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Description
“I was use to it.” The man told the interviewer. “After years of being disgusted with myself. Feeling like the monster I was, I became complacent. After a while, even the guilt and hesitation goes away. Those things that make you human fade and through it all, you become something else altogether. Something… More and still something less. Hard to explain without a viable reference.” Looking to the other man sitting across from him like a well deserved meal. No wonder his story was never published. The mystery of Luxander Kinsey was solved anew.

Snap. The bones gave way as if they were not but wafers in Luxander’s delicate, but powerful grip. He was so careful not to kill him, but to sever any possibility of escape. Much like a praying mantis, the predator liked to catch and enjoy a live meal. It’s why he agreed to these useless probings. Well, that and the hope that one of them would rekindle a spark of his humanity. Maybe they would ask the right questions or give the proper reactions that would set him back a few hundred years. How he longed to feel something.

Tears fell down the other’s cheeks, streaming droplets of rain from stormy gray eyes. Like salt on a martini glass or side of a beer bottle, Lux licked the fleeing liquid and then continued with his meal. Taking in flesh and blood alike. Bite after bite, it was apparent that he savored every moment. Relished in the suffering of the once curious male. Nearly erotic, the way the redhead kept his eyes closed, his slender neck slightly tilted, as a lover in deep passion would pose. Finger tips caressing the flesh, as they work to expose it. Muscles tightening and forcing the fabric to part ways from itself, it begins to fall from the victim’s torso.

He wasn’t what you think. Not a leeching blood sucker. He had the eternal youth and equally obnoxious supernatural vices, but his cravings were more than that of any average horror tale. These creatures are not turned. No bite marks to be found or scratches to behold. Like a slow disease, they rise in age as if normal human beings, only to stumble into a metamorphosis of twisted yearnings; an appetite for flesh and blood, a hunger for suffering and agony, and a never-quenchable thirst for apathy. At first.

The further the change progresses, the deeper the fascination with rising power. Yes, speed and keen senses and better strength are had, but what supernatural being doesn’t get those things? This pursuit is on the path to the ultimate change. To become a true Jakrajah.

Blood trickled down the contours of the interviewer’s neck, the slender man seated limply on the chair, as it supported their weights without insurgence. Lux had started on his right arm; the vitae had dripped down the left side of his chin and landed safely on his victim’s Adam’s apple. Light kiwi colored eyes glanced over his meal as if wondering what part he should eat next, but when his lips parted, he only exhaled. Then spoke “Being a meal is never an easy task.” He mused, a mild smile. “But a gazelle can never approach a lion without expecting to be dinner.”

Long strands spilled over Lux’s shoulder from his high held ponytail, cheeks and nose dappled with light freckles, with a complex that would have gladly betrayed his Scottish-Irish heritage. This is not the tale of an almighty hero or the great adventures of a sojourning rebel. Instead, it is a plot of a monster seeking to become something of a demon. Luxander Kinsey is not going to change his mind. He will not waver from his path. He will stop at nothing to achieve his goal. To be a Jakrajah.

Something about his drive made him so hungry. Not just for the flesh and blood of the living being beneath him, but for his suffering. For his fear and desperation. Every emotion and thought gave Lux satisfaction. Licking his lips, he bent down, smelling the scent of the skin on the man’s chest. The sweat had built up from their contact and the stress. He listened to the beating heart within that chest, pumping hard and loud, sending blood throughout the man’s body. His teeth sunk in deep once more, eating away pieces from his quarry’s chest. To eat a living heart while it beats… It was like dessert. The ultimate prize of keep his prey living and breathing.

The interviewer, a man hoping to write a book about this interesting and dangerous creature, passed out no long after that first bite into his chest. The anxiety and pain were just too much for him to cope with. His mind couldn’t take it. Perhaps it was fate’s sweet mercy that would spare the man from feeling the creature snap his ribs like plastic utensils. Grabbing hold of the pulsing muscle, he enjoyed the feel of it in his hand, and then devoured it, smiling wide as the blood pours over him, drenching his clothing and furniture and flooring. Soaking into the rug and pooling beneath it on the cement, before finding the drain installed there.

He finished eating before he began to clean up his mess. All that was left were the lungs, bowels, hair, and bones. He chuckled at the large red blotches all over his living room. It was a strange room. Completely sound proof with the doors closed, thick cement walls that envelope a steel barrier. The table and chairs were metal, though exquisite in their appearance, all furnished with a deep plum and navy table cloth and matching satin cushions. Every door had a lock on the inside and outside knobs. Contrary to their look, the silk curtains were cheap and easy to throw away.

Dropping the cushion on the floor, he picked up the chair and set it just outside the door. On his journey back to the table, he began stripping of his clothing. His body looks much the way you would expect a man to look. Thought, actually, is the primary force that develops his appearance. A physical form that neatly molded into the form that his mother had expected of him. Soft freckles trailed down his shoulders and arms, as well as over his chest and upper back. Tossing his Egyptian cotton blouse and black blazer to pile up near the pillow, then removing his slacks and tossing them too onto the mess. It was time for a shower.

He grabbed the rest of the cushions, careful not to get any of the blood on them, and tossed them into a closet. He took one last look around, making sure he didn’t forget anything, then made his way to a drawer and pulled out salt and a few matches. The rug will burn. The clothing will burn. But the bones will need more care for them to turn to ash.

Lighting the match, he waited for the flame to grow, then dropped it on the rug. As the fabric caught fire, he walked over to the bones and, licking his lips in memory of the meal, poured the salt over them, then lit the other matches, dropping them on the floor as well. Three windows, he casually walked over and pulled the inner door over them, sealing the room completely, forcing the smoke through his chimney and keeping prying eyes from seeing his method of disposal.

He left the room, shutting the door behind him and taking the chair with him. It needs to be cleaned properly or their will be evidence left over. Setting it down on the bathroom floor, he shut the door behind him and took a step into the shower. No shower curtain. The floor had a drain and the shower head was mounted on the wall, but there wasn’t an actual area that was designated for showering. Open and unrestricting. It was his favorite bathroom.

He always takes cold showers. Feeling the water, like beams of ice that beat against his skin. The sensation of the rivulet of a near frigid liquid flowing over his warm flesh, bringing his nipples to harden, causing his body to gain small bumps all down his arms and legs. It was calming. But he didn’t like soap. Not any kind of soap. Liquid, bar, foam. It didn’t matter. He didn’t like it. Instead, he would use a mixture of herbs. His own concoction. It seemed to leave behind a pleasant aroma. He’d never once gotten a complaint about a stench.

For his hair? That was the only thing he would buckle on. He had to use shampoo and conditioner in his hair. Lux had found this locally owned store that made their own bathing products. He bought his hair care products from there. No strange chemicals or harsh ingredients. It was always important he looked his best. He had to be alluring. Attractive. Well groomed.

It beat hunting. Playing this little game. Hunting is for savage or desperate creatures. He was patient, methodical, and, when he wanted to be, charming. The police had interviewed him several times. Tried to catch him in the act, tried to pin him for any of the murders he’d committed, but there was little evidence to be had. He didn’t keep surveillance on his property, there was never a body to find, and everything else seemed to have vanished. The ashes were mixed with soil and then used for his garden.

Normal people have a garden with such a beautiful home. Normal rich people pay for someone to take care of their yards and to clean their homes. And so does he. Illegals, usually. They don’t have half as much to say as someone who has rights and a government to back them up. They do what they are told and do not ask questions. For this, he feeds them, cloths them, and houses them. Those who try to talk? They disappear just like those who come to interview him.

He prefers vegetarians. They tend to have a cleaner blood stream. To him, they taste better too. He likes those with slender build, so he won’t over eat. Favors those with hard to read emotions, usually the closet fag or family middle child. A human is ripe by about the age of 16 or 17. There are exceptionally fit adults and he’s more than happy to partake of those too… Obviously, but if he could have his way, a boy on the very brink of turning 17 that practices sports would be ideal. A girl has too much fat on her. And too many organs that he wouldn’t consider edible.

Sometimes, if pressed, he’ll eat animal meat. Won’t eat parts that have a lot of fur on them, which usually means the skin of the animal is out of the question, but most of the insides are fine. When invited out to eat, he’ll usually order seafood. It’s the least tampered with and often available as what humans like to call sushi. As raw as it comes. That was how he liked his food. A true carnivore, he did not consume vegetables or fruits. There is no joy to be had from eating fruit. No emotions. No suffering.

Description
“I was use to it.” The man told the interviewer. “After years of being disgusted with myself. Feeling like the monster I was, I became complacent. After a while, even the guilt and hesitation goes away. Those things that make you human fade and through it all, you become something else altogether. Something… More and still something less. Hard to explain without a viable reference.” Looking to the other man sitting across from him like a well deserved meal. No wonder his story was never published. The mystery of Luxander Kinsey was solved anew.

Snap. The bones gave way as if they were not but wafers in Luxander’s delicate, but powerful grip. He was so careful not to kill him, but to sever any possibility of escape. Much like a praying mantis, the predator liked to catch and enjoy a live meal. It’s why he agreed to these useless probings. Well, that and the hope that one of them would rekindle a spark of his humanity. Maybe they would ask the right questions or give the proper reactions that would set him back a few hundred years. How he longed to feel something.

Tears fell down the other’s cheeks, streaming droplets of rain from stormy gray eyes. Like salt on a martini glass or side of a beer bottle, Lux licked the fleeing liquid and then continued with his meal. Taking in flesh and blood alike. Bite after bite, it was apparent that he savored every moment. Relished in the suffering of the once curious male. Nearly erotic, the way the redhead kept his eyes closed, his slender neck slightly tilted, as a lover in deep passion would pose. Finger tips caressing the flesh, as they work to expose it. Muscles tightening and forcing the fabric to part ways from itself, it begins to fall from the victim’s torso.

He wasn’t what you think. Not a leeching blood sucker. He had the eternal youth and equally obnoxious supernatural vices, but his cravings were more than that of any average horror tale. These creatures are not turned. No bite marks to be found or scratches to behold. Like a slow disease, they rise in age as if normal human beings, only to stumble into a metamorphosis of twisted yearnings; an appetite for flesh and blood, a hunger for suffering and agony, and a never-quenchable thirst for apathy. At first.

The further the change progresses, the deeper the fascination with rising power. Yes, speed and keen senses and better strength are had, but what supernatural being doesn’t get those things? This pursuit is on the path to the ultimate change. To become a true Jakrajah.

Blood trickled down the contours of the interviewer’s neck, the slender man seated limply on the chair, as it supported their weights without insurgence. Lux had started on his right arm; the vitae had dripped down the left side of his chin and landed safely on his victim’s Adam’s apple. Light kiwi colored eyes glanced over his meal as if wondering what part he should eat next, but when his lips parted, he only exhaled. Then spoke “Being a meal is never an easy task.” He mused, a mild smile. “But a gazelle can never approach a lion without expecting to be dinner.”

Long strands spilled over Lux’s shoulder from his high held ponytail, cheeks and nose dappled with light freckles, with a complex that would have gladly betrayed his Scottish-Irish heritage. This is not the tale of an almighty hero or the great adventures of a sojourning rebel. Instead, it is a plot of a monster seeking to become something of a demon. Luxander Kinsey is not going to change his mind. He will not waver from his path. He will stop at nothing to achieve his goal. To be a Jakrajah.

Something about his drive made him so hungry. Not just for the flesh and blood of the living being beneath him, but for his suffering. For his fear and desperation. Every emotion and thought gave Lux satisfaction. Licking his lips, he bent down, smelling the scent of the skin on the man’s chest. The sweat had built up from their contact and the stress. He listened to the beating heart within that chest, pumping hard and loud, sending blood throughout the man’s body. His teeth sunk in deep once more, eating away pieces from his quarry’s chest. To eat a living heart while it beats… It was like dessert. The ultimate prize of keep his prey living and breathing.

The interviewer, a man hoping to write a book about this interesting and dangerous creature, passed out no long after that first bite into his chest. The anxiety and pain were just too much for him to cope with. His mind couldn’t take it. Perhaps it was fate’s sweet mercy that would spare the man from feeling the creature snap his ribs like plastic utensils. Grabbing hold of the pulsing muscle, he enjoyed the feel of it in his hand, and then devoured it, smiling wide as the blood pours over him, drenching his clothing and furniture and flooring. Soaking into the rug and pooling beneath it on the cement, before finding the drain installed there.

He finished eating before he began to clean up his mess. All that was left were the lungs, bowels, hair, and bones. He chuckled at the large red blotches all over his living room. It was a strange room. Completely sound proof with the doors closed, thick cement walls that envelope a steel barrier. The table and chairs were metal, though exquisite in their appearance, all furnished with a deep plum and navy table cloth and matching satin cushions. Every door had a lock on the inside and outside knobs. Contrary to their look, the silk curtains were cheap and easy to throw away.

Dropping the cushion on the floor, he picked up the chair and set it just outside the door. On his journey back to the table, he began stripping of his clothing. His body looks much the way you would expect a man to look. Thought, actually, is the primary force that develops his appearance. A physical form that neatly molded into the form that his mother had expected of him. Soft freckles trailed down his shoulders and arms, as well as over his chest and upper back. Tossing his Egyptian cotton blouse and black blazer to pile up near the pillow, then removing his slacks and tossing them too onto the mess. It was time for a shower.

He grabbed the rest of the cushions, careful not to get any of the blood on them, and tossed them into a closet. He took one last look around, making sure he didn’t forget anything, then made his way to a drawer and pulled out salt and a few matches. The rug will burn. The clothing will burn. But the bones will need more care for them to turn to ash.

Lighting the match, he waited for the flame to grow, then dropped it on the rug. As the fabric caught fire, he walked over to the bones and, licking his lips in memory of the meal, poured the salt over them, then lit the other matches, dropping them on the floor as well. Three windows, he casually walked over and pulled the inner door over them, sealing the room completely, forcing the smoke through his chimney and keeping prying eyes from seeing his method of disposal.

He left the room, shutting the door behind him and taking the chair with him. It needs to be cleaned properly or their will be evidence left over. Setting it down on the bathroom floor, he shut the door behind him and took a step into the shower. No shower curtain. The floor had a drain and the shower head was mounted on the wall, but there wasn’t an actual area that was designated for showering. Open and unrestricting. It was his favorite bathroom.

He always takes cold showers. Feeling the water, like beams of ice that beat against his skin. The sensation of the rivulet of a near frigid liquid flowing over his warm flesh, bringing his nipples to harden, causing his body to gain small bumps all down his arms and legs. It was calming. But he didn’t like soap. Not any kind of soap. Liquid, bar, foam. It didn’t matter. He didn’t like it. Instead, he would use a mixture of herbs. His own concoction. It seemed to leave behind a pleasant aroma. He’d never once gotten a complaint about a stench.

For his hair? That was the only thing he would buckle on. He had to use shampoo and conditioner in his hair. Lux had found this locally owned store that made their own bathing products. He bought his hair care products from there. No strange chemicals or harsh ingredients. It was always important he looked his best. He had to be alluring. Attractive. Well groomed.

It beat hunting. Playing this little game. Hunting is for savage or desperate creatures. He was patient, methodical, and, when he wanted to be, charming. The police had interviewed him several times. Tried to catch him in the act, tried to pin him for any of the murders he’d committed, but there was little evidence to be had. He didn’t keep surveillance on his property, there was never a body to find, and everything else seemed to have vanished. The ashes were mixed with soil and then used for his garden.

Normal people have a garden with such a beautiful home. Normal rich people pay for someone to take care of their yards and to clean their homes. And so does he. Illegals, usually. They don’t have half as much to say as someone who has rights and a government to back them up. They do what they are told and do not ask questions. For this, he feeds them, cloths them, and houses them. Those who try to talk? They disappear just like those who come to interview him.

He prefers vegetarians. They tend to have a cleaner blood stream. To him, they taste better too. He likes those with slender build, so he won’t over eat. Favors those with hard to read emotions, usually the closet fag or family middle child. A human is ripe by about the age of 16 or 17. There are exceptionally fit adults and he’s more than happy to partake of those too… Obviously, but if he could have his way, a boy on the very brink of turning 17 that practices sports would be ideal. A girl has too much fat on her. And too many organs that he wouldn’t consider edible.

Sometimes, if pressed, he’ll eat animal meat. Won’t eat parts that have a lot of fur on them, which usually means the skin of the animal is out of the question, but most of the insides are fine. When invited out to eat, he’ll usually order seafood. It’s the least tampered with and often available as what humans like to call sushi. As raw as it comes. That was how he liked his food. A true carnivore, he did not consume vegetables or fruits. There is no joy to be had from eating fruit. No emotions. No suffering.