Lolita Fashion - Dolls - Historic Homes - Art - Sewing - Creative Writing - Film - Literature - All things cute!

Saturday, 7 February 2015

Don't Deliver Us from Evil

Paraffin, chlorobenzene, cyclohexane;

three glimmering bottles all in a row, temptation beyond compare.
“Which one flares up the quickest, with the cleanest flame?” asked the fool teacher, innocent
to all hisses and murmurs from within the huddle.
Testing each one with studious bated breath,
carefully setting fibres alight,
Cyclohexane was found to be pyromaniac’s delight.

Flames danced in one girl’s apathetic eyes;
she was hollow to the rest of the world,
her fire extinguished years ago,
leaving two coals for menial expression.
Sparks soon would fly.

Fire positively roared in her companion’s ice grey orbs!
Standing sumptuously close behind,
monstrous, adolescent lust gripped her by the heart, the intestines,
travelling the length of the spine, sending goosebumps down arms and legs;
A shivering, flickering ecstasy.
Licking her lips as she contemplated with passion
the embers burning bright from the Bunsen burner,
she made up her mind for good.

“We’ll use that one,” she breathed,
lips caressing her attentive ear with tickling, teasing intimacy.
Shuddering passionately as she wrapped rapturous arms around her waist,
holding her tiny, womanly soft body close,
until she relaxed with the promise of malice
against her breast.

Screaming, hollering, whooping with identical joy
through the maze-like corridors of the Hell all children must endure.
Like lambs they frolicked, wrecking chaos wherever their hearts contented.
Brown bottles shaken up and smashed,
the chemicals were beyond furious
as they rained down like the finest champagne in celebration
of all the evil of the world.
Like ballerinas they skipped, hand in hand down the halls,
igniting everything they desired and loathed
with blazing matches like streamers.
Destruction and desperation flared after them,
with the Devil hot on their heels.

Agonised yells echoed from the already dilapidated building
flaring a flickering amber in the background.
Alarm bells soon followed, howling like dying wolves in the late afternoon.

But they were already together on top of that hill, miles away from
that little science experiment, their paradise.
Satisfied, they watched on as smoldering beams crashed down on the remaining few stragglers,
sending them out of their lives forever.
Nobody should survive the wrath of cyclohexane,
instrument in the final curtain call.

Wailing sirens came from the distance,
determined to separate those two figures making love on the hilltop.
Two bare bodies, innocent with youth yet corrupted by forbidden love,
in each other’s arms and without a pulse on the hilltop.