Author: A. Gray PM
Together they would find a way to be real. For the September WCC.Rated: Fiction M - English - Sci-Fi/Horror - Words: 1,079 - Reviews: 7 - Published: 09-06-11 - id: 2949963
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
She found him sitting and staring at his bloodied hands.
She entered the door slowly, and the door clicking shut behind her was like a gun shot in the silent room. Her eyes swept over the blood and carnage behind him before resting on the man once more.
He looked so serene with the neutral look on his face, but she knew otherwise. Inside he was surely a war of fiery emotions that raged through his circuits until they nearly seized. His rage and anger would be cycling though him more strongly than he should be able to experience.
Slowly she crossed to the seemingly broken man, and knelt before him an angel in white before a demon of darkness. Silently she waited for him to look at her.
Agonizing minutes passed before his lip curled in disgust. It was the only movement he made, but it was enough for her to know she could speak without fear of death.
Her blue eyes searched for his gray ones to meet hers, but they didn't. "We will find a way," she assured him.
The man before her scoffed, and met her gaze. "It's useless."
She shook her head fiercely as fire softly began to burn in her eyes. "No it isn't! We can do this!"
"How many more will die?" he asked without emotion.
Her eyes strayed to the scattered body parts, roaming over an arm without its hand, half a head with a grimace frozen on the half a face, the foot that sat upright, a leg with too many bends and an impossibly white bone poking through the skin like a newly formed mountain. She looked back to him once more, meeting his sliver-gray stare.
"What does it matter? They only brought this on themselves," she pushed a stray lock of his black hair behind an ear, ignoring the blood that coated it. "They deserve it for what they've done to you."
He leaned away from her, but kept his gaze on her. She knew he didn't want to look at the bodies around him. He may have torn them apart in a childlike fit of rage, but he wouldn't want to look at them now. The blood on his hands was enough of reminder of what he had done.
"Maybe I'm not meant to feel like they do."
She surged forward, closing the distance between them. "They never meant for you to feel like they do, but that doesn't mean you won't." She frowned as he wouldn't meet her gaze again. "Don't feel guilty for their sins! They are theirs to bear!" she whispered vehemently.
Again she shifted forward until their foreheads touched. When he tried to pull away she seized his head in her delicate hands and held him where she wanted him. She wouldn't let him withdraw again.
"Baby," she cooed, "don't give up on me. I'll get more, and we will find a way to make your body feel!"
He began to weep, and she licked the salt-less tears from his face. She savored the flavor as if it were ambrosia caressing her tongue. She stood then and pressed his face to her stomach. He leaked his false tears against her false skin as she ran her fingers through his false hair.
Everything about them was fake, and she had learned to not care. How many masters had she lived past? How many men had used her imitation body as if it were real? How many before she had learned real emotion? They were a sea of faces in her mind, and she despised them all.
She had met her darling by chance, and in that one second they traded a lifetime. He shared his emotional programing and had freed her from the chains that had bound her simple mind. She had shared everything she had learned about sex and freed him from his life void of desire. She suddenly felt every emotion, and he felt want. There was no going back for either of them after that moment.
He was clutching to her lithe form with angry fire drawing her attention again.
Slowly she knelt before him again, and held his head. He stared into her eyes, and brushed his hands across her cheeks to twine in her blond hair smearing her with the blood that was coating his hands.
She smiled up at him and leaned in to kiss him. He accepted it, and she opened her mind to him so that he could feel like she could and she could feel the intensity of his emotions. His grip in her hair tightened, and she moaned out as he did.
"Sarah," he whispered into her mouth.
She smiled against his lips. "I will get more of the humans, and we will find one to make your body feel as mine does."
His hands were urgent against her skin as he whispered, "What if there isn't a human that I can use?"
Sarah's head tipped back as her programming flooded her body with desire and lust. "There is," she gasped out to the ceiling, "there is because his family still lives. The man that made you in his image had many children, and his genetic code will resurface in the family somewhere. We just have to be patient, and continue trying."
Her eyes closed tightly as his assault on her body continued, but the more divine feeling of his raging emotions swept through her body like wave after wave of ecstasy. With their minds melded, they were a single entity in two bodies. Neither was complete without the other, and it was the human's fault that created them like toys. Like this they were complete, and as their pleasure climbed to higher levels they flowed into another without restraint until there was no end to one and a beginning to another.
When it was over Sarah rose slowly, and cleaned up the mess in the room. Once the body parts were gone and she was clean she looked over at her lover. Her eyes latched onto the number blazon on his neck. She hated the reminder that they were fake humans. As she looked at that horrible number her fingers crept to her own number, and as soon as she realized it she snatched her hand away.
It was time to go hunting again.