Red Static

The strong static from the television serves as a source of entertainment while the humidity and stench do not dissipate from the place. Static red reflects a dim view of the room, however it is preferable to do so.
The dark, cold room on the second floor is silent, the mannequins are frozen in the corridors waiting to hatch, and the leather ornaments nailed to the walls bleed. There is something in you that is dying and you know it by the smell it produces inside you, something is decomposing or so it seems. The larvae are devouring the dead tissue of that organ hoping to become flesh scraps, you can feel it like that.
You hear heavy footsteps from the second floor, down the stairs until they reach your back. That good girl appears before you as the first to whom she gives her purity, the mannequins have moved, now they all have different positions. But these do not seem to be normal, they are crooked and with abnormal features.
Something is not in their right mind, each mannequin carries in their hands an ornament of old leather, the same previously nailed on the two walls of the corridor on the upper floor. The reflection of the faint, blood-red static makes each doll unrecognizable as the little girl hides her innocent, pale face from the touch of darkness, exposing her smooth, firm skin.
It looks good but something in you tells you not to fall, your survival instinct sounds the alarm with caution. She is completely cautious, but the girl lets you caress her skin with your hands, making her availability clear. The lust in the trembling of your body is noticeable while the sweet young lady is left in bondage.
You submerge your body in hers, turned into a river next to yours, making a mixture of masses in a rain of lustful and fanciful pleasure. The mannequins crack with each sob until they manage to break wide open the shell that surrounds them, letting the bloody pieces fall to the wooden floor. Eyes so dark coming out of the void of the dolls, like the shadow of darkness being reflected in shades of crimson by the empty static of the screen, watching your sins and desecrations. Seeing the bodies you have desecrated with your fluids.
The dreamy little girl, your little toy slave loses her color and her skin dries up with each sigh, her vanilla smell becomes a familiar smell of death. While the mannequins harass you, the little girl loses her life expectancy until she becomes a rotten piece of human-shaped meat, swollen and injected with pus.
From the dolls and leather ornaments a serum black as oil begins to flow, while the childish shrieks succumb inside her. Her shell becomes more and more damaged as the dolls' twisted bodies convulse on the ground, crudely cracking her joints until they tear through the shell and expose her skin.
The shrieks of infants leave an unusual sign of who you are and where you're from, you know what it means but that won't stop you from laughing even for the last time waiting for in the underground of hell, you grab the dismembered forearm of one of the mannequins in rage and you throw it into the red static of the TV screen, leaving a huge, wide-open tear in the screen.
You feel like the worms in your heart have completely devoured you. And sitting on the sofa in the living room in front of the broken screen in red static, naked and needy, you laugh for the last time clinging to the leather doll while the corpses of infants get closer with an overwhelming murderous instinct and thirst for blood. Between the brushes of death and immorality of the place, you laugh spitefully at the consequences and regrets of your actions.
Who would say that a love story was so cloudy?
Written by BrussOrg(Michego Takoro)
Category:Weird
Category:Television
Category:NSFW