I’m mortified I’ll find malicious messages in music. Songs sung of sacrilegious, Satanic subjects, surreptitiously suggesting some sort of sacrificial slaughter — sounds silly, I’m sure. But it bothers me, because my brother always brought up Biblical stories of bad omens and butchered babies. The Devil was in the details. Damnation was in my dreams.
Hierophant household, horrible histories of hellish homilies and hand-me-down fates. I broke bread with bastards and base abusers in our basement bomb-shelter from back in the bomb-scare era. I mixed with masochists and malingerers, mortified from many murderous messages of madness and damnation mistaken by the many as music.
A family of freaks. Satan in song. They never knew. Bomb-shelter brothers, crazed cousins, singing sisters.
Song scared me. Torturous tunes. I couldn’t cope. The voices vexed me. At long last, I listened. Finally, I followed.
Today’s three prompt categories were, “A lot of alliteration,” “Irrational fear,” “Poor taste in music.”
This one is super short because it’s tough to write a stream of alliteration in 15 minutes. Hell of a lot of fun, though. It reads like the demented journal of a serial killer. One you might find in a D&D session, anyway.