's hard not to wonder if deep down, she's enjoying this torture, maybe the little masochist inside her brain is yelping with delight each time she is punished. One also has wonder whether there's a limit to what a masochist enjoys, is there a line that when crossed stops being pleasurable?

    The joys of experimentation.

    The Apathy of the scientist. Morals are nothing, only progress. Ethics are merely barriers that need to be crossed in order to succeed.


    Today's Lecture.

    The heart.

    When you peel back the skin, crack open the rib cage and sift through the useless viscera, you encounter the heart. A triumph of biological engineering. Through a series of complex myogenic sequences, blood enters the heart and is pumped out, to make sure oxygen is delivered to the necessary areas of the body vital for life.

    How wonderful the sight, than that of the Heart. To see it at work is to truly comprehend the majesty of life.

    But one thing not many people know about the heart, is it's taste.

    The raw power contained in that one muscle, the blood coarsing through it, gives it the finest taste of any meat. Cooked, well done, with a side of two veg and gravy is a perfect moonlit meal. But to taste the heart, you need it fresh and raw, you need to take it in your hand still beating and tear a piece off with your teeth. The dry, almost bitter meat, off-set by the metallic blood as the perfect sauce is beyond anything you ever have and ever will taste.

    I hold her heart in my hand and I feel the power it radiates

    With a simple motion, it's tore out of her chest. It feebly tries to continue beating but with each stroke of the clock it slows, becoming weak and pathetic. What would other hearts say looking at you? A worthless lump of meat trying to stay alive but failing, you know what happens to failures.

    I lick a fleck of blood from the aorta and my lust for blood increases. My eyes fall from the fading cockroach tied to the chair, gasping for breath and I stare only at you, the frail heart slowly failng with your mistress.

    Class is dismissed.

    Remember to read page 119 of your books, the one entitled 'The heart and you, a biological love story'


    I can't eat you. A being so pure tainted with the horrors of sordid life, it sickens me. You can go back where you belong, the many time manhandled chest of your mutilated mistress. I stand, snap the ribs back into place and peel back her skin. All better. Yet, you seem to be dying, now why is that Mrs. D'Angelo?

    Maybe it's the blood loss, or maybe it's the physical trauma... maybe, just maybe it's your years of destroying your body catching you up. Just think, did I really do anything today that you hadn't already done to yourself?

    I'm sure you've been tied up before, your heart put under immense stress, your body whipped and bruised, the internal problems of blood poisoning.

    I suppose I'm doing you a favour, purging you of sin and evil and replacing it with the purest thing of all... nothing. You should be thanking me. Believe me I'd let you, were your vocal cords not ripped from your throat, you did insist on making noise. I bet you enjoyed that didn't you?

    You're shaking your head? You didn't like that, hmm very interesting, I'll have to file that away for later. On a completely new topic, have you ever been choked by your own blood?

    No?

    It's a quite fascinating sight. You see, I collect all the blood you've dripped all over my floor – don't want any stains, I'm sure you understand – and force it into a tight compact ball. Then I shove it down your throat and watch as your face turns blue-

    Ah, your face is already blue. Must you continue to be a pain, even in the last moments of your life?

    I really didn't want to do this, but I have no choice...


    The ropes binding Rose fell to the floor,with great effort, she lifted her webbed hands to her face. She made a strangled, barely audible sound and began to weep. A genuine expression of fear from deep within her black tortured soul.


    I place a hand on her head and focus my energy into teleportation. Within a flash I find myself on a tiled roof in the nearby Azalea Township. I look down at the huddled figure and sigh as I push her off the side, letting her fall into the street many metres below.

    At least I'm afforded another smile as I watch her land on her remaining leg, shattering the bone, sending it through the skin like a knife through rice paper.



    Her name was Rose D'Angelo.

    Wife of the famous Mickey 'Finn' D'Angelo and mother of their two daughters, Marina and Rosa.

    Delicious, Entertaining, Mutilated Corpse

    Yet you know what they say. A Rose by any other name... would still taste as sweet.
    Last edited by Diddy; 10th September 2009 at 12:06 PM.
    Skogsrĺ

    Gardenia never liked the Old Chateau, but what if the Old Chateau liked her?

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  2. #2
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    Well, well, well, Diddy. My, my, my. I'm lost for words.

    Where to begin?

    The stars could have been dealt with. That is my only real nitpick. I'm also curious as to why you chose to capitalise seemingly random words. This may just be my being tired, though.

    Your descriptions were sweet and I thoroughly enjoyed the Monopoly references. What I appreciated most was the heart. The heart is a fascinating organ, isn't it? Mystified doctors for years; had no idea how to mend one when it was injured. Now, I've had the luxury of dealing with real hearts before and the quality that fascinates me the most, is that they seem almost like rubber. If it weren't for squeamish teachers, I think I would've played hand ball with one. They bounce. I'm not so sure about the texture of one; I can imagine it'd be quite chewy.

    Our mystery speaker must have good teeth.

    Which leads me to my next point.

    I got the distinct impression that the killer wasn't human. Naturally, the teleportion sequence gave it away. A kadabra was my first guess.

    Our Rose must have been an adventurous woman indeed.

    Or perhaps this was a pet with a grudge. I'm curious about its motives; blood lust seems not enough - a driving moral obligation, perhaps.

    But then there's talk of webbed hands. I'm unsure whether our killer has gone and dissected her hands as well or she's not human, herself. Hmm.


    Well, I must say again, this was a delicious fiction. It flowed beautifully and ended quite nicely. Well done.
    [.Three: H/Rt-314.]

    тѕє ѕцтсєыяєр омон

  3. #3
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    It felt so...

    Uhh, how could I say it?

    Real.

    And that's why this was a really awesome one-shot. You really know how to grab a reader in and make sure that they're still grabbed in by the end of the story. If that made any sense. x_X



    Few things/nitpicks, though:

    Determined not to die, she pulls one leg free of it's binding.
    This should be its. Very nice imagery here, though.


    Todays Lecture.

    The heart.

    When you peel back the skin, crack open the rib cage and sift through the useless viscera, you encounter the heart. A triumph of biological engineering. Through a series of complex myogenic sequences, blood enters the heart and is pumped out, to make sure oxygen is delivered to the necessary areas of the body vital for life.

    How wonderful the sight, than that of the Heart. To see it at work is to truly comprehend the majesty of life.

    But one thing not many people know about the heart, is it's taste.

    The raw power contained in that one muscle, the blood coarsing through it, gives it the finest taste of any meat. Cooked, well done, with a side of two veg and gravy is a perfect moonlit meal. But to taste the heart, you need it fresh and raw, you need to take it in your hand still beating and tear a piece off with your teeth. The dry, almost bitter meat, off-set by the metallic blood as the perfect sauce is beyond anything you ever have and ever will taste.

    I hold her heart in my hand and I feel the power it radiates

    With a simple motion, it's tore out of her chest. It feebly tries to continue beating but with each stroke of the clock it slows, becoming weak and pathetic. What would other hearts say looking at you? A worthless lump of meat trying to stay alive but failing, you know what happens to failures.

    I lick a fleck of blood from the aorta and my lust for blood increases. My eyes fall from the fading cockroach tied to the chair, gasping for breath and I stare only at you, the frail heart slowly failng with your mistress.


    Class is dismissed.

    Remember to read page 119 of your books, the one entitled 'The heart and you, a biological love story'.

    Firstly, "todays" should be "Today's". Sorry

    Even though I found it weird that you suddenly shifted the story to this, it was a really well-written part of the story, and probably my favorite part, if it wasn't for this one:

    I place a hand on her head and focus my energy into teleportation. Within a flash I find myself on a tiled roof in the nearby Azalea Township. I look down at the huddled figure and sigh as I push her off the side, letting her fall into the street many metres below.

    At least I'm afforded another smile as I watch her land on her remaining leg, shattering the bone, sending it through the skin like a knife through rice paper.
    And knowing it's something with a blade that can Teleport, I think I just read about a Gallade. The Azalea thing was a bit perplexing, though; I could be wrong.


    Dude, if you submitted this as your H&S entry you would totally pwn me D:. Great job =)
    Last edited by Dramatic Melody; 10th September 2009 at 8:43 AM.


    Berries -- Escape Rope -- A Friday



    images were taken from three specific pages of Serebii.net

  4. #4
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    If only eh.

    But Gallade is a no go area in the H&S contest =(

    Firstly, "todays" should be "Today's". Sorry
    Damn your nitpicks! I'll probably change it, depending on how lazy I feel. :P

    The Azalea thing was a bit perplexing, though; I could be wrong.
    The only real reason the Azalea thing is in there is because it's a small continuation of my other one-shots. And the guy lives in Ilex Forest, he took her to Azalea so she would be noticed rather than left rotting in his back yard. Her somewhat 'semi-famous' status would get her noticed (think back to how he didn't harm her head/face) and it shows that these people who can get off driving tickets with a load of money and good lawyers and can get off drug offenses with relative ease will get punished in the end.

    Your descriptions were sweet and I thoroughly enjoyed the Monopoly references.
    xD I enjoyed writing them, the first line just came out of the air randomly, the second one followed suit and had to be put in there as well.

    What I appreciated most was the heart. The heart is a fascinating organ, isn't it? Mystified doctors for years; had no idea how to mend one when it was injured. Now, I've had the luxury of dealing with real hearts before and the quality that fascinates me the most, is that they seem almost like rubber. If it weren't for squeamish teachers, I think I would've played hand ball with one. They bounce. I'm not so sure about the texture of one; I can imagine it'd be quite chewy.
    I've also had that pleasure. Just thinking about it drives my olfactory memory into overdrive. I can still smell the meat and I can still remember ripping it open with a scalpel. So glad I took first year Biology, it's really made writing things like this much easier.


    I thank you both for replying *bows*
    Skogsrĺ

    Gardenia never liked the Old Chateau, but what if the Old Chateau liked her?

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