Crimson Nectar
The prologue for my novel AXE
The axe lays propped against the wall of the wooden porch, a pool of blood collecting on the floor around it in a coagulated puddle.
The crimson nectar slides sluggishly down the side of each blade, flowing amain and staining the steel with its deep red acrimonious hue, leaving streaks like tears transuding from its pores.
Sitting there, almost discarded, the axe was alive; or at least, it felt alive; conscious with rage and indignation. Hate pulsated throughout the blade and handle; the electricity aquiver as it pushes through from one end to the other, as though that was the air it were breathing.
The axe was aware of those with malefaction and it thrived upon it; fed on it; rooted its entire existence on it; longed and yearned for those sweet and redolent iniquities of man’s heart.
For the heart was where the most dark and auspiciously sinister thoughts resided. The heart was where the deepest desires lay dormant - nestled in those abyssal chambers which were secreted and ensconced by one’s doubts and disquieted fears
And that - that was where the axe drew it’s strength from and it was able to furtively use those desires - sotto voce - to exact its wonts; for it had a strong appetency and need to fill its lust.
So the axe lay there propped against the wooden porch now full and completely satiated, replete and apathetic from having just consumed…
…and presently it lay in wait; ready for its next feeding…