The Midface (mild horror)

[Delpen9]

Children. What do they care for beyond unadulterated excitement, toiling away their time with outlandish activities, just waiting for adolescence to taint their wretched hearts? They need a colorful palette of emotions. They need experiences broader than the repetitive awe that inspires their day, because it allows them to forget and to avoid reality. Kids don't need curiosity and optimism, since all it does is delay their ripening.
I want them to grow mindful of what horrors ensue. Otherwise, they become distasteful, or spoiled beyond the need for redemption. I'll show them what adrenaline means, and what panic is; how to race a heart, to think of no one else but themselves. Don't they need to have chill rolling down the their shoulders to the upper-arms, periodically ignored by a cold sweat, dissolving their temple? Why not?

Rambling is necessary, as this happens in real-time. You can mimic me even, because it's just so pleasing to narrate their tribulations. I hide in the unexpected to get interesting perspectives, to make unique viewpoints for my literature. My monologue is more than a thought or merely a tangible memory. It blooms into a documentation of life, or what it means to know.

 

~

From beneath the car a pair of shoes scraped the pavement, which smoothed the Adidas further. The shoes turned parallel to the car jolting a foot into a momentary dangle. The view was entrancing with the veering sparkles of moisture layering the pavement, complimenting the dripping car pipe. Panting absolved the setting. He was alone, and his bony ankles were up for grabs.

Black muffled the ground, obscure to the glimmering road surface. It latched onto his ankle and receded, at a fraction of a second resembling a hand. No, not just a hand, but it seemed to be a webbed silhouette. 
He shrieked, reaching a high-pitch. His black hand grappled the road, and uselessly dug his nails into the pebbles loose from the pavement, fingers jointed like a peak. He was black with the stereotypical baggy shirt.

The shirt tightened around his waist as he crawled away, constricting him like a blanket would. Eyes peering away from the car. Everything becomes his peripheral vision, like an extension of reality getting in the way of his struggle. It isn't significant to him, and he could never care about it. 'NO' races through his mind. "NO! NO! NO!" Those shrieks strained his shoulders, pressured his throat, and exhausted the sides of his neck. His sweat was no more. Gnarls and gnashing greeted him from behind.

He decided to become ethereal. No longer was he a human as his reactions became instinctive.

Knees erected themselves jerkily, followed by the shoe tips tearing the ground to achieve balance. Arduously, he pounced away with his upper leg, transitioned to a strut. Heart pounding. Heart racing. Heart zooming. His eyes gained consciousness, but tired to a gaze.
Not long had he walked when he spotted my massive white face glaring off the concrete. In an attempt to stop he slipped forward, catching himself by the hands in sit-up positions. Teeth shredded the air, probably imagining clenching the boy's flesh. Blood belongs on those teeth. He lifted his scrotal area to shift his balance sideways so he could get out of range. My silhouette hand reached for his receding side, intentionally digging into his left thigh. Webbed fingers reached across his back, probably measuring 10 inches. They tore unremittingly into his flesh, which reached his spine when the time came. My other hand clutched the opposite side, to force the child forward. The teeth shredded the white shirt drooping down from the boy's abdomen. Closer. Closer. Closer. His body approached my mouth. "AHHHHHHH!" he gargled as my teeth turned outward like they were attracted by a magnet, looking all the more ferocious, with a few sharpened excessively and others curled unnaturally. Blood red eyes protruded from the once vacant eye sockets, narrowing in size like they were adjusting.

The boy shed a single tear, which splashed on the moist road, mixing in with the centimeter of rain that remained. He felt helpless, skirmishing with the hands that constrained him.  

I know what kids think at this moment. They imagine their darling siblings, their game of catch with dad, and the great time they had playing four-square or football; and maybe even a friend or two. Those emotions that bewildered him were only a manipulation of life, and I will graciously reveal the lie. Will you watch?

 

His body snapped in half at the waist, folding it in for consumption. There was no more incompetence from the boy, as his carcass was complaisant and accepting. He slipped inside my grotesque mouth, with the only difficulty coming from his shoes, which latched onto my lower jaw.

 

~

The creatures face wasn't in the head, but in the stomach. As it existed blankly, you get the uncanny feeling that the head knows how to satisfy its stomach. It is the servant of hunger, and you are the prey; but the head is only convinced that its actions are morally sound. To be so gruesome, you only have to wonder what deranged mind could make those conclusions.

 

 

Edit(9:37 A.M. CST 4/18/14): Grammatical errors are fixed involving variations in passed tense and present tense. Few sentences were added, but the overall story hasn't changed.

Edit:(3:57 P.M. CST 4/18/14): Minor errors

[Mothy]

Didn't even read through it, don't want to, but I think just TALKING to Dolpin makes me scared, so this will probably make me want to hide in a broom closet.

[Delpen9]

In this story, hiding in a broom closet wouldn't save you. *laughs maniacally* 

[Mothy]

*Flies to my secret Mothy cave*

[Delpen9]

The story is weird. The monster switched its perception from 1st person to 3rd person limited several times. That's what the monster meant by a unique perspective...

If enough people read this I'll make an illustration of the boy's death!  

[Is not JL]

lol silly boy get rekt

 

 

Dolpin