𝟭𝟮𝘅 𝗙𝗘𝗔𝗧𝗨𝗥𝗘𝗗 · A gothpunk sci-fi horror short story with Tokyo Ghoul vibes |
In a degenerate future, the city of Nodrog resides in an O'Neill cylinder around a red dwarf star. Mired in vice, this gritty place is inhabited by the vomons--w...
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The knife sank into the succulent, red slab as if it were a bulbfruit. The layer of epidermis, seared to coppery perfection, parted to reveal lumpy, golden fat. As the muscle stretched, an aroma permeated the air—of rich iron and lightly grilled flesh. She salivated.
Then she caught sight of the hair.
It was shriveled and blackened, but a hair nevertheless.
Madame Blair swept the plate off the table with one swift motion. It crashed to the floor, and black shards exploded out in a shower of entropy. Blowing out a breath, she surveyed the mess.
The slab of flesh lay on broken ceramic that glinted in the light. Red oozed out over stone tile and pooled in the lines of grout.
A hesitant tap drew her attention to the door.
"Enter," she barked.
A vom glided in like a wraith, and his sunken eyes bulged as he took in the scene. "Madame, your daughter—"
The daughter in question strode in, purposeful footfalls clacking in a staccato beat.
"Manda?" Madame Blair raised her eyebrows. "Shouldn't you be in class?"
"Actually, Mother—" She faltered, eyes swiveling to the broken plate for an instant before reverting to their original position.
"Yes?"
"When exactly is the ship arriving? I heard there was a delay."
Madame Blair leaned back in her chair—an elaborate affair that matched her coal-black eyes. "You came all the way here to ask me that?"
Manda shrugged. "I dropped by on the way to uni. My friends want to see the ship."
"Grain collision." Her deep voice rolled out with a reverb effect while her idle claw traced her chin. "Perforated sail and minor damage to the hull when it ripped through the armor."
"I see," Manda intoned and glanced at the floor. "Any reason that is lying there and not on the table?"
"Hair."
"Is that a problem?"
Madame Blair's eyes narrowed to slits and then latched onto the vom standing motionless by the doorway. "Nox."
"Yes, Madame."
"Clear this crap and fire whoever prepared it."
The remaining color drained from his cadaverous face. "I'll see to it. Would you like a new meal sent to you? Another ketsa? Or—"
"No," Madame Blair's voice lashed out like a whip. "I've lost my appetite."
Nox scurried away, while Manda stood without a word.
Madame Blair dwelled on how much her daughter had grown. Manda was smart, clear-headed and disciplined—the markings of a good leader who could inherit the family business and make it flourish. Yet, there was something she couldn't put her finger on. The blank face before her was a still pond—absorbing anything thrown at it with barely a ripple.
