The Loving Dead
Dinge, die Tim tut

Needlephobia

Almost there now.
He could see the stagelights vomiting dirty red light through rectangle of the open door. He could sense the presence of the Band. He could feel the virbration of the acustic feedback in his bones. He could taste the artificial poisons of corpse-paint make up on the tip of his tongue.
He spend an hour waiting in front of the entrance of that door. Fixing his drink-tonic water he was a straight-edge. Unfrontunatley noone else shared his subgroup that evening. He felt the peer-pressure like something solid crushing his shoulders. He had the usual mindless converstions with drunk rockers, punks, goths or metalheads in that hour and was glad that it was all over now.
Now came the good part.
Everybody was about to loose his or her indivdual personality and merge into one huge blob of human flesh.
They would merge into the crowd.
He saw a women in a nurse-costum offering a syringe to the person standing in line in front of him. He assumed it contained woodka or some other hardcore-booze and declined it when it was his turn.
Now he finally was in the guts of the club he saw the roadies preparing the stage and the instruments for the gig of Needlephilia.
A couple of minutes later the Band entered the stage. Fake fog and smoke from various cigarettes, cigars or joints filled the room.
The show kicked in.
Everything was alright until he noticed that...well everything was fucked up.
After the first fistfull of songs the audience was still at kill-frenzy-level. The was of course ordinary. In fact it was as it had to be but the strange thing was that no energie at all seemed to be drained from them. He felt himself slowly but surly entering the wastelands of exhilaration but everyone else was still in highest amok-mood. Alcohol? No, alcohol had the opposite effect. If alcohol was the only alien-stuff in their systems the guys would be zombie-dancing and looking like they were on the verge of puking(which they were more often than not).
Than he noticed the „nurses“ scrawling through the crowd and offering the srynges to each and everyone.
Holy shit... the nurses really did inject stuff into peoples veins!
That had to be the reason for the crowds endless ecstasy. What was it? H? No ordinary people would take heroin just because it was for free... or would they?
A few songs more and shit really hit the fan.
The crowd was so high that they didn´t notice they were poging upon a body.
By closer examination he saw that it was a girl with fishnetstockings, a short black skirt and a Balzac T-shirt.
He began moving in that dierection to help the poor victim when he noticed he wasn´t the only one who noticed the girl on the ground. A black haired shirtless goth-dude and on of ther nurses were also focusing their attention on the person on ther ground. The goth dude-with a fresh injection of whatever running through his veins turned the girl around. Her head was shattered.
Fucking hell, did the guy really stick two of his fingers with black varnished nails into the bloody wound in the girls head? Did he realy smear his face with the red, grey slim he picked out? Was he realy smiling?!
It got worse: The nurse shot the stuff into the girl on the ground. The girl began twitching spastically opened her gore-clod eyes and worst of all... she also smiled!
He began making his way to the exit. To his horror he saw that the nurse standing next to him had used up all the three dozen or so syringe she had carried. The one at the entrance had to have more.
He fought his way through the lunatic crowd and was almost at the entrance/exit door. When he had thought the horror he had witnessed could not be topped he was about to learn he has been wrong.
There at the door through which the smell of fresh night rain drifted in stood a men with his pants down requestin a shot into his genital from the fake.nurse.
She injected the stuff into a thick blue vein on the penis of them. Seconds later the cock began to move an twitch like it was given a life of ist own. Like a white thick crawling maggot it shook until it burst in a cloud of red blood particles, skin shreds, thick and torn blue veins and sperm.
The impotent men also smiled!
Finaly he was in reach of the door. He could see the barb-wire on top of the outside wall. More reminscinet of the deathcamp in which this club has turned as of anything else.
Now finaly thanks to a merciful god he was about to get the things he so badly needed: fresh air... and a shot of the stuff. Just to know what it feels like, man.


diese moralische horror-splatter fabel ist dem mädchen gweidmet das ich in der bahn gesehen habe als ich zu dem crimson ghosts gig gefahren bin der mir die inspiration zu der jeschichtä gab. das mädchen hat terry pratchet gelesen, rock musik gehört und auch so aussgesehen ohne dabei in irgenteine subgruppe zufallen und süss ausah.
6.8.06 22:22
 


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Drecksack (7.8.06 22:00)
und du sagst du nimmst keine drogen?

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