03-21-2017, 04:34 PM
WICKED
SOMETIMES ITS MY LIFE I CAN TASTE
He trailed behind them, the youngest of the three. A dark purple nose flairs its nostrils wide, looking for the smell of two other perfectly identical noses. Something Wicked this way comes.
He follows in pursuit of his sisters, escaping the old lady that demanded she call them Mother. But in the back of his mind, he knew she was not Mother. Mother was not nearly that old. And while his big sisters spent time reveling in their new found evil and wickedness—what does it mean to be wicked anyway?—he was a bit more perceptive, and had spent many long nights watching Potion work on her rather haphazard beauty routine. He had a feeling that under all that magic… she was as old as dirt.
The one time he’d been caught watching, she’d punished him and sent him along his way. Wicked little thing. And so he’d finally come to realize his name was Wicked. If he had been born with another name, he’d not remember it now.
Still, he followed his sisters, who now stood in the shadow of someone. Someone who really was wicked. He slows, crawling up beside the other, his cautious smile growing large when he sees the kill of the dead rabbits and digs into the carcass, smothering his face in blood and entrails. Despite his flat teeth, he had always had a taste for flesh and loved running about with his sisters tasting the local fauna from their kills. He flaps his tiny featherd wings, and shakes his black forlock around his horn nubs—the first real sign that perhaps, their normal little brother was not quite so normal. “You go off and leave me, you bad sisters. Mother will not be pleased. But the blood… is so worth it.” He hisses his pleasure at swallowing what little meat was available for him to eat, oozing up and sliding the rich red blood down his gullet, before turning up his head to make eyes with the lavender man, saying nothing, and hiding behind Venom. He may be the youngest, but he loves his sisters. They are the only family he’s ever known.. Because he knows that Potion is NOT Mother, even if he called her that.
Maybe he is too wicked for his real mother to love him.
What does it mean to be Wicked anyway?
He follows in pursuit of his sisters, escaping the old lady that demanded she call them Mother. But in the back of his mind, he knew she was not Mother. Mother was not nearly that old. And while his big sisters spent time reveling in their new found evil and wickedness—what does it mean to be wicked anyway?—he was a bit more perceptive, and had spent many long nights watching Potion work on her rather haphazard beauty routine. He had a feeling that under all that magic… she was as old as dirt.
The one time he’d been caught watching, she’d punished him and sent him along his way. Wicked little thing. And so he’d finally come to realize his name was Wicked. If he had been born with another name, he’d not remember it now.
Still, he followed his sisters, who now stood in the shadow of someone. Someone who really was wicked. He slows, crawling up beside the other, his cautious smile growing large when he sees the kill of the dead rabbits and digs into the carcass, smothering his face in blood and entrails. Despite his flat teeth, he had always had a taste for flesh and loved running about with his sisters tasting the local fauna from their kills. He flaps his tiny featherd wings, and shakes his black forlock around his horn nubs—the first real sign that perhaps, their normal little brother was not quite so normal. “You go off and leave me, you bad sisters. Mother will not be pleased. But the blood… is so worth it.” He hisses his pleasure at swallowing what little meat was available for him to eat, oozing up and sliding the rich red blood down his gullet, before turning up his head to make eyes with the lavender man, saying nothing, and hiding behind Venom. He may be the youngest, but he loves his sisters. They are the only family he’s ever known.. Because he knows that Potion is NOT Mother, even if he called her that.
Maybe he is too wicked for his real mother to love him.
What does it mean to be Wicked anyway?
pic by kyle thompson html by call