*Seeing as my other shit never works, I'm going to follow my main man Primetime(never be as good as him, but I can aspire to be) and do some fucked up erotic goth stuff... enjoy.
Hell was nothing like her gothic CD covers had described the place to be. The haunt was dark and creepy, but nothing like the Hell she imagined. For starters, if it wasn't for the smell, it would almost seem like home. Sandy would easily admit that she was scared. But it wasn't the cool place that her fellow metal friends said it would be. Damn Manson was a liar.
To be honest, aside from the rotting heads under her feet, the place wasn't that much different from the L.A she had left. She still felt ugly, even though rotting humans with maggots for eyes begged the streets below.
Ok, the place was scary, but so was L.A at night. The only difference really, was that the dead bodies that moved below her, seemed very much alive, but with rotten skin, and a zombie like tone. In L.A they seemed like they were rotting, but with good tanned skin and good blusher.
But Sandy could see a bar in the distance, and a toy shop not more than a mile away. This was a city, not Hell.
"HI!"
The voice startled Sandy to the point that she drew a fist back. The small girl, who was no older than twenty three, stared back at her. She looked like a pixie - small body, small breasts. But with a short haircut, she looked just like a young lesbian version of Med Ryan.
"If you try to punch me, I'll snap your arm in so many places that it hangs like a loose cock for all of time." The girl said with a playful giggle. "And in Hell, injuries never heal.Think about that. Just ask these losers below you."
Sandy looked below her, at the 'zombies' again. They were less people, and more random limbs reaching out. Sandy nudged away a hand that stroked her second toe, speading black blood all over her foot.
"Ew." Sandy remarked as she began to regret killing herself in flip-flops.
"Socks are like gold in Hell." the girl remarked, as if reading Sandy's mind.
"Who are you?" Sandy asked with a forced cough, as she used her cotten sleeve to remove the stale blood from her toe.
"I'm your tour guide, silly. Name is Lily." The petite girl shrugged "And I've been signed to show you around Hell. You're a suicide, right?"
Sandy looked down at the cuts on her wrists that Lily knew would never heal. They were almost identical as the ones Lily had. Lily shrugged with a sly smile, and if this was the real world, Sandy could've sworn that she was flirting with her.
Lily sighed "I always get stuck with these fucked up goth chicks... Jesus, when are they going to let me handle murderers?"
"Who are you?" Sandy repeated.
"Lily Macomorez," Lily bucked up "killed ten guys with a line of wire before they gave me the chair. They never fried me though. I sliced myself before they had the chance. 1923 was a bad year for me."
"So why ain't you being tortured? Christ, all I did was kill myself. Do all murderers get jobs as tour guides in hell?"
"Sandy," Lily began "I was tortured for a billion years. In your time it was seconds. But down here... time is liquid."
For a second Lily looked upset and Sandy noticed.
"Lily?" Sandy asked.
"You're not wearing socks-- he has three million years with your feet. If you had just chosen to wear socks before you killed yourself, he would've used twenty years just teasing you and removing them." Lily took a deep breath "Looks like you get the full three million years of tickling."
"Tickling?" Sandy asked.
A small evil grin formed over Lily's mouth. "I just hope that he'll let me watch this time."
A man cried in pain, but was ignored by both women.
"What are you talking about?" Sandy asked.
"You hate being tickled, don't you? Even more than these poor bastards hate bloodthirsty torture... Jesus Christ, I wish that you had killed yourself in socks. And why exactly did you kill yourself?"
Sandy was a goth chick, thirty years of age. She wasn't ready to tell Lily her secret. But she hated being tickled. Most kids got pleasure from it in a strange way, but for Sandy, it was always a full-on torture.
Hell was nothing like her gothic CD covers had described the place to be. The haunt was dark and creepy, but nothing like the Hell she imagined. For starters, if it wasn't for the smell, it would almost seem like home. Sandy would easily admit that she was scared. But it wasn't the cool place that her fellow metal friends said it would be. Damn Manson was a liar.
To be honest, aside from the rotting heads under her feet, the place wasn't that much different from the L.A she had left. She still felt ugly, even though rotting humans with maggots for eyes begged the streets below.
Ok, the place was scary, but so was L.A at night. The only difference really, was that the dead bodies that moved below her, seemed very much alive, but with rotten skin, and a zombie like tone. In L.A they seemed like they were rotting, but with good tanned skin and good blusher.
But Sandy could see a bar in the distance, and a toy shop not more than a mile away. This was a city, not Hell.
"HI!"
The voice startled Sandy to the point that she drew a fist back. The small girl, who was no older than twenty three, stared back at her. She looked like a pixie - small body, small breasts. But with a short haircut, she looked just like a young lesbian version of Med Ryan.
"If you try to punch me, I'll snap your arm in so many places that it hangs like a loose cock for all of time." The girl said with a playful giggle. "And in Hell, injuries never heal.Think about that. Just ask these losers below you."
Sandy looked below her, at the 'zombies' again. They were less people, and more random limbs reaching out. Sandy nudged away a hand that stroked her second toe, speading black blood all over her foot.
"Ew." Sandy remarked as she began to regret killing herself in flip-flops.
"Socks are like gold in Hell." the girl remarked, as if reading Sandy's mind.
"Who are you?" Sandy asked with a forced cough, as she used her cotten sleeve to remove the stale blood from her toe.
"I'm your tour guide, silly. Name is Lily." The petite girl shrugged "And I've been signed to show you around Hell. You're a suicide, right?"
Sandy looked down at the cuts on her wrists that Lily knew would never heal. They were almost identical as the ones Lily had. Lily shrugged with a sly smile, and if this was the real world, Sandy could've sworn that she was flirting with her.
Lily sighed "I always get stuck with these fucked up goth chicks... Jesus, when are they going to let me handle murderers?"
"Who are you?" Sandy repeated.
"Lily Macomorez," Lily bucked up "killed ten guys with a line of wire before they gave me the chair. They never fried me though. I sliced myself before they had the chance. 1923 was a bad year for me."
"So why ain't you being tortured? Christ, all I did was kill myself. Do all murderers get jobs as tour guides in hell?"
"Sandy," Lily began "I was tortured for a billion years. In your time it was seconds. But down here... time is liquid."
For a second Lily looked upset and Sandy noticed.
"Lily?" Sandy asked.
"You're not wearing socks-- he has three million years with your feet. If you had just chosen to wear socks before you killed yourself, he would've used twenty years just teasing you and removing them." Lily took a deep breath "Looks like you get the full three million years of tickling."
"Tickling?" Sandy asked.
A small evil grin formed over Lily's mouth. "I just hope that he'll let me watch this time."
A man cried in pain, but was ignored by both women.
"What are you talking about?" Sandy asked.
"You hate being tickled, don't you? Even more than these poor bastards hate bloodthirsty torture... Jesus Christ, I wish that you had killed yourself in socks. And why exactly did you kill yourself?"
Sandy was a goth chick, thirty years of age. She wasn't ready to tell Lily her secret. But she hated being tickled. Most kids got pleasure from it in a strange way, but for Sandy, it was always a full-on torture.
