wolven7 | Story: Intense, Demonic Attacks

Venetian Snares& Hecate - [Intense Demonic Attacks (Initiate Devil's Answer Remix)]--- This is for that contest I told you about, earlier. Good to have impetus to get something creative, and non-school-related done. Here goes.
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She told me to wait for her, in the park, on the other side of the street. So I did. I did like she asked me, even though it started raining, there, when I had been there for at least three hours. I wanted to show her how much I had changed, how I was willing to do anything, for her, now. Even wait three hours, in the pouring damned rain. But I would do it; for her, I would do it. My legs were starting to hurt, but there was no place to sit.

There was no place to sit, and I realised that to complain a bout a little pain, after all I had done-- before all I was going to do-- well, it was stupid, was all. I ignored it, shifting what little weight I had, and stood there, wishing I had brought an umbrella. I thought about what had led me to that park, and all the horrible wrongs I'd done to her. The pain and trauma, I'd caused, and the burning hatred I'd inspired. All with words. Sharp, violent words. I never hit her. Not that way, at any rate. It was a mutual thing, with us; our tempers flared and nearly broke the banks, always almost sending us into a torrent of fire, tsunamic conflagration, such that, eventually, the words did what our bodies never would. They hurt us. They cut us and they changed us, forever. I had heard from mutual friends that she was getting more work done than she ever had either before or while we were together.

I was really happy for her, for that. Almost enough to make me reconsider. But I loved her, and I wanted to show her what I'd learned, the new person I'd become. So I called her, and asked if we could meet, and talk. She laughed, and asked "Isn't that what got us here, in the first place?" I could hear that she was smoking, again. She'd stolen three of my cigarettes, during the fight, and I knew she was going to start up, again, for good. I let an apologetic tone in, and said, "Well, yeah, but... Well, there's still some stuff of yours, here, and mine, there. So..."

"Yeah," she said. "Yeah, Okay. Look: Just go to the park across from my apartment, and wait, for me. I'll meet you there, at four."

Then she hung up. I hung up my phone, and closed my books. I put everything back into the trunk I found, after the fight. It was in a seldom-used closet, and had been, since the makeshift funeral, four years ago. I'd simply forgotten about it. You see, it had been my father's and I never knew what was in it. Things my mother wouldn't let me see, you know? Eventually the thing was rusted shut, and I stopped caring. My mom cried, when she saw that he'd left it to me; said she didn't want me to end up like him... But I've learned better, since then. I could make this work. She wouldn't leave me, like mom did to dad. I wouldn't let it end that way. Never again. We could at least be friends, right? And that way, in a way, we'd be together. One way, or another, we'd be together.

The trunk popped open, when I touched the locks.

Halfway through the fifth hour of my standing in the rain, limbs shooting illusory signals of pain, through my nervous system, she appeared. I had been staring at he window, remembering, and I must have spaced out, because I didn't hear her walk up. I looked down, and there she was. She looked me up and down, and I could tell that she could see it. She could see that I had changed, that I was a whole new man. I told her that it was all for her, and she looked down at the ground. She looked so sad. This was going different than I had planned, and I was starting to get scared that she wouldn't listen.

I didn't have as much control as I thought. When I went to put my hand... well, appendage, on her shoulder, it was too quick, and wrapped too tightly, latching onto her throat, and squeezing, ever so lightly. When it-- I-- did, I knocked her jacket down around her arms, and I noticed the markings on her arms. Black tribal work that looked so familiar, and seemed to whisper things, as I looked at it. It hadn't been there, the day before. It was too late, for either of us. I was already pulling her in, for a kiss, and her eyes had gone wide in surprise and, really, it must have been a reflex. It must've been... Because... Well, y'see, the words had changed us. It could never be the same, again.

Our lips connected, my new eyes closing, hers still wide, and the colourless-blue crackled between us. I fell to the ground, and skidded the five or so feet, to the gutter, where I've been quietly dying-- fading-- ever since.

And then she turned away.
©Damien Williams. All Rights Reserved.