not logged in
| re: Don Calude Devious: Cannibal Rapture, After The Thirst And The School Of Jim | |
Posted by:  |
Klasien 02:16 pm UTC 05/18/11 |
| In reply to: | Don Calude Devious: Cannibal Rapture, After The Thirst And The School Of Jim - steven_stuart 10:58 pm UTC 05/15/11 |
| DUDE.... punctuation??? a few breaks or new sentences?? -K- sorry, but migraines, eye problems and a slight case of (mostly on screen) dyslexia makes this a nightmare for me... > I am very happy to see the internet buzz that is being > generated by Ryan's upcoming production of "Don Claude > Devious: Cannibal Rapture". Just Google if you are > interested. There seems to be a few talented writers who > belong to this board (like The Wolf, Scaramouche and Vin). > I would like to think that they are all (and I have only > mentioned a few) members of the School of Jim (as > Rembrandt had younger people who followed him). I know > from things that Ryan has written in this forum that he at > least would consider himself to be from the School of Jim. > I am not talking about imitating Jim, as Diane Warren did > when she wrote "I'd Lie For You" for Meat Loaf. It is just > that Jim is an inspiration for his talented fans. He > inspires them to get in touch with their creativity and > put their work out there, as Ryan will be doing in October > and Jacob Davies (The Wolf) has recently done on Jim's > Facebook page. I haven't seen Jacob posting the story he > wrote on this forum (although he may have), so I hope he > won't mind me posting it in this thread. It is quite > brilliant and well worth a read. I agree with someone > called Faye Allen who reviewed Jacob's story and said: > "Very very good, nice to have a vampire story without all > the romance and that doesn't completely bore me (Dracula) > I really liked it, will you be uploading more??? Also you > have a couple spelling mistakes but other than that its > very good." I myself was actually quite surprised because > I thought of The Wolf as a film maker. My favourite quotes > from Jacob's story (which I will post below) are: "He > looked at her neck and winced as he saw the extent of the > damage that he had inflicted. For all the years and nights > he had been doing what he had been doing, the sight of > seeing his victims savaged throats never lost its impact, > for this was when he saw in full what he had done, when > his inhuman thirst had been quenched and what humanity > was left inside of him regained control." and also: "He > had been walking home one night, the last night he had > been human, through the gas lit, foggy streets of > Victorian London, when he happened upon a monster, a > monster with the face of an angel." Before I post the > entire story could I just ask Ryan to keep the board up to > date with the "Don Claude Devious: Cannibal Rapture" > situation. I know that Jim and all board members wish him > well. And now for "After The Thirst" by Jacob Davies: > "This one would be different, he told himself. He would > stop himself before he reached the point of no return, he > would let this one live. That’s what he told himself every > time, every victim, and each time he failed, each time he > lost control, and just like all those nights before, he > could feel the life of the young woman in his arms > slipping away, her body becoming cold and pale as he > gorged himself. He withdrew from her, the copper taste in > his mouth, which mere moments ago he craved so much, now > sickening him, and it took a sheer force of will for him > not to throw up. He looked at her neck and winced as he > saw the extent of the damage that he had inflicted. For > all the years and nights he had been doing what he had > been doing, the sight of seeing his victims savaged > throats never lost its impact, for this was when he saw > in full what he had done, when his inhuman thirst had been > quenched and what humanity was left inside of him > regained control. Doing his best to regain his composure, > he lifted the woman from his couch and carried her into > her his bathroom, placing her face down in his bathtub. > He would leave her there for a few hours; let her...leak. > The thought of him “Finishing her off” made his skin > crawl, but from his past experience he knew that any stray > drops of blood could leave “Breadcrumbs” that could lead > back to him. Turning towards his Bathroom sink, he turned > the water on, and after a few moments he splashed his > face, noting how the blood that had been smeared on his > lips briefly diluted the water, before it ran into the > drain and the water became clear once more. He looked up > from his sink and into the mirror above it, and stared > hard into his, transparent, glass like reflection with > regret, He hadn’t always been this way of course, before > he had been a good, honest man, with a family, friends, > until the night he had strayed all but once, once!, and he > had paid for it for the rest of his life, and then > some.He had been walking home one night, the last night he > had been human, through the gas lit, foggy streets of > Victorian London, when he happened upon a monster, a > monster with the face of an angel. A young woman had > called to him from a distance, he couldn’t make out her > face in the fog, but he saw her gesture for him to follow, > called to him. In any other circumstance, being the well > grounded, faithful man that he was, he would have simply > walked on and paid her no heed. But there was something > about her, something in her voice, something that, even > through the fog, he could see in her and it made every > fibre of his being burn with an uncontrollable, curious > desire. She had led him into a dark, secluded alley, and > it was here where he saw her up close. She wasn’t overtly > provocative, she was sweet looking, with an understated > beauty of someone who was almost unaware of it, and the > affects that it had on those around her. This was, of > course, what she had him wanted to think. Her vulnerable > looking exterior hiding the creature within, and when he > was at his most unguarded, she had pounced on him, > draining the blood from his neck, much like he had done to > only minuets previous, except unlike the girl that now > laid dead in his Bath tub, his attacker had left him > alive, and although he had been dazed and close to death, > he still remembered what the girl had said to him he as > lay on the cold stone pavement, “What about your wife,” > she had sneered at him. “I’ve seen her, how she adores > you. What would she have to say, if she saw you with > little old me, it takes a man far removed from god’s > influence to betray his beloved sir, and its my duty to > mark you out to him, to everyone.” The last thing he > remembered was her creeping towards him, after that he had > fallen un-consciousness. When he awoke, he was something > all together different from the creature he had once been. > He remembered the sun, shining down on his face, and how > it stung, how it burnt. Years later, having travelled the > globe, lived through two World Wars and seen technological > advancements he never could never have dreamed off as a > child, he was still doing the same thing, killing and > covering his tracks. Not living, simply excising. He was > a coward, just like he had been in his human life, so he > could never sum up the courage to take his own life, and > he was never in one place long enough for somebody else to > do it for him, and he hated himself for that. He returned > to the living room, looking down at where he and the girl > had struggled, he saw a handbag. He picked it up and > hastily rummaged through it. He pulled out a mobile phone; > on its display was the girls name and address.“Jade > Collette, 19 Dawson Road”. He sighed in relive, that was > outside the city, in one of the nearby neighbouring towns, > once she was reported missing, he would have no need to > worry about the police or anyone else snooping around. The > fact that this relived only made him feel of a monster, > the girl he had killed was someone’s daughter, maybe > someone’s lover. She wasn’t an un-attractive girl. All > those close to her would never see her again, never know > where she had gone to that day, how she had met her end. > But the worst part was that she could never say goodbye. > What made this girl’s demise more painful to him is that > he had not been looking for “company” that night. No, his > encounter with her was most unexpected. In the hours > proceeding, he had been out in the city, wandering from > place to place, usually cafes or restaurants, anywhere > with lots of people. Not so he could pick out someone to > “entertain”, rather the complete opposite, being around > large groups of people kept him and his unnatural hunger > in check, because if he lost control in a crowded area, > they would all see what he was, and he could barely > stomach the thought of that, being looked on as monster, > even though in his long since still heart, he knew that > was exactly what he was. He just didn’t want it > “confirmed” for him. He would usually do this during the > day, a hooded coat and lots of sun-cream negating (most > of) the sun’s harmful rays. The day was nearing its end; > the sky burned a soothing orange as the sun set in the > distance. He had had begun to make his way home before the > night took dominance, he could control himself in the > day, but when the night fell, the number of people in the > city depleted, and the few that remained became all too > tempting when they were draped in the light of the moon. > He was swift and unseen getting home, his “condition” had > given him speed that any athlete would have been envious > off. Reaching his apart block, he stopped just outside > the door and looked up his window, there was a light, that > probably would have been invisible but what he could see > clearly, shining from his apartment. It had only been > there a second, but he knew someone was there. He entered > the apartment block and swiftly made his way the stairs > and to his front door. There, he took out his key and > opened the door. Almost immediately upon his entry, a beam > of light met his gaze. He made no attempt to shield his > eyes; instead he had them locked on the light’s source, a > torch, being held by a young woman. He shut the door > behind him and slowly began to advance. She was saying > something to him, but he couldn’t hear her, all he could > hear was the sound of her heart pumping, how it grew > faster and faster as he approached. It was the end of > another long, empty day. All his resistance was spent. > Tonight he would drink. Despite all this, he apologised to > her, she was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. > He didn’t want hurt her, but it now was truly out of his > control. Still, she was trying to say something, but her > heartbeat was now near deafening to him, every fibre of > his being ached with a beastly hunger. He didn’t hear her > scream as leapt upon her. He began to rummage further > through her bag, hoping that its contents reveal more > about her. . He felt as if he owed it to her, like he had > done for the other unfortunates that had encountered him > before, he remembered each and every one of them, and the > girl in his bathtub would be no exception. After a few > moments, he pulled out a notepad. He opened it, hoping it > was something like a diary. Something that could provide > some insight into her life, however small, he owed it to > her. He opened the book, and it became apparent he owed > her nothing at all. The book had not so much been a diary, > but more of an outlet for her frustration. Frustration of > her family, her education, and she had wanted more, how > she had wanted “The night” He read further, she had > detailed how she had longed for a release from her mundane > lifestyle, and how HE had seemed to provide it for her. > She had been following him. The notepad detailed how she > had tracked him. There were lists of the cafe’s he > regularly visited, charity shops he would sometimes visit > when he needed new clothes, banks, news agents, no matter > how much or how little he had visited them, the girl would > somehow be there make record of it. He looked further > still in the notepad, they were drawings off him, some > with near photo realism. A number of these drawings > featured the two of them together, in some they were > simply standing , side by side, whilst in others they were > doing far more than just standing!. THAT’S what she had > been saying to him, the words he was deaf to only moments > ago only now processing in his mind. She had said how she > had waited for him; how she knew he would come for her > eventually, how she had wished for someone like him to > come and save her for as long as she could remember. This > girl, who he thought had simply broke into his house to > rob him of what little he had, was in face his stalker. > She had tracked every move he made. Replicated his image > countless times and had sought him so he could “Save” > her. > There was no guilt now, only a cold anger. He felt as if > he had been tricked, lured into fulfilling some deranged > teen tearaway’s sick notion of romance. He had committed > murder on a girl who wished a fete worst then death upon > herself because she, as her diary had pretentiously put > it, didn’t “Connect” with other people. The horror at > what he had done was not bought on because of his hunger; > it was bought on through circumstances beyond his control, > by a young girl wanting to share his curse with him > because she was unwilling to strife for a better life by > herself. What he wouldn’t have given to be in HER > situation, to be alive and loved by a family he would not > entirely outlive. He walked briskly back into the > bathroom. He placed a hand on the girl’s cold dead wrist. > It wasn’t too late. She wanted to become a monster, he > would grant her her wish. Not because it was what she > wanted, but because she would now life to regret her > misguided desire to throw her life away for some over > romanticised notion that those like him could somehow > solve her problems. No, he would show her what it truly > meant to be a child of the night, He bite hard into his > hand, leaving a large open wound that dripped with blood. > He dangled it over the girl’s savaged throat, and the > blood on his hand began to drip into it. Almost > immediately, the girl’s body, which mere moments ago had > been dead and still, began to convulse and fit violently. > Soon she would wake up cold and in pain, and after she had > adjusted, she would know what it felt it like to be a > monster. In his eyes she already was, He watched this for > a few moments, a hateful smirk escaping him as she got, > what he felt at least, what she deserved, what she had > wanted, what she would live to regret.Without looking > back, he left the bathroom and then the apartment. He > would find a new place, somewhere far away, but not to > live in squalor as he had been. He and the beast within > him were one now. He would seek out more people like the > girl he killed tonight. There were more like her, some > young, and some old, who would look upon him as a means of > starting anew, being reborn. The truth was, he was > literally a dead man walking, in body and soul, and he > would make it an eternity’s work to make sure that those > who deserved it, those who would so willingly give their > life to an eternal torture, would forever feel the same" > Oh my goodness. I think we've got a young Hitchcock on the > board (and Ryan is a young Sondheim). Jim attracts very > interesting fans. > > > | |
| reply | | |
| Previous: | Don Calude Devious: Cannibal Rapture, After The Thirst And The School Of Jim - steven_stuart 10:58 pm UTC 05/15/11 |
| Next: | re: Don Calude Devious: Cannibal Rapture, After The Thirst And The School Of Jim - The_wolf_with_the_red_roses 09:20 pm UTC 05/16/11 |
| Thread: | |