Dreams: A Brief Review
Footsteps resonated on the pavement; a sea of wrath. They trudged forward, a horde decorated with banners, chants reverberating. They embodied the spines on the hedgehog's back.
"End the terror."
He raised his hand in a cloned salute, a solitary spine amidst the crowd of knives. A morally superior being, his long hair flowed, wild like the manifestation of rebellion. His sleepless eyes were taped back, absent-minded stubble sprouted from his cheeks.
The regiment had assembled to enact their version of the future--an overwhelming ideal, one that only the hedgehog's mind could fathom fully.
"End the terror."
The hedgehog was there to protest the factory-farming methods of nurturing animals.
These methods were widespread across the land and deeply entrenched in the meat industry. The techniques employed were morally atrocious, ethically untenable, downright repulsive. Even if the lenient legal rulings allowed it, prioritizing profit over welfare is the epitome of gluttony.
The consumers were equally deplorable, feigning obliviousness to the sufferings, sticking to tradition, abstaining from the awareness, imbibing the decomposing flesh of tormented creatures while supporting the senseless butchery of millions of animals. Creatures that had endured lives in cages, enclosed, pushed together, dispatched only a few weeks into their bleak lifetimes--executed to nourish a family that could sustain itself on harmless substitutes. Years of agony for moments of bliss. How does that equity measure up? What aspect of that equation aligns?
That was the query they had gone to pose, insert a bullet into the brain of unawareness, lift the veil permanently. Forcing individuals to stand up, stare themselves in the eyes and acknowledge their malevolence. If they couldn't perform that action, they could join the struggle, add their names to the list, contribute their words to the query. The metamorphosis was underway. It was no longer a question, animals can endure suffering, and we can prevent it. Which pill will you take?
"End the terror."
They were not alone; a contrasting future was hurrying towards the hedgehog, armed with bricks, determined to defend the nefarious corporations. They donned phony shields of liberty, while their arguments stood on quicksand, disintegrating before they could be challenged. They were assertive proponents of agruments.
"Terror is entertaining."
She belonged to the orange future, black boots, fashionable clothing, a fox fur headband, a leather jacket, a Venus flytrap poised. She breathed in sync with the mob, kindling fires in the path of innovation, damaging the world because she could. She was a high-ranking government official; she was closer to being the authority figure than most.
"Terror is entertaining."
The futures converged with the inescapability of death - Clashing in an extravagance of colors, cells rupturing and spilling blood. Yesterday was dying, tomorrow was crying, and we stood amongst it drowning.
Strife ensued, soldiers falling, the north and south inched closer. The future no longer mattered; it was a mash-up of concepts and violence.
They collided; bricks crashed onto spines, the hedgehog lost his edge, the bricks succumbed.
A tear could shatter a heart. And this body wept.
Blood flowed from a wound on his forehead, conscientious eyes clouded with focus, one droplet at a time, red tears.
He required shelter from the rain. The brick tumbled from her grasp. The devil seemed sympathetic.
There are no absolutes; perspective can assist you in seeing around the corners. On certain occasions, you must stand upside down to comprehend the world.
The jigsaw puzzle pieces consolidated; the body threw up them into the hush.
Two royal-purple humans, the barrier of detest vanished, the final reserves of strength exchanged between titans. Hobbling forward, the future was pancaked by the present, their differences momentarily smoothed over.
"What is terror?"
In the honey, they stopped, she placed him on a clover of grass. She inspected him; conducted a concussion test, noticed that he was safe, simply weary and bruised; in need of repose.
One of her residences was close by, so she transported him there; he was a hesitant traveler to her sanctuary.
They pursued a snail's pace; she had become his shell. At the end of the war, there are just survivors.
"What is terror?"
Together they reached the house, jumped the driveway, and entered the dwelling, collapsing onto a sofa, still high on adrenaline. An uneasy silence hung; two souls lost in their thoughts as they strove to reform their perspectives.
An arranged chessboard, he implemented a tactic, expressed his gratitude for her considerate assistance, for conveyance him from the inferno. It wasn't the resolving of beliefs, but it was a recognition of assistance.
She concealed a smug smile and graciously acknowledged his appreciation, wiping it off with gloved hands. The response had commenced.
"What is terror?"
Bee's hovered; some stings connected, others fluttered off in search of nectar. There was a touch of wit, interspersed with the barbs. The pressure was mounting in the room.
The poet's marionettes danced.
"You can't even stand to look at me with that fur hat and leather jacket, knowing it's made from the bodies of those forced to work in the fashion industry."
She scoffed, "So what, you think I shouldn't wear this? That I should just stand there, naked and powerless?"
"No, not at all. But think about the people whose lives are ruined by fast fashion. The workers living in terrible conditions, and the animals slaughtered for their skins. It's just not worth it to support such a cruel system."
She pondered this for a moment before winking at him. Slowly, she started to undress until she was completely naked. He couldn't look away as she stood there, proud and confident. Her perfect body was a display of strength and power.
His mind was a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions. What should he say? Should he argue about the morality of wearing fur and leather? Or should he just give in to his desire and enjoy the moment?
She smiled and said, "If you don't like what I'm saying, then why don't you come closer and show me how you feel?"
Embarrassed by her boldness, he stood up and moved closer to her. She pulled him in, and they kissed. Her tongue wrestled with his, and he was shocked at how aroused he felt. His arguments faded into the background as his body took over. He couldn't resist her.
She broke the kiss and said, "If you're not convinced by my words, then maybe you need to see something else."
With that, she instructed him to take off his shirt. He complied, one inch at a time. Hesitant not to hurt her, he carefully removed it from his body, revealing a lean, muscular frame.
On his chest was a tattoo - 'Meat is murder'.
Annoyed, she pressed her fingernail into his skin, causing a small cut. "We're like siblings," she said. "We both want what is best for each other, but sometimes we disagree. I just want you to understand where I'm coming from."
They kissed again, their tongues exploring each other, tempting and resisting.
He then retreated a bit and stood up, pulling off his belt and pants. His thin body was a stark contrast to her athletic frame. She thought to herself, "Maybe that's what he needs to see. The comparison between his fragile self and my strong physique."
He moved back towards her and kissed her again, his fingers gently caressing her skin.
Her skin was like carved stone, strong but also sensual. She could feel his desire burning within him. She could see the struggle in his eyes as he tried to choose between conflicting desires.
"If you still don't understand," she whispered. "Allow me to show you."
She pressed her hands into his throat, her fingers squeezing his windpipe, her nails cutting into the soft skin. She stared into his eyes, watching as he struggled for air. Finally, he turned dead, his body limp, her hands releasing his lifeless body.
Satisfied, she ripped his shirt into pieces, laughing as she scattered the pieces on the floor. She took off her hat and started to dribble on her own fur.
She licked her lips, imagining the taste of his blood as she went down on all fours. Her own lips were slick with saliva, ready to feed on him.
She held her lips near his mouth, taking in the scent of his skin. The wild animals within her roared, hungry for a mate.
She traced her fingers over his face, leaving deep scratches, feeling the warmth of his body. She whispered, "Come here," before bending forward and devouring him, sinking her teeth into his neck, suckling his juicy flesh.
His body became taut, his eyes wild. Her tongue darted in and out as she drank his blood, her hands massaging his body. The excitement caused him to press against her, spurts of semen visible on her breasts.
Enjoying the sensation, she pulled him closer and continued to feed until he was drained. The killing had satisfied her primitive urges.
She pulled out a long, rigid item from a drawer. A strap that would go around her waist and tighten in place. She wet it with spray, ready for the action to come.
The cold, gleaming substance caught the light, oil shining like a star. She surrendered to submission, pushing forward as the tip slipped in. The mouth welcoming the intrusion, he gripped her tightly, letting out a whimper as the wild and untamed turned tame for her.
*
In life, regardless of who you are or what path you choose, the system will always invade, and that's what's so beautiful about revolution. Long live the revolution.
Read also:
- Yes, Darling
- Experience Life under the Guidance of Madam Inanna in Part 1
- Owned Chapter 4: Harassed
- Katie's Latest Adventure: Chapter 14
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