AN: This one's a little scary, I'm sorry. Seems my writing has been that way lately, huh? Well.. Lately.. As in, my last story. I'm sorry I haven't updated in a while. And yes, I've deleted my RiSo story. I don't like it. It's never coming back.
I was a little cautious this one.. so I decided to put it in M. It's rated that way for a reason.
It's gross. If you can read between the lines you can see just how disgusting it is. I'm not happy with it. I'm not editing it anymore. Don't tell me about typos.
You've been warned.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything.
A circus tent sat perched upon a tall hill. It was grand, the contrasting red and white stripes calling the illusions out from the very cauldrons of beasts the tent itself was hiding. The hill was long and tall, well limbed with skeletal trees hitched along the curves and arches, a cape of yellowed grass littered along the face of the landscape. Winter had chillingly fled, abandoning a wake of a death grip over every living thing on the earthy ground. Not a flower blossomed; Not a bird sung. Even the humans walked with a macabre limp, and only they were there because every pore on their body seemed to seep the horrors of disaster.
Strike the choir to sing through the city, which rested its tired structure in the yawning shadows of the hill, sunk with potholes like hungry faces. Hues of black and gray chimed over the skewered building, blazing under the hot sun. Sinners—Shot gun! --- Strike the choir, strike the choir!
By the grace of God.
Axel had only murmured here for a few days, and as he took the ride up the hill towards the slouching tent, even he felt like he was damned in this city like the rest of them with their sunken eyes and hungry stares; Sodom and Gamorrah lacing in their words with their silent screams, silent cries, silent abandonment. He had fled the city in this black taxi, trembling in its gleam as it drove over the disheveled terrain.
Spades beneath wild, electric green eyes glowered in a smug content, his own smirk convulsing a sad content when he stayed in this city. He watched as he felt the ghostly fingers of the black metropolitan, who had a firm sniper grip over his bleeding heart, slowly slip away through his spine and out his head. He was leaving; He was running away.
The man who drove this death mobile, which was sputtering its diseased complex, shot him a paranoid gaze with black, bloodshot eyes. As they came to a stop, the slim, boney man in the back seat handed him paper payment—a throttle of greedy black demons. Wild eyed, the man excepted, his gray mustache shuddering as his fingers, nails bleeding from being nibbled on, counted each single bill.
Axel on the other hand stepped out from the cramped car, spine stretching up as his untamed eyes traced over the contours of the tent towering over him, the ghoulish entrance gaping like the mouth of a ghost. The darkness inside almost scowled at him, to which the red haired man again smirked at, taking a few steps into the tent.
Wandering aimlessly, he finally appeared at the entrance of a show—velvet black curtains burying the scene on stage, blood-red vines vomited over the platform and bleeding out onto the floor like torn intestines. The seats were black, all in rows, and the lights all gleamed down at the curtains. There was an excitement, an anxiety. Axel saw some men digging out their own eyes.
As the red-hair man sat down in a seat, a safe distance from a man who tried not to swallow his tongue, and crossed one leg over the other, he noticed that the curtains came to life and spread away like the wings of a raven. But there was no one on stage. The lights glared at the nothing ness that was there. Then the red vines began to curl away, leaving space enough for whoever was supposed to be there. For a moment, Axel panicked. Did they eat them?
Then, one of the spotlights shied away and caged a beauty.
He was the most colorful person in this whole city.
Blonde hair windswept over his skull, his own sunken eyes a bright and luminous to the brilliant blue color that they were; He wore little clothing, his thin and boney white legs high contrast to the darkness that devoured his silhouette from the lights. He seemed to pay no need to them. Slashes were at his neck, the vermillion blooming flowers streaming over his low collar, which exposed his pale shoulders. His eyes were haunting. He walked with a grace that matched nothing around him.
Fishnet clad legs firmly approached the stage, the thick heels treading over the vines as they lifted him upon the black platform. He heard someone from the audience cry out, "Carve out his tongue!" , but otherwise went unnoticed. The blonde stood with a disturbed smile.
Beautiful.
He gave a shy, but sly wave to someone in the audience. A bit of jealous spiked in Axel, but he let it subside. He cradled his chin in his hand as he watched the blonde angel beckon to a the pianist who sat in the shadows of the stage. He was thin as a skeleton, even more so than Axel, and over his skull was a top hat. The man had no eyes or nose.
Axel was sitting at floor level, one of the closest seats which radiated from the stage, so he was generally lucky. He smirked at the thought as the pianist began a slow, but lovely tune—The blonde angel swaying along with it. His lips parted, mouth nearing the microphone. He began to sing his simple song.
"Missed me, missed me," His words hissed, singing. "Now you've got to kiss me.
If you kiss me, mis-ter
I might tell my sister."
He began to saunter around the stage, micro still in his boney hand. "If I tell her, mis-ter. She might tell my mother
And my mo-ther, mi-ster
She might tell my father.
And my fa-ther, mi-ster," His dead lips creaked into that awful smile again. "He won't be too happy!
And he'll have his, law-yer."
A dramatic increase of his voice, and the dead pianist hardened his grip on a few keys,
Come up from the city, and arr-rest you, mis-ter.
So I wouldn't miss me, if you get me, mi-ster."
He paused, smiling again, eyes locking with Axel's shocked ones again.
"See?"
He relapsed into silence, the pianist continuing the tune as the blonde started to walk off stage, onto the bloody vines again.
"Missed me, missed me
Now you've got to kiss me," His voice was so quiet, but to Axel's joy, their eyes continued to lock. He started to walk forward.
"If you kiss me, mis-ter. You must think I'm pretty.." He continued to sing, a hand obliviously running over his bare, sickly thin thighs.
"If you think so, mis-ter. You must want to fuck me." The blonde was a few feet from Axel now. "If you fuck me, mis-ter."
The blonde glared down at him, still smiling. "It must mean you love me!" His voice was louder now.
"If you love me, mis-ter
You would never leave me!
It's as simple as can be." The piano chimed a high key.
That smile.
It fell.
"Missed me, missed me" His voice so soft. Dead, wilting away. "Now you've got to kiss me.
If you miss me, mis-ter.
Why do you leaving me?"
He bent down so his eyesight was even with Axel's glowing through his eyes, past his brain and into the back of his skull.
"If you trick me, mis-ter" His voice sung, so low and deadly. "I will make you suffer.
And I'll get you, mis-ter.
Put you in the slammer.
And forget you, mis-ter."
He straighted, the smirk returning and his voice now slightly humored. "Then you'll miss me, won't you?"
"Wont you miss me?
Won't you miss me?
Won't you miss me?"
He held the note long, as he turned around, retreating to the stage, letting out a desperate "ahhh!" and stopping just before the vines.
"Missed me, missed me. Now you've got to kiss me
If you kiss me, mis-ter.
Take res-pon-si-bil-ity."
He lifted his head, sad blue eyes glowing in the light. "I'm fragile, mis-ter.
Just like any boy, would be.
And so mis-un-der-stood."
He stood straight, his tone dangerous again.
"So treat me deli-cate-ly."
"Missed me! Missed me!" He cried, voice losing the tune. "Now you've gone and done it, hope you're happy--"
He neared Axel again, seeming to forget the rest of the men in the audience. He was captured, like a bird in its cage. A lonely, singing bird.
"In the county penitentiary."
The song left again, "It serves you right!" He cried, glaring at Axel. "For kissing little boys."
His face softened. "But I'll visit..
If you miss me.."
He sat himself in Axel's lap, microphone falling, clutching his chest. "Say you miss me!"
His buried his face away from the crowd and into Axel's chest, letting out a desperate cry.
"Hows the food they feed you—Do you miss me?" His voice began to sing again.
"will you kiss me—" He lifted his head, fingers running over Axel's shocked lips. "through the window—do you miss me?"
"Miss me!
Axel hadn't noticed, his sad gaze still confined by the blonde in his lap, but soon a group of men from the circus had ushered out, pointing hysterically at the male in his lap. Shock, surprise, the veins curled back onto the stage. They knew. The circus man raised his gun.
"Will they ever let you go?" He sang softly, so quietly, only for Axel. Gun shot was heard, and another. A bullet pierced the blonde's spine, and another in the back of his skull. His dead eyes began to fade, his dead fingers grazing Axel's lips again.
"I.. miss ..my mis..ter, so.."
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