Laughter II

Continued from here...

She fell back on the floor, writhing in pain. They just watched, unaffected.

They'd all known she'd try to escape, just as she'd known that they would stop her - that it'd never work. But she'd had to try.

He walked in through a door behind her and she curled up into a ball. She could still sense him when he walked into the room - a combination of that hint of oh-so-sexy perfume and sheer presence. She tensed against that familiar feeling of need. Summoning up all the hate she could find, she stayed where she was, not caring that the grime from the floor was getting in her thick hair, and matted into her white dress.

They vanished into the shadows of the dimly-lit room as he strode up to her and placed his hand on her shoulder. She shrugged it off. She sensed movement, tension in the shadows. They were waiting for her to make once false move.

He knelt beside her. "You're not one of them, you know." His voice was kind, not a hint of the detachment with which he'd killed her family showing.

She wondered if keeping quiet would be the better option. Ignoring him, pretending he didn't exist.

But she answered anyway. "You murdered them. They were all I had and you slaughtered them, like animals...." Her voice trailed off, not strong enough for the effort it took to keep it from breaking.

His jaw flexed. She could almost see the anger flashing in his eyes, though her back was still to him. "They are animals! Them and all their kind! Alex, they kill innocent people! They've gotten to you so you don't see it. Don't you realise you would've been next when they got tired of their cute young human plaything? Dammit, Alex, I love you! I would do anything for you."

The words cut her to her heart. Once, she'd believed. Once - it seemed a very long time ago - she'd thought that she'd love this man until the day she died, and that he felt the same.

The works

I oughta be at work today. And I would be, if I weren't feeling so shitty. I've no idea what makes me get sick so often, but I've a feeling it's got something to do with me being so mentally wrapped up in stupid problems - mine and other people's. But I don't know how reliable that is, 'cause I get sick anyway.

Never mind that.

I've been thinking about stuff.. just random things like how easy it is to mutilate my name.. I'd go from there to how easy it is to mutilate other stuff, but I don't want to ruin my newly re-humanized image.

And other stuff. Like, you know how you'd expect someone who writes all those steamy scenes in romances (yes, guilty as charged, I do read 'em) to be all dashing, and gorgeous and irresistible? But it turns out they aren't. Kudos to their imagination though.

Yet more stuff. Like how I don't want to think about where the hands that touch the same things I touch everyday have been. And how that just got me thinking about it.

I've got a little story I want to write.. it's been in the works for months now, but it just doesn't seem ready to emerge yet... and I'm scared of being like that over-zealous lady with the butterfly, who wanted it out in a hurry and ripped open the coccoon, only to have the butterfly die because it wasn't allowed to struggle its way out on its own. But I'm also worried that I don't drag it out, it'll stay in my head... much like the way I'd stay in bed if mom didn't drag me out.

So yeah, going to try and get something productive done... Not sure what my next post will be like, I'm awaiting the result with interest myself.

Laughter

She tries to laugh. A harsh, guttural screech escapes her, mirthless. They look at her. She looks at them. They all know what comes next.

Continued here...