I can only relate to the homeless and homeless tweakers

Maybe that's because I'm really hoping I'll find a skeet seeker

Or maybe it's because I walk around with a right boot and left sneaker

I could only afford one of each because my income is so meager

I want more money and I'm so eager

So I went into a bank with a wiffle ball bat

Unfortunately they weren't havin none of that

I heard the silent alarm and ran for my mo-ped

It was too far so I took a tricycle instead

A man looks kinda funny on a big wheel

Runnin from the cops but the front tire's comin apart

Maybe I shoulda brought a water pistol, maybe my choice wasn't that smart

But they always say, “it ain't about wutcha got, but that ya got heart"

 I walk through the darkness,

The eyes burning into my back,

The eyes that torment me in my dreams,

Stalk me through the night.

I know they are not real,

But it doesn't make me any less frightened,

It doesn't keep my heart from pounding in my chest.

It doesn't keep me from flinching at every sound in the dark night,

Seeing things that are not there.

I stop, I look into the darkness,

Eyes staring back at me,

My heart slows,

I'm not scared, I'm calm.

The eyes stare back at me,

Neither of us moving, neither of us making a sound,

Only watching.

Something about the eyes, something so familiar,

Something I cannot place,

Something I have seen every day of my life.

The sudden realization knocking me back a step,

I am overcome with fear, it can't be,

I turn, I run,

The trees fly by me in a blur, I hit the ground,

He is on me, taking me over, the anger, the pain.

The rage is taking me over, I can't stop it,

The need, the blind fury, the world goes back,

The beast is me...

You're walking about a pier in San Francisco, with most the noises of the city left behind and the smell of ocean salt strong in your nose. The planks underneath your feet are wet and your shoes don't make much sound. The only sounds you hear are that of gulls, waves breaking against the pilings anchored in the ocean floor and the dull, near inaudible conversation of fishermen.

One man draws your eye, an old man showing more bone than muscle and a face made to look like leather from years under the sun. The hair capping his skull like face is pure white and he makes no attempt to comb it back or part it which makes him look something like Albert Einsteins insane brother.

Next to this old man is a bucket about half full with crabs, clawing and crawling over each other trying to get free of their small prison. You can see these crabs because there is no lid and only a rope handle drooping down the front of the bucket.

You quickly look around, checking around your feet and around the old man, looking for escaped crabs that could give you, or the old man, an awfully painful pinch. Finding none you watch on as the old man drops another crab in to the bucket but makes no move to put a lid on it.

After a few more minutes of watching you approach the old man with his wild white hair and knobby old hands, one question on your mind that you are compelled to ask.

"Excuse me Sir, but, why don't you put a lid on that bucket, won't your crabs get away?"

The old man turns to look you over with unsettling sharp blue eyes and a grin spreads over his teeth, teeth so white you can only assume they are false.

"Not from 'round 'ere are ya?"

Before you can answer the old man chuckles quietly and nods toward the bucket, your eyes locking on to it once again, watching the crabs scramble and fight for opportunities to escape. As you watch one gets a pair of legs over the rim and starts an attempt to pull itself out.

"Them there are Sand Crabs, they can try to git out all they want, but when one gets close, starts a pullin 'emself out, the others grab 'em 'n try to climb over 'em to git out 'emselves, but all 'ey do is pull the poor feller down with 'em."

As you watch the bucket the Sand Crabs, as you now know they are, prove the old mans words, several latching on to the crab so near escape, trying to hoist themselves up and only managing to drag the other down.

"You watch out for 'em Sand Crabs youngin, they come in the two legged variety too."

Without a reason or motive of any kind you suddenly feel that you should be away and quickly. As you turn and walk hurriedly away you hear the old man cackling behind you, the sound following you, chasing you away.

The 1970 Boss Mustang rumbles along down the unpaved street kicking up a fantail of light brown dust behind it. This car is a scarred veteran of half remembered road wars. Blemishes of rust mar the quarter panels, under the doors, around the windshield and rear window; the scars of use and abuse all too evident from hood to tail lights. Chips and cracks cover the paint job, but even with all of that the engine sounds strong and healthy.

That low rumble turns to a roar and the rear tires spin against the loose dirt spewing a rooster-tail of grime and gravel; pitching the car sideways. With the sound of metal shearing the car spits out most of the exhaust system, a crumpled mess tumbling out from under the rear bumper. That healthy low rumble turns in to an ear shattering bellow of tortured tungsten and steel, filling the cold night air.

Somehow, that isn't the only sound. Somehow, a thin wild laugh punctuates the insanely loud engine. That laugh is coming from the car, the car that is pitched sideways, headlights slanting dangerously and vibrating against the heavily wooded side of the road. That heavy American steel monstrosity pitches to the left, the front end swinging back and forth. Some would be inclined to believe the driver is trying to get it under control, but those familiar with high performance driving would recognize it as the driver "having fun".

A sticker in the bottom left of the rear window seems to draw attention. That sticker says much to those familiar with it and nothing to those unfamiliar with it. It is a figure with no details, only a blacked out silhouette of a woman with a ponytail running with one upraised fist clutching a meat cleaver. That one little sticker says volumes about the driver to those who can decipher its meaning.

As it was inevitable the driver loses control of that hunk of American steel and it slides sideways down the old dirt road. Instead of sliding to a stop the back tires spin wildly and skip every time they catch traction. All forward motion ceases but the Boss doesn't cease all motion. Instead, it spins in circles, the rear tires spitting up gravel and grime in to the trees with the engine roaring and that insane laughing only growing louder until suddenly the engine revs down, the laughing cuts off short, and the car slowly slides to a stop amidst a cloud of dust that all but hides the bright orange of the paint.

The car idles in one spot, rumbling and vibrating without moving as the dust settles. As if to mock and disrupt the sudden calmness a dark figure erupts from the tree and shadow shrouded side of the road and crashes in to the drivers door to the sound of shattering glass and flexing metal. Almost upon impact the obscure figure is thrown back and the door flies open; made to do so with a pair of booted feet.

A slim figure quickly follows those boots accompanied by that wicked laughter. The driver, she stands beside her car with her head thrown back and laughing, a hatchet clutched in either hand, held out from her body as if inviting an attack from the creature pulling itself from the road. At first standing up is a slow process for this creature, shaking its head to clear it, but it moves in an explosion of violence before even getting to its feet.

As if she had known what it was going to do before it did the woman spins with the hatchet in her left hand coming up and biting in to its neck. It comes as a surprise to her that its head doesn't spin from its shoulders, but it is more of a surprise to that dark, shaggily furred creature as it slumps down to the ground in a mound of suddenly lifeless flesh.

The woman looks down to the creature as if trying to decide what it is, or why its head is still attached to the body, but she wears a smile, if it could be called such a thing. Lips are curled back from her teeth in an exquisitely psychotic grin which only compliments her blazing green eyes. Those eyes, intense and swimming with a particularly sadistic insanity watch the mound of lifeless flesh and not looking up to see the hints of motion and dark figures moving beyond the tree line and trying to conceal themselves in the darkness. Slowly they begin to slink out from between the trees crouched low and obviously cautious of that lone woman standing beside her Boss Mustang. Dozens of them approach her, maybe even a hundred and she doesn't seem interested in the least. She stares at that hairy lump in the road with her grin, her eyes swimming in insanity, still trying to figure out why its head is still connected to its body, if only by a thin thread of flesh and muscle.

She finally looks up when she hears a distant rumbling and the sound of tires slipping and losing traction on the dirt road. Even though it would seem impossible her grin grows and she finally looks to those dark and obscure figures crowding the road. Near every furred and muzzled head is looking toward that distant rumbling but some still advance toward her, dismissing that rumble as unimportant.

Headlights flash on and an old Pick-up truck slams in to the crowd sending furred bodies flying and others diving out of the way. With the push-bar bent at an angle and the headlights tinted a light red, almost pink, the truck slides sideways to a stop. As if that were the cue chaos erupts on that desolate road. Wildly laughing people unload from the back of the truck, jumping from the sides swinging hatchets, machetes, meat cleavers, and all kinds of improvised weapons. The cab doors slam open and more five more people unload with their vicious smiles not hesitating before throwing themselves in to the violent chaos.

The girl doesn't stand idly but rushes in to the melee swinging her hatchets almost wildly, those sharp blades finding flesh easily enough. She, and those that arrived late, are whirl-winds of violence and death cutting paths through those hairy and looming bodies with no real organization or care for the wounds they take from teeth or claw.

Some fall to the ground and others begin to show fatigue, limping from gaping wounds but they don't let themselves fall until after their last breath. Some swing hatchets with their arms rent open, others smile almost gleefully with their faces dripping blood, almost as if they wear red veils over their faces.

For those in the midst of the melee it seems like days; if not months; that they spend swinging their weapons and cutting through those beasts. In reality it is only a matter of minutes before they are standing alone among the groaning of the wolves on the ground, none of their own that had suffered injury make a sound and still stand, the only humans on the ground lie motionless, none groaning out or screaming in pain. They had fought on until death took them, they hadn't let their wounds stop them from fighting until they eventually killed them either slowly or with abrupt suddenness.

by DraggingMyLeash©

She sat at her computer, the monitor blaring with various messages sent to her, but she hadn't been paying them any attention. Long silky blonde hair hangs down from the back of her chair, quiet moans escaping her lips as the man kneeled at the front of her chair runs his tongue lovingly through the crease between her lips. Her fingers knead in to his long brown hair, holding his head in place but not directing it, this man seemed to know every cue to hit and every fold to explore. She can feel her pussy walls twitching with every special trick he performs, with every flick of his tongue against her little clit. The hand she isn't using to pull his head more firmly against her twitching lips she uses to drag a nail across his neck. His warm blood runs down his neck and she pools a few drops in the backside of her long fingernail, bringing it to her lips and tilting her head back. The thick coppery tasting fluid touches her tongue after sliding it past her lips, a deep moan escaping her lips as she sucks roughly on her finger. The fangs that look more like needles nip at her finger, something she was not intending to do, but the slight twinge of pain drove her deeper in to that state of extreme arousal.

She could feel his lips smearing her own juices between her thighs; she could feel the way her moisture made the air feel as if it had a hint of cold to it. Pressing her hips up against his mouth she slides her finger from her own mouth and wraps her nimble fingers around this mans throat to feel the trickle of blood smearing against her soft, pale skin, to feel its warmth, it thickness under he palm and sliding along her fingers. Effortlessly she pulls him up, looking deep in to his odd gold eyes, feeling him pressing against her inner thighs. The voice that escapes her lips sounds nothing like her own, filled with lust and desire that seemed almost violent, her voice rings out with strength but in a way sounds meek. "Take me, please, fuck me, please."

The man standing against her chair grins and in that grin are a set of wicked teeth, like that of a wolf, both top and bottom, fitting seamlessly in with the rest of his dental work. The vicious grin behind his lips forces her to flinch but before anything more can happen she snaps awake, sitting up in her bed as if hit by a bolt of lightning, shivers of pleasure running up and down her spine, she could feel the moisture between her thighs, the warmth on her sheets. Moaning quietly she slips her two fingers from between her lips, her sore pussy seeming to beg for more, clenching down on her fingers as she slides them past her lips. As her fingers finally emerge from her damp, sore lips, she can feel her moisture dripping slowly from her fingers and staining her bed more.

Without much thought she brings her fingers to her mouth and slides her tongue along them lapping up the tangy taste of her own lips. Throwing the covers and sheets aside she pauses for just a moment to look at the rather large dark spot on her fine linen sheets, a secret smile to herself widening her lips as she rolls over, straddling another body in her bed, feeling his petrified dick rubbing between her cheeks, frozen in death. To say this man is ugly would be an understatement, his skin is drawn tight but he has a smile full of perfectly straight teeth although his eyes are lifeless. The blue skin she sits atop feels like ice against her skin, but the feel and scent of death is nothing new to her.

After placing a gently kiss on the dead mans lips she leans close and whispers to his unhearing ear; "You were great last night baby." With another smile she leans back and throws her leg over the corpse landing her small nimble feet on the warm carpeted floor and looking to a servant standing near the door. "Please, would you take care of my friend here? He has had a rough night." Putting her hand over her lips she giggles quietly and heads for the bathroom, swinging open the door and promptly closing it behind her.

As if it were an afterthought she wonders how long that servant had been standing there, how much he had seen of her private little dream but she simply shrugs to herself and steps in to the shower.

Turning on the faucet she immediately feels the warm water washing over her skin and she couldn't help feel the warmth washing over her body in the realistic dream, the feel of her pussy walls twitching around her fingers as she woke up. Luckily for her the showerhead sits in a cradle and can be easily removed to get those "hard to reach" areas. Lying down on the solid marble bath she smiles to herself and sets the showerhead on massage. The short bursts of pressurized water beat against her skin and she lets out a quiet closed lip sigh, trailing the stimulating water flow down her body until it hits her sensitive lips.

With the sudden rush of stimulation a deep moan escapes her lips, the servant standing at the door to the rooms exit can't help but hear her moans through the thick door of the bathroom. The arousal caused by her heavenly voice was unavoidable, much like the way he couldn't stand watching her sleep, he was forced to leave his post and seek release.

She could smell him even over the water that dampened the sense of smell of every other creature. The scent of his arousal came to her with ease and she is half tempted to call him to her, to gently reach out to his mind and cloud it, to feed again, even though he was a servant her hunger would override that with her growing arousal.

Unable to bare it no longer she reached out with her mind, still massaging her pussy with the showerhead, using her free hand to spread open her shivering lips. The bursts of water beat against the hood over her clit and her moans deepen, rumbling past her lips. Her legs flex and push her hips up against the strong flow of water as she calls out desperately to the servant, caressing his mind, fogging his thoughts over and pulling him toward her. She could hear his steps, his hand against the door handle, turning it slowly and stepping in to the bathroom with her, slowly stepping up next to the fine marble bath as if in a trance, gazing down to her naked glistening body.

Caressing his mind gently, letting his thoughts fade in to that deep fog, she doesn't have to reach up and take him, the servant leans down, exposing his neck to her and even moaned as she leaned up and pierced his neck with her dagger like fangs. The blood begins to flow over her tongue, its thickness sliding down her throat and causing a very audible moan to escape her lips. Taking her hand from her own tender lips she grasps his neck, it isn't a necessary maneuver but she wants to him feel him pressing against her teeth, tearing in to his flesh and lapping up the coppery sweetness of his life. Her lips are sealed to his neck, savoring every drop that passes through her suckling lips. Those pale hips buck up against the steady flow of water, she could feel her body shuddering under the intensity of an oncoming orgasm, her pussy walls twitching and convulsing as the servants blood pours in to her mouth. Letting her lips part slightly from his neck she savors the sensation of his blood pouring over her mouth and coating her neck, draining in to the marble bath and swirling with the water until it empties in to the drain. Screaming against his neck she begins to feel the first waves of her orgasm washing over her and it began to feel as if something inside of her was exploding with all the rage of her hundreds of victims. Her nails dig in to his neck, her hips bucking wildly against the strong flow of water massaging her clit through its hood.

Suckling at the servants neck she feels his body become limp and quickly puts her hand to his chest, supporting him and feeling his heart beat weakening against her palm. The intense orgasm washing over her body begins to ebb away, slowly retreating as she lets the massaging shower head fall to the marble of the bath, listening to it thudding loudly as she continues to suckle at the mans neck, feeling the flow weakening against her tongue, sucking harder against his severed artery, trying to get every drop.

His heart stops, she can feel the slightest decrease in his temperature as his soul flees from the lifeless corpse that once was his body. Standing, she lets his body fall in to the marble bath, not wanting a nasty mess of blood to clean up later; it would be quite hard to explain to a new servant. Stepping out from the marble bath she pushes her servants' legs up over its rim, lying him down so it almost appears he is asleep, except for the gaping wound in his neck and lack of color in his skin.

She was finished, but still the shower head flails against the marble bath, splashing water over her perfectly clean floor and in response she leans over and turns off the water, watching her little friend fall silent, but not replacing it in to the cradle. Looking in to the mirror her grin grows, looking at the blood staining her chin, neck, and her pale breasts, smearing it against her a little, savoring the feel, the scent of fresh blood drawing deep in to her lungs and after a moment or two reluctantly beginning to wipe herself clean.

Shit happens and time passes, friends drift away and move on until even the memories fade, and are gone. It shoulda never happened like this, but who gives piss. Shit happens, we all move on until even memories fade and are soon gone, this is Sean, my memory faded and gone, my sanity went along, say bye bye, I'm goin nuts and bolts, might not come back without shocks and jolts, all to my psyche, don't lie, ya used to like me, never wanted to fight me, then again, I might be, just may be, wrong, yeah, this is Sean, peace.