The Taste of Wrath | Previous Challenge Entry

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TITLE: The Taste of Wrath | Previous Challenge Entry
By Ada Nett
07/22/10
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Jazzbone wiggled out, formed himself into his old image and sat down on a rotted wooden stump. Slaughtered animals lay scattered on the ground. Jazzbone picked up a raw bone and tried to gnaw it with his foul rotted teeth, then frustrated by his lack of success and writhing painfully from the acute hunger he was endlessly trying to satisfy, Jazzbone slung the bone into the great chasm that lay open before him. The taste of death multiplied as thick white mold on his dry tongue. Jazzbone wasn’t one of the fallen host, he had once been a man, a short man, with skinny legs that led up to a huge rounded belly. His hair was sparse and grizzled and his hawk- beaked nose stood sentinel over a wiry, yellowed white mustache. Tiny bits of gray bone hung like loose gravel around the open grave of a mouth that could never shut. It was part of his curse. In his before- world Jazzbone was an accomplished liar. Many were the lives he slaughtered with a honeyed tongue that distorted lies so smoothly, that were it not for the discernment of the blessed children, even they would have been led astray. Now, Jazzbone’s jaws were locked open in an endless lie.

Jazzbone‘s eyes glazed over and his frozen mouth twisted into a grotesque semblance of a wicked grin. A woman flesh-blood was screaming. The way she she sounded you’d think she was in lower Hell but she'd only just arrived. She would settle in quick enough. The really wicked flesh-bloods came to almost enjoy their unending torture. They crawled the same fine line of a hair’s breadth between pleasure and pain that they‘d stumbled about in the cracked darkness of their own before-worlds.

Jazzbone sucked in a deep breath and raised up a greedy hand toward the small hole in the hillside behind him. He let out a breath filled with fumes and uttered an open-mouthed lying curse as he worshiped his lying father. Shaking violently, Jazzbone melted himself into the shape his flesh-blood heart had formed in his before-world and as cobra he slithered through the hole in the hillside and back into the darkness he had chosen long, long ago.
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The darkness was tangible. She could feel it enter her lungs with every breath. She tried not to inhale but her body was longer obedient to her will. Deep panic vibrated throughout her being in uncontrolled, heaving spasms. Her mind screamed this can’t be real. When would she wake up? Never. This would be her reality forever. Defera McNason had only minutes before been driving her car through sheets of heavy rain as a thunderstorm ripped across the interstate highway. The taste of alcohol still lingered on her tongue. Panic peaked again and she threw up the oily blackness, her form heaving with the foul choices that had led her straight into this cursed hole which was now swallowing up the screams she continued to rip from the hollow place where her dead soul lived. And as the taste of death and darkness,mingled with the taste of alcohol, Defera shrank inside herself, the walls around her contracting into a tiny strictured Hell,shaping her form into the heart she had nurtured in her beyond-world and as a screaming viper she began to slither into the hidden recesses of Aceldama deep in the bowels of her forever-world.

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