Blood & Ashes (preview)

Blood & Ashes

I came home to find the one I love atop another man.

I stood near the door as the man I spent the last 3 years of my life with, who I gave nothing but love and happiness to, made a cuckold of me.

There was nothing to bring this on. we never fought, we hardly even disagreed. And I know I was able to please him in bed, he made sure to remind me. This was done out of pure selfish intent.

Not out of passion.

not out of spite.

not out of anger.

not out of love.

Simply because he felt the need to please himself. And, despite his best attempts at hiding it from me, here I am. watching it happen in front of me.

I let the anger boil inside me, with every thrust another spark of hatred. With every moan, my motivation is fueled to right the wrongs brought upon me. I, as slowly, and as quietly as I can, take of my shoes. I grab the metal baseball bat that we keep by the door, for defense purposes of course, and with the same exhaustingly slow speed I close the distance between me and the man I loved.

Each step I take is silent, with a longing delay between each one. I slowly make my way over to the bed, taking quieter, slower steps as I do.

I make it Halfway to the bed.

I step.

I wait.

I listen to the moan.

I step.

I wait.

He looks over.

We lock eyes.

I swing my bat at his head, knocking him out cold with a single hit. The bat bounces off his head with a sharp *ding* and a sickening crack. The man under my love notices what happened, but is left temporarily trapped under the weight of my boyfriend. I reach into my pocket for my knife, I flip it open and brandish it in front of him.

His eyes fill with terror. They grow wide, revealing the dark brown irises. So boring, so plain. I can't believe he would betray my trust for him. I Raise my knife and bring it down into his eye.

He screams as blood gushes from the open wound where his eye used to be.

I bring my knife up again, this time bringing it down on his other eye.

howls of pain echo from the man's throat as he pleads for help.

He pleads

"P-please... Don't kill me"

His cries fall on deaf ears, and my proceeding actions will fall on blind eyes.

I pull him off of the bed and bring my knife on him again. This time it falls on to the center of his stomach. He screams and shakes his head hysterically has my blade enters his flesh. I pull my knife out of his stomach to be met with gushing blood. I quickly strike back down on the man in the same spot to be met with more blood spattering in every direction.

I bring my knife up, and down again.

Again

Again

Again

And again

Sometimes I move away from his stomach, and stab his arms.

Sometimes I stab his legs.

I know I cut his dick off, he doesn't deserve it after what he did to me.

I also know that I cut him beyond the point of recognition. There was no part of the man's body lacking a hole.

He was shredded to the point of looking more like an industrial accident, rather than a murder with a knife.

When I was satisfied with my work I moved on to the... other man. I couldn't even look at him after what he did to me. But no matter how hurt I was, I knew I couldn't let him fall to the same fate as his whore. Instead, he will burn by the fires of hell for his sins.

I tied him to a chair that faced the door, and went to the back room that keeps all of my little "toys" that I made at home.

A little thermite I made from some aluminum and rust powder, a little napalm made from some gasoline and soap.

Its uncanny what you can learn to do on the internet.

I started with my love; I lathered his body from head to toe in the pasty napalm, making sure I filled every oraphysis. I stepped back and admired my work. It pained me to see my love like this, but I did not cry. he did not mourn when he hurt me, therefore no amount of pain my love will experience will bring a tear to my eye.

I pick up my various tupperware containers of powders, and tool the lid off the one labeled "Gunpowder". I generously spread the contents around my small apartment. When I ran out, I moved on to the container labeled "Thermite", and continued until every room was finished.

I then brought a chair to my love and sat in front of him, and waited for him to wake.

"w-what's going on?"

"you've hurt me love. you know what I have to do now"

"why does it smell like gaso-"

I see panic spread across his face as he realizes what's going to happen to him

"Marc..."

I look at him, dead in the eyes with a small smirk on my face. I hate to see him go, but I can't lie and say that it doesn't feel good to get back at him.

"Marc please, you don't have to do this he was NOTHING to me"

I get up and turn towards the door.

"MARCUS GET BACK HERE RIGHT NOW. WE CAN WORK THIS OUT. WE CAN TALK ABOUT IT"

"I love you..."

I turn back and see tears falling down his cheeks. It brings me to smile as I light a match.

"YOU DON'T HAVE TO DO THIS MARCUS"

I light a small piece of paper on fire, and toss it at him.

He erupts in a golden flame, engulfing his entire body in a roaring blaze. His screams of agony are cut short by the front door.

I sprint down the stairs, past neighbors and friends as I head for the front door. I burst out into the street and look up, seeing smoke billowing from the windows.

As I walk away, I notice a surprising lack of screaming coming from the room, which lets me know my work is done.

My love gave me pain, and I returned it ten fold.....

But something feels... off.

Like I haven't finished, Like I need to do it again.