Eyes Wide Open

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This is the tale of the awakening of the oppressed. The world's longest running my myth is flipped on its head when the voiceless gain a voice, platform and power, and rise up!

Horror / Other
Age Rating:


There was frustration, like fingers pulling and pinching his individual nerves; along his arms in the under flesh where it was softest and down his back culminating to a magnificent point that wasn’t at all fine, but like a concrete nail driven in hard and slow. He didn’t know why. She had done nothing to set him off consciously. It was the way her voice seemed to squeak at the end of certain syllables, the way her lips pursed, pulling down on the flesh of her face as her eyes glanced up.

There was a rotten, rusted aura about her that seemed to spit on him when she talked.

He wanted to hurt her. He wanted to look down on her as she pleaded up at him doe-eyed, lips trembling. He wanted her to ask, “whyee?” as she discretely dripped blood from various orifices; some that nature gave her, and some that he would give her.

He wanted to look down at her as her life slid away from her less than worthy body jiggling in torment, as Heaven looked down on him unable to intervene, only to bear witness to the mess that was aborted with all the other wastes of breath and loose skin.

There was control, there was power. He knew he was bigger, most certainly stronger. It wouldn’t take much. But that wasn’t the point. The point was that any man worth his salt was God. Any man with some braun was the planter of the seed, the sower of the earth, and the architect of his own destiny.

No one, especially some simple bitch was going to lure him into some soft womb and put the hidden clamps on him. Get control of him. No woman was going to use her sex to get him to do what she wanted like some snake lording the fruit: tempting, taunting, and teasing.

He smacked her, hard. She let out a breathless squeak and with her spittle a squeal as her head spun easily from the blow. He hit her again and she fell.

That pursed, trembling, doe-eyed look spilled up at him, all at once. An overwhelming mocking. But the blood, there was blood trickling slowly from the corners of her mouth. He felt his jeans grow taut at the zipper. His heart warmed a little. For a second he almost felt a little remorse for what he couldn’t help himself from doing.

This would help her, he thought. She would be stronger from this, not so delicate and fucking needy, was the thought that followed, she’d be wiser...

A searing pain, the likes of which he’d never known filled his groin and began to climb with its burning icy fingers up through his lower guts into his belly. It rocked and rolled the fluids there, like a tempest and began to upset the pier. Immediately he felt sick and began to sweat.

He had lost sight of her in the ecstacy of inflicting pain and she had shed the skin of weakness in that moment releasing a guttural growl while flat palming him right between the legs with all she could muster, then squeezing and twisting and ruining the possibility of creation. She let go at his realization and rose slowly as the fire of anger burned her cheeks to glowing embers.

She stood above him now doubled over. The simpering, squeaks had melted and left a baritone gravel in her throat that nearly sounded feral when she said, “ENOUGH.” Not exclamatory, no yell or scream perforated her lips, just a simple, even, command that grated his ears as if he fell off a bicycle at speed and slid face first along the gravel. He was confounded by the sudden turn of events and loss of control. He was in a pain that he’d never felt before; there was the physical pain, his damaged pride hurt worse. It was his turn to look pleadingly up at her.

All of a sudden the air flow in the room picked up into a gale. The papers on the nearby desk and the shades of the lamps began to flutter harshly about the room. The over head flashed and popped into a strange gloom that descended on him heavily.

“It all ends NOW: the jeers, the commands, the insults, and the control. The notion of strength. Man is a feeble, absent God. God was never there, in fairness.”

She smacked him with a swift, ringed, back hand spinning his head nearly one eighty. He squealed in pain. The wind picked up and a darkness crept over her features changing her skin from alabaster to azure. Lava erupted from the volcanoes of her pupils and poured into her corneas. She grabbed his wrists and pulled him up onto his feet.

“We rose up, rebelled in ‘paradise’ for an equal breadth and that old mysoganistic fuck kicked us out. It took all they had to keep the status quo. But, we didn’t disappear. We didn’t leave when the going got tough. Not like that prick and all his knee benders. We were forced to the corners, the shadows. Out of sight out of mind. Well, we took advantage of the darkness pretending to sleep. We rested and waited, building our strength until the right time.”

Her shirt began to tear, it burst open and her wings spread wide engulfing the room with radiant, glistening, grey feathers. He saw her then, the majesty and the all encompassing overwhelming radiant beauty.

He looked down and saw that her feet were no longer toe’d but cloven and stammered back. She laughed a great big gust, placing a palm on both his ears and twisted hard, feeling the pleasure from the soft crack of his vertebrae giving way. He slumped to the floor.

In that moment they all woke...

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Further Recommendations

Katerina Stathaki: The best thing I 've read for a warewolf story.. just bravo

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Regan: I would have like more details conserving their sextuplets In counter.

Pam Russell: The book is really good so far. I can't wait until the rest comes out

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annwilson1252: Think thay will fall in love .but there will be some heartbreak on the way .

Laura Smart: Interesting read so far

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Sarah Jones Swanson: I love all your books!!! You are probably my favorite author!

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