The Dead Water Dirges Pt. 2
By Christine Dunleavy

Once an eye found it's entrance to one of these brothels, any man or even beast could find himself tangled between many intoxication's of firewater. People splintered off in every direction, without a care in sight. The place had a choking air to it. Primal desires smothered the room slapped with the hellish scent of coffin varnish that reeked throughout the place in an almost blinding ferocity. This was a place where the freakish were seen as normal and even the crookedest of thieves were welcomed with warm, greedy arms.

From the room exited a large bang and clash of a hellish noise I suppose that only the devil himself could make any sense of. It rang loud and ravenous throughout the air ways, slapping anyone that it touched right in the face. Its beats were fucked and mutated, spewing fourth like a wire trap raping its victim of life. It seemed to consume the room as if it were the mutated twin in a mothers belly, trying so hard to maintain the life that it will only so preciously be relieved of in the end.

Despite the deafening tones that cracked about the place, it seemed as though each twisted visitor rang alive. With a bottle of tarantula juice in one hand and a beast of a woman on the other, the noise seemed to only further inebriate each of its victims into a blurred frenzy.

This was no place for innocence or morals. This place was screwed so deep even hell wasn't so far out of reach.

 

The Dead Water Dirges Pt. 1
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