The man in the Shadow of the Sun
By Vincent Terrell
Mr. Merchant
was scared, and rightfully so. There was no way out for him. His last chance
was up. Oh, but the best part was, he knew it. Kahn liked it best when they
knew it in their heart of hearts.
"Please! I can
give you the money, just one more day! I'll even give you interest. I'll
give you twice the amount, no, three times! Forty-five thousand credits,
Kahn, you can't turn that down!"
"It's too late,"
Kahn growled at the flabby, middle aged Hrasi he'd pinned up against the
wall and whose throat his claws were caressing, "you've used up all of our
patience, and I even leaned on the boss to get you extra time." That was
true; the man had until recently been an excellent mark, and Kahn was annoyed
that he'd lost what had been a reliable source of payments. "The only remaining
question is how you wan to die."
"Oh god," the
man whined, "please, no. I'll do anything." Kahn just chuffed.
"I'm not god,
Tur'an." The man screamed as Kahn's claws dug into larynx. Kahn relished
in the pain he was causing, in the way thick red blood oozed from the man's
throat, then gushed freely. "Think of me more as the devil." Lots of wonderful,
aromatic, tasty blood ran down Kahn's fingers as he slashed at the gasping
torso. "Do you feel the pain, Tur'an? I wish I could feel it too. Tell me
what it's like to die. Ah, you look so exquisite. Does each throe of death
hurt, or is it like slipping into blackness?" He became aroused at the sight,
but dared not pursue it for fear of bloodying his clothes.
The screams
diminished to gurgles as Kahn continued to dig into his victim, feeling the
internal organs pulses of life fade all too soon. What a bother that they
all died so quickly. True torment could only be inflicted with the proper
implements. When the man was sufficiently lifeless that Kahn could not derive
any more ecstasy from flaying the corpse he searched it instead, producing
very little. Tur'an was penniless; he'd never have repaid the debt he owed
them. Only one thing of value, really; a small silver necklace with a thumb-sized
opal captured in a lacy silver embrace. A personal trinket, perhaps.
Unsatisfied
with the minimal suffering he'd inflicted, Kahn rose and turned off his sound
dampener. Sjeri station had to have a public bathroom where he could wash
off nearby, then perhaps find one of the beggar girls on the deck to relieve
his need. Kahn operated by and large on such abandoned places of the station,
where security never came and only basic functions existed to house the
undesirables that got stranded here until they died. No one would miss a
homeless woman or a little girl here - he knew that from experience…
---v---
As he walked
down a sub-corridor he surveyed the pickings. Most of the outcasts huddled
in rags and squalor around fires or light, or sat begging along the walls;
none kept eyes on him. They wouldn't fight him or run because knew that if
he wanted them it'd just prolong their suffering. The sense of power was
overwhelming. Every time he put his shoulder on a mother or her daughter
and they came away solemnly he got a rush, doubly so as he heard the pleas
for mercy of family and friends die away in the distant. The scared ones
were always best.
Hrn, Kahn
considered, what today? He only had an hour before the mission report, so
it would have to be a simple rape and murder: no time for pleasurable, lengthy
mutilation. Someone strong, who could struggle, ugly, because there was no
sense in wasting beauty if you could enjoy ruining it, and perhaps someone
who would beg. That fueled his libido better than anything, to hear the girl
promise anything if only her life was spared.
"Would you like
some art?" a sweet female human voice asked. Immediately Kahn knew he'd found
his target. He turned to see a blond human woman in her early twenties staring
at him. He imagined digging his claws into her breast, forcing her down,
ripping out bones so she could bend down far enough to lick herself as he
raped her, her seeing in his eyes that death was coming soon and was inevitable.
But something was wrong with her eyes. They stared oddly. "Do you want some
art, sir?"
"What kind of
art?" Kahn asked with amusement. Amusement because she had the tenacity to
speak to him, of course, but she seemed to take it as encouragement.
"I do sketches.
I can sketch something for you, if you'd like."
"Your eyes.
You are blind, are you not?"
"I can still
sketch," the woman said defensively. Kahn shook his mane in astonishment
that anyone could treat him with so little respect. "Would you like me to?"
A sick little idea came to mind.
"Alright. Sketch
me, please," he asked in his politest voice, then squatted down next to her.
Khan put one hand behind her head and the other right next to her thigh as
if he was about to force her head down into his crotch. She reached out a
hand and touched his chest, then ran it over his face while she began to
sketch with the other. Calmly he waited as her hand found his contours, then
found the position he was in. She'd realize what he was about to do and then
he'd haul her away for his fun.
Something wasn't
right. The woman never backed away or flinched in shock. No, she finished
feeling his posture and concentrated sketching on a piece of packing material
with her stubby graphite pencil. When she was done she picked it up and presented
it to him.
Writing this
is perhaps one of the biggest blunders I've made so far. It's based on the
short story "skin deep" that I found on Miavir's Anthropomorphic stories
index. Both that story and this one are way too depressing for me to pursue
right now, but I think they've taken me one more step towards becoming an
adult. Messing around with this dark, true evil side of human (or alien)
nature that some people call the 'soul' is too dangerous for me. I could
easily find myself trapped in some serious depression if I wrote this without
some counteracting happiness like my girlfriend or the jazz band.
If you want
to know what I'd planned on happening, the human girl was going to bring
Kahn away from the utter darkness he'd embroiled himself in one step at a
time. Interrupting this process would be some people trying to kill her,
and he'd eventually end up dying to protect her, after which point she'd
die too. Then they'd meet on their respective ways to heaven and hell and
girl would essentially say 'ah, what the heck, I really love you, let's go
be eternally damned together'. Kahn leaps for joy and they spend the rest
of infinity blissfully loving eachother in hell. The spiritual crap is there
basically because I wanted to have a happy ending as opposed to skin deep's,
which seriously has me down right now.
Ciao. See you
whenever I can come to terms with my own personal evils.
-Vincent