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From: Mr Slot <dalech33@optusnet.com.au>
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NNTP-Posting-Date: 8 Jan 2000 06:08:45 GMT
Subject: {ASSM} Jessie {Mr Slot} (Mf pedo rape caution)
Date: Sat, 8 Jan 2000 20:10:00 -0500
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The following is a work of fiction consisting of adult concepts and
possibly sex.
Do not read if you are not legally permitted. I don't want the police
on my front doorstep.
You are welcome to read but please don't distribute without my
permission.
Feel free to make any comments to the author.
Send E-Mail to dalech33@hotmail.com
This story uses a combination of story telling styles.
I hope it works.
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Inspired by The Siren by Margie Donnadieu
If you havn't read it then do so.
It is brilliant.
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Jessie.
Short, sharp pain
One finger dies
Moonlight glints on metal
Jessie cries
The young girl hides under the blankets of her bed. Her former
sanctuary betrays her now. Her quiet sobs echo in her ears under the
mountains of warmth. She should be safe here. But she is not. The
monster has found her sanctuary, has violated it. She is no longer
safe here. She is no longer safe anywhere. Sobs rack her small,
delicate body once more.
Slick fingers grip the life giver
Sharp pain once more
Moonlight is dulled
The circle is completed
If only she was bigger, stronger. If only she knew the right
incantation. If only she knew the right chant that would stop the
monster. But she doesn't. She knows it is futile. It is a very adult
thought for a six-year-old girl.
Hands turn in the dark
Eyes search for perfection
Matching bracelets
Life giver falls
Jessie had a little brother. Tommy was only four when the monster came
for him. Sweet, innocent little Tommy. His cheeky gap-toothed grin
always shone with a radiance that defied the horror around him. Jessie
misses him so much. He seemed to fill a gap within her. Now he was
gone, and the gap is back.
Slowly turning
Falling
Striking the concrete
Sound tinkling in her ears
"Why does he hurt us so Jessie?"
"He is a monster Tommy. It is his nature."
"Doesn't he love us?"
"Monster's can not love."
"Will someone save us?"
"No."
Tongue darts
Lapping
Tasting
The taste of pain
Tommy died on a Sunday. Birds sang. Dogs barked. Cats slumbered in the
sun. Jogger's jogged. Lover's loved. People prayed to a God with no
mercy.
Tommy lay in her arms, gazing at her with eye's that could no longer
see. Blood seeped from his ears and dripped on his Whinnie the Pooh
pyjamas.
Heart beats
Pain throbs
Fists clench
Life ebbs faster
Tommy was layed to rest on a Tuesday. The grown ups told her that it
was a terrible, terrible accident. Jessie knew better. She knew the
monster took him. That night she hid in her sanctuary, her breathing
shallow. She heard her bed room door open. Heard its footsteps on the
carpet. The blankets pulled back and the monster stood above her.
Tired
Head droops
Back slouches
Arms fall to her sides
"I miss him too."
"You killed him."
"It was an accident."
"You killed him."
"Please give me what I want."
She rolls onto her stomach and waits for the pain.
Memories
Mummy
Daddy
Tommy
She feels the monster pull down her pyjama bottoms. His big, rough
hands roam over her tiny bottom. She feels moisture on her back and
knows without seeing that it is saliva. The monster always drools when
he does this. She feels her legs parted. And then the pain comes.
Sunny days
Cool nights
Warm summers
Cold winters
Incredible pain. A knife of jagged glass rips her open, tearing
through her spine. She feels her blood start to mix with the sheets
and screams into her pillow. The monster pushes down on her, forcing
her deeper into her so-called sanctuary, making a mockery of it. It
grunts once, twice, then spills it's seed into her. It turns her over
and kisses her lightly on the forehead. She looks but sees nothing.
And then she is alone again. The gap within her grows.
Life dissipates
One last breath
She says its name
"Daddy"
Satan Clause, he's out there, and he's just getting stronger.
--- Bruce Willis, The Last Boyscout.
--
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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