Their forgotten bodies laid silently beneath their wilting grave beds… waiting for something to breath renewed life into their numb fingers and locked bones…waiting to have their ears hear something more than the sound of bugs feasting on their flesh – their crumbling lips curling back in anticipation for the day when they would at last know the pleasure of the blood of the warmth of blood in their hands – misplaced dolls laying in unity with an unspoken pact.
It was late Beltane and the day of their unnatural contract had come upon them all. The rebirth they had waited so long for. The day for them to begin taking back the qualities of life they had so long ago lost. The pleasure of feeling their corroding bones driving into living bodies, their ears hearing the grunts and moans of their adversary’s pain and feeling their opponent’s blood on their marbled hands- They spread chaos and violence wherever they skate.
These poppets have risen to do nothing more than skate hard, skate fast and skate strong. All to feel that had been seized from them. Already undead, they have no fear and nothing to lose, these decomposing dolls whom have christened themselves the Death Track Dolls.
