A CHILDREN'S PICTURE BOOK

A CHILDREN'S PICTURE BOOK

THE GYPSY WHORE.

2006 - 2008

he Fable Of The Church Of Sodom And The Gypsy Whore.

art

nto This World We Are Defiled.

hapter

urn The Witch.

he entire hideous place stunk of flammable substances and the revolting throats of the screaming fires and fools that surrounded. How many eyes had partaken in witnessing the awful bonfire could not be guessed. More looked on than would later dare to admit. Dare to confess tasting and bearing home that clinging stench of violence, that vile begotten night. But there they stayed. Watching. Delighting. Screaming for more. Hidden in the greedy shadows that the flames could not scathe. Watching on with foaming teeth. While the fire was ablaze feverishly against the hailing winds and belligerent rain with it's forked batteries of discontent. All four elements brutally eating each other alive, yet none succumbing to an inch of tolerance nor any other ridiculous illusion of man. All was head-on with earthly destructions. The very air was at war with the world. Yet there they stayed. All those tiny little righteous pigs stood like weeds, watching, enduring the worst for no more rationality than to simply delight in the burning of the Witch!

Nailed to the crucifix with over seventy, foot long bolts of blunt iron. Cold metal punched through that woman's broken body pinned erect. Crucified upside-down atop a grand pyramid of a dozen butchered trees, upon a solid stone temple in this woodland clearing. The whole spectacle hissing from the encouragement of a flood of noxious animal fat and burning oils. The guilty woman's torso, at the core of the incineration, was now a twisted frame of disfigured agony. Naked flesh rendered black. Infernal tongues licking savage lengths of her skin clean off in a vulgar hunger. Roasting all her most indignant shrieks of raw stripped misery. Higher still the flames reached, swallowing her up absolutely. Melting her meat and sinews to the splintering, charcoaled cross of over forty feet in height, crowned with that woman's mangled, spread and nailed apart feet, turning into the very smoke that devoured all the night. Still those punishing flames stretched further up, engulfing all of the woman and well into the abyss above. Yet the frigid deluge pin-punched all the way through the guts of the fire to strike upon that woman's mutilated face with the spite of a mocking God's hysteria. But soon there was no more woman, as there was no soul to damn any more. Just a blackened abomination that tore at itself, screaming like a thousand dismembered infants before the beast. Scorched but she would not die. Her body tortured and punctured; blistered and disintegrating. Her face long since removed and peeled to the filthy orb, eyes dug out. Now her tongue and lungs internally incinerated. Stomach and bowels, liquefied and boiling like a dog's mouth; yet she was still very much alive. Awake and so horrifically aware of the churning circumstances and searing situation turning her entire existence into a burning effigy of everything she could not do to escape. Screaming with her last physical throes and clenching against uncontrollable spasms of her burning limbs and substances as they became alien and self obliterating. All her efforts screamed with her choked throat and severed nerves for a catharsis envied but known never to come. She gagged. She could not escape. Screaming. All thought slated and lost. Screaming. All there was now was hell. Eternal hell. The internal spilt and ripped to shreds in the fires. Screaming for everything. Screaming in a primal exhaustion as she left with nothing but her bones. All forms of the female burnt to utter ruins. Screaming into the inferno. Taken by the incineration and cast out. Washed away in the blinding heat. Destroyed. Burned alive. Burned to death. With the guilt of her sins as much of her very being as her cries were forsaken. But her screams were not left to themselves, as the meek folk below in the company of the dead trees, bellowed in absolute hatred and gluttony for the witch's dismal sufferings untamed. Those little people that shrouded the bonfire like crows to a headless carcass beckoned for more. Manic and delirious for the guilty to writhe longer, brutalised as a ruptured ulcer. Screaming louder than the woman's own demise, frenzied and berserk with a furious cutting lack of any form of that myth once coined as compassion.

The bonfire was but the altar, the centre-piece to this purging experience of blame and fingered scapegoats. Nearly ninety other women were chained and bound to that mud and wind in a vast circumference about the burning cross. Their heads forced to bow down with leather and fists. Stripped naked as the crowd of on-lookers moved closer, then set upon them with all manner of cleaning grotesque trails. Most were whipped or beaten with rigid canes, barbed-wire or horse crops stitched taut with countless animal teeth that bit in and took flesh from the guilty women's bone. Other executioners took turns with clawed rakes that hacked out whole chunks of muscle, hair and facial features from the shrieking targets of this most holy penance. Some were mauled by scarred, vicious dogs. Some were cut limb from limb with dull machetes, gutted and then finally whipped with rusted chains to suffer a heel-stomped death. While some were merely lunged upon by the grunting impatient old women with their callous sinking fingernails. And as the sentences of the punishments were carried out without regard, the swelling of the screams became disorientated and mangled as to what origin it arose from. But as the flames of the sacrificed Witch finally leaped above the tallest steeples of the forest, out came the graceless shaped axes. Off came those leashed and chastised heads! Off with all their heads! All those Devil worshipping sows and their perversions of nature. Off with all their ugly unrepentant heads! And yet the wailing cries remained steadfast and constant. The wind's hostile shrill was not responsible for those still shouting over their brother's justified disgust. They yelled with conviction enforced through the church. Yelling like mad men casting out their own diseases as they tossed the slaughtered women upon the lashing fires, to spit and curse the dead for all their vigilant worth. Some of the disarticulated bodies tumbled back off the steep bank of the inferno, only to be stabbed and shoved back with unrelenting loathing from the scorched pious stokers and their hooked tools of a butcher's divine conception. The smoke was murderous, but the act itself was psychotically beloved. The foul scent, the grim sight and the macabre collecting of the exorcised heads was feasted as a duty for the greater good of God. The ritual and the belief, the blind faith and the proof in the solution - burn the Witch!

Burn the Witch!

Burn them all. All of them. Extermination and extinction is the way of nature. A food-chain cannot survive with a poisonous branch choking the tree. There is only one path to cure the impure. So out with their children!

Snarling, thrashing, scratching daughters like delirious cats hung over a displaced body of foaming water, those naked children of the condemned women, from infant to pregnant mother to be, were dragged by their thin throats into the rain and outer circle where their culled mother's had been cut. Against their frantic determinations, hundreds of children were clamped and arrested in place on that blood inked field of mud and thirst for more begotten carnage. Men then came, baring long pliers gripping amber hot metal brought out from the very foundations of the great carnivorous fire. And it was then that the screams of the young pitched beyond all fathoms of a mature minds limits of fear. Gagged within burning muzzles of iron jaw-clamps that had been stewing to the point of a golden glow, those guilty sinners screamed for all kingdoms to come as their soft faces were burnt to shredded threads. The cries were sharp like ebony needles into the executioner's ears, but not one of those men did pause as they hammered burning nails through the latches, into weak bone and locked those muzzles right to the children's skulls with damning certainty to their devotion. Faces peeled and tissue washed apart beneath their smoking death masks. Fingers contorted desperate to tear at their imprisoning agony. Some broke their own necks in convulsions of excruciating pain. But not one escaped their unmistakeable sentence to hell. But then each girl was held face down, whether alive or already dead, in the sinking, flesh stinking, obscene mud. The sheer heat of the growing bonfire hindering those fanatical men where they worked, pinning the children down, spread eagle and drowning in the torrents of rain. Talons of fire attacking the holy men, biting into their saturated black cloaks and cloth of the church, but nothing would stop their plight this frigid night of cold preordained judgement. Then those daughters to misery were penetrated! Great meat hooks sunk up between their legs, through their wombs to rupture out their bare bellies!

Only for a moment were these children left in the extreme throes of concaving torment. “Yarrr!” Crops were put to work on the cattle. Chains went taut. Meat hooks drawn. Children dragged face down away from the fire. But other links went rigid upon those muzzles. Other chains bolted to the earth below the fire. The cattle ploughed on through the sludge relentlessly oblivious to their deeds. Children strung out and stretched. Locked between skull and pelvis. And the cattle pushed on – and bodies broke in two!

It is not enough just to wipe them out – there must be an example made.

Hail the brutality, praise the Lord, and burn the Witch!

Praise the Lord...

There is no choice!

hapter

imple Causality.

ragged by her ankle, Paedoilia coughed to find herself blind. The ground was rough and wet like the rim of a vomit full piss-pot, but the smell was worse. Arms working. Mouth dry. Neck stiff. Her hair was a mat of sweat and mud, ears blocked with too much blood. Reaching to pry her eyes open, she tugged at the thick, multiple layers of her own sodden black dress weighing up-turned upon her face. But the heavy cloth was an exhausting maze of effort that made no sense as she fought weakly to free her shackles. Suddenly her struggles were seized. A huge hand clamped about her neck and she was then borne of the air. Then she was one with the point blank force of an arched stone wall!

He was an enormous fat sloth of an imbecile. She looked dead eyed with this man of impudent breath and glistening, unshaven skin. His one hand holding her convulsing petite body in place, feet swinging wide as that second hand came up under her long ragged dress. Her face straining as her lungs begged for air, while her smooth nymphet labia was bluntly stabbed and then pinched apart. Paedoilia's eyes clenched with veins creasing her forehead. Calloused rough fingers poking ignorant yet madly at and into her tightness. Her own hands slapped aimlessly at an ugly unseen face. Her long stocks of rain-straight, black hair once again depriving her of even a silhouette view of that thing having his carnal intentions away with her recoiling body. Her throat crushed. The blackness getting darker. Then her frantic finger tips found the softness of an eye socket. The eye itself came out with the slightest of ease, but she clenched her fist and demolished the blood-shot orb with the greatest of disgust and a conviction raw with hatred!

The moronic scream that saturated Paedoilia's eardrum shook her not as hard as the fist that pounded her like a charging castrated bull. Dropped, she twisted an ankle on the grit coated gutter, to slip into the stinking bloated sewer water. A knee cap clipped her brow and she went head first back into the wall. Sliding down the tunnel's curvature and over the gutter again, she ended up with her face blessing the surface of the fast moving current. Disorientated, a heated surge of turmoil enveloped her skull as she then felt the brute collisions of that man's boot kicking the very noxious fluids out of her ribcage. He struck her with such impact that each battery seemed less and less destructive, as the shock made her more and more void of her senses. One arm reached up and a single hand held it's palm flat skyward in perhaps a symbolic gesture of surrender, but that man was not interested in childish offerings. He caught her wrist and broke that arm of hers with one wrench. His foot then broke seven more ribs and fractured her cheek, before completely dislocating her left shoulder.

Spitting, barking and demented he collapsed to his knees, cradling his exiled eyeball in that artery of the city's sewerage. Grunting and lashing out at the approach of the rats and already swarming flies measuring up the freshly dying fluids, he turned back to that slender child crawling away like a maimed pig in shit. Swallowing his phlegm, the giant man was instantly reminded of his motives by the sight of that defenceless and exquisite little heathen of a whore. Shivering as she vomited a cocktail of blood and bile, that fragile young girl somehow forced herself to crawl, crawl out from under the moaning self-pity of her paying customer, but he was impatient. Stuffing his soggy meat back into his face, he grabbed that child by her long sheets of hair, pulling her close to punch her square in the face and back into and under the channel of storm water and human waste. Lost in the smothering gutter's arms, she was suddenly yanked out and thrown across the wide passage, into the other arched wall. Kicked and slapped till her oval face was blood split and pulverised. She would have begged, but her lungs failed her at every beating. The rats were brazen little carnivores that slashed and gnawed at her fingers and ears where she landed, while that man got his rapist glow focused. Coughing as she was rolled face down, she heard her dress being shredded by clumsy determined hands. He soon took her legs and pulled them apart as she was crushed by a solidarity that made those ribs grind against their breaks with grotesque severity. Fingers sunk into her vagina again, scratching the soft interior and then a much thicker member with much greater length went to work within her. Paedoilia gagged and reached back with a limp arm of protest, but he just shoved himself harder inside her. She cried out as the fabric of her womb tore. He pounded harder still. She murmured something beneath her tears, but when he was all the way up inside her, she began dry wrenching with the sheer physical distress. She tired to reach back but he slammed his forehead into the back of her skull and fucked her deeper. A rhythmless rape without climax nor any real idea of how it was meant to solve all his problems, yet that snarling man continued pumping her with all his livid concentration. Beating her pelvis into the gutters edge with carnal anger and the stone's cold returns. She was choking, crying and clenching every muscle she could feel in her small tortured form, as that slobbering beggar smashed her innards to pulp!

Kneeling back and pulling the child with him as he gripped her hips like raw meat, he pulled her furiously back down onto his tender strained erection – when he suddenly froze. Squeezing her soft guts with strangling ferocity and just holding perfectly still. Paedoilia sneered as she felt his gush of sticky liquid spit up and against her torn cavity. He mumbled a meek noise as he dropped back away, sinking numbly into that rancid water. The girl fell flat onto her face on the black sludge of a ledge, next to the panting fat man bathing in that revolting river. Her legs still wide apart as that burning sensation slowly began trickling with blood and chaos out of her bruised meat and hole...

A moment of staggered breaths...

He rose out of the water like Death's horse, dragging Paedoilia back up onto her knees. Fingers spreading her arsehole. He then drove his vile strong cock right up her anus with less a sexual desire, but more the need to relieve another base-function.

She lashed her able arm back desperate to get him out of her – then she felt the stretching of her rectum being filled with the sting of hot acidic piss. While his dwindling erection remained hard, he enjoyed the idea of leaving more than just his seed inside this little Whore – cum in her cunt, piss in her shithole. She felt the rush of urine against the limited pressing space in her lower intestines exceed the confinements within seconds. Snorting, the overpowering man yanked on Paedoilia's hair as he continued pissing and shoving his violations deeper up her trembling body. Her anus was a watertight seal, especially with that bear sized sodomite's girth blocking her up, backing her up, pushing her face up into the coarse stone wall. She wept as her bowels frayed. The piss still pouring from one body into the other, a much smaller entity. Worse than the rape, the pressure shunted her own shit backwards. Her excrement mixing with the foul painful fluids of this bastard and bloating her gut to the point of straining her entire passage to rupture, lacerate and burn with the salted flush. Crying uncontrollably as that man began to excite at the fucking of her arsehole. Grunting and grinning. Sodomising this tiny thing with drunken gulps of laughter and idiocy, his stimulation coming back around again for another erection. Harder. Faster. Ripping her apart as his stabbing member brutally into her with a murderer's loathing. But to his own misfortune, what he had thought was a second wind, was in vein; his penis had only shrunk since this second penetration and now that he forced it, his cock lost its lodging. The path of least resistance suddenly presented it's way – with a revolting gasp, his manhood was suddenly ejaculated in a dysentery projection of blood laced waste all over his oxen belly!

So vile was the explosion that even the cannibalistic rats sought momentary retreat...

Paedoilia gnashed her teeth, trying to find the strength to crawl as she continued to bleed and empty out all that corruptive piss all over herself...

“Fucking runt!” The giant pig muttered, hunched in acute disbelief. Spitting, he waded around in the sewer waters to grab Paedoilia, backhand her, then throw her like dirt into the wall. He cleared his throat, spitting again, then slapped her face down into the cesspool of his own creating. Pushing her face right in and under the knee deep channel water with one monstrous hand, drowning her. Shoving her face into the very scum on the bottom of the sewer. Then he picked her out like a bone from an over boiled chicken, tossing her on the ledge. Spluttering and gagging she cried out as elephant prodding fingers spooned up her expelled wretched liquids and rub them into her eyes and ears. Coughing and begging for him to stop she rolled up like a ball as he took a step back. He sneered and spat on the flinching child. Digging one of his index fingers into the muck and faeces near her head, he grabbed the girl's buttocks, then rammed his soiled digit up her cervix to claw at her tender flesh with a cutting hatred as he hissed, “Like that, don't you, sow!”

He got up on the ledge. One more kick in her cunt, one more in the face, then he scooped a handful of piss into her gaping loose mouth. Holding it bitterly shut as she convulsed and with a wrench, took it down. Took it down. Take it down. Take it all in. all the way in...

As filthy inside as out.

hapter

here All Children Go.

wo sisters. So simple. Too simple to know their own simplicity.

Wet streets and black surfaces, dead ends and sickening street lights ever so copper against the amber purr of the charcoal rain.

Young Fedleet and Oarlorous, draped in long dress yet so thin and choker tight, quickly made their meek path through the night's emptiness. Ruined lines about their opium eyes and lips loose for sleep needed. Scuffed soles and crooked steps upon broken cobblestones, between cowering shutters and ill-gotten spires so high in their own search for a heaven that the winds had long since stolen.

A whore house, a tavern, a church, a dead dog in a collar bone cluttered gutter. The air was an infection of disrespect and guile. The cats in the attics prayed to Devil-Gods while the holiest of blades of grass had all forgotten the very meaning of resilience. Even the worms drowned as the waters putrefied this blistered earth from the inside out. If there were a child left upon a jagged doorstep, only the savage fingers of the city's rapists would have gnawed the infant with greater haste than the striking torrents of the over flooded drains. All was washed but nothing was clean down those windowless walls below that mattress of a heavy hovel someone once called a beautiful sky.

Crucifixes and chimneys, snakes and flies, pigs in shit, and thirsty drunken drunks. Through cramped streets and over the neglected dead, the two sisters went. A back alley between a fortified tower and a pitiless Usury bank lead the way. A great hunched stone statue of a charging elephant, drilled with flag posts of impaling torture, ran ahead upon an altar of solid marble and inscriptions unheeded and crusted in centuries of black decay. The sisters, all wrapped up in drenched cloth no thicker than their shivering skin, stepped up close to that forty foot doorway beneath iron arches of hideous creatures spitting rain wildly out their down cast snarls of disgust. Fedleet, the older of the two, struck with the weighted knocker once against the intrepid door. Once only, then quickly returned her grasp about her frozen throat, many paces back out in the downpour, void of any sense of shelter. And there they waited. The wind howled in this thin gap of a macabre space before this black back door lost within shadows, where obscure and obscene beasts best not searched out with the naked, frightened eye, hid. Best not thought of. Best not to dwell on what could only cause harm in any way considered. So the two sisters huddled, saturated and quite alone with themselves. Together, but daring not to even lean weakly toward one another for support, least comfort. The buzzards above knew what watched them with contempt and spite. Alone as they may be, alone as they may feel, alone as they might seem, the anxious stress in their bellies mocked them. Alone they dreaded they were not. And apart from one another they stood. Separate and snivelling. Oarlorous's eyes flickered between clenched shut and barely alive. As much as she wished, as much as she desperately desired for her throbbing consciousness and narcotic soaked hemispheres to remain numbed and doped up, the biting cold slapped her senses wide awake and painfully lucid. Thirteen years of age, yet she knew much of her place in this world, but still so much failed her null understanding. She knew how much she was worth to a paying customer, and how much she was paid for such occasions as this. But she couldn't comprehend how exactly the price was set, and especially how she never actually received a single red coin. She knew that women would go outside just as they always had, but then they would be found butchered and boned in some unnoticed corner of the streets. It was just how it went. Nothing to solve. It just always happened. But she could not understand how a messily scrawled symbol on a dirty page of scripture, equalled a tangible truth or spoken meaning. But she also knew that questionings never ultimately answered anything. A lack of faith only bestowed brutal reckoning from greater forces vastly more important than she could even scarcely fathom. Yet here she found herself again holding down her bitter frustrations at the way the world worked. Stand still. Wait in line. Hold your breath. Keep quiet. Shut your fucking mouth or suffer the consequences. Threats and punishments perhaps a little worse than this decomposing life itself. But no. there was no “perhaps”. She knew very well that fact to be truth. The consequences were always so much worse than she would ever fear to indulge. Fear to think. Yet here she squirmed again, for another spiralling torment was that ever recoiling whisper in her ear: that consequences were unavoidable. Sooner or later it would get worse. And she could not escape.

The door shuddered as the bolts were dragged aside and the hinges put on trail against their best resistance. The two sisters reluctantly moved inward through the murky mouth of this unholy monastery. An ancient vile worm of a Nun, stooped and hooded with blindfolds of pensive heavy gowns, greeted the two children without a word nor gesture. Just as mechanically as she had opened the door, with her entire body weight, she drove the wall sized plate shut again. Walking away, down those stone circular stairs, absent of all forms of illumination, the three females moved methodically down and around and slightly further to the left. A wide, imbalanced well, slowly twisting as they went. Finding her right finger tips reaching tentatively for the moss greased wall, Fedleet kept her tears as silent as her muted footsteps. She could hear the discoloured distant bells echo miles away and the drone of the rain hissing all about the wells' funnel like structure. A funnel that did not get thinner the deeper they went, but much greater in berth, and slowly more and more crude in form. The steps of stone became rough and unrefined. The walls became more like the guts of a cave, like the belly of some enormous cavity beneath the feet of the city. Barely nineteen years old yet this child could not recall how many times she had come this distraught way. The very thought of her familiarity with this pit gave her sobering resolve with a backbone of hatred, and her tears stopped. A wet wrist rubbed her eyes clear in this pitch black, only to find her anger to be replaced ever so viciously with a hollowing surge of claustrophobia. Soon it would begin, and then some time later she would be walking back up these haunted stairs. She looked forward to the climb with as much loathing and despair as she did the act that faced them both below. But the door was shut and their guide was right at their heels. There was no other fate than the misfortune of their present imprisonment. Temporary as it was, the possibility was as real as the sheer darkness that blinded her wide open eyes: that someday this would be her last appointment. That she would be left down here, locked up and lost. Simply put away in some horrid trap and maybe just unintentionally forgotten about. Never even to be noticed.

That last step was always a trickster, and the younger sister stumbled, taking a foot when she anticipated another drop. But the ground was as solid as the ankle deep waters were freezing. Catching her breath as she scorned the depth, Oarlorous barely heard her sister scream, when a hundred hands suddenly caught hold of her flesh and smothered her away. Her clothes ripped apart and dragged off her small body as she was torn aside madly and down an arterial passage. Fedleet had turned her face away in irresponsible panic as those unseen attacking hands and clawing teeth snatched her up in a frenzied rampage to engulf her entirely. Stripping her naked and throwing her into another pit of spit and starving suffocations. Taken whole and rendered to primitive sufferings within stabbing merciless moments that would last for days of mindless torture!

Only for a instant did that bark-faced, old Nun listen as the sister's shrieks burned, then fell broken in the stone monstrosities of this rootless cul-de-sac...

hapter

he Ecstasy Of A Sacrilegious Copulation.

he slept like every other night. Clenching eyes and mumbling words confused within a field of knotted surreal disorder. It was wrong. This was not right. It can’t be true. This surely had to be all wrong.

The bed chamber was as grand as it was oppressive. Huge lamppost looming drapes hung above the imperial spread of satin, silk, felt and lace so fine as to make the girl’s elegant folds of down soft, chestnut hair seem coarse and as unrefined as her heritage. Gold framed those scores of paintings of gaunt and furious faced priests that circled the thrown embellished bed. A diamond decadent chandelier hung like a whales ribcage over the whole room of polished pillars, intricately carved dressers and monumental scaled mirrors. Animal heads on elaborate trophy mounts with piercing horns crowned the upper reaches of the seventy foot high chamber walls. While bear and tiger skins coated the floorboards where hundreds of wax disfigured candle stands cluttered the corners and stood in clusters like hounds that gave way only to one single door, that clung like so many other shadows to the pillars. Counter to the locked from the outside, bolted door, was an iron barred, overbearing rosary window. But the dust mottled, faintly glimpsed stained glass had not seen the light of day since this child had graced this prison charge with her presence and the shutters had been nailed so permanently shut.

Outside the rain smashed it’s restless hostility at the windows patient incarcerations, while what crept along the marble sculptured ceiling was far less tolerant.

Themmeelye was seventeen, yet her chastised mentality was somewhere down among the prepubescent. The royal embroidered blankets themselves were thin and light, but the lion’s hide on top of them all was enough to hold her frailty securely in place without the need for the leather straps and marine duty chains that shackled her wrists wide apart to that grotesquely mantled headboard. But chained she was, and there she did stay. There she did sleep where she was forced to lay. Chained for her own protection. Chained for her surrogate parents peace of mind. Not to move until the head servant of the house did rise with the keys and the morning. Once and only once had Themmeelye pissed the bed, unable to hold on until the respectable hour. The beating she received from her father left her with a twisted limp and unable to this day to open her jaw more than a few degrees. But she learned her lesson.

Her wrists were dry and cracked against the cuffs as she tried to ignore the cramp and stared into the darkness above before realising she was alone, then closed her eyes.

But that thing crawling upside-down along the shadowed edge of the chamber was quivering with the very smell of that child’s exposed face. Coiling about the cloth and curtains it lurched silently through the undergrowth of the material and slithered further down the blurred, muffled shades of black. Down, down, down the secrets of the walls to stretch across mute candles, slid across an empty space to reach with oily fingers up and under the sheets. With vile hands that thing took a firm hold of the comfort-less mattress. The girl lay devout to her mindless unconsciousness, defenceless and oblivious to that creature dipping into her humid shroud. Uneven teeth shredding the silk sheets and black talons prying open layer upon layer until it’s palms came to stroke over the child’s nightgown of the smoothest emerald.

Eye’s turning under their lids. Skin retracting and tiny hairs rising as her primal body became abruptly aware of a foreign presence. Themmeelye’s breathing snapped to a shallow gulp as she rolled her pupils wide and quickly surveyed the omnipotent black with dread in her throat.

Nothing was there. Nothing was seen. But it was not out there to be seen, it was in here and on her flesh to be felt. Under her sheets and in her very bed. She instinctively reached with restrained hands that immediately jolted back with the unyielding grip of cast iron. Frantic she craned her head up to see the lion's fur move then peck as something slowly dragged itself over her legs. Something cold and wet. Lips parted but her jaw still would not allow her to scream as she kicked out dismal confusion. That entity, finding its freedom was lost, gave retort with clawed clammy hands slamming that child’s thrashing thighs hard down against the spring-less mattress. Themmeelye cried out in desperation this time as the sheets were suddenly wrenched manically upward in an explosion of pure impatience. A livid tornado with blistered fists below the blankets stomped and pounded into the child like a drum. She coughed and struggled despite the bindings as that thing slashed and struck out blindly like a savage animal caged and and demented. The sheets tangled up in it’s venomous outburst. Thrashing to free it’s hatred as the girl was trampled below a craze of raw impudence!

But then it all stopped.

The upturned covers collapsed and billowed flat in a dead empty mess.

The distraught child yanked and pulled her head about, trying to see something, identify the intruder in this utter darkness. But everything was silhouettes of malice uncertainty.

Then movement. The bedspreads shifted. Moved of their own accord. The girl tensed and pushed to sit up, back against the fat pile of lush pillows - just as the entire lion skin and chaos of sheets were all sucked down, off the end of the bed and completely swallowed by the thirst of the abyss!

Legs bundled up about her chest, Themmeelye stared without a blink at the edge at the end of the mattress. Staring without a breath. Staring as sweat creased her strung out armpits. Staring. Trapped. Staring as that black glistening inhuman hand rose up to strike down and clench knuckle tight onto the bottom of the bed. Her scream was full of justification as she watched that thing heave its malformed torso up toward her. A black soaking creature of hunched intestine like spine and legless tail. Thin arms with long needled fingers coming slowly for its prey. A faceless like man, more of stinking teeth and mangled features. Tiny black eyes as impure as they were focused singularly upon it’s most coveted.

Shrieking and fighting terrified to crawl up the wall away from that approaching Devil, the girl almost passed out as it laid it’s infernal hand on her ankle, on her skin again. To then viciously snatch and stretch her instantly back flat on the bed with a nefarious strength the young cannot not begin to comprehend. The beast, with wet jaws, then came over the child in a hissing voice so close to her face that she could feel it’s very breath on the transfixed orbs of her eyes – when the deadbolt locked double doors burst wide open with all the furious anger of her giant foster father. Booming with demands and no care for reason he ripped the heavy drapes aside to throw his backhand so hard across his daughter’s face that the one blow was enough to knock her chaotic horror into total submission. Gagging on her breath she lay still. The huge man in beard and long night robe, snarled damningly at his disrespecting wench and scanned the overturned bed and disarray. Boiling with even greater wrath, he swiped up a candle stand from a set of drawers and was about to club his child bloody, when the sight of her ripe body below the transparent night gown suddenly got the better of his loins.

Holding his rage back, he tossed the blunt weapon aside and knelt next to his child. But the weight of his size bent the mattress and something else caught his eye. The sheets and bed below itself was split. Sliced open. The violence in his gut returned to his limbs and he slapped Themmeelye again. Grabbing her emerald nightie and tearing it up and over her pummelled face, he pulled out his own burning hard flesh. Turning his head he smacked apart her thighs madly as if she were again dishonouring his authority by not anticipating and obliging his intentions. Crawling like a naked boulder over the small girl, he tugged at her night gown with greed and uncovered the rest of her shivering body while hiding her worthless face away. Taking a bite out of her smooth round breasts he took his swollen cock and stabbed it cruelly into her cringing, long since corrupted cunt. His body was broad and like a hundred fat pigs punching her existence into the groaning rusted springs. And so he fucked his daughter like he did most every night, relentless and like a bull would do a dear. But her father was not alone with her this evening. No, that Devil had needs like that of men. That creature had shunned away from the man and hid inside a cave it had dug within the bed’s foundations, but now desired to partake in the violations of the child. Themmeelye lay passive as her father drove his lust painfully into her, but it was no different to a thousand other times. Until that Devil came out to play. Came out to penetrate. It leached it’s centipede hind end to surface the mattress and seek out the focal point of the child's arsehole. Themmeelye twisted but her father was all the world on top of her weakness. She cried nearly every rape, but this time her virginless rectum too was torn into with a repentless object of complete selfishness. Papa dearest fucked her womb in a frenzy while a monster sodomised her deep with the gravity of the rest of this world of callous violence!

“Please – stop it!” She begged between the concussions. “Please – get it out – get it out of me!”

Themmeelye’s foster father merely took her words as encouragement, fucking her harder. Madder. As too did that vulgar thing explore the valleys of her bowels. Splitting her anus so wide that her blood poured free and plentifully into those sheets that she swore she would never stain again. Both horrors plunging into her like she was nothing but a roast lamb, there to be devoured like dead meat.

Her daddy fornicated with her good and destructively, grunting as he came hard and long up her ruptured uterus. Pumping his member like a fist into her small body and sneering in menacing satisfaction as the last of his seed swam shamelessly over her torn interior. He swallowed distracted, then withdrew and slumped on the bed coughing. Head hung low he didn’t even notice that his child was still caught in the motions of another’s rape. He sat still, picking up his robe to stand and slowly dress himself. Themmeelye’s legs still wide apart as that creature's presence below continued fucking her agonies. Shaking off the exhaustion, to catch his breath before mumbling sweet nothings, her father stumbled slowly out of the bed chamber. But not forgetting to slam and clamp the locks shut before retiring. His thoughts a haze and a longing for his own den free from his hideous wife.

But that sodomising parasite in the depth of the bed was only just beginning. It’s fat tongue of a sexual extremity made itself still further up inside Themmeelye’s thin form. The deeper it went, the greater it ripped the girl’s orifice. Her lungs were castrated and drained. Her body flinched in spasms with every abrasive advance inward. Inward. Inside. Only inward. Going inside. Never retreating an inch. This was not human sex. This was progressive. Inwards. Fucking into her. Further and further. That giant slug of an abomination stretching and clawing her bowels to buckle and accommodate it’s immoral hunger. The more it went inside, the more it rose back out of the hole in the bed. Arising slowly. Sinking into her slow yet brutally. Themmeelye’s face was still covered by her upturned gown, until bony talons plucked the cloth gently back to shred it like wet tissue so that thing could whisper and look down into the bloodshot eyes of its possessed. But then that Devil found it could dig no deeper into the child's large intestine despite its most angered attempts to plough just a little deeper. Hands clutching her hips as it hammered its spine like tail end between her open legs, into her arsehole. She lay like a dead foal. The creature spat and grabbed her shoulders for better leverage to squirm and force its rape further into that narrow passage that would give no more. Just an fraction more. Just a bit more. Foaming at the teeth bitterly is lashed out try to get even deeper inside her demoralised human flesh. But her slender frame and tight moist pathway would part no more. So that disgusted thing reached it’s whipping fingers down to pull her legs open even more and pry at her rectum while belting and pounding it’s tail cock dementedly into her arse. It even withdrew an inch or two just to get greater momentum working.

Tears ran cold down her strained cheeks as her cavity was forced so far open that a man’s clenched fist could have easily passed in and out of her anus. But that black sweating creature could incite its path physically no further. Gnashing it’s ugly teeth and snapping antipathy just above Themmeelye’s delirious eyes. Then it’s large, long fingered black hands took brace of her hips. It arched it’s spine pointed back then let out a carnivorous scream like a thousand burning rats. The Devil then took something like a deep breath and screwed it’s entire insectile half murderously up into her arsehole. The child’s very loins spilt apart beyond torture when dozens upon dozens of barbed tendrils shot out from that Devil’s self destructive tail in all directions and throughout all of her guts. Bursting out her belly like flying black nails. Countless needles rushed to explode out of her body. Riddling her organs as she convulsed in hellish sodomy. Those long black thorns racing up to fill her stomach. Up her throat and right out her mouth in a vomiting hail of mutilation. But then the expanding, shredding spikes recoiled and to hook back, butcher her entire delicate face to splinter tooth and skull. One more pitiless thrust and those sharp spines sunk through her gauged eye sockets to break into her head and make violent liquid of the piss tasting soft grey mass within!

That black Devil bent over the slaughtered carcass of that twitching girl to sniff then lick the faceless bone of her cheek. It sneered then pumped it’s erections again and all those churning mincing talons reached twice as long to stab and cut right into itself, through the child's death. It howled in misery and contempt at this sexual desecration sanctioned by a sadist suicidal God. A lust to be self-penetrated right through another. A heightened stimulation of mangled suffering and arousal that sent the Devil into a frenzy. The tendrils and needles rendering the girl’s meat to threads and in turn concaved the creatures ribcage and slit its own throat. It’s own hostile nature was wasp enraged as it tried to pull out. But it was trapped to its own selfish delights and ruinations. Teeth turning to the very pulp it stripped from the child's breasts. Unable to break its own convulsions as in one great twist, the two bodies were so absolutely obliterated in a chaotic uproar of a lacerating ejaculation most repugnant as to reduce both to one great abhorrent disfigurement!

To eat and be eaten, to be one with the digestion. To eat oneself alive.

hapter

vercompensating Focal Points.

he cow lay in a vast state of death. Maggots bathed in the soiled flesh and were purified of their degenerate nature by the torrents of thunder.

The horse was strewn apart in a dozen decent lengths across a marred and rust occupied chopping block of such dead weight as to side with the fallen tree and the gluttonous zodiac.

The farmer's dog rolled on his laterals as the rat poison took its hatching plot about his respiratory system with foaming potency that finally burst his diaphragm with the gruesome force of the abattoir.

Upon hands and knees that child, Bardearias did crawl while speaking to herself in undecipherable whimpers of the snakes that followed. The carcass of the goat-shaped Church steeple behind, held its stare from the front line of burnt dead trees and overlooked this minor yet intolerable indiscretion. Watching her hatefully. A banished moon mocked the clouds and civility of the patient beggar that swept it away beyond those putrid storm fingers. A black collar about a black choker dragged a leather lead behind that crippled girl as her near nude existence snivelled and tried weakly to slip away from Doctor Long-Sleep's coats of easy disgrace and sunder from this place. So on the little Bardearias pushed beneath the rains and riots of winds. Dredging across that field of mud and sodden ash, while wild animals within the lengths of the surrounding silhouettes to the east and west came for the smell of her spit. But her mouth stung mostly of the broken pallet of her youth than the buggering and beating she had just barely fled from.

That building was a stone slab in the middle of a limp incline before a fog trapped lake that related more to a swamp for a starving sister than any other more splendid body of rancid water. Thick iron bars instead were over taut shutters that smothered filthy glass. Windows, caged and blinded, scowled eight flights of stairs above the tortured forest and any decrepit barn, rotten from the century long winds that howled with no head nor tail. Steep tiles with narrow attic sills and bunched up chimney turrets seemed to blot out into the black above that bleed with the rain into the land in the middle, to soak through to the next world waiting with the worms. No indication. No light. No reason at all to believe that life still or had ever resided behind those blockade walls. No beckoning gave itself freely to that child forging her plea closer. In all that derelict manor was a blank form of inconspicuous neglect. How the child came to find it was pure chance. Yet it drew the child like a moth with deceptive enthusiasm. When all the elements aim to bruise the skin, even a skeleton promise appears more pith that piss.

Screams. Crazed voices too deranged to come from any human tongue came crashing. Came wild boars. Charging they came. Tearing up the undergrowth and smashing their attack right through trunk and trees!

The girl spun on her wrists, eyes on fire with dread. To her knees to volt, scrambling, clawing away, fighting gravity to get to her bloody feet!

Those killer snouts led their savage snorts through the pouring deceit of the eve. Hoofs shredding the muck that this land called a prideless state of macabre affairs. Desperate, the girl was a damned distance from the breast of the building, despite this new fear abruptly inflaming her blood pressure to propel her legs with unsettled determination. But the powerhouse mentality of the Godfather pigs was the rapid onslaught of a slit throat's horror. Cutting their route through loose mud those beasts of gang rape numbers exploded into that clearing free from the forest to spot their stinking target before a silent block of stone in the darkness. Furious hoofs raced with all the will of canon balls toward their fleeting mark. The child tripped on paving lost below the ankle deep flood of drowned soil and went face first into the weed strangled front steps. Slipping and scratching at the stone to resist the discouraging efforts of the rain, she yanked her frail form up past the washed away pool of her own facial blood to spare a maniacs glance back at the demons that came calling. Forty, maybe sixty grotesquely veracious animals came sweeping like a disease for her veins. Her self-preserving finger tips reaching of their own accord for a door handle that even her bewildered eyes could not find in the filtered shit of the gutless light. Nothing. No nob. No handle. No keyhole. And as Bardearias searched rodent-like, she found not even a rusted hinge held this door of stone and mortar to the shelter deprived structure. There was no way in. This door was a wall unto itself!

And then they came!

“God help me!” Bardearias shrieked as the first seven boars crashed into her with the brute inertia of their body weight breaking both of her legs and puncturing her lungs with her utterly collapsed ribcage. No fight could hold this off. Be it a divine emblem or an Emperor's dam. You cannot stop what you cannot believe. Stomping hoofs took apart her left ear and the most part of the bottom half of her torso. Lacerating tusks took out her entrails. While still dozens more pigs came with teeth. Dismembered, skin stripped from bone. Flesh painted the cracked and forgotten front steps, between two larger than life statues of lions roaring at the deluge that never stopped. The stampeding mass of boars continued colliding into the head down gathering taking their toll on the human remains. But it was already over. Other pigs thrashed out in frustration, spitting and striking those that came later still. Too late for the feast. To late. Nothing left. So in amongst themselves they took out their nature's hatred. For there was just not enough catharsis to quench these primitive beasts of their base needs screaming for more. More. More of what there simply wasn't.

Nails. A nail had caught, skinned and now hung a strip of that devoured child's elbow coated with a clump of pig hair. Nails. Hundreds of nails. Nails of all forms were protruding from that stone blocked doorway. Many longer bolts past right though to nail home into the buried door behind. A door locked and hidden. A door stained and tainted with worse mutilations than this brief moment here upon the front steps. But it was over now. And the estates providence survived intact regardless of the boars perpetual inbred infighting. Soon the nightly vomit of the sky pissed away all those loose fragments of disgusting consumption from the frock of formality with the efficiency of a well shed serpent's spine.

And the door remained shut.

While the dead dog lay petrified in visions of the true emptiness of the dead side.

The butchered horse swung in silent invitation for its ignorant brothers lost to their own feverish biology.

The slain cow stared soullessly with catatonic infant eyes. Eyes swollen and bulging, it's womb of maggot born flies hungry to escape. Splitting the pupil only to be cut down by the hailing rain before their wings had a chance to stretch. Born from death only to die. And no thanks given for this unwanted moment of life between a pox of a heaven and a drowning of an end. Oh, how often it is that it ends just before it even ever begins...

hapter

he Self-Evident.

nother deep seeded corner of this burnt forest full of disease and frost rotten roots. An arthritis hitched creek slid in shallow twists through that mist clogged land of scorched trees and tangled soil. The drizzle that burdened endless Arctic pull of the air was, regardless of appearances, more densely inflicted over all things exposed and hidden within the lowest shovel blows than could be discerned through the meekness of this meantime. Soaking through and through. And yes, some of those children that the mud loved to lick, came floating unearthed and not entirely in singular pieces for their maybe already dead kindred to collect. Unmarked pits and long-forgotten holes filled in, were now uneven excavations in the belly of a futile waste land. Flesh lay chewed and pock-marked such as the dirt barely covering the bodies of those suffocated corpses. A man-child left in an over crammed crib with too many worm-hungry brothers and sisters. All that stood here by any human hand's construction, was a nest like cage that hung from a noose amid a foul and tormented tree's teeth. Black blistered metal framework was interlaced with the solidified fat from the cluster of punished, no longer swung in the lack of a breeze. Such an oversized bird prison was still a cripplingly tight pendulum for the wretched trapped upside down to their decomposition. But then again, the absence of space surely was not too conforming, considering the handful of guilty dead fools within had had their unneeded limbs all severed prior to their everlasting encapsulation of shame. Vines, weeds and serpents had long since come to welcome this mess, leaving their clinging gaze throughout the bones of the cage and eventually venturing between the rib cages of the begotten bodies of shrivelled integrity with creeping lust. But since the Fires, nothing least the wind had moved this hovel an inch in any which way but closer to the end of all time.

To follow that stream further down the gentle swell of the countryside, there was found a slender stone drop in the world. Not so much as to be dubbed a valley, but for the skeleton of that dead mule, left shattered at the bowels of the fissure, it was sufficiently lethal for the unaware trespasser. Branches like interlocked fingers consumed the most part of the air between the two jagged cliffs but near the perverted brook no plant nor moss had ever grown. Boulders and skull piled broken slabs of stone were uniformed and mounted deliberately about the palm of these perpendicular walls. Angry rocks cast down this pit ages ago by incensed hordes as if to bury some ill-gotten miscreant and all his works. But here some one did dwell. Far from alone. Far from what a rodent would hate so passionately to call home. The company of strangers was never so welcome as it was here. But the presence of any lost explorer, be they man or four legged feral, was lapped up with conspiring clutches and ludicrous intentions. Next to the slurping puddles of the crawling creak, the imbalanced throes of the dismal shade did breathe. An opening of an arched passage cut right out the chest of the cliff tunnelled an inner ear, with mole confusions, away from the waters and dripped under the land and off below tectonic skins. The lungs of those within echoed in overflowing moments as the path lead in with womb like confinement. Down and then into a cervix cavern short lived in volume but deep seated with a petroleum spring. A lake of a natural moat, cutting this forebode away from that hollow where in the enticing distance a whimpering flame trickled limply. A weak golden haze from a looming toothy gap in the subterranean glassier of pure conflicted granite.

With a rolled up sleeve and a moment to aim his eye, that man took a dedicated stroke with the scalpel. The body below kicked out once again, but the restraints were holding the subject sufficiently even after all these hours. The chamber was as great as the deeds done were awful. Aspiring heights and curved sweating sides were as if the granite was one enormous catatonic throat of some buried alive Goddess. The subject, Castinequar was a young woman, twenty two years of age, malnourished from a mere life on the streets yet with her hair scented of better things gifted in a recent time of deception. Deception that led her here to a captivation that would ultimately cost her much more than her inflamed personal hygiene. She was without dress yet not entirely naked, for the metal housing that gripped her with blood spilling certainty was so viciously clamped about Castinequar's person that they were more unified than the bonnet and the ungrateful brat. Incisions and lacerations. The skin and the tissue. The very matter that made that poor soul's vessel was slit and split and spread wide apart as the hooks and the needles purpose could send her stretching. A man going about his work, the subject going through the motions of mutilation beyond her contorted control. In the condemned control of that man. Both Castinequar's legs had been sawn clean off some hours earlier, where a swarm of feasting black leeches upon the stumps of her thighs, took no pride in their existence, no more aware of their vile nature than the entrails can gather the concept of the poison they carry. This weeping cavern in an ulcer of the earth, was not a place for questioning. Inquisitions were of the past tense. Third person's might reassemble these happenings some theoretical day, but right here and now, trapped in this abandoned instance, there was only the procedures. Medical. Mechanical. Methodical and cumbersome. And of course, with absolute pious sanctioning. The steel sliced open the delicate flesh about the girl's ribs below her arm pits. Peeling the skin back with forceps, the elderly man in the heavily stained apron and gowns of beautiful black subtly, briefly examined the bone structure before glancing across the rest of his work. The contraption that restrained the subject was like a giant dead iron spider laying on it's back. It's concave clutches pointed skyward at clouds of solid stone; and sinking it's death grip into the subject's torso. Castinequar's shuddering femininity was suspended face down, spread-eagle over the mouth of this torture device, her head locked looking off in some neck breaking crook. A suffocating, sweat gravelled, small black sack burying her mortified yet desperately conscious grimace. Arms strangely untouched but her hands were nothing more than black gums of shredded, burnt sinew and cartilage. Her hands had been roasted in vats of boiling lard till the bones had become as soft as honey cone and the blood as sticky as old dried amber. The subject's belly, half spilling her insides out all over this rancid machine and floor, no longer bled, but called like a mother to her avid flies.

The man of an investigatory Doctor looked closely at the last operation, then at the loose fabric of human substances in his callous fingertips. The entire ribcage, from sternum to spine was now as clearly bone defined as the flush blood would allow the educated eye to appreciate. Looking close. And closer still, the man found not what he was looking so intensely for. With a working man's mentality, paused no longer to ponder the situation. There was much more that pages stated was to be conducted before this subject could be released. So with a calm, habitual eye, he snatched up a small multi-layered tray from a vast tool cluttered bench that circled the whole work area. Grabbing a selection of graceless instruments and sharp objects built for simple ends, ends that this man sought to expel. First to his attention was a set of stout self-embedding screws, each with tiny rings at the heads. Gripped in the vice of his blunt-nosed pliers, one by one he drove and sunk some forty or so screws into rib and vertebra in various deliberate locations pre-determined by creeds he had no say in orientating. He had done this many times before and had little need to refer to guidelines to check his process. The girl leaped and howled with every mark made, but not for a breath nor second guess did that man stop his occupations. His work was needed to be done. There was no time for the selfish sloth. There were skinny wires to collect, attach and counter weigh. Next was the drill. The subject's head was suddenly freed from the choking confines of the small sack only to feel the dull tip of metal prod against her temple. Then with twisting, grinding, hand cycled force, that drill began to dig straight into the side of her forehead. Through her brow and into the smooth casing of her cranium. Screaming behind her muzzle of a butchered tongue and hacked out teeth, cruelly Castinequar was finally blinded by gravity's path of her own blackened fluids. Blood curtaining what was left of her hideously ruined face. The drill piece like a rattling Devil, roared down her splitting ear drums till it broke slowly through the bone with a staggered jerk. Back peddling, withdrawing, then taking a few steps of inches east before welling inwards once again. Then again after breaking the surface of the head's shell, again east, manually mining the mind. The wheel boring into the pliable core of this fruit of human decrepitude. Unbolting the neck and jaw brace, Castinequar's head was then left to slump and swing like a macerated fly in a web. Nearly a dozen punctures, maybe more haloed this voiceless creature now. The meticulous man was not interested in counting, details of such irrelevance were not to be noted. Turning back to one or another bench within his paramount reach he opened a ice frosted, engraved golden box and swept up a herd of black dirty wires that might have been needles or even slender nails – if they had a head or a tail, but these black cords were of a matching lack of top and tailor. With a straight hand, that man cast all twenty some wires into a flat bed, glass basin half full of impure, milky fuming bleach. Turning back to the motionless subject he searched with strangely tender fingers to locate the first drill hole in her head. Finding it like a lover, he reached without a glance, plucked a single black straw and with precise measure, slid that tool right into the brain cradle of the nag.

Chains went taut. The body became a martyred tempest. And those enormous brass bells that lurked among the stench of the abyss above, boomed with all the justifications this torture need to begin with. The Doctor looked closely at the the inserted needle to see the thin black cord twist and writhe, melting from its frozen state to be reborn in this operation.

He grabbed more cords and continued. More holes to plug. Plunging those black strips into the warm doe of the girl's crown. Deep and with cause. The subject lashing out with wicked dementia that gave even that man fresh conviction for his duties. And the screws in her ribs tearing at those strumming chains that ascended the cavern to it's bells and their tolls that spoke of guilt and blame and what becomes of all the rotting damned.

And as he stabbed the last wire into the subject's head, he saw the others slowly crawl inside. These cords awoken from their hibernation. A resurrection of grotesque carnivorous worms. Eating and sinking into the girl's guilty suffering.

For it is said that the innocent would not retreat and refuse so savage and bestially to the implements and inflictions of the righteous. Sometimes you have to cut the tumours out of the gut. Sometimes the expulsion of the demon leaves nothing but the lobotomised. But the ends are self-reinforcing. Blessed are the punished.

hapter

gnorance Cannot Repent The Fool.

mpty winds upon pelted rooftops. The attic was tall and echoing. The lonely little girl, Ashtelah, looked numbly at the near drained bottle of rancid liquor to her left. The blunt remains of the stick of charcoal in her tender fingers had streaked her face and left blackened dust all over her pale night gown. The rain rattled the thin shutters as a creeping draft tickled the toes of the drapes, and licked at the sheets drawn over the forgotten furniture and chests of nothing treasures that cluttered this unholy attic. A single mottled lantern sat further to the left of her crossed legs. Eyes dry and tired from crying for far too long. Her crystal glass, stained with the last laments of her poisonous thirst, was kept close to her throat, as meekly as her limp hand could stop from trembling. She inhaled a shudder of depression so it would pass and it calmed her smallness. All was still. Listless. An absence of meaning. She glanced with unfocused pupils across the warped floor boards. Over the drawings and inscriptions scribbled with a child's lack of proportion for the finer details of dimension, but accurate enough with its crude symbolisms to clearly express it's great purpose.

A loose hand with frail arm reached for the black bottle, but just gave up against the sheer weight of movement. The nine year old slumped forward, running her dirty hand down her thigh, ruining her delicate nightie. Forward still to crawl onto all fours and slowly drag her indifferent yet painful isolation away from her perch of neglect. Head down, hair dragging between her knees, Ashtelah crawled toward the far end of that steep A-framed grotto. The farther she went, the sharper the angle of her shadow did blot out all the distance. She wasn't even watching where she went. Head hanging lower, her long black locks sweeping up thicker, older dust as her drunken limbs buckled and inched along.

But then palms splatted down on damp shallow puddles. Pushing down against the lapping waters to stop herself, she heard a loud, violent CRACK! The wood below fell away. Ashtelah's eyes bulged in shock. The floorboards didn't fall through to the floor below, but sunk into a darkness like a black swamp. Her momentary reaction was quickly abducted by gravity and her spinning imbalance. Arms plunged straight into the sludge that no longer seemed to resemble timber of any kind that she knew of. Her cheek slapped face-first against the oily surface of the soup like pool. Arms swimming as her tiny body twisted about bending the existing floorboards downward, sliding her slowly deeper. Hands clutching at nothing within the bog and she she kept going down. Crying out in her own demise, she inhaled and swallowed a revolting gallon of that porridge thick blackness. Choking. Spitting. Gagging, blinded only to go head under this time. Legs lashing out in terror as she was caught in a sudden suction from the undertow of this bottomless puddle. Toes twisting and knees scraped raw as that tidal pull ate her down without a pause. Taking her in a slow drawn embrace of utter asphyxiation.

Sinking. Drowning. Swallowing, and being crushed alive by a pressure worse than any human begotten womb. Upside down, arms pressed to her person as if she was having the very bones squeezed out of her body. But then another force. Fingers. Finger upon her face. Fingers against her clenched lips. Clawing at her soft features. Prying at her mouth. Digging in and ripping her lips brutally apart, taking half her face off with them. That mud like a conscious disease plunged into her throat and rushed her stomach and lungs. Ashtelah was so instantly saturated that her belly and ribcage burst like a rotten plum, swollen and spoilt.

Then the density of the crushing pressures increased tenfold. Her jaw dislocated. Her legs snapped. Her spine buckled and finally her entire torso compacted inward like an egg trapped within the gut of a gluttonous snake.

Ashtelah dropped and fell thirty feet from the attic's crest. Fell from shadows to punch head first upon the old dust blanketed floorboards with a thunderous strike and echo to linger longer. Her neck broke like a plate, but her mangled, muck sodden carcass was well beyond resurrection. Blood seeping plushly out from her rag deformity like that black puddle did creep across the attic to the child's inscriptions and charcoal sketches. Soaking into the paper and melting away into the wood, leaving nothing but stains in the shadows.

The storm kindled whispery tendrils to provoke the tiny flame in that solitary lantern. A flicker that caught the bewilderment of that agony bound, not quite dead child. Her split left eyeball blinked in convulsions as she moaned pathetic and completely incoherent, at hearing her own mother's impatient tone calling her name from some much warmer constitution just below those dripping floorboards.

hapter

umbersome Is Consciousness.

he woke up to claw and spit in a psychotic fit. Trapped within that cage of stabbing barbs and confined merciless quarters. The water went all the way up to her lips but downed farther that that chain holding her would reach. A black well of human sewerages and rotten animal flesh. Then something struck the coffin-tight cage with an awful blight that chopped the waters wide and wild and right over the young woman, Dittekar's crown. Choking on a mouthful of that filth, she twisted as something else below the surface caught hold of her left shin. A hand. A murderous hand. Dittekar gagged and clawed at the floating cage bars as she was tugged from the darkness. Then another grabbed at her belly. The cage shook and ripped up the repugnant well waters. More hands. Tearing inbetween the bars and yanking at her limbs. Screaming horrified Dittekar fought her own confusion and dread just to head her head up. Dozens of feverish things below and desperate to drag her out. Out of her intimate prison. The chains suspending the cage within the well strained as the the whole iron framework smashed manically against the moss thick walls of stone. Floating waste and fleshy debris clogged up the close nit bars as the girl was slammed brutally into the smothering shroud's violent embrace. Her forehead split and blood mixed freely with her frantic terror. Then with a concerted effort, the chain's lynch pin broke and the girl and entire crows cage was sucked down with a hundred swarming Devils bashing and belting the bars into a tormented plunge into the utter black below.

With a tooth-shattering whiplash, the chains drew taut and snapped steady. Choking fingers slipped from their prey as did the last ounce of air from the girls lungs. A moment of stunned abstract clarity. When a mighty jaw clamped down about the ribbed vessel. Everything was buckling. The integrity of the cage bent and sunk in as the pressure bore in with the hunger of a whale's bile. Her throat burning for air when the chains went taut again. Wrenched away. Resisting and wrestling. Lungs drowning, teeth snarling for the heavenly height for merely one more breath and just a little less grace than a impoverished saint would be satisfied with. But no such bliss did welcome her lips as there begged for absolutely anything. Acidic fluid stormed her throat as cramping shoulders thrashed. No escape. Only convulsions. The agonising throes of suffocation and swelling organs. Eyes bulged and fingers clenched but nothing did ease the destruction of a lifetimes understanding of reparation. Vomit would have seemed salvation but all there was was the corruption of the blood system. Drowning hard in everything her mind and body fought against.

She woke to her teeth being crushed. A vice-like length of wire was being strung about her head, compacting her mouth shut and splintering her molars. The wire slicing into her skull and grinding against her jaw as her teeth dug into gums when finally the cord was twisted and forced viciously into a locked knot. Blood and foul water gashing from her sneering mouth and out her broken nose as she was finally released to slump forward. She never saw her torturer that just seemed to withdraw up into the shadows. Gasping, shuddering, sitting naked on her knees, arms limp at her sides. Dittekar was surrounded by a great puddle of that stinking sewer sludge that had drained out of her lacerated orifices. Defrocked and ashamed she moved as if to examine her facial punishment, but her arms would not work. Blinking her bloodshot irises clear, she awkwardly twisted her head free of her soaking hair to find why her ill-minded arms denied her so. For near her arm pits, more sharp cutting wires were bound so tight as to lick the bone and render her extremities totally numb to the misery her skull endured.

A sound. Scraping. She coiled back and squinted into the dank stone corner of the two stone walls before her. Scraping. Echoes off the walls mocking her from behind. Trying to ignore the fracturing muzzle, she found similar tourniquets draining the circulation from her muddy thighs. Something dripped from above. But she could not turn to see. Even if she could, it was far too dark to distinguish anything from the faint glimmer of some spire miles above. Scraping. Uncertain and stumbling. Close and getting closer. Mumbling within her crippled tongue and against her own merciless exhaustions, Dittekar lowered her head and closed her eyes. Wishing, praying, pleading to give her own soul away just to get away from right here. Wet, bare patting upon that puddle coming around from behind. Tiny cold fingers then laid upon her left thigh. Cold little fingers. Cringing and crying, she flinched, pulling back as she slowly craned her scarlet eyes around to look upon a child. A baby. Just an infant. Barely a new born baby, naked and lathered in some piss odious jelly like membrane. The little babe with eyes still shut, reached directly for Dittekar's retracting face. Crawling up onto her thigh to get a better reach, the baby touched that hideous mess of blood rusted wire in a pitiless shape about Dittekar's face. Moaning hurt, the baby dropped to it's backside and sat like some drunken fool next to an empty vat of tasteless grog. The girl hunched over, fatigued and bruised all. But then that baby reached out again. Minute finger tips, soft and delicate like leaves on a dead tree as they came slowly in contact with that girl's belly. Stubby little digits caressing her smooth skin. Running it's small palm slowly higher to then push ever so easily right through her flesh and take a grasp of the first rib within reach.

Her scream was none the less piercing regardless of the muzzle's grip. The infant was indifferent to the tone of the woman as it silently plucked that rib right out of her body as if picking up a curiously appearing pebble from a meaty shore. After a short fondle in hungry hands and a toothless mouth, the child dropped that bloody bone and reached back inside the girl's skin. It moved its hands like white hot pokers slipping through damp silk. Another rib snatched. Dittekar's torso tore away and she toppled over. Arms and legs useless as she smashed her face hard against the stone. Teeth knocked crooked beneath their haggard sockets. The baby sat there for a little while, playing with the new bone-toy. The girl coughing and tense in her stolen pain. Then the child tilted it's pumpkin oval head as if it were inspecting a new plate of carnal curiosities. Dittekar squirmed on her side, and although she couldn't feel her leg, she felt the weight being pushed aside. She was dragged then rolled flat on her back by that inhuman force from something so small. Then her legs were split apart and Dittekar looked weakly down to see some of that pale substance drip from the baby's cheeks onto her stomach. Arching her miserable neck, she screamed as those baby fingers pried open her labia like stinking dead tissue. Those little fat arms sinking into her cunt with demonic strength and breaking her like so much mud. It's bulging skull forced against her bleeding vagina as Dittekar writhed shrieking and lashing numb limbs horrifically as that infant crawled and clawed it's mindless way inside her rupturing cervix. Busting her womb apart with the gentlest destruction. Her belly rose as she was filled up while furious little arms ripped her guts to shreds to make room. Slug like baby legs kicking out as they struggled to dig themselves inside as well. Her abdomen stretched and skin strained at this sudden raping infernal motherhood. Bowels were flattened and her rectum spewed her entrails out her arsehole. Searching fingerings burst out Dittekar's ballooned belly then sunk back like shark fins slicing the surface only to remind the sky that the insides are not safe. But that man child like thing found no comfort in there. No womb like Goddess. So it kept going. Digging further up into her diaphragm and lungs. Suckling on her liver for a few moments while stripping her spine and disfiguring kidneys as if food not fit for a bastard child of a penniless whore.

The last thing Dittekar remembered as she shook in fits of mutilation, before her skull was separated from her face; was that baby's bewildered and needy left hand reaching up through her mangled windpipe and taking a fistful grip upon her blistered tongue before tearing it back down her throat with nothing less than pure ruthless hatred.

She woke to find herself stuffed into a sack too small to fit even an starved pig. Suddenly several long wires speared her face and left eye. Crying out as an iron bar then caught her in the back with the impact of a ten gravities that sent her swinging in the sack to strike an opposing wall. She swung again only to be stabbed again and again by a lance of dull metal. Thin and long and driving right through her flesh like unbaked bread. Screaming with a mouthful of blood, Dittekar then felt a great hand reach in and grab an ankle. With one quick movement her entire left leg was ripped right out of her hip and stolen away. The sack spun in a craze as it filled with blood and vomit. Then her fingers ran over her belly as she wept in horror to find her child had been also taken from her. Another pointed spike punctured the sack from the madness and into her right breast and exploded out her obliterated spine... and she could remember nothing but this forever and ever without end.

hapter

omage To The Guilty.

hat Cathedral was not so much on the lake's shore as it was in it. The rugged banks about the south were steep cliffs that had to be quarried long ago into that gallows of a giant, that now bathed half mast in the chop of that rain blackened lake. But the carved mountains like the walls of the massive feat of engineering were long since second nature to the landscape. Little could recall any ancestor whom actually slaved for the odd hundred years that it took to build the black Church. Some said that the great Cathedral had sunk, that the foundations were just too heavy and the weight of the over fortified walls were simply too much for the earth to bear. They said it was the footprint of the temple that had dug such an impression into the ground that it drew the waters here and created the lake from its very presence. Some said that it was the wrath of God that had scared this place so. That the entire structure was just too grand and a decadent misrepresentation of the divine order. That it was a shame against heaven, that it was too beautiful and belittled the splendour of the almighty. For how could man create anything more marvellous that the Holy Father? It was vanity and arrogant blasphemy. So a horrendous deluge had come to wash it all away. But this land had become damned and not even God himself could cleanse the sin, the sinners, their ill-gotten laws and the domain of their polluted Ministry. While others still have said that this righteous monument was purposely constructed for baptisms. It was a symbol of power, discipline and punishment. A slaughterhouse to drown the Heretics that would try to soil the grace of mankind. For those hideous and vile shall find only the eternal suffocation of oblivion.

The two enormous steeples that stood either side of the mighty arched, bolted and caged doorway, vanished into the storm clouds tempest throat that howled constantly above. While at the far end of the Cathedral the lake lashed the pillars at the foot of the vast crowned dome of the horizontal crucifix plan architecture. Its knees trapped there to endlessly endure the furiously tendrils of the battering waters. While the hail fell and beat the spires with just as perpetual solidarity as the lakes tongue. No drain strong enough to free this flagellated temple of this galling blight. No inch spared this merciless flogging. As towering at the Church walls were above the crawling eye of man's view, intricate carvings of figures punished and tormented, clung in a state of absolution denied suffering to every stone surface below the scorning sky. Ornate beasts and Devils peered out from moss moist crevices with threatening teeth and eager hallow eyes, impatient in their neglected posts to snatch child or worm from their meek nests. Elaborate scriptures were chiselled across stone faces strained in gestures of mutilation and spoke of things more perverse than welcoming, and marked the titles of acts of sacrilege and the violent throes of their expulsions. Some inscriptions muttered in ancient dialects forgotten and cursed. Some spoke of transfiguration of man after his fornication with the beast. Least not mention the truths spoken of the eternal disembodiment of the soul upon the banishment from the flesh, of the torments only growing exponentially. Warnings written over and over, over sculptures. Words grotesque and dooming upon the stone bodies locked in poses awful and condemned. Words and mortified figures covering all the walls and ceilings and marble floors. Black stone tarnished mat and crusted with centuries of corrosion and airborne callousing build up, gave those inanimate grimaces organic uniqueness. Horrified expressions, blistered lips and scared brows. Cracked limbs with gnawed details, broken and streaked from the elements working to digest this whole Cathedral along with the very pathetic frailty of man's repulsions fumbling preservations.

The lake lay to the east, stretching for miles into the fog and valleys of the encompassing Alps. The old town and its countless steeples pecked above the dead forest a mile or two to the north. While that infertile forest spread it's charred reaches in all directions but farthest did it roam to the west. The twin towers of the Cathedral's entrance barrelled the rosary window west, over that mess of an empire of midnights and unmapped canyons. A forest realm of mud and starving creatures, cannibalistic in their overtly hostile and most unnatural environment. And to the south, beyond the cliffs, the land become only more pitiless and savage in its sheer vertical stone retort against life itself.

Within this night the walls of the Cathedral were dead. No flame upon silent altars. No sentries behind cross barred slits of defaced windows. Yet the structure alone spoke to itself. Moaning in a constant echo of a shell's resonance. A mindless drone of emptiness more oppressive than the great void that swallowed the celestial bodies and their cold promises. A heavy breath without end that then slowly gave birth to the soft pattering of human feet. A creature stooped with frostbite and bewildered determination moved crippled but without pause. Limping, eyes focused ahead. The black rag of a shroud about her shoulders dragging over a dozen feet behind her bare soles as she clenched down to hold in a choking cough. Nose rigid, lips sneered as her throat gagged and her lungs heaved to claw and tug at her strained windpipe. Pure anger held her lungs still as she knelt down to thump her fist against the wet stone. Catching her breath cautiously, she then dredged on. Running down the very centre of the Cathedral, between thousands of listless pews, through the massive hallow of the dark ribs that housed enormous frescos, smeared across damp walls but lost below the ambience of the abyss. The shadow hidden girl had only reached the domed crossroads of the vast floor, plush with gruesome etchings of carnal sins, when she heard the drums begin. She did not dare stop for a sparring moment, not even to glance back at the fleeting path of her escape to see if her trail was being traced. Onward she forged with sweating urgency. Not straight on, and averting her eyes from what opened up ahead, she rushed away to the left. Past three various scaled, Godly perched altars; between the secondary pews and behind a cluster of mammoth pillars to scurry out a slit of a narrow passage reserved for the men of the council, and into the coldest of confines.

Those drums crept through the marble and fell no quieter as that girl broke into a mis-paced dash along that shoulder width corridor. Moving faster into the black and nothing else. Blind certainty kept her running. Paranoid noises in her skull swung her arms up in front to fend off what ever may come if her dread were God. Then with a snap, the weighted sheet trailing behind Paedoilia went suddenly taut! Her neck broke back as her ankles both kicked away. Slamming flat on her back against puddles and serpent spit. Coughing loud for simple lack of conscious control, she rolled onto her right side when with a second monstrous pull, Paedoilia was dragged backwards! Something had a hungry grasp of the sheet and was furiously anxious to claim this fugitive. Her numb fingertips fought brittlely to tear herself free of her withdrawing net. Twisting to grab at the rough walls when she almost accidentally slipped free from her noose to collide against the mortar. Without a reason needed, Paedoilia clung to both walls to launch herself forward to run for her life. Running with absolutely no evidence that this black labyrinth lead to anything but a dead end. Running with those drums crashing with an omnipotent perspective about her incarcerations. Running until the floor took a short sharp drop and she stumbled over the abrupt lack of footing, to fall face first into the lake's abrasive mouth. Weeds and her own long hair strangling her throat and wrists as she turned and rolled like a lunatic in a flooded rabbit hole. Thrashing with naked limbs and a heartless lust for air, Paedoilia ripped the surface once more to reach for some kind of tangible intervention. But she lost her buoyancy so immediately and sunk back out of sight before the the rain or the Cathedral's indifferent lustre even noticed.

One final hand splintered the graceless waters in a great sweep of desperation, but her drowning lips never got within a foot of that soaking sky. Her weak body battled to thwart the gravity of the lake but the undertow was unforgiving and the weeds were not all alone to themselves...

The rain hailed and the lake shimmered like boiling fat.

The drums rose and recoiled and were soon to be escorted by the tone of men. Chanting, grunting voices. Sounds less than words, more like animal snarling. A constant rattling then came to join this swelling noxious pantomime. Rattling, grating ripples of men in Holy cloth spilling seductively down the spine of the Cathedral toward the orchestra of rain. Hundreds of Disciples bleeding out of the shadows to fill the pews and spread toward the lake end of the open Church. Slow as clouds, a statue tall man in layered cloaks and black mitre hood emerged from a subterranean stair well at that open head of the building to continue creeping up a slender tower of a the block altar some forty feet above the cowering Mass. More and more men expanded to fill the flameless innards of the Cathedral. Black sleek hunting hounds lead down the edges by armoured Priests burdened with bone thin flag poles, every second Priest swinging smoking incense vessels. The huge hole at the head of the Church blowing the slavering cold into the cast down faces of the thousand and growing number of pious beggars. An immense, unchaste hole, high enough to match the sternum of the ceilings deformed and lifeless chandeliers. A giant open gate to the lake. Constructed as though the building had never been graced with a final grand wall to shield it's followers from the spite of the storm. And the wind did whip most vengefully at the palate of the architecture as surely as it did those devout kneeling slaves. But walking without the aid of his great cane, draped in ebony robes, numerous chains of beads and heeded emblems, a man of shaven skull and hopeless holes for eyes, made his way through the Mass of chanting servants of the Lord to the lake. His head tilted frailly to his left as he whispered creeds to himself and finally reached the end of that empire of stone next to that pillar of a grand altar where he paused to pray. Only to soon move on, past more Bishops in mask like headdress and to inch his footsteps down wide curved steps to the attacking teeth of the lakes turbulent aggression. He was an anvil of a man, grim, solid and worn, and watched the water from a distance of respect. The waves of the lake stretched up many of the granite steps that arched around in a vast crescent moon on either side of the man. The steps themselves continued further down into the murk of black below. Further down, leading more and more carved inscriptions and doctrines under toward a central point some hundred yards out into the bottom of the lake from the circumference of the steps and Cathedral's open end. Standing against the wind with a view of abominable feats to come, a view of things to come with as much promise as the darkness of the morning, the man blinked slowly as if he had never before. The rain heard nothing. The water spoke nothing. But the burnt roots of the trees in the surrounding forest still twisted a little deeper despite the death in the soil. The drums shuddered again, rolling upon repartitions within mountainous steeples next to silent bells. The isolated man turned his stock built brow and clench his tiny tooth, vein strong jaw. A break in the murmuring voices as the altar Priest raised his palms. The echoing winds then hushed and the air itself shivered. And as the strikes were laid down and cut the flesh so were vocal cords broken. Howling cries were pitched loose as scores of afflicting whips slashed into hundreds of backs for pain and penance. Hundreds of self inflicted scourging blows were cast against another Mass of half nude believers gathered tightly in balconies about the pillars, above the quietened hoards in their meek pews. Most bloody from self flagellation in reverence and incitations for grievous things to come.

Turning his back on the lake, that man, the Archbishop, scanned dryly over the Mass. A small army of black figures hunched with heads down in prayer. Dedicated and loyal to the nerve, like crows feasting on the rotting. The Archbishop glanced past the pews, up at the mess of shadows in the dark, at the cries circling the first ring of balconies. Then up higher to the second and third rings of coliseum like balconies where a gradual procession there came. Females. Women and children lead down the balconies each by an accompanying Priest to take there designated post in chains bolted into the very stone of the Cathedral. The man upon the altar then gave another crooked hand gesture to the east and those Priest above presented their female counterpart with short whipping corps. The cascading screams of the women was then immediately followed by a uproar of the men in the pews below. And so the entire Church was consumed in the violent language of human turmoil. The lake splashed at the Archbishops feet and he retreated two steps higher to see those Ministers in huge billowing cloaks and tall dagger pecked crowns that hid their faces completely, come down the aisle. Fifty Minsters marching solemnly with a toward the lake carrying a carriage like platform between them upon their shoulders. Smoking effigies and iron bars, lengths of scarlet velvet were draped over the caged content while burning spears and dozens of needle-like crucifixes with the mark of Sodom stood high above the locked carriage. Bearded Clergymen crept behind, cradling long flag poles of solid iron in groups of twenty. Other priests carried huge staffs while others held back on the leashes of savage dogs that were more than welcome to partake in the thundering charges of screams and yelling voices. The Archbishop watched patiently as the sharp smoking platform drew near to the grand altar above these crescent steps. In the crimson light from the torches the lake seemed to dance and call to the eyes of any fool that might look upon those unholy waters. The Ministers and then slowed to halt below the mighty cavernous dome of the Cathedral. The velvet sheets were dragged away and so too the clawed grip of the cage was unlocked and opened up like a clenched fist, its palm skyward, its secret stood there upon the pistolled, exposed and erect. The Archbishop focused on the naked pregnant girl in her early teens, as did most of the gathering, with their voices quickly fading. Standing hands behind her back and bound to a pole of demonic inscribed iron, her feet bathed together in a basin of putrid milk. Wrists and ankles locked up in coils of tight black horse hair. Her anguished eyes and bloated, twisting belly glistening with sweat, as her inner thighs dripped with blood and free flowing pre-birth fluids. This child was overdue and fighting to be let out into this world of devastations.

The Archbishop cupped his frozen hands over one another and half turned to the rain hissing lake, muttering to himself. “How such things came to be...” But he found he could not finish what he could not know. Standing aside he glared back over the towering altar and the overwhelming depth of his Church, this Church of Sodom and then caught a fleeting look of utter dread in that child's near motherly eyes. Fear for hers and her soon to be cast out offspring. But the Archbishop merely shot his right arm up and pointed his disgusted finger back at the lake. And the people all roared in an obscene blood lust frenzy.

“Can you see well enough?” A vulture of a Priest asked softly through his misplaced teeth. Dozens more of the fair sex were lined up and detained upon the forth balcony ring, which was still not even half the height of the peaked summits of the black Cathedral. Young girls stripped naked with their heads in thick iron collars and hung taut on their noose upon the tips of their toes to watch the proceedings with all their attention. Each one of these weak little wretches clung onto their chained collars to prevent strangulation as their heads were aimed at the subject held in similar captivity to their own education. Look on. Pay attention. Understand this lesson. Watching. Anticipating. Bewildered but too afraid to struggle against their bondage, these girls stood perfectly still despite the crushing throats. Seeing Ministers cluster about the one at the pivot of attraction. That pregnant child. A child just like them. Once just like them. Just like them but now an outcast. A child just like them but not any more. Forced to look on, but forbidden to look with eyes of any kind of empathy. For this child was not like one of them. This child was the enemy. The soiled and the damned. This was the guilty!

“Can you see?” The decrepit Priest sneered again as he wrestled with his cloaks in that furthest corner of the balcony. The Mass now drawn to another entrance of men pulling a stone statue of a charging bull by long frosted chains. Paedoilia stood like all the other children, fingers trying to hold her body weight up instead of her neck. Legs and feet pointed and hardly balanced to keep her vertical, but unlike the rest, she was still soaked from the lake and frozen to the bone. And the things she had seen underneath, within the weeds made her trembling body shake even more viciously with her hypothermia. The Priest finally freed himself of this restraining garments and tore his twig like fingers at Paedoilia's frigid flesh. Grabbing at this Gypsy's shapely yet shivering buttocks to spread them apart, as the old man, with one hand forced his half flaccid erection against the seal of her tiny anus. Paedoilia's nose stunk of the mud stirred up from the bottom of the lake and the reflecting waters still now beckoned her even as she was penetrated pathetically from behind by that impotent man. “Can you see it?” He panted manically with only the head of his penis inserted to sodomise the thin pale girl. The Priest used his wrinkled hand to run the rest of his erection, masturbating himself into her shithole! “It sees you!”

With other more brutal hands the pregnant vermin was dragged down from her platform to be thrown before the looming altar as men with canes beat her wildly. Weeping distraught as the pangs of childbirth ripped at her innards she was then lifted up to be laid flat upon the back of the stone bull. A frightening two headed, horned bull. The girl's limbs then pulled out straight to be cuffed to relative horns. Her gut heaved like a mountain of flesh as fists struck at her randomly by devout worshippers. Defenceless she screamed for pity's sake. This only infuriated the Mass while the wind itself grew intolerant and seemed to mock the shallowness of man's voice and sent icy hail stones into the cavity of the Cathedral. The two-headed bull was then dragged past the alter and down a stone ramp in the centre of the crescent steps where it was them pushed down toward the lake. The Archbishop stepped aside as the bull was shoved inch by inch into the dead water. The hail against his shaved scalp irrelevant as he watched another man approach. The pregnant child could hardly breathe, blinded my the torrential downpour and bleeding profusely from her own bludgeoning child as a silhouetted man came near. Masked with flat metal plate that was absent of even eye-slits he was guided by the Archbishop himself to avoid the water's reach and step up onto a perch between the horns and the the guilty legs. The Archbishop then moved to the deeper end and took his rightful place at the other head of the stone bull. Thick leather gloves came slowly up to the child's rupturing vagina. Lurching about in terror she begging madly for her life. For help. For her mother. Contorted in convulsions she looked up ahead of her, past the horns, through the rain, out to the black distant eternity of the lake's realm of chaos!

The altar Priest clenched his raised palms shut and the whole temple broke silent from their berserk rantings.

Waiting for a time, the Archbishop then slowly held both arms out wide in the rain and whispered to the waters. “Expel this embodiment.”

Her shriek was untamed and primitive. Her labia split and tore into her thighs as those ungrateful hands drove up inside to take a grip of the unborn baby's placenta coat head. To wrench the infant outward from the immature womb. But just the head. And then at that same instant, the two heads of the two headed female upon the two headed bull were hatefully decapitated simultaneously!

Lunacy engulfed the Mass as this Sabbath became abysmally cannibalistic in its glee.

Some on the forth balcony screamed, some lost all bodily control and piss and puke washed the stone.

The Archbishop scowled with a lack of reaction in his calculating demure as the carnage in his very hands.

The crowd lost their places in the pews as they vaulted with demented hysteria greedy for much more.

And the choking-imprisoned Paedoilia felt the heat of that inflamed rapist's seed lick weakly within her rectum as the Priest fell away into the shadows screeching in delirious mania.

The two heads of the child-mother and child were removed and and placed side by side on an engraved silver platter. The platter was then carried up the towering alter staircase by a blindfolded Sage to be given over to the Priest above. He turned to face the lake and raise the heads as if to make a toast, then laid the platter next to a great black hawk perched upon a mantle of the alter. The winds shifted and the inauspicious hawk regarded the beheaded with as much contempt as the faces peering up from the weeds with insatiable impatience.

And the drums did reign.

A stained mast of an iron pole with a spear tipped end soon was erected equal in height next to the hawks mantle. The Priest cast lulled spells as he poured oils and melted wax over the mother's bloodied forehead. Then lifting the mother's crown high, the Priest abruptly slammed her head upside down onto the spearhead. Ramming her face down the pole as most of her features shattered and half her obliterated skull sliced out her stump of a throat. The Mass bellowed and the spearhead was placed slow carefully by sixteen Minsters horizontal with it's whittled sharp point upon the sacrificed girl's protruding mutilated Venus mound. A shout from a slave driver and the men advanced ten paces forward. The dead body being still chained to the bull was run right through. The pole impaled the girl's cervix, destroying the slaughter-born baby's carcass, punching on down the small mother's torso and out her severed throat, spilling entrails and lengths of her organs out her mangled thorax like rags rendered to shreds from a canon's blast. The mother's own head was stunted lower down the pole, her upside down face now where her demolished child's head had been alive not minutes ago. The pole was then returned to the altar so the tainted end ruined remains of the shoulders of the mother now presented itself to the High Priest. He now took the infant's discoloured decapitation and again cracked this skull apart as he muscled it onto the spearhead where the mother's should have been. The Priest picked up two long burning pokers and stabbed them through the baby's eyes there to drape multiple layers of greased sacks over the smouldering horns of this atrociously infernal idol. And as the Ministers marched with this held high abomination of an effigy to plant it through a socket in the back bone of the two headed bull, the mob howled in absolute disorder and wicked delight.

Such a repugnant sight, the young Gypsy had seen before, but transfixed she could not turn away of her own free will. The mother's limbs loose, insides torn out and hanging like vines from a haunted tree. The new crown of this beast smoking and wreaking something truly inhumanly awful. A rancid stench not of this world. A smell so corrosive that even at this distance Paedoilia's eyes did weep from the acidity.

And the drums did cease.

All bear witness to the butchered.

Then a light... a light came... far off on the horizon... a burning... a blur of flames... a burning out in the middle of the lake... a fire there came... the lake did burn... expanding, growing, coming... the flames did come... and the Gypsy whore did scream! This was the Lake of Fire!

THE AUTHOR & THE ARTIST

BERLIN, JUNE 2008