He stares into her hate filled eyes and spits venomously towards her. “You shall not have what is not yours. You shall only have the leftovers, and nothing more!”The sneer that creeps across her lips cuts through the air more than her words ever could, separating flesh from bone.
“A defining moment, you called it. A twisted defining moment. Yet the moment wasn’t defining, was it?” he says as he looks across the room towards her. “But, I died. Wasn’t that defining enough?” “Death doesn’t define anything, it is but a stepping stone, a misguided glance, an endless nothing.”
He looks down at his hands as they fade away, and then looks over to Catherine. The smile that is on her lips holds a sadness in them that he cannot understand, tilting his head to the side he frowns and furrows his brow. “Sweet Catherine, why do you cry?”
“In the end we all have to make a choice, and sometimes a sacrifice. This is one of those moments, this is your moment.” he says as he gleefully wets his lips with his overripe tongue. “Tell me, what is it you choose to be, a martyr or a nobody?”
The blade glistens in the moonlight, the blood glowing a brilliant golden. He smiles at her with a half disguised glance and buts down on his bottom lip as he turns to face their mother. “Come on whelp, you don’t have the stones to take me down!” she cackles loudly.
“So, you don’t agree with my methods?” Caliban says with a grin upon his lips. “I thought they were tried and true, and I can assure you after a century or more than has been no complaints from the audience,” he adds, flicking his tongue across his red ripe lips.
“The kids say the darnedest things, don’t they?” he says with a toothy smile. Carol smiles nervously as she presses herself up against the wall, and slides past him quickly. “W-W-What?” he stammers, as he twists and turns, shifting not only his stance, but every fiber of his very being.
In fevered desperation he shoves fingers down his throat, hoping to somehow vomit the parasite from within him, but he only finds bile and blood his reward. With one last almighty cry he punches himself in his own chest over and over again, like a drummer obtaining the perfect beat.
His teeth fly through the air performing remarkable pirouettes before hitting the floor seconds before he does. Blood seeps quickly from his mouth, as he lies unresponsive on the ground for far longer than he dared wish. He stares at the three teeth that lie on the floorboards before him.
Angelo takes a tentative step forward, only to meet its gaze with his own. “Nice doggy,” he says nervously as he holds his hands in the air. “I’ve been called many things over the years, but this is the first time someone had referred to me as a nice doggy!”