The Devil's Hand

Although the brush of Jeff's fingers merely meet with sticky, dirty, blood covered skin, I briefly feel as if he likes it all the more that way, just as I do. It brings forward a feeling that beckons a vicious heat through my otherwise desolate core; better than the feeling of wet sin coating my hands; better to feel him cement this frenzied covet into my skin with his illicit touch-but just as I lose my bearings and lean softly into his palm, taken by the happiness it conjures in me, he stops, quickly flinching his hands away as if only just realizing what he's doing and my own realization comes quickly after. We edge away from each other at the same time, not saying a word. And as he grabs the first-aid container, beginning to leave with his cold eyes turned away, the skin of my body feels as cold and bitter as the night which surrounds us-and out my warmth goes through the door he'd come.
.
.

.

Detached from life around him, Aquillo Evans walks into the clutches of evil after releasing a psychotic killer from his cell.

Unbeknownst to them, fate has carved out a new path for their journey and quiet Aquillo finds himself in over his head with murder, love, and horrid creatures from another world.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
The first draft of "The Devils Hand."
.
.
.
a gradually-progressing writing experiment.