ivy davaux
with friends like you
I remember the straps.
I remember your hands.
Do you remember
how I screamed?
Ivy is not his true name. It's a name lifted from the last breath across his lover's lips. Half the name of the plant that lent its poison to his blade.
The name he wore when the splintered wood of the table pressed into his back is long forgotten.
The name of the man who strapped him there still lingers, malignant, lodged in his skull.
That man's voice carved the words of the rituals into his skin, stole the light from his eye. The words let him see, hear, feel far more than he should.
Against the backs of his eyelids, the man's blood still stains his hands. It's mixed with the blood of his kin. The eyes of the clan's children still stare up at him, glassy and empty.
who needs enemies?
20 years to go
The reward for years of torment is an expiration date.
Perhaps a mercy. Seventeen years of 'service' as his clan's test subject has left his mind cracked wide open.
A gaping, festering wound.
Revenge was easy. The bloodline has been snuffed out.
All that's left is the aftermath.
enjoy the ride, the medicine show