The Time Now 1.10.3

Forge Of AI

Storyteller the Time Now

Forge Of AI

spoken word, ambient, cinematic

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You close your eyes and abandon yourself to what may come.

"And you are doing it again, kinnay! 
You drift away, you run away from assuming responsibility!"

The stroke finally falls upon you, 
and you are dazzled, and you fall to the floor.

Your cheek burns, and you cover it with your hand. 
Your heart starts racing, 
your blood starts boiling, 
and thoughts amass inside your brain, 
bleak and heavy.

You mumble, at first a mere whisper, 
then louder and louder, 
until you find yourself shouting enraged.

"And kinnay should assume responsibility for your doings? 
For all the abominations that you do?"

A thought crosses your mind, 
and you start laughing hysterically.

"Because 'kinnay is a vessel for sin,' 
thus 'thrust your sin upon kinnay!' 
That's what it means, the pledge, 
the credo of the kinnays hearts, 
the words they shout when…"

You shiver and start crying, 
curled on the floor at Abba's feet, 
lost in the vastness of the room, 
a smudged shadow against the milky darkness.

Abba drops to their knees next to you.

Their face is glowing with glee, 
shimmering with desire, 
every muscle throbbing as if it's possible 
to climax with your face.

They turn you around and spread your arms. 
They mount you and pin you down with their weight.

But if there is love, you can't find it now—
only the hands taking over your body, 
the feral passion, the latex phallus thrusting you.

It will be done. 
It will be over—
as it has been before.

"Say it!" 
Abba growls through their bites.

"Kinnay is a vessel for sin, 
thrust your sin upon kinnay 
and be free from evil!"

"Say it again… and again… 
don't you stop saying it!"

And you say it, again and again, 
and they thrust their sin upon you. 
Again and again.

And you recall bits of memories of your times together 
and how you craved their love and their concern. 
And how you would fear them 
and how you would do anything for them. 
And this thought alone hurts more than the ripping of flesh.

It's been done.

Abba jumps on their feet and walks away. 
You hear some noises and then the water running from a shower.

You want to wash yourself too, 
but you don't move a muscle. 
You just lay on the floor, 
spread among the crumpled sheets, 
breathing with shallow bursts.

Your skin burns where they touched you, 
the muscles twitch from the stabbing pain, 
and you can't tell if it's shame or rage that tightens your throat.

How badly have you bled now?

How wrecked are you this time?

Will they put you to sleep again?

Will you be out again?

Will you remember any of this?

2583/7500

You close your eyes and abandon yourself to what may come. "And you are doing it again, kinnay! You drift away, you run away from assuming responsibility!" The stroke finally falls upon you, and you are dazzled, and you fall to the floor. Your cheek burns, and you cover it with your hand. Your heart starts racing, your blood starts boiling, and thoughts amass inside your brain, bleak and heavy. You mumble, at first a mere whisper, then louder and louder, until you find yourself shouting enraged. "And kinnay should assume responsibility for your doings? For all the abominations that you do?" A thought crosses your mind, and you start laughing hysterically. "Because 'kinnay is a vessel for sin,' thus 'thrust your sin upon kinnay!' That's what it means, the pledge, the credo of the kinnays hearts, the words they shout when…" You shiver and start crying, curled on the floor at Abba's feet, lost in the vastness of the room, a smudged shadow against the milky darkness. Abba drops to their knees next to you. Their face is glowing with glee, shimmering with desire, every muscle throbbing as if it's possible to climax with your face. They turn you around and spread your arms. They mount you and pin you down with their weight. But if there is love, you can't find it now— only the hands taking over your body, the feral passion, the latex phallus thrusting you. It will be done. It will be over— as it has been before. "Say it!" Abba growls through their bites. "Kinnay is a vessel for sin, thrust your sin upon kinnay and be free from evil!" "Say it again… and again… don't you stop saying it!" And you say it, again and again, and they thrust their sin upon you. Again and again. And you recall bits of memories of your times together and how you craved their love and their concern. And how you would fear them and how you would do anything for them. And this thought alone hurts more than the ripping of flesh. It's been done. Abba jumps on their feet and walks away. You hear some noises and then the water running from a shower. You want to wash yourself too, but you don't move a muscle. You just lay on the floor, spread among the crumpled sheets, breathing with shallow bursts. Your skin burns where they touched you, the muscles twitch from the stabbing pain, and you can't tell if it's shame or rage that tightens your throat. How badly have you bled now? How wrecked are you this time? Will they put you to sleep again? Will you be out again? Will you remember any of this?

0/500