Weary toils, worn like stones
Tonight a horror wears her bones
Anna trudged to her car, her worn-out shoes scraping against the asphalt as she left work. Her indigo uniform was dripping with sweat, and her name tag was turned around. She clawed at her tucked-in shirt, pulling it free and allowing the crisp midnight air to give her some relief. The door to her not-quite-broken-down car opened, and she collapsed inside. Her delicate, calloused fingers tugged her crimson hair out of the tight bun it had been in for hours and tossed the hair tie into the passenger seat. Another time, she could have been a seamstress, or maybe a pianist, but her demure physique was lost in a life of menial labor. Her car chortled, and she drove home.
Too drained to bother showering tonight, Anna unhooked her cheap, broken wire bra, letting it fall to the floor of her cluttered bedroom. She stripped down to her sky-blue panties and flopped on her comforter, her light breasts welcoming the embrace. Her box fan worked overtime to cool down her slick back. With her head heavy, she fell into slumbering darkness.
Anna's form floated naked in an abyss. Her long eyelashes fluttered, the flickering glint of sight searching for something, anything. She was warm, and the air was stagnant, like breathing from a plastic bag. Was it air? Her lungs burned, her ribs sucking hard for relief. Anna's eyes opened in panic, seeing nothing but feeling a presence. Colossal, terrible, wrapping around her, she thrashed her limbs in search of a place to hide, to escape.
A long, wide, sticky muscle pressed against her back. Her legs, butt, spine, and neck were immediately slick with secretion. A second muscle pinned her from the front, oozing against her hips, her breasts, her throat, and over her nose and mouth. They crushed the air out of her chest, and she was unable to move at all. It felt like she was being swallowed. A wordless scream hung from her lips.
Anna woke up still screaming. She was soaked from head to toe. Rain poured down her naked body. Rain? Anna looked up at the stainless showerhead above her. How the fuck did she get in here? Her skin was pink from heat. The knob on her shower was cranked all the way to the left, as far as it'll go. Dizzy, Anna braced herself against the wall and turned the water off. Groping for the towel hanging on the doorknob, she stumbled and pushed it open. Steam poured like fog into the hallway. She took a deep breath of fresh air to calm her nerves and started to towel herself off.
Anna gingerly padded her legs dry, wincing a little from the overheated, sensitive skin. She worked her way up, her artful fingers finding their way into each nook and cranny of her thighs, her hips, her breasts, her neck...
A tingling jolt shot from the side of her neck, like hitting a funny bone. She gasped as the feeling radiated down her body, giving her goosebumps. Carefully, she touched her neck again, this time with the bare tips of her fingers. It was soft and sort of lumpy, and it was warm, almost hot, like a busted lip. She looked in the mirror and froze.
A dark, purple-red, oval gash bulged out from where she was touching. It was as long as her palm and oozing something black. She pulled her hand away and saw the ichor stick to it, stringing out in strands. Without thinking she brought it to her nose. It smelled like metal shavings and wild honey. The aroma made her head swim. Her cheeks flushed, and a dull ache between her legs began to grow. She staggered back, falling hard on her butt on the edge of the tub. The ache became a throb, and, with steam slipping out around her, her ichor-coated seamstress fingers found the folds of her sweet secret.
Anna's half smile reflected in the foggy mirror as she danced with her tingling bud. Her other hand slid up her side, squeezing her breast. A low whimper escaped her lips. The tingle quickly became a buzz, and her chest heaved with anticipation. Her eyes opened wide and her legs clamped down as the burning glow of her loins seared into her lower half. Anna gritted her teeth and rode the wave, unable to draw breath. Finally, she was released from the clutch of her ecstasy and slumped to the tile floor.
Woozily, Anna stared at her blackened fingertips, midnight sex stringing from them to her snatch. She wobbled to her feet and looked again in the mirror at the thing on her neck. It buzzed and burned, but most of all it throbbed and ached in a familiar way. The horrid realization struck her. What the fuck was she going to do?
Creatures searching, drawing near
The girl must learn to hide her fear
Anna went to work the next day with a scarf. She saw her boss, a heavy, middle-aged black woman with a clean, polyester blouse and a permanent scowl on her face.
"Anna! Come here."
Anna did her best to pretend she had a fever. "Yeah, Denise? What's up?"
If Denise noticed Anna's ailment, she either saw through it or she didn't care.
