Post by the_who on Nov 15, 2008 20:42:59 GMT -5
(This is a teaser to an original story I'm, ahem, attempting to write. It's heavily influenced by Jhonen's works, but with a more... er... serious plotline. and more mushy romance, cause I'm good at that. XD)
That’s how I remember it – dark. It was rank with the scent of the dead, the floor sticky with oozing red puddles, and tears burning at my eyes. But as he held me in his arms, I somehow felt safe – I’ll never understand how that came to be. But the moment his arms were around me, ready to plunge his blade into my stomach as well, I twisted around and held him. His knife clattered to the floor, his hands trembling in shock, and perhaps, horror. He just stood there, like a rag doll.
Somehow, in this room filled with the dead of my family, I found myself holding him. Me, a mere, perhaps stupid nineteen year old college student, he a twenty eight year old murderer – somehow, in all the destruction, I had enough… enough empathy, or whatever came over me… enough for me to hold him there, my hair against his chest.
I was spared….
____________________________________________________
“Daris, huh?” he asked, and I fidgeted uncomfortably on his rusty, tattered couch, already planning my escape. There were enough shattered windows to pass through if I wanted. He considered me a captive or sorts, I suppose, and had brought me to his home. He was cold – icy cold, the gaze of his black eyes so despicable. His jet hair was falling out, greasy, unkempt. A goatee on his chin was the only neatly kept thing about him. Even the diamond stud on his left ear had lost its luster.
“Yes.”
“Stupid name.” he muttered, leaning into the back-support of his chair, which was before him, as he sat facing me, the wooden chair backwards beneath him. He was gaunt, with swallow skin, his eyes sunken in. Of course I had no idea where we were – he had knocked me out the moment we left city limits. His car was hideous, an old junky green vehicle, the brand miscellaneous and meaningless. “Parents drunk when they named you?”
I bit my tongue, nails digging into the flesh of my palms. “Why did you do it?” I asked, fighting back the tears. I always fought the tears – nobody had seen me cry since my sister died on my sixteenth birthday. I allowed myself only to cry in private, and very seldom. I admit that I’m a stubborn red-head. I refused to let this poor excuse of a man intimidate me, no longer how much losing my family hurt. My mother… my father… my brother… I chewed on my cheek, staring at him through reddening eyes, but refused to shed a single tear.
“Why should I tell you?”
“You shouldn’t. But since you’ve brought me here-“
“I had a slushy. Your father, the bastard – I accidentally tripped, and it got on his shirt. I can understand being a bit peeved about that, but no, he goes on to curse me out like some barbarian. I mean, I even offered to clean it off of him, but he refused.” That man snickered, tapping his spindly fingers. “So the hell with him… literally.”
I stumbled up, shocked. No reason… he had killed them for no reason. “Y-you’re insane!” I screamed – I had already figured him so, but this was farther. “This is a joke, some kind of sick joke! Why did you kill them?” My voice was growing hoarse, my body trembling, and it was becoming harder to keep tears from trickling down my cheek. And yet, he only smirked, and made a light gesture with his hand, as if he expected me to believe that whole spiel. I, of course, I only shook my head, and attempted to run.
He raced at nearly an inhuman speed, springing into the air, tackling me to the floor. His breath was fowl as it drifted before my face, his eyes glinting. “If you run, I will chain you. If you break the chains, I tar you to the wall. If you manage to escape that, we’ll take a field trip and find out what a meat grinder actually looks like when devouring a human body.” My breath was shaky, as he sat up on my stomach, arms crossed over his chest. “I’m making Raman… you want any?”
“You’re sick!”
“Fine, whatever.” He shrugged, standing, brushing himself off casually. Complete shock… I was in totally, complete shock. As he left the room, I stumbled to the wall, creeping around it until I reached the bathroom, and shut the door behind me, despite the stench. I sunk to the grimy floor, and let the tears come, unable to contain them any longer. The spilled, hot, salty, down my face, making it sticky, making the whites of my eyes pink, but I couldn’t stop. I leaned into the corner between the door and the wall, chest racking, lungs wheezing.
And the only moan I could release was pathetic indeed. “I feel sick….”
That’s how I remember it – dark. It was rank with the scent of the dead, the floor sticky with oozing red puddles, and tears burning at my eyes. But as he held me in his arms, I somehow felt safe – I’ll never understand how that came to be. But the moment his arms were around me, ready to plunge his blade into my stomach as well, I twisted around and held him. His knife clattered to the floor, his hands trembling in shock, and perhaps, horror. He just stood there, like a rag doll.
Somehow, in this room filled with the dead of my family, I found myself holding him. Me, a mere, perhaps stupid nineteen year old college student, he a twenty eight year old murderer – somehow, in all the destruction, I had enough… enough empathy, or whatever came over me… enough for me to hold him there, my hair against his chest.
I was spared….
____________________________________________________
“Daris, huh?” he asked, and I fidgeted uncomfortably on his rusty, tattered couch, already planning my escape. There were enough shattered windows to pass through if I wanted. He considered me a captive or sorts, I suppose, and had brought me to his home. He was cold – icy cold, the gaze of his black eyes so despicable. His jet hair was falling out, greasy, unkempt. A goatee on his chin was the only neatly kept thing about him. Even the diamond stud on his left ear had lost its luster.
“Yes.”
“Stupid name.” he muttered, leaning into the back-support of his chair, which was before him, as he sat facing me, the wooden chair backwards beneath him. He was gaunt, with swallow skin, his eyes sunken in. Of course I had no idea where we were – he had knocked me out the moment we left city limits. His car was hideous, an old junky green vehicle, the brand miscellaneous and meaningless. “Parents drunk when they named you?”
I bit my tongue, nails digging into the flesh of my palms. “Why did you do it?” I asked, fighting back the tears. I always fought the tears – nobody had seen me cry since my sister died on my sixteenth birthday. I allowed myself only to cry in private, and very seldom. I admit that I’m a stubborn red-head. I refused to let this poor excuse of a man intimidate me, no longer how much losing my family hurt. My mother… my father… my brother… I chewed on my cheek, staring at him through reddening eyes, but refused to shed a single tear.
“Why should I tell you?”
“You shouldn’t. But since you’ve brought me here-“
“I had a slushy. Your father, the bastard – I accidentally tripped, and it got on his shirt. I can understand being a bit peeved about that, but no, he goes on to curse me out like some barbarian. I mean, I even offered to clean it off of him, but he refused.” That man snickered, tapping his spindly fingers. “So the hell with him… literally.”
I stumbled up, shocked. No reason… he had killed them for no reason. “Y-you’re insane!” I screamed – I had already figured him so, but this was farther. “This is a joke, some kind of sick joke! Why did you kill them?” My voice was growing hoarse, my body trembling, and it was becoming harder to keep tears from trickling down my cheek. And yet, he only smirked, and made a light gesture with his hand, as if he expected me to believe that whole spiel. I, of course, I only shook my head, and attempted to run.
He raced at nearly an inhuman speed, springing into the air, tackling me to the floor. His breath was fowl as it drifted before my face, his eyes glinting. “If you run, I will chain you. If you break the chains, I tar you to the wall. If you manage to escape that, we’ll take a field trip and find out what a meat grinder actually looks like when devouring a human body.” My breath was shaky, as he sat up on my stomach, arms crossed over his chest. “I’m making Raman… you want any?”
“You’re sick!”
“Fine, whatever.” He shrugged, standing, brushing himself off casually. Complete shock… I was in totally, complete shock. As he left the room, I stumbled to the wall, creeping around it until I reached the bathroom, and shut the door behind me, despite the stench. I sunk to the grimy floor, and let the tears come, unable to contain them any longer. The spilled, hot, salty, down my face, making it sticky, making the whites of my eyes pink, but I couldn’t stop. I leaned into the corner between the door and the wall, chest racking, lungs wheezing.
And the only moan I could release was pathetic indeed. “I feel sick….”