Title: Red Cravings
Author: Cadet
Rating: PG
Summary: The only way to get rid of temptation is to yield to it - Oscar Wilde
Disclaimer: Paramount and I are no longer on speaking terms.
Red Cravings
He knows he doesn't belong out here. He is the hungry wolf among the sheep. But the urge drives him. Even when sailing through the stars he can almost smell the blood in their veins. The power felt when searing flesh is unimaginable.
He is supposed to protect the crew from danger. But he doesn't know how when the danger is himself. And it should feel wrong when he does it. But it doesn't. His job justifies the means. It is his excuse.
It is an unsatisfiable hunger, an itch that intensifies every day. But it no longer scares him like it used to. Now he relishes in the thought of cool metal slicing skin, the expression of pain on his victim's face, the spurting of blood in tune with his pulse. He bides his time waiting for fantasy to become reality. It feels like an eternity until the time comes to spill blood again. But the time will come. When it does, he will be ready. And he is very good at it.
Maybe it is a physiological defect, a mistake of nature. He doesn't know. He doesn't care. He is a killer. And it feels right.
Author: Cadet
Rating: PG
Summary: The only way to get rid of temptation is to yield to it - Oscar Wilde
Disclaimer: Paramount and I are no longer on speaking terms.
Red Cravings
He knows he doesn't belong out here. He is the hungry wolf among the sheep. But the urge drives him. Even when sailing through the stars he can almost smell the blood in their veins. The power felt when searing flesh is unimaginable.
He is supposed to protect the crew from danger. But he doesn't know how when the danger is himself. And it should feel wrong when he does it. But it doesn't. His job justifies the means. It is his excuse.
It is an unsatisfiable hunger, an itch that intensifies every day. But it no longer scares him like it used to. Now he relishes in the thought of cool metal slicing skin, the expression of pain on his victim's face, the spurting of blood in tune with his pulse. He bides his time waiting for fantasy to become reality. It feels like an eternity until the time comes to spill blood again. But the time will come. When it does, he will be ready. And he is very good at it.
Maybe it is a physiological defect, a mistake of nature. He doesn't know. He doesn't care. He is a killer. And it feels right.