What could have been the darkest day in my Gotham City wasn't. It should have been, but sometimes Good triumphs over evil. I won. I don't care how but I did. Wonder Woman never asks.
It began at the grocery store. I was excited to see that English muffins were on sale. Yay me and Happy Holidays. So I plucked them from the shelf and happily made my way up to the checkout with my cart full of goodies. I had a lot to accomplish that day so I was rushing, pulling things out quickly and organizing them on the belt. The last thing I wanted was my fabric softener sheets in with my bagels; cinnamon and "Mountain Fresh" do not a good breakfast make. I was quickly flipping my prized muffins up to join the other "squishables" when the security tag gave way. What tag? Well, the one that holds the bag closed. As I made my lovely arc, swinging my arm to further their adventure into my grocery bag, they broke free and made a small rainbow of "not yet toasted" nooks and crannies as they proceeded to attack the bag boy with what sounded like gentle tommy gun fire: "fuff-fuff-fuff-fuff" They pelted him softly and rolled away; under counters, across to the gumball machines....Dammit. Not a good sign for a great day. My superhero cape drooped a little. At least the nice kid went and got a new package for me. I got home, beginning to find humor in my start. I thought I could still turn the day around and save it as any belonging to the Justice League would do. My son met me at the door.
"I have something to show you." he said quietly.
I felt my lips draw in. He brought a test that had been carved up in purple ink. I read two sets of comments from two teachers. One gave him a high grade and one resembled Ms. Shields from "A Christmas Story" :
"Margins! Margins! MAHHGINS! A Semi-colon you DOLT... F! F! EEEEEFF!"
Ben had to redo the entire assignment. I had to go back out and find the movie so he could review it and try again. It was due...two minutes ago. Dammit. My tiarra wiggled, coming a little loose on my noble head.
My daughter was right behind him not to be outdone.
"I need to go to the barn and get some video footage for my project. It's due tomorrow."
The barn is forty minutes away. I felt my chest tighten with anxiety and frustration but I held it in; glad that my bustier was snug. I got my keys, barked directions to the Wonder Twins and off we went. First the barn, then the movie stop, next home for chores, homework and if we had time, breathing.
Arriving at the barn, I held the camera, becoming a Wonder-one-woman film crew. My son impressed me in that he had enough of Superman's vision and forethought to pack his other homework and, taking form of a student; worked diligently in the car. This was going better than planned.
But back at the barn, the horse was less than cooperative and while we captured my daughter's expertise in equestrian handling/riding, we realized all too late that it is a stallion of Dr Doom's as it took off down the field at full gallop, tucking its head. I watched my daughter begin the roll, knowing full well that she was going to hurt my ears with that thick sickening thump as she hit the ground.
Dammit!
But this Wonder Twin has chosen the form of a super strong kid. We end lessons and filming We had enough material and no, the fall was NOT caught. All that was recorded was me mumbling dammit over and over and a clip of my feet running across the grass. No AFV there. I walked her back to the car, deciding we would treat ourselves to Gotham's finest take out. I tried to ignite the bat mobile. Nothing. Not even a cluck. I looked to find that my son left the car on for more than hour with the lights, radio...Good God I think he was attempting to power the bat signal off my car battery. It's dead.
DAMMIT.
Trudging back up to the barn, I asked my daughter's teacher for a jump. She pulls up her bull of a truck and we get our red and black pincers out, hoping for the best. After more time than anticipated, The bat mobile roars with an apology and the promise of a speedy ride home. In we go and off we are. We hit the drive and rush in to the Bat cave because we still have chores and crap left.
"What about dinner? Weren't we going to stop? And the movie? We have to get that..."
DAAAAAAMMIT! I stomp my gold LeMay boots. Throwing a less than Superfriend tantrum.
Back to the bat mobile and into Gotham I rush. Dashing in to the store with my superhero vision, I rip apart the shelves for this movie. Empty. My Spidey senses are tingling and I watch a kid pulling random movies and cd's off the shelves; lots of them. I must have snared him in my lasso of truth because we looked at each other and he left them all abruptly. I approached some clerks, explained what I had seen, but not before asking if they had the movie. They looked where it was and of course that particular spot was empty. I closed my eyes, fighting the tears with the word of the day brought heartily on by the letter "D". I felt my shoulders deflate. I knew my boots were sagging and my tiarra was tilting. The clerk felt so bad, he told me to wait. He would call the Commissioner. There was hope. I looked to the sky for the signal. Fifteen minutes went by. He returned forlorn.
"I don't have it."
I hung my head in defeat. The Legion of Doom had won. Dammit. I slowly turned and contemplated the price for my lasso on Craig's list.
"Wait! WAIT!" I heard as I approached the door. I turned expecting to see security coming to arrest me for some top secret anti-theft tag that had attached itself to my boot like wet toilet paper. At this moment, it seemed reasonable. But it wasn't. It was the clerk. In the thwarted thief's pile was the last copy of what I needed.
I was surprised that no one asked for my autograph as I spun in circles doing the "wonder woman windmill" with my bad-day bullet deflecting wristbands shielding me from further defeat. "FEH_DOO! Gotcha! Not ME! NOT TODAY! Feh-DOOOO! Take that! AND that! VICTORY IS MIIIIIINE"
I pranced to the car, tears of glee sparkling in my eyes. I pulled up to get sandwiches for those who were also struggling with their day in Gotham and there was no line. None. They even got the order right. YES! I felt the heat of pride and success sizzle through my veins like a burger on the grill. I straightened my tiarra, cinched up my lasso and marched in to my house. The children cheered, the dogs hopped and barked happily. I had saved the day.
After all, I'm Wonder Woman dammit!
Sunday, November 27, 2011
Friday, November 25, 2011
The Village
As you can guess, I was up north in my favorite place in the world; Promises. We had a weekend stuffed with family, friends, food and laughter; just what the doctor ordered.
Now I am very fond of entertaining. I love company and sharing my culinary adventures (every twenty minutes); with most visitors. However, there were unwanted visitors this weekend: a mouse...and his buddies. I had my suspicions when I heard tiny giggling and scritching late at night. Upon our arrival for the weekend, I went around the house cranking up thermostats and discovered that those little squatters had been swimming after dark without a lifeguard and just like a party at Tommy Lee's house, there had been a bad decision ending in "tragedy". One of them had gone for a dip in my commode and not taken his floatie ring. I screamed and ran away begging Cheech to save me. He sighed and told me to "pull the damn trigger" and flush. I couldn't do that. I wanted it OUT of my sanctuary. There could be no tainting by these foul varmints. So he had to traipse upstairs and remove the furry buoy. We then began to look, discovering that my pantry became a smorgasbord equivalent to the Golden Corral.
They helped themselves to my sunflower seeds for apps and then ate my pecans for a first course. They seemed disappointed in the pearl barley but milled over my pasta. Although the Doritos intrigued them, they couldn't handle the fact that they were covered in cayenne. They then proceeded to soothe themselves with my fun size Reese's Cups. Well let me share a factoid with you. There IS a wrong way to eat a Reese's, especially if you're a mouse in my home and the candy is mine. I was ticked. So I called them motherfiretrucking mooches, got out the peanut butter and set the traps. Well I cried until Cheech did it. He was chivalrous and macho as he laid them in dark far back corners and tucked them away. We had to dash out and begin our visiting over the river and through the woods.
Upon arriving home, stood stalk still and listened. I don't know what we thought we'd hear. It was quiet; deathly so. And he opened the cupboard, pulled out the trap and stared at me.
"He's here." he whispered.
I covered my mouth I think to stifle the scream welling up in my chest. Was it jubilation or horror? I don't know. Cheech marched outside to dump our victory in the woods. I followed him to the porch; no closer, and watched with macabre interest. He opened the little door and shook the box. Nothing. He turned to peek inside.
I never thought that the mouse might still be alive.
He launched that deathtrap farther than the newly set punkin chunkin record with a yelp. It was drowned out by the words shouted "IT'S NOT EFFING DEAAAAD!"
I will tell you that the word and emotion that smacked my body with the force of a speeding bullet train was terror. In my mind that little bastard had dialed all his pals, given them a single order: "Don't stop until she's laughing in madness" I screamed. And I wailed "What do we do NOW? Who do we call?" panic frayed the tone of my voice like an unravelling sweater.
You can NOT file a restraining order for wildlife. I just want you to know that. Our hearts were pounding in our chests. I was panting as if I'd been running for miles. I dashed inside and flopped on the couch feeling just the slightest bit dizzy, queasy. The dogs came and they sat all over me. I wanted to feel safe, bury my face in their fur and cry until the nocturnal ninjas had all moved on. Forever.
My knight came inside laughing hysterically to see me drawn and pail on our "slouch couch"
"Save me...." I begged.
"Oh Jeez... Get up. We will get them."
"All?"
"All." he promised.
And he hugged me. I looked over his shoulder and above the sink where the perfect community for these vile demons silently sits; my collection of birdhouses; a village of the dammed. I smiled wickedly and pulled the family sized jar of peanut butter from the "Golden Corral"
"Yes. All." I muttered.
Ohhh if only you could have seen me! I did my best to share it with you and I hope you smiled. I have to laugh at myself. If I didn't, I might feel guilty when I giggled and pointed at others. Trite? yes. But....
:)
Now I am very fond of entertaining. I love company and sharing my culinary adventures (every twenty minutes); with most visitors. However, there were unwanted visitors this weekend: a mouse...and his buddies. I had my suspicions when I heard tiny giggling and scritching late at night. Upon our arrival for the weekend, I went around the house cranking up thermostats and discovered that those little squatters had been swimming after dark without a lifeguard and just like a party at Tommy Lee's house, there had been a bad decision ending in "tragedy". One of them had gone for a dip in my commode and not taken his floatie ring. I screamed and ran away begging Cheech to save me. He sighed and told me to "pull the damn trigger" and flush. I couldn't do that. I wanted it OUT of my sanctuary. There could be no tainting by these foul varmints. So he had to traipse upstairs and remove the furry buoy. We then began to look, discovering that my pantry became a smorgasbord equivalent to the Golden Corral.
They helped themselves to my sunflower seeds for apps and then ate my pecans for a first course. They seemed disappointed in the pearl barley but milled over my pasta. Although the Doritos intrigued them, they couldn't handle the fact that they were covered in cayenne. They then proceeded to soothe themselves with my fun size Reese's Cups. Well let me share a factoid with you. There IS a wrong way to eat a Reese's, especially if you're a mouse in my home and the candy is mine. I was ticked. So I called them motherfiretrucking mooches, got out the peanut butter and set the traps. Well I cried until Cheech did it. He was chivalrous and macho as he laid them in dark far back corners and tucked them away. We had to dash out and begin our visiting over the river and through the woods.
Upon arriving home, stood stalk still and listened. I don't know what we thought we'd hear. It was quiet; deathly so. And he opened the cupboard, pulled out the trap and stared at me.
"He's here." he whispered.
I covered my mouth I think to stifle the scream welling up in my chest. Was it jubilation or horror? I don't know. Cheech marched outside to dump our victory in the woods. I followed him to the porch; no closer, and watched with macabre interest. He opened the little door and shook the box. Nothing. He turned to peek inside.
I never thought that the mouse might still be alive.
He launched that deathtrap farther than the newly set punkin chunkin record with a yelp. It was drowned out by the words shouted "IT'S NOT EFFING DEAAAAD!"
I will tell you that the word and emotion that smacked my body with the force of a speeding bullet train was terror. In my mind that little bastard had dialed all his pals, given them a single order: "Don't stop until she's laughing in madness" I screamed. And I wailed "What do we do NOW? Who do we call?" panic frayed the tone of my voice like an unravelling sweater.
You can NOT file a restraining order for wildlife. I just want you to know that. Our hearts were pounding in our chests. I was panting as if I'd been running for miles. I dashed inside and flopped on the couch feeling just the slightest bit dizzy, queasy. The dogs came and they sat all over me. I wanted to feel safe, bury my face in their fur and cry until the nocturnal ninjas had all moved on. Forever.
My knight came inside laughing hysterically to see me drawn and pail on our "slouch couch"
"Save me...." I begged.
"Oh Jeez... Get up. We will get them."
"All?"
"All." he promised.
And he hugged me. I looked over his shoulder and above the sink where the perfect community for these vile demons silently sits; my collection of birdhouses; a village of the dammed. I smiled wickedly and pulled the family sized jar of peanut butter from the "Golden Corral"
"Yes. All." I muttered.
Ohhh if only you could have seen me! I did my best to share it with you and I hope you smiled. I have to laugh at myself. If I didn't, I might feel guilty when I giggled and pointed at others. Trite? yes. But....
:)
Thursday, November 24, 2011
HAPPY THANKSGIVING
I wish you all a safe and wonderful holiday. May the love and laughter you share overstuff your hearts like the pants that (mysteriously) will only fit this morning. Drink deeply whether it's wine from a "red solo cup" (see below...it's a gigglin song) or friendship from a tender heart.
With many warm wishes and much love,
Tess
I wish you all a safe and wonderful holiday. May the love and laughter you share overstuff your hearts like the pants that (mysteriously) will only fit this morning. Drink deeply whether it's wine from a "red solo cup" (see below...it's a gigglin song) or friendship from a tender heart.
With many warm wishes and much love,
Tess
Sunday, November 20, 2011
The Dream
The fog was warm and thick. She snuggled in it at first, not wanting to wake and pulled at the blanket covering her head. There came smouldering heat from her gut that gnawed at her to stir. Kelly grumped and fidgeted in her sleep, welcoming the lilt of her own sweet dozing breaths. It was still dark but something inside her felt as if she'd been sleeping for a long time. Her mind began to sputter; remembering the argument and how it had been so foolish; pointless. She frowned.
It seemed that most of their fights were just that anymore. She winced at the awful things they'd said. She couldn't remember seeing Paul so angry. He'd cleared the table with his arm splashing the meal all over the walls and floor. Then he'd yelled that the house was a mess. With her big dark eyes flashing she'd smirked, waved her hand over the catastrophe like it was a game show prize and asked
"Thank you my dear, for pointing it out. Do you know how it could get like this? My my what piggies!" She picked up the couple of plates that had been missed by his childish display and chucked them into the pile. They too broke and dumped.
He'd started for her and Kelly startled herself by taking a defensive stance. If he was going to do it, she was going to fight him the whole way. Her fists clenched; her leg rocked back in position to kick; hard if necessary. When he'd seen her prepare for his tirade he hesitated, almost stunned. Paul raised his open hand and smacked the table.
"Not WORTH it." he growled and turned on his heel to stalk off per usual.
She wondered if it would be in poor taste to leave it all in his bed; stifling the laugh from the vision it created as the garbage was collected and removed. Disposable. That was how she saw their relationship now. Disposable. Silently, she removed herself from the unhappiness, choosing to cool her heals in the study. It surprised her when Paul came in to the den where she was curled up with her book and a cup of tea.
"Truce?" he asked handing her a wine glass.
She took it and held it, waiting. "And?"
"I'm sorry." he said softly; slowly. He swirled it in his glass and drank deeply. "It's your favorite."
"You remember what that is?" she asked.
"I'm trying." he said a little more tightly.
"One glass of wine, does not an apology make. Paul, what's wrong? With you, with this, with us?" Kelly waved her arms. And so the night began again with talking, honesty and tears. It was hard to hear and admit they had both failed themselves and each other. They talked about new beginnings and how it could be different; better. He told her that he loved her. She smiled a little less coldly. As they continued, the night became fuzzy. The wine blurred her mind and slurred her vision. Kelly needed to sleep. Paul was still talking but his voice drifted down a long tunnel and disappeared before she could hear it. Like black, deep water, the tickle of exhaustion crept along her limbs and weighed her down. She couldn't fight it and at last closed her eyes. The sleep was deep and soothing.
So now as she woke, the scratch of her blanket prodded her to remember. No, it begged her. She tossed restlessly and found little room to move. Kelly tried to swallow and found her mouth and throat brittle. Had she been snoring? Her head thumped so viciously inside her skull, she thought is would crack it in two. Kelly's eyes rolled open lazily, snapping shut before she could truly process the darkness around her. Her neck began to tighten and ache as did her forearms and legs. It was then she realized the sweet smell that had reminded her of peaceful Sunday naps was tainted with must and sourness. It stung her nostrils and made her straining eyes water. The blanket was not her wool comforter from her bed but more like a sack. Kelly's aches came from the position she was in; tossed and crumpled like a rag doll. Her bed seemed infantile and pinching.
As reality came bounding in, so did the first shovel full of dirt. It skittered across the burlap and sifted in through the holes, giggling and dancing along her skin as it searched for a home. Another came quickly after it: whump. This one nestled along the bend in her middle pushing out the first scream. Then came the shower. Rocks and broken tree roots mocked and stabbed at her, rushing in as unwanted roommates in her rapidly filling "bedroom". Adrenaline began to broil through her nerves and into her muscles. She pushed and fought against her shroud and the pins that pricked under her skin as the drug he'd slipped her began to pull back. The fog started to melt and she tore at the burlap to free herself. Kelly gasped and yawned with horror while her body endured the pummeling of shovel after shovel full of dirt. Her breath was coming in rasping bursts; burning her lungs with every attempt. Screaming only allowed mud to form and clog her mouth and throat. At last the threads gave way and a flood of sand and dirt rushed in to welcome her to her forever.
Kelly began to dig, her arms gulping, grasping at the soft, choking muck. Her legs punched and mashed it solid so she could begin to swim out of the blackness coating her. Arms burning and head lolling, she clawed her way to the upper ledge of the grave. The first full breath she took filled her to her toes. She laughed and gulped again, hungry for more; a lifetime more. Paul stood there leaning on the spade he'd been using to bury his wife. Patiently he sighed.
"Really?" he asked, the disappointment sagged his shoulders. "Now I have to dig again." he sighed sadly.
"You ..." she spluttered and continued to climb out of the hole using all four limbs independently. She resembled a neut running. Her feet were just pulling away from the cold ground. She was free and clear.
He slumped forward a bit, heaving the shovel up over his head. "Good night Princess." he grunted and swung down hard. The thick crunch made him wrinkle his nose in distaste. The white blinding light and searing pain in her head and neck were the last reactions Kelly had as her skull snapped to the side.
Her eyes flew open in a scream. She bolted up out of the chair nearly knocking Paul to the ground. Her hands trembled. She fell to the floor on her hands and knees sobbing and coughing.
"What the HELL?" he gasped stepping back to see the entire picture. "What's the matter with you? Jeezus Kelly, I just came in to apologize! I leaned in to touch your cheek..."
She continued to pant and fight for her breath. At last she looked up, focusing on her husband, their study, her chair. She had fallen asleep in her book and had a bad dream. She began to giggle and blush with embarrassment.
"Oh my God. Paul, I had a horrible dream. I couldn't believe it." She stood up and absently brushed at her clothes. "You won't believe it." she shook her head and looked up at him.
He smiled and offered her a glass of wine. "I'm sorry. Truce?"
She took it and sipped. "Whew. How awful." she sighed, wiping her hair from her forehead. "Ooo this is nice..."
"It's your favorite."
Her smile dwindled only a little. He sat down opposite her and they began to talk. She began to tell him her little nightmare, finding it even more funny with the wine gently relaxing her muscles; making her sleepy. So Sleepy.
Nothing glamorous. My daughter and I were watching videos and movie trailers and came across one that was REALLY creepy. We both gave it that nervous: "Ha-ha-haaa?" and admitted goose bumps. This did not solve the problem of course. But it was fun and I like it. In the end, that's all that matters. (Tex? You in there? Go back and read those last couple of sentences before you begin to slash...*wink nudge*)
It seemed that most of their fights were just that anymore. She winced at the awful things they'd said. She couldn't remember seeing Paul so angry. He'd cleared the table with his arm splashing the meal all over the walls and floor. Then he'd yelled that the house was a mess. With her big dark eyes flashing she'd smirked, waved her hand over the catastrophe like it was a game show prize and asked
"Thank you my dear, for pointing it out. Do you know how it could get like this? My my what piggies!" She picked up the couple of plates that had been missed by his childish display and chucked them into the pile. They too broke and dumped.
He'd started for her and Kelly startled herself by taking a defensive stance. If he was going to do it, she was going to fight him the whole way. Her fists clenched; her leg rocked back in position to kick; hard if necessary. When he'd seen her prepare for his tirade he hesitated, almost stunned. Paul raised his open hand and smacked the table.
"Not WORTH it." he growled and turned on his heel to stalk off per usual.
She wondered if it would be in poor taste to leave it all in his bed; stifling the laugh from the vision it created as the garbage was collected and removed. Disposable. That was how she saw their relationship now. Disposable. Silently, she removed herself from the unhappiness, choosing to cool her heals in the study. It surprised her when Paul came in to the den where she was curled up with her book and a cup of tea.
"Truce?" he asked handing her a wine glass.
She took it and held it, waiting. "And?"
"I'm sorry." he said softly; slowly. He swirled it in his glass and drank deeply. "It's your favorite."
"You remember what that is?" she asked.
"I'm trying." he said a little more tightly.
"One glass of wine, does not an apology make. Paul, what's wrong? With you, with this, with us?" Kelly waved her arms. And so the night began again with talking, honesty and tears. It was hard to hear and admit they had both failed themselves and each other. They talked about new beginnings and how it could be different; better. He told her that he loved her. She smiled a little less coldly. As they continued, the night became fuzzy. The wine blurred her mind and slurred her vision. Kelly needed to sleep. Paul was still talking but his voice drifted down a long tunnel and disappeared before she could hear it. Like black, deep water, the tickle of exhaustion crept along her limbs and weighed her down. She couldn't fight it and at last closed her eyes. The sleep was deep and soothing.
So now as she woke, the scratch of her blanket prodded her to remember. No, it begged her. She tossed restlessly and found little room to move. Kelly tried to swallow and found her mouth and throat brittle. Had she been snoring? Her head thumped so viciously inside her skull, she thought is would crack it in two. Kelly's eyes rolled open lazily, snapping shut before she could truly process the darkness around her. Her neck began to tighten and ache as did her forearms and legs. It was then she realized the sweet smell that had reminded her of peaceful Sunday naps was tainted with must and sourness. It stung her nostrils and made her straining eyes water. The blanket was not her wool comforter from her bed but more like a sack. Kelly's aches came from the position she was in; tossed and crumpled like a rag doll. Her bed seemed infantile and pinching.
As reality came bounding in, so did the first shovel full of dirt. It skittered across the burlap and sifted in through the holes, giggling and dancing along her skin as it searched for a home. Another came quickly after it: whump. This one nestled along the bend in her middle pushing out the first scream. Then came the shower. Rocks and broken tree roots mocked and stabbed at her, rushing in as unwanted roommates in her rapidly filling "bedroom". Adrenaline began to broil through her nerves and into her muscles. She pushed and fought against her shroud and the pins that pricked under her skin as the drug he'd slipped her began to pull back. The fog started to melt and she tore at the burlap to free herself. Kelly gasped and yawned with horror while her body endured the pummeling of shovel after shovel full of dirt. Her breath was coming in rasping bursts; burning her lungs with every attempt. Screaming only allowed mud to form and clog her mouth and throat. At last the threads gave way and a flood of sand and dirt rushed in to welcome her to her forever.
Kelly began to dig, her arms gulping, grasping at the soft, choking muck. Her legs punched and mashed it solid so she could begin to swim out of the blackness coating her. Arms burning and head lolling, she clawed her way to the upper ledge of the grave. The first full breath she took filled her to her toes. She laughed and gulped again, hungry for more; a lifetime more. Paul stood there leaning on the spade he'd been using to bury his wife. Patiently he sighed.
"Really?" he asked, the disappointment sagged his shoulders. "Now I have to dig again." he sighed sadly.
"You ..." she spluttered and continued to climb out of the hole using all four limbs independently. She resembled a neut running. Her feet were just pulling away from the cold ground. She was free and clear.
He slumped forward a bit, heaving the shovel up over his head. "Good night Princess." he grunted and swung down hard. The thick crunch made him wrinkle his nose in distaste. The white blinding light and searing pain in her head and neck were the last reactions Kelly had as her skull snapped to the side.
Her eyes flew open in a scream. She bolted up out of the chair nearly knocking Paul to the ground. Her hands trembled. She fell to the floor on her hands and knees sobbing and coughing.
"What the HELL?" he gasped stepping back to see the entire picture. "What's the matter with you? Jeezus Kelly, I just came in to apologize! I leaned in to touch your cheek..."
She continued to pant and fight for her breath. At last she looked up, focusing on her husband, their study, her chair. She had fallen asleep in her book and had a bad dream. She began to giggle and blush with embarrassment.
"Oh my God. Paul, I had a horrible dream. I couldn't believe it." She stood up and absently brushed at her clothes. "You won't believe it." she shook her head and looked up at him.
He smiled and offered her a glass of wine. "I'm sorry. Truce?"
She took it and sipped. "Whew. How awful." she sighed, wiping her hair from her forehead. "Ooo this is nice..."
"It's your favorite."
Her smile dwindled only a little. He sat down opposite her and they began to talk. She began to tell him her little nightmare, finding it even more funny with the wine gently relaxing her muscles; making her sleepy. So Sleepy.
Nothing glamorous. My daughter and I were watching videos and movie trailers and came across one that was REALLY creepy. We both gave it that nervous: "Ha-ha-haaa?" and admitted goose bumps. This did not solve the problem of course. But it was fun and I like it. In the end, that's all that matters. (Tex? You in there? Go back and read those last couple of sentences before you begin to slash...*wink nudge*)
Monday, November 14, 2011
The Other Side of the Hill
A precursor to " NO RESTRAINT" (from October 11), I have the beginning backdrop for our victim/heroine for our lovely asylum patient Christina. There is a third and last installment, but it will be a few days before I am finished marinating it and post it. Don't worry though, I have something for you during the interum. I hope you like it and enjoy coming here.
For my new friends., I thank you very much for your kind words and visits. I look forward to getting to know you.
Christina had hoped to find peace in her new home. It was quiet and remote, leaving all the angst, fear and despair swirling behind her. She stepped in to her running shoes and headed out comforted by the gravel crunching under her feet. She breathed deeply while the trees swayed, applauding her efforts. The road was bent and twisted, riddled with hills that pushed her to her physical limits. Christina had found her initial runs grueling and painful, but as she continued, she felt herself growing stronger; more confident. She would run to the top of the steepest hill and stop. Looking down at the old house, she shivered.
It sat alone, abandoned; it's window eyes long dark were lashed by ragged filmy curtains. Its majestic form seemed frail and bloated with neglect. Once cheerful flowerpots that had brimmed with lovely color and flowery shapes sat frumpish and mad, decorated only with dead brown twisted spikes. A picket fence frowned, missing pieces like gaping decayed teeth. The gate lolled open in a lonely yawn. Christina watched it, felt it beckon her. The leaves giggled and tickled her,swirling around as if pushing her toward it. For months she fought them, choosing instead to turn and run home. But the imagery seemed to stick with her. She dreamt of the house; imagining dark dangerous shapes that would call her, threaten her and try to swallow her. It left her soul icy but morbid curiosity combined with something familiar pushed her instead to the library's archives with the hopes of finding something.
One thing that kept cropping up was that the house was never right. No one would stay there for long and it had been surrounded by tragedy and horror from the first nail hammered in during the late 1800's. The original owner was the man named Presser who served as the town vicar and judge. Mingling the two became deadly and wicked for the entire town. He wielded his own brand of brimstone justice on any who crossed his path in the business or religious arenas. Women refusing his advances were branded harlots and sinners; destroyed along with their children (the children were always first so as to certainly crush the wills of the mothers and possibly "save" them when the good judge offered solace). Men who stood up to his crooked, shoddy business practices were also targeted. The house (and primary occupant) were burned mysteriously in the early 1900's though the frame miraculously survived. A new home was reconstructed on the site in the 50's by a husband and wife. After he had been killed in a tragic accident, his wife remained though a recluse and considered unstable.
Strangely, the wife died with equal tragedy many years later. There were many leads but back at the time it took place, there was not enough technology to support the police theories. The woman in question, a care giver of sorts, had covered her tracks just enough to keep the authorities at bay. They couldn't prove their suspicions and so the horrible bludgeoning went unsolved. The woman remained free. The history trailed off with the prime suspect, vanishing silently into the pages of forgotten records and in to the world of anonymity.
Christina spoke with her neighbors, happy at first to find them filled with their own tales and hear-say. It turned into a collection of Ray Bradbury theories and stories. She would smile to herself as the possibilities rolled out in front of her.
"They were lovers."
"She was a psychopath"
"She was insane"
"It was Elvis and then he left the building."
Nevertheless, the house still called to her and one afternoon she made the mistake of listening all too closely. She had gone farther and harder than usual ending up as always at the top of the hill. The house seemed to tremble with anticipation upon her panted arrival. She slowly approached, hearing the soft wind beg her to come closer, to help. On the porch, reaching to push open the door, she felt a tingle rush under her skin. The house seemed to sigh when she entered the foyer, reveling in her company at last.
"Hello?" she asked, feeling foolish as the word bounced off the marred walls. Of course no one was there. Christina stood with her eyes closed, listening to the house. It shifted and embraced her. She felt heavy and choked with dread? Fear? The sun outside gave up on her and drifted cowardly behind some clouds so as not to witness anything too severe. She willed her feet to scuff along the dirty floor staring fascinated by the ghostly shapes of covered broken furniture. She waited.
The sun peeked back out satisfied that the worst was over. Encouraged, the guest began to explore. Nothing was off limits. The old relic welcomed her in its own fashion. The bedrooms offered luxurious raccoon nests wreaking of damp dust and punked wood softened by drips and leaks. The study and formal rooms held awkward shadows, leaving the dining and kitchen left to see. She still tiptoed through the house, afraid to stir someone. She had failed. The creaking and groaning within the walls became louder. She dismissed it as the varmints who now resided. The wind giggled and danced around her with icy fingers that pulled at her, poked through her clothing. The voice was soft and helpless. She strained to hear it again as it begged for assistance. Christina started back through the house following it. Down the hall she crept to a back bedroom. The house grew darker, colder. She could now see her breath though sweat trickled along her neck and upper lip. At the end of the hall in this forgotten room was darkness. The shapes shifted like thick bubbles and rushed up upon her with a hissing almost a growl. It wasn't fear she felt but something much greater. Something that sent a scream through entire body. Her heart raced, her nerves burned and she wasn't sure if she could move. The voice crawled up her skins around her neck and slid into her ear where it began to infect her brain. It laughed and threatened her. It promised horrible things and damage. Christina hit her knees and begged to be left alone. The laugh was meant to be soothing and reassuring but it wasn't. Christina had been possessed. She belonged to something else now. Though it let her go home, she was never the same.
She chittered with her new invisible roommate; laughing and talking through indistinguishable conversations. Anger and a combative nature became normalcy. She frightened people with her vile graphic threats and violent behavior. It wasn't above Christina to self inflict so as to drive one of her cruel promises home to a possible victim; as sickening demonstration. Her parents tried to help at first but ended up leaving town abruptly. According to Christina, they simply parted ways, agreeing to live and let live. They were discovered six months later charred in a burn barrel at the back of the shack on the other side of the hill. A neighbor girl who had asked Christina to curb her dog fell victim to a terrible hit and run accident that left the neighbor with one eye and a shattered leg. Christina was questioned. Her answers were nonsensical and violent. She threatened the police; attempting to "carve one like a turkey" with a pen. It landed her in a psychiatric prison where she would spend most of her time alone; watched by white coats and kept company only by the voices in her head.
For my new friends., I thank you very much for your kind words and visits. I look forward to getting to know you.
Christina had hoped to find peace in her new home. It was quiet and remote, leaving all the angst, fear and despair swirling behind her. She stepped in to her running shoes and headed out comforted by the gravel crunching under her feet. She breathed deeply while the trees swayed, applauding her efforts. The road was bent and twisted, riddled with hills that pushed her to her physical limits. Christina had found her initial runs grueling and painful, but as she continued, she felt herself growing stronger; more confident. She would run to the top of the steepest hill and stop. Looking down at the old house, she shivered.
It sat alone, abandoned; it's window eyes long dark were lashed by ragged filmy curtains. Its majestic form seemed frail and bloated with neglect. Once cheerful flowerpots that had brimmed with lovely color and flowery shapes sat frumpish and mad, decorated only with dead brown twisted spikes. A picket fence frowned, missing pieces like gaping decayed teeth. The gate lolled open in a lonely yawn. Christina watched it, felt it beckon her. The leaves giggled and tickled her,swirling around as if pushing her toward it. For months she fought them, choosing instead to turn and run home. But the imagery seemed to stick with her. She dreamt of the house; imagining dark dangerous shapes that would call her, threaten her and try to swallow her. It left her soul icy but morbid curiosity combined with something familiar pushed her instead to the library's archives with the hopes of finding something.
One thing that kept cropping up was that the house was never right. No one would stay there for long and it had been surrounded by tragedy and horror from the first nail hammered in during the late 1800's. The original owner was the man named Presser who served as the town vicar and judge. Mingling the two became deadly and wicked for the entire town. He wielded his own brand of brimstone justice on any who crossed his path in the business or religious arenas. Women refusing his advances were branded harlots and sinners; destroyed along with their children (the children were always first so as to certainly crush the wills of the mothers and possibly "save" them when the good judge offered solace). Men who stood up to his crooked, shoddy business practices were also targeted. The house (and primary occupant) were burned mysteriously in the early 1900's though the frame miraculously survived. A new home was reconstructed on the site in the 50's by a husband and wife. After he had been killed in a tragic accident, his wife remained though a recluse and considered unstable.
Strangely, the wife died with equal tragedy many years later. There were many leads but back at the time it took place, there was not enough technology to support the police theories. The woman in question, a care giver of sorts, had covered her tracks just enough to keep the authorities at bay. They couldn't prove their suspicions and so the horrible bludgeoning went unsolved. The woman remained free. The history trailed off with the prime suspect, vanishing silently into the pages of forgotten records and in to the world of anonymity.
Christina spoke with her neighbors, happy at first to find them filled with their own tales and hear-say. It turned into a collection of Ray Bradbury theories and stories. She would smile to herself as the possibilities rolled out in front of her.
"They were lovers."
"She was a psychopath"
"She was insane"
"It was Elvis and then he left the building."
Nevertheless, the house still called to her and one afternoon she made the mistake of listening all too closely. She had gone farther and harder than usual ending up as always at the top of the hill. The house seemed to tremble with anticipation upon her panted arrival. She slowly approached, hearing the soft wind beg her to come closer, to help. On the porch, reaching to push open the door, she felt a tingle rush under her skin. The house seemed to sigh when she entered the foyer, reveling in her company at last.
"Hello?" she asked, feeling foolish as the word bounced off the marred walls. Of course no one was there. Christina stood with her eyes closed, listening to the house. It shifted and embraced her. She felt heavy and choked with dread? Fear? The sun outside gave up on her and drifted cowardly behind some clouds so as not to witness anything too severe. She willed her feet to scuff along the dirty floor staring fascinated by the ghostly shapes of covered broken furniture. She waited.
The sun peeked back out satisfied that the worst was over. Encouraged, the guest began to explore. Nothing was off limits. The old relic welcomed her in its own fashion. The bedrooms offered luxurious raccoon nests wreaking of damp dust and punked wood softened by drips and leaks. The study and formal rooms held awkward shadows, leaving the dining and kitchen left to see. She still tiptoed through the house, afraid to stir someone. She had failed. The creaking and groaning within the walls became louder. She dismissed it as the varmints who now resided. The wind giggled and danced around her with icy fingers that pulled at her, poked through her clothing. The voice was soft and helpless. She strained to hear it again as it begged for assistance. Christina started back through the house following it. Down the hall she crept to a back bedroom. The house grew darker, colder. She could now see her breath though sweat trickled along her neck and upper lip. At the end of the hall in this forgotten room was darkness. The shapes shifted like thick bubbles and rushed up upon her with a hissing almost a growl. It wasn't fear she felt but something much greater. Something that sent a scream through entire body. Her heart raced, her nerves burned and she wasn't sure if she could move. The voice crawled up her skins around her neck and slid into her ear where it began to infect her brain. It laughed and threatened her. It promised horrible things and damage. Christina hit her knees and begged to be left alone. The laugh was meant to be soothing and reassuring but it wasn't. Christina had been possessed. She belonged to something else now. Though it let her go home, she was never the same.
She chittered with her new invisible roommate; laughing and talking through indistinguishable conversations. Anger and a combative nature became normalcy. She frightened people with her vile graphic threats and violent behavior. It wasn't above Christina to self inflict so as to drive one of her cruel promises home to a possible victim; as sickening demonstration. Her parents tried to help at first but ended up leaving town abruptly. According to Christina, they simply parted ways, agreeing to live and let live. They were discovered six months later charred in a burn barrel at the back of the shack on the other side of the hill. A neighbor girl who had asked Christina to curb her dog fell victim to a terrible hit and run accident that left the neighbor with one eye and a shattered leg. Christina was questioned. Her answers were nonsensical and violent. She threatened the police; attempting to "carve one like a turkey" with a pen. It landed her in a psychiatric prison where she would spend most of her time alone; watched by white coats and kept company only by the voices in her head.
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
Consider the source
He was always able to snow her, even when she knew better but she loved him enough to want the empty words to be true. He abused that; abused her heart. His fists simply followed suit.
"I want to love you." he grunted through gnashed teeth.
"But?" the tears burned her cheeks. Her heart sobbed where she simply lacked the strength.
"It's hard when you're this weak. A failure. You make me so angry. I hate what you make me do." He raised his hand once more.
"My fault." she thought as the nausea of her arm being broken in two swept over her. She looked down to stifle the gag. She felt her lungs begin to burn with sorrow and her head throbbed with disbelief. The screams rushed forward, crowding to the front of her mouth to be heard but she choked them back and fought for control. She had learned no noise was better.
"Well let's consider the source. You are very needy; like a puppy. I want someone more ...." his voice trailed; slowing the rhythm of his beating. He turned and left abruptly as if bored by the repetition.
She lay dead still, not certain if he had finished. Usually she crept to bed allowing the cool sheets to soothe her. She would plot ways to improve herself, hoping it would be different next time; thinking he would approve or maybe even love her. Not today, not again. Instead, she recognized a small glow of anger. She felt the resistance to his humiliation for the first time and drank deeply. When he had gone to sleep, cursing and berating her from the living room, she left. She took nothing but the money she stashed for emergency hospital visits, desiring no further connection to his hateful cowardice. The night welcomed her. She hopped the first bus out of town, found the closest hospital and never looked back. The pins they put in her arm kept her strong, committed to herself for the first time in far too long. The love for him she had held so preciously burned up and disappeared, leaving behind a bitter understanding of the man he was versus the man he'd pretended to be to the outside world. She came out on top; learning to stand alone and tolerate no one who could not give what she gave; in friendship, in love, in all things. Time lessened the pain but did not heal the wound. It simply marched on, encouraging her to follow. As she did, she met new people, made new friends and built a life that was simple, loving and pain free. She was amazed at the ease with which sleep visited her; sound and peaceful as opposed to broken and fear ridden. She enjoyed the sound of laughter, surprised at her own and reveling in the noise when shared. She understood at last that happiness was good to have and easy to achieve if she just let it in.
She was heading home from a party one night not long after her arm had healed. It was way passed bed time. She had not intended to stay so late but the company had been fabulous and the fun was intoxicating. She began the trek down a winding lonely road. She turned the radio up to keep her company and be part of the band as she loved to do. Stars winked behind veils of clouds and the moon grinned brightly against the velvet sky. She slowed at a particularly tight turn. Gliding around, she spotted a fresh accident; a single car on its roof. It had slammed into a utility pole with transformers perched on it. The crack was thick and deep. With the wind, it swayed menacingly, threatening to collapse. She pulled over quickly and clicked her hazard lights, hopping out to help the driver. Smoke plumed out of the broken windows. The airbags billowed like trapped little ghosts.
"Hello? Can you see me? Hear me?" Her feet crunched on the shoulder's gravel.
A muffled moan crawled out from under the wreck.
She slowly approached and got down on her knees peeking in. Her hand slipped in a small puddle. A quick whiff confirmed it was gas. The driver stirred in the shadows and a hand wobbled toward her.
"Here. Help me..." The voice froze her blood. "I'm stuck."
She tilted her head and glared into the dark car. He was cut badly but was able to begin wiggling toward the open window. He hadn't really seen her yet. Again, he called to her.
"Help me. There's gas..." and he turned his head. As it registered with him, his eyes flew wide and his clutch for help became a fierce grab. "YOU" he shouted and moved for her. He growled thickly and began to swear. The promises of reaching her were filled with dark violence.
She was glad he was pinned. She recoiled and cried out, watching in horror as he started to pull himself toward her with a vengeance. When he realized he could not move any more without her, he changed his demeanor, becoming soft and pleading. His show of vulnerability and helplessness were extraordinary and false. She sat back and watched, feeling her eyes and heart slowly glazed over with indifference. She stood and brushed her knees, turning to leave him as he had her; broken, bloody and hurt. It was a good feeling. As his voice hitched, registering fear, she paused, cocking her head, listening to him:
"Please Baby. Help me. I need you." His hand was mostly out of the window now; the fingers at an odd, ugly angle.
She walked around to the other side and peered in. His legs looked smashed; dented and crumpled in several places. His stuff had skittered all over the road; wallet, phone, cigarettes. He had turned to try to follow her, but yelped when he'd gone too far. Heavily she sighed and circled one last time. The pole swivelled cruelly tempting her to test its stamina.
"Hurry up Stupid! Get me out of here!"
"Ahhhh THERE you are. " she snorted. "I was worried for a moment." Lazily, she lit one of his cigarettes dragging deeply. She found it, like the man in the wreckage, pitiful and unfulfilling.
"Get OVER here you bitch! I swear to God when I get a hold of you..."
She raced back and crouched down so he could see her. Her eyes glinted in the dark. She puffed smoke in to the window allowing the glow of the cigarette's fire to sink in.
"Wait Baby. We can fix this. You know I loved you. I don't know what happened but you hear me right? I love you..."
She rolled the ember near the stream of gas and looked back at him. "Do I? hmmm Let's consider the source."
The heat surprised her, tousling her hair and clothes. Getting into her car she watched for a moment as the flames danced and licked the fragile pole. She was a chorus into "American Girl" when the explosion rumbled up on her. The flash of light was brilliant; sparking and splintering the sky like an Independence Day celebration.
It was, actually, if you consider the source.
Not extraordinary, but I still like it. Inspired by an accident we stumbled on while travelling home, we stopped and helped a young girl who had lost control around one of the turns (for those of you in the know...that set I ALWAYS warn you about). She was okay and all ended as best as it could. I just thought of some different variables... I hope you enjoyed your visit. I know I did. I'll try not to stay away so long. I've got a couple of witchy weeks ahead but I hope we can hang out. I feel better here with you.
"I want to love you." he grunted through gnashed teeth.
"But?" the tears burned her cheeks. Her heart sobbed where she simply lacked the strength.
"It's hard when you're this weak. A failure. You make me so angry. I hate what you make me do." He raised his hand once more.
"My fault." she thought as the nausea of her arm being broken in two swept over her. She looked down to stifle the gag. She felt her lungs begin to burn with sorrow and her head throbbed with disbelief. The screams rushed forward, crowding to the front of her mouth to be heard but she choked them back and fought for control. She had learned no noise was better.
"Well let's consider the source. You are very needy; like a puppy. I want someone more ...." his voice trailed; slowing the rhythm of his beating. He turned and left abruptly as if bored by the repetition.
She lay dead still, not certain if he had finished. Usually she crept to bed allowing the cool sheets to soothe her. She would plot ways to improve herself, hoping it would be different next time; thinking he would approve or maybe even love her. Not today, not again. Instead, she recognized a small glow of anger. She felt the resistance to his humiliation for the first time and drank deeply. When he had gone to sleep, cursing and berating her from the living room, she left. She took nothing but the money she stashed for emergency hospital visits, desiring no further connection to his hateful cowardice. The night welcomed her. She hopped the first bus out of town, found the closest hospital and never looked back. The pins they put in her arm kept her strong, committed to herself for the first time in far too long. The love for him she had held so preciously burned up and disappeared, leaving behind a bitter understanding of the man he was versus the man he'd pretended to be to the outside world. She came out on top; learning to stand alone and tolerate no one who could not give what she gave; in friendship, in love, in all things. Time lessened the pain but did not heal the wound. It simply marched on, encouraging her to follow. As she did, she met new people, made new friends and built a life that was simple, loving and pain free. She was amazed at the ease with which sleep visited her; sound and peaceful as opposed to broken and fear ridden. She enjoyed the sound of laughter, surprised at her own and reveling in the noise when shared. She understood at last that happiness was good to have and easy to achieve if she just let it in.
She was heading home from a party one night not long after her arm had healed. It was way passed bed time. She had not intended to stay so late but the company had been fabulous and the fun was intoxicating. She began the trek down a winding lonely road. She turned the radio up to keep her company and be part of the band as she loved to do. Stars winked behind veils of clouds and the moon grinned brightly against the velvet sky. She slowed at a particularly tight turn. Gliding around, she spotted a fresh accident; a single car on its roof. It had slammed into a utility pole with transformers perched on it. The crack was thick and deep. With the wind, it swayed menacingly, threatening to collapse. She pulled over quickly and clicked her hazard lights, hopping out to help the driver. Smoke plumed out of the broken windows. The airbags billowed like trapped little ghosts.
"Hello? Can you see me? Hear me?" Her feet crunched on the shoulder's gravel.
A muffled moan crawled out from under the wreck.
She slowly approached and got down on her knees peeking in. Her hand slipped in a small puddle. A quick whiff confirmed it was gas. The driver stirred in the shadows and a hand wobbled toward her.
"Here. Help me..." The voice froze her blood. "I'm stuck."
She tilted her head and glared into the dark car. He was cut badly but was able to begin wiggling toward the open window. He hadn't really seen her yet. Again, he called to her.
"Help me. There's gas..." and he turned his head. As it registered with him, his eyes flew wide and his clutch for help became a fierce grab. "YOU" he shouted and moved for her. He growled thickly and began to swear. The promises of reaching her were filled with dark violence.
She was glad he was pinned. She recoiled and cried out, watching in horror as he started to pull himself toward her with a vengeance. When he realized he could not move any more without her, he changed his demeanor, becoming soft and pleading. His show of vulnerability and helplessness were extraordinary and false. She sat back and watched, feeling her eyes and heart slowly glazed over with indifference. She stood and brushed her knees, turning to leave him as he had her; broken, bloody and hurt. It was a good feeling. As his voice hitched, registering fear, she paused, cocking her head, listening to him:
"Please Baby. Help me. I need you." His hand was mostly out of the window now; the fingers at an odd, ugly angle.
She walked around to the other side and peered in. His legs looked smashed; dented and crumpled in several places. His stuff had skittered all over the road; wallet, phone, cigarettes. He had turned to try to follow her, but yelped when he'd gone too far. Heavily she sighed and circled one last time. The pole swivelled cruelly tempting her to test its stamina.
"Hurry up Stupid! Get me out of here!"
"Ahhhh THERE you are. " she snorted. "I was worried for a moment." Lazily, she lit one of his cigarettes dragging deeply. She found it, like the man in the wreckage, pitiful and unfulfilling.
"Get OVER here you bitch! I swear to God when I get a hold of you..."
She raced back and crouched down so he could see her. Her eyes glinted in the dark. She puffed smoke in to the window allowing the glow of the cigarette's fire to sink in.
"Wait Baby. We can fix this. You know I loved you. I don't know what happened but you hear me right? I love you..."
She rolled the ember near the stream of gas and looked back at him. "Do I? hmmm Let's consider the source."
The heat surprised her, tousling her hair and clothes. Getting into her car she watched for a moment as the flames danced and licked the fragile pole. She was a chorus into "American Girl" when the explosion rumbled up on her. The flash of light was brilliant; sparking and splintering the sky like an Independence Day celebration.
It was, actually, if you consider the source.
Not extraordinary, but I still like it. Inspired by an accident we stumbled on while travelling home, we stopped and helped a young girl who had lost control around one of the turns (for those of you in the know...that set I ALWAYS warn you about). She was okay and all ended as best as it could. I just thought of some different variables... I hope you enjoyed your visit. I know I did. I'll try not to stay away so long. I've got a couple of witchy weeks ahead but I hope we can hang out. I feel better here with you.
Monday, November 7, 2011
My kids are always bugging me to "guest blog". This is my daughter's eighth grade competition "Little Tale of Horror". I loved it. She did a wonderful job and so I promised her I'd put it up. I hope you enjoy it. She is amazing to me.
The park was dark and silent. She pulled her shrug closer around her shoulders and shivered. Somewhere off in the distance a wolf howled, causing her to jump. Swearing softly to herself, she continued to walk briskly through the deserted park. She was so wrapped up in her thoughts that she barely heard the man’s voice calling out to her.
“What?!” she asked crossly, “I’m sorry, but I didn’t hear what you said.”
“I said,” the man answered calmly, “What is a pretty girl like you doing out all alone on a beautiful night like this?”
“Oh,” she felt herself blushing, “I’m just on my way home. I missed the bus and I have to walk. My brother will be here in about an hour, but I don’t feel like waiting,” while she was talking, she pulled gently on her blood red hair. She had dyed it to help attract victims. It was working. She hissed, and lunged, baring her fangs.
Horrified, the man leapt back, and tried to flee for his life, but by then it was too late. She had him by the arm. He began to shriek wildly, trying to free himself from her clutches. She was too quick for him. With one fluid motion, she bit him. The blood that flowed into her mouth was sweet and tasted like gold. She drank greedily, gulping in the precious liquid. She felt his feeble attempts to free himself grow weaker and weaker, until they stopped all together. He was dead, she hissed, and then she hid the body behind some bushes.
She walked on, trying to ignore the hunger in her stomach. A soft voice drew her back from her thoughts. Spiraling around, she bared her fangs, only to find a small child staring at her curiously. Retracting her fangs as quickly as she could, she made her eyes appear welcome and friendly, instead of cold and hungry. She walked closer to the child, her nose picking up on the scent of another potential meal. The child spoke to her, and she nodded, unaware of what he was really saying.
Then, as quick as a flash, the child lunged. In his fist was a small dagger. He ripped the dagger downward, and she stifled a gasp as blood seeped from the open wound. The dagger plunged into her skin again and again, ripping and tearing, but she was an immortal. She would not die…. At least that’s what she thought. The child then brought a small match to her face. The pain she felt when the match neared her face was so immense that it made her actually blister. She fell, a shredded, bloody mess at this little boy’s feet. The last words she ever heard were; “That is for what you have done to my father!” Then her eyes closed forever…
So the child thought.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)