Coral Hull: Prose: Thirty Six Hours: The Anti-Life Society

I MACKENZIE KNIGHT I A CHILD OF WRATH A GOD OF LOVE I FALLEN ANGELS EXPOSED I

CORAL HULL: THIRTY SIX HOURS
THE ANTI-LIFE SOCIETY

Lance Loam chuckles. He is death in control. Lance is the shadow in the night that nobody notices. Lance grins within at the cooling body beside him. The frozen timeless lava inside him. So he had come down to this in the end. The wonderful end with no beginning. The raving lunatic derelict, stoned on the drug of dead blood, poisoned and shaking. He chuckles dryly and waves his bottle at the city sky. He waves goodbye. If he has his way he will never fly again. City living will take him all the way to hell and in hell he will remain.

The sun is setting for a final time on the anti-life society. It is setting very soon but the none too soon for suffering. Only then would he burrow himself into the hell hole of the quiet depth of earth. Consumate his living soul in the molten core of fire flight and alcohol. He has tried his best to end his never ending torture at the sudden expense of the anti-life society. They will suffer as he suffers shooting through the eternal cores of distant suns that scorch his skin and make his organs hum with pain.

Lance hides in a side street sucking and feeding from the dead body of a fallen addict. The second hand poisons pump through his system, as he hides from the street life with blood in his eyes. He will melt the city with acid rain. And the earth will take him into its soft damp roots, there he will rest in the final darkness, never to face his life again.

His journey into this place has been long. It has taken him to the available edge. He has made contact with the other side. He finds weak non-person's minds and rips them apart. He consumes their hearts. He will never jump. He will stay on the edge and have a damn good time, because he remembers. Lance remembers everything that has gone before this. And he is deadly determined to stay where he is.

Lance drinks the bourbon into his soul. It is burning him up on the inside. He simmers - his reptilian eyes smoky and crimson, His lungs are charcoal and his genital pissing. He has been raging through life before this. For awhile he has been insane laughing at the world's insanity. Now like the countless millions of others he has found the perfect way to avoid himself and have a fucking good time as a bonus. He has the left the body behind in the alley.

GOTTA A COUPLA A BUCKS TIL PENSION DAY, he whines to the non-person's on their miserable ways the public bar, and laughs as they blush and double check to lock their cars - at least those who can afford it. HEY, NICE CAR. Lance feels fittingly witty that he has come this far. He sits by himself in an old trench coat on the street level steps of an underground bar. He chuckles and mutters to himself. He will soon be going in to meet them. It is coming on dark.

Lance isn't surprised when the bottle is empty and his money runs out. It all happens to them sooner or later. The genetic engineering of death. The small cold pebble that has progressed from his kidneys to his heart since birth. It swells with poisons. He sucks in his lips as his mouth fills with saliva. If someone comes past him and averts his gaze, he feels he will throw up all over their face. Even if they have loved and forgiven him. It is that kind of place.

Perhaps he had drunk too much. His mind becomes loaded. He gets up from the stairs and topples over the kerbside and onto the road. He begins to throw up the legal piss. His jagged wings ache inside his coat and his fiery tail begins to twist. He is swaggered and blind. The beings of this world are fearful and unkind. Lance has done the best he can to survive. Yet it is no surprise when the world in which he has landed begins to swim before his eyes.

He is going. If only he can share his pain and let go of his knowing. Instead he is going. A car skids down the street. It comes like the sun to meet him head on. Lance struggles and then loses balance. Lance tumbles backwards and falls again and again into the darkness of himself. He falls in too far and is too drunk to care. But somewhere inside he screams, IT'S NOT FAIR.

He begins to crash through time.

    

This website is part of my personal testimony that has been guided by The Holy Spirit and written in Jesus' name.

I Home I Biography I Testimony I Articles I Poetry I Prose I Artwork I Photography I Notebook I