Dormancy

Heya,
So I haven't been writing a whole lot lately and I'm thinking it's mostly because I've got a large idea stewing around in my head and I don't want to write anything on it/write anything else to pollute it. Well anyway, this is something I wrote the other night at least concerning a couple of the main characters. It's not really apart of the story in any way.

Till next time,
Vicki

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The smoke filled her lungs. The gunfire unloaded into her mind. Her chest grew cold and hot simultaneously. Blood oozed.

Her vision blurred and came sharply back into focus – she closed her eyes against the suddenness of it all.

When she opened her eyes again she realized she was lying in the mud. When did I fall?

Rapid, frantic feet raced toward her and warm arms cradled her.

“Riley? God, Riley, can you hear me?” a quivering voice whispered. Hopeful.

She’d been parched of hope for a long time. He’d find none with her.

She nodded and realized how difficult it was, how much strength it took.  A surge of lethargy washed over her and she slumped into him more.

She felt as if she was watching it all unfold from above, as if she didn’t really exist and was a passing spirit, pausing for a moment to see. To see the unbecoming of a powerful boy.

“Why does it have to end like this?” she heard him murmur brokenly. “I can’t ever make it in time to save you, I can never beat the clock.  No matter how hard I try, it’s like running into a brick wall.“

“Fixed point,” she slurred slowly. He clutched her harder, closer, as if that would banish her words. She could smell his effort – all the grime and dirt and sweat he endured to get to her. Pity it was all wasted.

“I just want you to come home with me, to come back home and laugh with me, tell me I’m doing it wrong, tell me you can’t understand me sometimes,” he said. She could hear his throat closing up. Liquid warmth seeped into her shoulder and she realized he was actually crying.

“I feel no pain, Malachi,” she said feebly. Her mind was beginning to go fuzzy the more she felt blood ooze. It painted his shirt red, but he didn’t care. Who really cares about stains when your love is dying in your arms?

“Good,” he choked out, partially in relief and partially to humor her. He began to tremble against her body and she wanted to comfort him, but there was no strength and no ground to stand on. What could she say to make him feel better, anyway?

“I love you.”

He sobbed.

I guess that wasn’t the right angle, she thought as her mind began to drop off completely. She was being whisked away with the wind.

“I love you, too. I’ll miss you,” he replied as steadily as he could manage. His body gave him away.

“Yeah,” she whispered. “Me too.”

He felt her heart stutter and stop against his soaked chest. It rattled finality throughout his entire being and he started to realize she was dead and he could never bring her back. From the place she was going he couldn’t retrieve her.

"Murderer" is spelled C-R-A-Z-Y

She was bleeding beneath him.

He licked the blood off the knife like a red Popsicle and it dribbled down his chin.

“Does it hurt yet, love?” he whispered, biting her earlobe with his canine until it was punctured. Her lip was seized between her teeth and he could see crimson lining it.

“No,” she whimpered, squeezing her eyes shut.

He smiled wide. “Good.”

He plunged the knife into her stomach for the third time. The wounds made a small triangle just below her rib cage. He watched in sick satisfaction as her muscles clenched and her back arched, her fingernails digging into the dirt below her while it caked her clothes and hair into a matted mess.

“Scream for me,” he cooed into her ear, running the blade softly down her neck.

And she did.

She gulped down the chilly night air in an attempt to soothe her sore throat, raw from torment, but it did nothing more than hurt worse.

“Honey,” he murmured while grabbing her wrist. “You’re bleeding quite a lot.” He held the warm flesh tightly in his grasp, flipping it so that her palm was facing him. He could see the color fading from her face, her lips turning paler as the seconds ticked past.

Her eyes rolled around in her head while she panted hard, trying to restore the depleted oxygen in her lungs. Her mouth was dry and her tongue felt heavy as lead. She cringed and groaned at the knife cleanly slicing away the tender skin of her wrist. Blood poured over his hands and onto her shirt.

“Are you going…to kill…me…?” she gasped when he slid the knife down her leg just hard enough to break the jean material and skin that lay beneath.

“No,” he whispered plainly. He took her trembling hands into his bloody ones, wrapping her fingers around the handle of the blade. “You are going to kill you.”

Fear flashed in her eyes, but before she could summon up enough strength to stop him, he shoved the knife down.

Right through her left breast.

She cried out, wriggling feebly under the knife that pinned her to the ground before lying very still. Darkness poured in on her and she couldn’t escape it.

He chuckled and twisted the knife, laughing louder at the blood that squirted out at him. “‘It’s all your fault’; I can hear you say it. ‘Jay, it’s all your fault. You did this to me. It’s always been your fault.’” 

He tugged the blade from her body and wiped the crimson on her tattered jeans. “Well darling, I’m sorry to say that it’s not my fault. It doesn’t matter now anyway, because, guess what?”

He burst from laughter, clutching his stomach as tears filled his eyes. “You’re dead!”

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Yeah, the title kind of sucks, but oh well. 

 I can't remember what state of mind I was when I wrote this, but I do know it wasn't recent. Almost a year at this point I would imagine. Maybe I was having some crazy dreams. And maybe I was just channeling the inner-psycho that was brought out while watching The Uninvited. Who knows. Those darn scary movies don't scare me; they make me scary. Interesting how that works.

See? Looney bin.

Ta~

-Vicki

Dream Within a Dream

 I had a dream two nights ago that seemed to be a dream within a dream, you know, like Inception? The timing of the dream is even stranger once you know that I watched Inception just three nights ago.

I slightly digress. 

I was sitting on the cold hardwood floor with my back facing the French doors that lead out to the deck on the rear of my house. It was pitch black outside, obviously in the ungodly hours of the morning, and for some reason, I was awake and reading. Well, reading early in the morning isn’t the weird part; why was I positioned in front of the French doors? On such an uncomfortable floor, too.

These thoughts didn’t faze me nor did they make me change my mind and start me up the stairs to curl up on my comfy bed and read there instead. I simply kept flipping, page after page, as the night wore on, but it didn’t get any lighter outside.

Suddenly there was a boisterous knock and I jumped to my feet in surprise. The handle turned, but didn’t open, as the doors were locked. Whatever it was on the other side really wanted to get into the house, but couldn’t. I took a quick peek out the windows and didn’t find anyone (or anything) although it was dark outside and I wasn’t in my right mind, so what could I have really seen anyway? Without any more thought, I scrambled away and up the stairs, shutting my bedroom door loudly, perhaps to make me feel better and give me a sense of barrier against whatever was outside the house.

Then the dream shifted and it was broad daylight, hot beams of sun shooting through the windows above the sink in the kitchen as I entered it. My brother and mother were sitting at the island situated in the center of the kitchen and I went to sit down.

“You know, I had the weirdest dream last night,” I murmured, balling my hands together on the green countertop. I had gotten their attention and they stared at me curiously, willing me to continue. I recounted reading in front of the French doors and the abrupt, frightening knocking. They laughed and my mother said something along the lines of, “That movie must have had lots of influence on you. It’s kind of creepy.”

It faded out, dissolving into my subconscious, as I came to. Instantly I knew this was reality, but I was left with such a strange feeling. Had someone been in my head? Or was it just the thoughts about Inception infiltrating and seizing my brain while I was slumbering? The former wasn’t possible, of course, but I still felt odd and somehow elated at “experiencing” a dream within a dream. Then I pondered; what would the purpose of the man (or thing) attempting to get into my house be? Had I made the house something like a bank vault or prison and stored it with valuable information? 

I have no idea. But the only thing I really know is this: Leonardo DiCaprio, if you somehow end up in my head, please don’t sic Mal on me, okay?

Death

Devastating black oblivion, and
entire souls stripped from bodies, or
an endlessly open flower garden, and
turns for angelic transformation?
How will it happen?

In darkness, or
never-ending light?

Distressed screams of your brothers, and
enkindled, rotting flesh saturating your senses, or
a peaceful quiet empty place, and
thick rosy aromas filling your head?
How will it happen?

…

Where is your mind?
harboring thoughts; though
even still, void, with
nothing at all?

How will it happen?