Second Chapter: Shokubeni

A small girl, a dreamer who sells her body. It starts. A girl inside the box. Inside the box. When will she come out? A girl inside the box. Inside the box.

It's the demon's feast...

Men laughed drunkenly, rough, burly men of loud words and harsh touches, as pretty men and women moved about, dressed gaily in satins of varying colors and patterns, plying them with whine and soft chatter amid scattered kisses. A few had already been claimed and were in various stages of undress; their moans of pleasure created a deep undertone beneath the music, lustful and disgusting.

A pretty male sat alone, off to himself, his legs folded gracefully beneath himself. First glance, he would be mistaken for a woman, so pretty was he, yet closer inspection would reveal always that he was a male, for his pretty kimono in the vibrant colors of purples, blues, and pinks hung open slightly at the chest to reveal soft skin of the palest cream. His delicate hands were folded in his lap against the silken fabric, fingers gently laced together, as his dark eyes watched the festivities beneath auburn bangs--the rest of his hair had been swept back loosely to cascade over his shoulders and down his back in a very appealing style of femininity. His face had been heavily done in makeup, though without it, he would surely have been just as beautiful, if not more so.

He appeared to be in a bit of a daze, lost to the world, the fragile creature that he was; the gesturing of the Mother did not even serve to bring him out of his reverie. At last, the blue-haired matron had had enough--he was, also, male--and making his angered way over to the lone prostitute, he crouched down and slapped him hard across the face, leaving a red mark against the pale skin. The pain that such an action had brought about seemed to awaken the auburn-haired beauty; in an instant, his hands lifted to reveal a small firearm, small enough to be concealed beneath the slender digits if they were folded over it just so.

"Take this...Free yourself..." a voice whispered as a small firearm was pressed into his hands and his fingers folded over it gently to hide it.

The Mother was not even allowed a cry of surprise as the trigger was pulled; he fell back onto the floor and lay very still amid a shocked silence.

Free yourself...

Slowly the small, fragile creature lifted himself to his feet, the gun still in his hand. Before anyone else could react, he took a step over the Mother and began shooting, shooting and shooting until not one person was still left alive in that room. He then went from room to room, leaving no survivors of such a massacre, save for himself.

Come to me...I'll be waiting for you...

His silent footsteps carried himself up the stairs and down the long hall, through the bloodshed, his clothes the same pristine beautiful that they had been. A familiar door, his own door, the door that led to the room in which he had entertained his final customer; one hand lifted to push it open and give him access to the inside.

A stench filled his nose, the stench of a long-dead and rotting corpse; momentarily he closed his eyes to hold back his nausea. Once he had adjusted to the smell, the dark orbs opened once again to gaze upon the sight before him.

On the bed, a redhead lay, still in death. A bullet hole had dried over his chest, over his heart, crusted with blood; his skin was ashen gray and flakey, disgustingly swarming with flies and maggots in the heat of the room. The whore's gaze softened as he gazed upon the dead man; soft footsteps carried him over to the bed, where he took a silent seat on the edge. Reaching over, he shifted one of the dead arms so that he could lay there against him in the makeshift embrace, not seeming in the least repulsed by the rotting filth that had become his lover in secret.

The stench wouldn't matter any longer anyway.

His head rested against the chest as his eyes closed; without another thought, he had raised the gun to his temple.

A final shot rang out, then all was still.