Clouds of Blood |8|
A serialised dystopian horror story. This is a very heavy chapter. Attempted rape.
Previously |7|
|8|
Darkness, foul stench of dirty flesh, and smoke, nauseating weakness in his limbs; Cry felt his back slamming against the hard ground. Her hands moving like jittery limbs of a giant insect, or a spider, tying Cry’s spread arms, and legs to poles holding the chaotic shack of thick fabric, wood, and metal scrap up. Her hands shaking, ripping the rags he wore into shreds. The red glow of embers mirrored in her eyes. Cry’s blurred vision showed her for who she was; a dark, red-eyed spider, crawling all over him, searching pleasure. Slapping him, when he resisted her grimy lips. Slamming him, when he resisted her climbing onto him. The spider craved his seed. It hopped on him in broken rhythmic moves. It touched, it rubbed, it licked his skin, it sucked on Cry’s seeder, as Shamani called it, the dirty mouth muttering curses, when Cry’s body would not submit to its craving. Cry could do nothing to stop the spider, but vomit. The dirty old woman, murmured something about his seeder being limp as a rotten fruit, and how she knows a herb to make it do its job. The spider scrambled out the shack on all fours, like the monster it was. Cry vomited again, fighting the ropes grinding his skin, fighting the dirt his skin was covered in, fighting the dark nausea crawling up his stomach, until he threw up again.
He moaned feeling something touching his skin; was the spider back? Another face floated into his blurred vision – two perfect eyes, swift hands with a knife cutting his hands and feet free. Vomiting had somewhat made his head clearer. Cry followed her lead, as she crawled out the shack through a loose piece of fabric. The one with the perfect eyes, Maya, held him up, as both limped into the darkness of the bushes. Sharp branches cutting his face like tiny blades but he didn’t care. Cool nighttime air brought Cry back to his senses. They ran as fast as they could, until Maya stopped, and sat on the ground, listening. Cry crouched near her.
“They’re not following. Savanah’s daughters,” Maya explained under her breath, “she kills the messengers, after she’s done messin’ with them. The men never show up for the seeding. We have no children. Savanah never cares. All she wants is…” Maya went quiet. Cry barely held back another wave of vomit coming up his throat. His skin reeked of the spider’s saliva.
“Savanah ruins everything. The young ones we had… when the wild dogs attacked from the desert, she made us leave the girls, and run.” Maya’s voice rustled like the sand touched by a gentle wind. Cry kept his silence.
“She poisoned your water while we danced. She breaks the rules. She is a good for nothin’ Grand Mother. My birthing mother ruled before her. She was good. Savanah poisoned her.” Cry heard bitterness in the gentle sand.
“I’ll help you get out. Promise, you’ll bring the men back for seeding? Please!”
Cry nodded in the dark, and it was a good enough reply for Maya. They crept onward, avoiding the women standing on guard, until they reached the desert. A small red dot shivered in the distance.
“It must be your friend,” said Maya.
The moon rose over the shimmering sands. And there they were, the perfect eyes. The sight of them made Cry forget the dirty limbs of the spider.
“Thank you,” he said.
“Bring the men to the seeding. Savanah won’t hurt a whole pack. Please, bring them. We need the seeding,” she begged.
“I will. I promise,” Cry said, and turned to leave.
“What’s your name?” she asked.
“Cry.”
Maya stepped closer, to take a good long look into his moonlit eyes.
“I want you to fight for me, Cry. When the seeding fights begin. Fight for me.” Her sight was determined, yet warm, and welcoming. All Cry could do was nod. He walked away overwhelmed. His head still numb from the poison, his stomach still turning from the thought of the dirty, spider-legged woman, but his chest full of joy. Maya was young. It might be her first seeding. She wanted Cry’s seed. His and no one else’s.