Author Topic: Lost: The Fall From Grace  (Read 479 times)

Offline AngelOfFilth

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Lost: The Fall From Grace
« on: December 06, 2019, 03:39:37 PM »
 Lost: The Fall From Grace
Part I


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“Rose?  Rose!”

The innards of a suburban purgatory comes into view in the brightest moments of the holiday season.  The nine foot tree is decked with lights and bulb ornaments as it sits in front of the display window overlooking the Las Vegas skyline.  The light wood floors sparkle with fresh polish that reflect the strands of lights delicately weaved through the spiral staircase and down the hallway to the hearth where three stockings are hung, and the fire dances behind it.  The door opening lets a flood of streetlight into the otherwise dim home and the shadow of a man appears with a hat and coat being his only distinguishing features.  He turns to his side to flip on a light that shows off his blonde hair and his stylish stubble of a five o’clock shadow.  His piercing blue eyes dart around the apartment as he walks down the hallway toward the hearth.  He looks around at the fancy fluffed furniture, not seeing who he’s looking for.  He strokes his chin as he places his bag on the floor next to the door.  He walks over to a mini bar and pours himself a shot of whiskey.  He sloshes it around as he walks back down the hallway.

“Rosita, my love?  Are we playing hide and seek?”

He chuckles as he sheds his jacket and places it on the edge of the banister and walks up the spiral staircase.  He reaches the top and hears the soft tones of Christmas music playing over a small speaker.  Candles dance from outside of the room.  He loosens his tie and unbuckles his pants, growing more and more eager.

“Rosita, I hope you are not decent because I’m coming in.”

He opens the second door to the left as the jazzy but low tunes come through the speaker that is sitting on the edge of the bed next to a box.  The man picks up the box and gives it a little shake before noticing the dripping of the water in the master bathroom.  He carries the box to the door with him.

“Baby, it’s cold outside and I could really use a bath.”

His sly grin widens as he goes to open the door, but it is locked.  He scratches his head and continues to jiggle the handle.

“If we’re going to do this, I need to shower.  It was such a long day.”

Speaking of the long day, he chugs back the cup and then he sets it down on the mantle.  He knocks on the door, whistling.

“Come on, Rose.  I need to freshen up.  Unless, of course, you want it filthy.”

As the words come out of his mouth, he licks at his bottom lip and then bites it hard.  He takes his tie off and then his shirt, tossing them to the ground.  He kicks off his polished shoes and then takes turns pulling off each sock before throwing them to the ground.  He whistles as he looks down at his Gucci timepiece, as the only other thing adorning his thin body aside from a pair of silk boxers.  Minutes pass, and an hour approaches before concern begins to come over the man.  He fiddles with the box for a minute before setting it down on the bed again.

“Rosita, you’re scaring me.  Cut the shit and open the door.  For fuckssake!”

The man begins to push into the door with everything he’s got.  After about nine attempts, and nearly dislocating his delicate shoulder, the door pops open.  Copious amounts of candles surround the tub, lining the toilet, the vanity and sink, the floor… along with faint traces of red.  The man rushes over to the tub and sees the faint hint of life in the dark brown eyes of his lover.  He begins shaking his head and repeating “No” over and over again until he reaches into the tub and picks her up.  As he does, crimson trickles from her wrists and between her legs.  She tries to speak as the man shouts.

“Alexa!  Emergency Call 911!”

He shushes her as he sets her down on the bed, taking a pillow as he forces her legs together, and he bounds her wrists with the white sheet.  She looks down to the box and is able to barely squeak out the words.

“You… didn’t open… your gift…”

“911, what’s your emergency?”

“My fiancee!  She cut her femoral artery and both wrists in the bathtub!  She’s bleeding out!”

“Did you move her?”

“What am I, a moron?  Of course I did!  I’m not going to let her bleed out in a bathtub with severe cuts!”

“Did you at least apply pressure?”

The temper of the man begins to flare in the heat of the moment.  The woman gasps.  She then points her finger weakly to the gift.

“Open.”

Her fiancee ignores her request.  He continues yelling at the dispatcher until the woman uses her last bit of strength to try to pick up the box, finally prompting the man to take the box and begin opening it.

“Hold still!  You’re only going to force your blood pressure up, Rose.”

She stops resisting and her shallow breaths continue.  He opens the box and then reaches inside quickly.  However, he freezes in place.  His eyes don’t want to, but they slowly look down at the box.  He opens it up further and gasps as he drops the box onto the bed.  Out of the box falls a bundle of hair.  It is an auburn red, long, curled hairs that shine in the light of the candles.  Next to the hair is a pair of bunched up black lace panties, and a finger wearing a ring.  Rose giggles as she watches the horror flash across her fiancee’s face

We are treated to the sight of the nearly dead woman in the tub, fully dressed and walking into the same setting as the man had, minus the candles and the gift.  “Santa Baby” is playing over a speaker, but is drowned out by the sounds of a woman moaning and groaning very loudly.  Rose covers her mouth as she approaches the bedroom, peeking around the corner to see a blur of pale flesh smashing into other pale flesh, rolling around just as the female participant winds up on top, her luscious curls bouncing seductively behind her as they trail down her back.  Rose begins crying silently, but her eyes can’t break off of what is happening.

“Do you… like it?”

Rose asks with a faint smile on her face.  The flashing of lights causes the man to quickly gather up the belongings in the box and put them back.

“Is she…?”

“Just bald… and no ring finger.”

The man hides the box quickly under the bed.

“You should have just let her die.”

“Why would I let Janelle die.”

“No. I meant Rosita.”

The man looks down at Rose and sees something sinister behind her eyes.  Like a red tint to her otherwise dark brown eyes.  She flicks her tongue out at the man playfully with a wink before the paramedics rush into the room.  They begin treating her wounds while peeling the sheets away, getting her covered dignified as best as they can.  The paramedics talk to the fiancee, but nothing comes out of his mouth.  He just shakes his head as they try to give him some sort of emotional support.  But all he can do is stare into the different eyes of the woman lying on that stretcher, because it is not his fiancee.  No matter how he might have betrayed her, that is not physically his fiancee, and this worries him, in addition to the box.  He gulps as he sinks down to the ground.  Rose blows him a kiss as the paramedics turn the corner with her.
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