46 Days Until The End – Fountain – Short Story

It takes a step forward, and smiles, gripping the stone wall with a clawed hand.

“I have braved endless eons, I have waded through rivers of blood, I have waited for the day you were reborn anew, so my emptiness could be filled with your overabundance, your sinful soul, that which I was not blessed with, but now, I see you for what you truly are, like me, I desire no longer just your vile pittance, not when I can have,” it throws its arena out wide, and  laughs, then looks down at him, its eyes endless, like pools of space, shimmering in the candle light, “EVERYTHING!”

He clenches his hands into fists and leaps from the ground, driving a solid left hook across its face, it crashes to the ground, and his eyes widen with surprise, lifting his hand before him, and slowly turns it, smiling to himself, he looks down to where it lies. “I won’t let you!” He yells defiantly.

“Well played child,” it says, seconds flash past as it stands before him once more, saliva drops from it rows of razor-sharp teeth, “but you are fighting something endless, timeless, without sin, without soul, this display, if you want to call it that, will not displace me.”

“What do you want of me?”

“I don’t want ANYTHING from you, I just want you to witness the destruction you have imparted onto human kind, I want you to witness as I steal all the sins, pluck them from everyone you hold dear, and then, once I have feed on them all, I will come back for you, Marty.”

Published by

Matthew Tonks

People are surprised when reading Matthew’s stories that he’s a sane forty something year old, happily married, father of one, employed full time and dream of dark disturbing things that any sane person would never even contemplate thinking of. But it's true, he’s toyed with writing for most of his adult life, but has always found the peg a writer must fit into is not the shape he wished to be. His writing can be described as lamenting, long, concussive (yes it smashes you in the head), compulsive, and stuffed with rhythmic communication and violence, let’s not forget the violence. His own opinion on his writing is this, “You see, I don't just want the words to seep into your mind, but into your soul, showing you images of blood and beauty through, volatile language, violence, sex, love and sin. My muse takes different shapes, and every now and then you can see her shining her wicked smile in some of my stories, tempting you with her promises, but ripping your heart out instead.” So have a look, and take a seat in my wayward ride, as you join me while I purge through, this twisted road of madness.

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