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La Envidia Mata RP#1
Topic Started: Mar 5 2010, 02:59 PM (69 Views)
The Corporation
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It's no secret that Billy Ransom glows. He is a glowing ember surrounded by dry weeds soaked in the Sanctioned Violence Organization: Nathan Paradine, Joseph Equinox, Orlando Fox, Roscoe Shame. With one gentle breeze, Billy Ransom could set them all ablaze.

But instead, he chooses to be wafted above the clouds to glow in front of that cold, gloomy shadow.

Then, Presiudent Paige emerges to whisper him into the shadow. But a sudden cold and unforgiving reality awaits to suffocate Billy Ransom, and make him wallow in oblivion until he is extinguished. Turned to ash, he will fall. Down past the clouds, trees, bushes, weeds, he will plummet into a place beyond purgatory: A place reserved for those who posses nothing.

La Envidia Mata lusted after such thoughts while he was bathing in an ostensibly pensive mood. Even the water was black, of course, murky with malevolence that drowned the slightest onset of optimism.

La Envidia Mata climbs out of the sunken tub with a weakness reserved for an old man. He held himself up, slowly twisting his back as to not upset whatever was holding it together. He put one naked foot out to the floor, onto the solid black rug. Something was different. A nagging ache behind his left ear screamed for his attention, but La Envidia Mata was too focused on the rug. It had moved. He could only come to the inevitable conclusion that someone, or something rather, was lurking about the house.

He snatches the towel in haste and quickly dried. A moist scale of skin peels from his back and falls to the floor with a gentle whirl, spinning down to the black tile floor beneath him. La Envidia Mata did not happen to notice the scale underneath his feet, but he felt the presence of another shadow, like some hollow-eyed monster breathing down his neck.

After dressing in his melancholic worst, La Envidia Mata's desolate mind coerces him to grab the butcher knife off the counter.

“I know you're here.” La Envidia Mata whispers, as he holds the knife in the air, ready to strike, and unfurls the bathroom door. There, a tiny black feather rests on the carpet.

“Crow.” La Envidia Mata says.

“La Envidia Mata?” A feminine voice calls from down the hall. La Envidia Mata's heart, palpable and black, thumps erratically, drumming all sorts of odd rhythms into his chest. La Envidia Mata begins to step lightly down through the hall, the beat of the drum increasing with each step until La Envidia Mata is sweltering from the Sub-Saharan African beat. He turns the corner, and stares into the bedroom.

“Hello.” She says in a sophisticated tone. “Miss me?”

And those wild African drums silenced, wiped out with a violent spearing of La Envidia Mata's heart. So violent, La Envidia Mata shot down to his knees and wailed out a crimson shriek, placing his hands over his ears and preparing to expel his soul.

There, positioned on the bed with her legs out and to her side, her hand resting against her head, and wearing a skimpy white nightgown was Princess Angel.

“It can't be.” La Envidia Mata says.

“It can't?” Princess Angel replies.

La Envidia Mata tries to expel his soul with great effort, heaving away and punching himself in the stomach over and over. Princess Angel rolls her eyes, unflattered by La Envidia Mata's attempt to rid himself of this wildly traumatic hallucination.

“Are you done yet?”

Stifled with fatigue and regret, La Envidia Mata presses his head against the floor.

“And here, the once virile La Envidia Mata situates himself against the floor, emasculated by my presence.”

La Envidia Mata clutches the knife in his hand tightly.

“It's too bad, La Envidia Mata. It's so hard to see you like this. You're not even half the man you used to be.”

La Envidia Mata begins to push himself off the ground, blood swelling into his eyes, and rage encasing his heart.

“A long time ago you relied on me to destroy Luciffer. I loved you. I cared for you. It was not easy doing what I did. And you decided to repay me by throwing me into a padlocked closet holding your deepest recollections of your past self.”

“You're not real.” La Envidia Mata says.

“I'm not?” Princess Angel replies, sliding her hand up and down her smooth tanned legs.

“You don't exist.” La Envidia Mata says, confused by her erotic gestures.

“Certainly you don't believe that.” she says, turning over onto her back, putting her soft hands towards the end of the bed, and spreading her legs. She stretches, then rubs her hands up and down her body and begins to moan.

La Envidia Mata's carnality rages inside of him, his ache for fulfillment urging him to devour this apparition. He turns his head away in restraint.

“Stop it.”

“I want you.” She whispers.

“Stop it!” La Envidia Mata screams.

“Please. I need you.” She says, closing her eyes and rolling her left hand across her upper thigh and her right hand on top of her breast.

Repressing his sexual desire afforded La Envidia Mata the opportunity to keep his faith in the perpetuation of the systematic destruction of everyone around him. But his urge to taste Princess Angel's succulent, heavenly juices and to ravage and uncore a goddess took the best of him. He reasons with himself that it wasn't just fulfilling sexual desire, but raping Princess Angel of her womanly dignity, and pulverizing her from grace.

La Envidia Mata advances with that sinister look on his face, clutching the knife close, and throwing the looming consequence into the night.

As he approaches the bed, Princess Angel turns over to her stomach and crawls towards him, sprawling her legs out across the bed. She immediately grabs at La Envidia Mata's leather pants and begins unbuttoning them.

“Oh yes. I've been waiting for so long.” Princess Angel says, breathing heavy.

La Envidia Mata grabs Princess Angel's arm with a firm grip, preventing her from continuing the unbuttoning of his pants.

“Ive been here before.” La Envidia Mata thinks, staring off into the distance. “Your knees.”

But Princess Angel just pulls La Envidia Mata's confused arm down and continues with the unbuttoning of his pants.

“No.” La Envidia Mata says, pulling away. Princess Angel slides off the bed and down to the floor crawling towards him.

“You're not even a woman.”

“Neither are you.” Princess Angel says, forcefully grabbing La Envidia Mata's genitals and rubbing her head up against his thigh. La Envidia Mata tries to push away, but cannot escape the grip.

“We have so much in common.” She says.

La Envidia Mata lifts his leg in a fury, and knees Princess Angel in the face. Princess Angel falls backwards on her back. La Envidia Mata jumps on top of her and holds the knife to her throat, pressing the cold metallic blade in far enough to make her aware.

“Stay still.” He says.

La Envidia Mata leans in, closing his eyes, and presses his lips firmly to Princess Angel. The long passionate kiss causes La Envidia Mata to withdraw the knife, and as he pulls away he opens his eyes.

Staring him back in the eyes is Michelle.

“More, Daddy.”

La Envidia Mata tries to stab the knife into his chest, but drops the knife and scrambles to his feet in bewilderment.

La Envidia Mata turns back around, and the foggy spirit of Billy Ransom stands with his arms crossed staring at La Envidia Mata.

“You are in my way of the World Title.”

La Envidia Mata charges at him in anger, but the fog disspates.

“Over here.” Another voice calls.

La Envidia Mata turns around to see Billy Ransom standing on top of a mountain with the SVO title.

“Interesting, huh?”

“DAMN YOU!” La Envidia Mata screams, charging to knock Billy Ransom out of his spot. But the smoke dissipates once again.

“God damn it!” La Envidia Mata screams.

La Envidia Mata falls to the ground, and to his back. With everything, including reality, just out of his reach, he feels numb and distant. La Envidia Mata stares up at the ceiling and the world swirling around, down a spiral. He is reminded of his own descent into nothingness, and for one brief flashing moment, everything is clear, everything makes sense, his entire existence is put into perspective.

And a piece of ash begins to fall down towards La Envidia Mata's nose, foreshadowing what is to come, or rather sealing Billy Ransom's ultimate fate.

“I'll paint a picture with you, a streak of ash on a whitewash board.”

La Envidia Mata laughs to himself, laughs for hours staring at that ceiling, pondering the critics of his potential art, and devising fresh scenarios of destruction in his mind.

Fade to Black.
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