Volarium

[Volarium]

Mollusks, moving slow inside dimmed light, furnish the gray and lonesome walls of the modern building. Abandoned, the building occupies only itself and a few ash-like memories; consumed by pale children and fallen angels. Beyond the laughs and cries of the oh so vacant building lay a curious and befuddle creature of erotic nightmares and morbid dirges.

A creature not held behind the reason of organism, but held behind the reason of fright and intrigue; sensuality and fatality.

Most would call it dead. Some would say it was very much alive, but all would easily title it odd or strange. A lullaby of genitalia.

It had stocked it’s own prey before, but only in dreams and myths. Only within the confines of legends and tall tales could it really find sustenance, salvation.

The being of sodomy.

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The skin of a snail was quite a lubricated fabric. Always moist and reflective to it’s surrounding natures. Trials of lust-worthy excretion lingered on the dove brick, and not too distantly ahead lay a locomotive snail. Not within it’s bounds were truth, desire reign. Types of love that Larval found himself affection toward.

It had been sometime since the last sufficient meal had filled him, enough to make his body aware of the upcoming and needed experience. Nerves evaded control, and hormones fled their reservoirs. This was truly an event foretold by his notions and breath.

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Larval examined the cross-miller of his paths. Vacant and undisturbed.

Golden and deceased vegetation occupied the area alongside musty and tainted air. The scent of an insane women, far and gone, Larval thought. According to his sources, a young woman, rather promiscuous, lay ahead within the area of a loft. Or at least, something a kin to a loft.

Larval relied and depended on forcible sexual intercourse for health and well being. The one of all ones created him this way as her representation, and to live, he had to supply a richness of nutrients and vitamins. Malnutrition of his libido would result in purgatory, and Larval (disregarding his name) would definitely not think of this as a want. Doom was inevitable, but it could be delayed with proper sacrifice and careful consideration.

Broken tendencies of doubt and remorse collide over the laden labyrinth that is the loft fields; gloomy and dusted.

Larval scaled through a mess of corroded, amphibious metal worked coiled into barbs and razors; likely to be a guard of some kind, Larval noted. Rust and crimson suffocates the farthest horizon, all lost to tears shed by nature and flawed agendas. As Larval stood, his attractive and gleaming ribcage reflecting in the distant sun, he gazed upon a massive grid of floors and arcs - The Loft.

The journey there was fairly simple: cross a few body pits, numerous erotica condos, and Pillar. The most challenging (and interesting) of all the structures was the Pillar.

The Pillar, a constructed compilation of moving levels much like giant razorblades, housed holy and abundant power. Power granted to any and all… if you were pure enough to pass through the labyrinthine entrances. Larval knew there were multiple entryways, but had no idea how many in particular may exist within.

The Pillar was generally hated and abhorred, if not feared by all creatures and spirits in Volarium. If one didn’t acquire the proper strength, the Pillar could easily erase it’s existence from the face of the Earth. Consequently, the Pillar also lost some energy. But minutely, only minutely.

Larval began to day dream, which he feared.

After some quick and painful exercises, Larval convinced himself to progress onward to the pleasure that awaited him.

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The wind sways and the dirt coos in response with it’s rhythmic grass. Discarded planks, old and worn, scatter themselves in a sporadic pattern amongst the ash interspersed meddling of soil. Faces, nervous and unruly, rooted themselves from pools of infected blood, likely to be a mess of Gangrene. Flesh was never strong against Larval’s family saliva.

Suddenly, an echo.

A woman, young and pristine. Her scent was detectable from ages away, especially to Larval. A sigh of hunger…

Could it be, could it possibly very well be that Larval was not the only one in heat, in the depths of self-starvation? He had never considered before.

Never considered it while burrowing inside them, never one considered this possibility inside his cesspools of mucus. Could this newly born adult be malnutrition too? Did the human body, with it’s soul so ethereal, work in such a similar way?

Amused, Larval passionately paced forward. She was much closer now.

Her scent’s intensity increased, and Larval’s control decreased. Not too long, he assured himself.

Turning the corner, grimacing lustily inside the hallowed confine, was Joy. Alone, lonesome, lone, and lonely. Her hair still sassy, her look still voluptuous. Her shirt was loosely fitted, lavender nipples hiding behind brilliantly white and innocent cotton. The almost perfect yet immature spherical shape of her bosom taunted him.

Limb after limb, Larval had approached her. Curling, bewildered wind wrapped around her glossy and fleshy legs. Her rear was not exactly fitted with her skirt, the curving seduction of peach visible. A sheen of feminine sweat coated her satisfying body…

This was it, Larval assured himself.

She stood.

And with her perfectly womanly stance came the unraveling of her blouse. The folds of the cotton commenced, and slowly slid away beneath her. A scarlet and anxious bra exposed itself, and willingly began to expose her. It’s diminutive size compensated for the immature design.

A woman’s chest is never perfect; there are always imperfections. Sometimes, a veins shows, sometimes, the breasts aren’t perky. Sometimes, it’s too cold outside. Sometimes there are scars. But the flaws created prestige… an aspect worthy to all eyes. Joy’s nipples, soft and pink, expanded over her tempting skin. Plasticity existed, readily.

The moonlight illuminated her naughty actions.

“ADKJ;w;icum;ioucei;umem;” Larval announced.

Joy smiled, and propped her revealed chest up, fondling herself.

“oifo8opoomo;ac”

Larval’s jaw stretched, an empty void glowing from within.

“I love you so much Larval.”

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Larval had never predicted a firearm awaiting usage. His execution was entirely unpredicted. After Joy had pressed and squeezed herself for a few moments, she extracted a weapon from her scantily clad rear and proceeded to inlay fourteen rounds into Larval’s chest. Two followed afterward into his cranium. Larval hadn’t noticed, but he was scum.

Joy’s acts of violence informed so.

He had always speculated otherwise.

And still she hung over him exposed, pumping round after bullet into him. “Despicable, horrible thing.” she screamed.

Joy wasn’t joyful anymore. Bitch.

Her hand tunneled into his torso and removed his still beating heart, spewing a generous amount of viscera in multiple directions. Organs leaked away from his inner cages, and Larval found himself in a very precarious position. Joy still hunched over him… that bitch.

“Tell all your friends that I’m coming, I’m coming to kill. You’re not going to survive, none of you. Your days are over.”

“Bitch.” What a bitch.

Joy grinned, drooling into his eye. Transparent spittle drained into his pupil, and blurred the vision has Joy crushed his heart.