01-30-2018, 03:42 PM
Trigger warning: violence, kidnapping.
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olid;" cellspacing=10 cellpadding=15 width=500><tr><td><p align=justify><font face=times new roman color=black><font style=font-size:11pt;line-height:12pt;letter-spacing:0px>
<center><img src=https://i.imgur.com/6iXsGdG.jpg align=center>
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It is like waking from an endless slumber.
She has sloughed her equine skin in exchange for two legs, and her memories lay in shambles somewhere in the back of her head. Trapped girl, in a constant state of remembering and forgetting and fearing.
There is a solace in replacing lost things.
Saedis is small and fleeting against this breath of eternity, a wanderer, one face among many and the people on the street pay no heed to her.
There is something to be said for cities.
Her hair is less the white of arctic wolves in this new universe, and more the yellow of spun honey. She, slight and pale-skinned, peculiar and with a stargazer´s eyes does not belong here. Pollyanna in a world of cynics.
Saedis was not paying attention. She was walking, yes, but her eternity-eyes darted from street to window to bright lights. When she saw the boy – too late – she did not change her course, but the collision was not a hard one. She stumbled backwards, fumbling at the same time for an apology.
<i>”Watch it…”</i> he barks, until his too-dark eyes settle on her and widen slightly as if something about her has put him off.
<i>”I´m so sorry”</i> she whispers, <i>”I didn´t mean to…”</i>
And it is here, though they are both unaware, that the world begins to spin ruthlessly around it´s own axis; here is where fate has caught up with them. Here is where the story begins anew.
There; the fell beast in wait – she; the flickering moth to the flame.
<i>”It´s hard to pay attention on so beautiful a morning”</i> he says, but his eyes are focused on hers, capturing them like a butterfly between cold fingers. They were endless and they were dark, and they said <i><b>no</i></b>, it wasn´t the morning that was beautiful – it was <i>her.</i> More beautiful than any morning could be. He reaches for a cigarette and a box of matches in his pocket, fumbling slightly as he lights it. There is a nervous edge to his movements that makes her hair stand in a mild thrill and revulsion all at once.
<i>”What´s your name?”</i> he begs and she answers.
<i>Saedís, Saedís, Saedís -- </i> it is a name that falls easy off the tongue, one that could be penned into the lines of a thousand lovers´sonnets or a hundred songs; it could be the name of a star, or a mountain, or a beautiful clear-eyed girl.
He doesn´t give his in return.
<i>”So, what are you doing out here tonight?”</i> she asks, and the butterfly between his fingers tremble.
His glitter-dark eyes burn, haunting and tumultuous in the shadows.
<i>”See that hair salon over there?”</i> he motions with his head, and her ocean-eyes follow his gaze until they settle on the hair salon. It is lit with a plethora of bright colors, and a neon sign indicating that it has closed for the night. In front of it is a man. Security, it reads in proud letters over his chest, idly rocking back and forth on his heels. The perfect illustration of boredom.
<i>”I´m going to rob it”</i> her newfound acquaintance continues. The rich discordant hum of his voice is self-depricating and wry. Inviting Saedís to laugh with him, at him.
She doesn´t.
The consonants and vowels of their existence flutter nervously in the quiet that hangs heavy and iron curtain-like between them; and the consequence of the sounds that he has allowed to slip from his dry throat makes itself reminded. Saedís must answer when she has no means to find the words to do so.
<i>”Why…why would you do that?”</i> she asks nervously.
<i>”Because I need the money, and you are going to help me.”</i> and before she knows it, he has her by the edge of glinting metal in the moonlight. He presses the mouth of the gun into the soft skin of her neck and she stiffens, terrified. <i>Don´t talk to strangers</i> her mother had always said, but Saedís – too innocent and pure of heart to understand the perils of strangers in the night never paid her much heed.
The consequences of being her, alas.
He leads her across the street and she follows willingly – until they reach the security guard. His eyes are not filled with idle disinterest now but with terror. <i>”L…L..et her g…go”</i> he stutters at Saedís´captor – but he only shakes his head. <i>”Open the door!”</i> her captor demands, and the guard fumbles with the keys – Saedís is still unable to speak; to breathe; to think. Fear – wild and relentless, stretches its claws inside her and purrs softly against her ear. Their villain – impatient with madness suddenly tosses Saedís to the side and instead bangs the gun into the head of the security guard. <i>”Move it”</i> he barks, and Saedís lets out a shriek. She should run now, she knows this – and yet, something holds her back. <i>Why can you not think about yourself, for once, little dreamer</i>
<i>”Please”</i> she pleads <i>”Don´t hurt him!”</i> She shudders, she doesn´t want to meet the black of his gaze – afraid of what she will find there.
<i>”Don´t hurt him?”</i> the villain-boy echoes as he turns toward her again and the pseudo-sincerity of his voice glides easily over mocking and cruel amusement. <i>”Who are you, bloody mother Teresa?”</i>
And it is then that the security guard sees his opportunity to flee – as their burglars eyes are trained on Saedís´ pale face. In one swift moment he turns around, and something glitters in his hands as he brings them down with full force over the arm that holds the gun. She doesn´t hear the sound of the bullet as it presses through her skin where she stands – swaying and bewildered and destroyed.
Instead – a scream pierces the sickening silence, and now she can taste the blood on her tongue.
She should have died by the ocean, she thinks, that would have fulfilled the meaning of her name.
<i>”Run”</i> she whispers to the security guard – whose actions had betrayed her so. But those noble words, they did nothing to soothe the burn in her shoulder or the horror in the back of her brain.
The taste of fear and hopelessness (mingled faintly with the acrid flavor of defeat) strung bitterly along her thick and heavy tongue as she whispers again - <i>”Run.”</i>
Strange how few things change, even underneath the tolling, marring forces of hurt.
But the world never did favor the pure of heart.
<font size=14pt><center> SAEDÌS</font>
<center></table></center>
Item 1: box of matches
Item 2: hair salon
Item 3: frightened security guard
Word count: 1097
<center><table bgcolor=#D1D0CE style="border-color: black; border-width: 0px; border-style
olid;" cellspacing=10 cellpadding=15 width=500><tr><td><p align=justify><font face=times new roman color=black><font style=font-size:11pt;line-height:12pt;letter-spacing:0px><center><img src=https://i.imgur.com/6iXsGdG.jpg align=center>
<center>
It is like waking from an endless slumber.
She has sloughed her equine skin in exchange for two legs, and her memories lay in shambles somewhere in the back of her head. Trapped girl, in a constant state of remembering and forgetting and fearing.
There is a solace in replacing lost things.
Saedis is small and fleeting against this breath of eternity, a wanderer, one face among many and the people on the street pay no heed to her.
There is something to be said for cities.
Her hair is less the white of arctic wolves in this new universe, and more the yellow of spun honey. She, slight and pale-skinned, peculiar and with a stargazer´s eyes does not belong here. Pollyanna in a world of cynics.
Saedis was not paying attention. She was walking, yes, but her eternity-eyes darted from street to window to bright lights. When she saw the boy – too late – she did not change her course, but the collision was not a hard one. She stumbled backwards, fumbling at the same time for an apology.
<i>”Watch it…”</i> he barks, until his too-dark eyes settle on her and widen slightly as if something about her has put him off.
<i>”I´m so sorry”</i> she whispers, <i>”I didn´t mean to…”</i>
And it is here, though they are both unaware, that the world begins to spin ruthlessly around it´s own axis; here is where fate has caught up with them. Here is where the story begins anew.
There; the fell beast in wait – she; the flickering moth to the flame.
<i>”It´s hard to pay attention on so beautiful a morning”</i> he says, but his eyes are focused on hers, capturing them like a butterfly between cold fingers. They were endless and they were dark, and they said <i><b>no</i></b>, it wasn´t the morning that was beautiful – it was <i>her.</i> More beautiful than any morning could be. He reaches for a cigarette and a box of matches in his pocket, fumbling slightly as he lights it. There is a nervous edge to his movements that makes her hair stand in a mild thrill and revulsion all at once.
<i>”What´s your name?”</i> he begs and she answers.
<i>Saedís, Saedís, Saedís -- </i> it is a name that falls easy off the tongue, one that could be penned into the lines of a thousand lovers´sonnets or a hundred songs; it could be the name of a star, or a mountain, or a beautiful clear-eyed girl.
He doesn´t give his in return.
<i>”So, what are you doing out here tonight?”</i> she asks, and the butterfly between his fingers tremble.
His glitter-dark eyes burn, haunting and tumultuous in the shadows.
<i>”See that hair salon over there?”</i> he motions with his head, and her ocean-eyes follow his gaze until they settle on the hair salon. It is lit with a plethora of bright colors, and a neon sign indicating that it has closed for the night. In front of it is a man. Security, it reads in proud letters over his chest, idly rocking back and forth on his heels. The perfect illustration of boredom.
<i>”I´m going to rob it”</i> her newfound acquaintance continues. The rich discordant hum of his voice is self-depricating and wry. Inviting Saedís to laugh with him, at him.
She doesn´t.
The consonants and vowels of their existence flutter nervously in the quiet that hangs heavy and iron curtain-like between them; and the consequence of the sounds that he has allowed to slip from his dry throat makes itself reminded. Saedís must answer when she has no means to find the words to do so.
<i>”Why…why would you do that?”</i> she asks nervously.
<i>”Because I need the money, and you are going to help me.”</i> and before she knows it, he has her by the edge of glinting metal in the moonlight. He presses the mouth of the gun into the soft skin of her neck and she stiffens, terrified. <i>Don´t talk to strangers</i> her mother had always said, but Saedís – too innocent and pure of heart to understand the perils of strangers in the night never paid her much heed.
The consequences of being her, alas.
He leads her across the street and she follows willingly – until they reach the security guard. His eyes are not filled with idle disinterest now but with terror. <i>”L…L..et her g…go”</i> he stutters at Saedís´captor – but he only shakes his head. <i>”Open the door!”</i> her captor demands, and the guard fumbles with the keys – Saedís is still unable to speak; to breathe; to think. Fear – wild and relentless, stretches its claws inside her and purrs softly against her ear. Their villain – impatient with madness suddenly tosses Saedís to the side and instead bangs the gun into the head of the security guard. <i>”Move it”</i> he barks, and Saedís lets out a shriek. She should run now, she knows this – and yet, something holds her back. <i>Why can you not think about yourself, for once, little dreamer</i>
<i>”Please”</i> she pleads <i>”Don´t hurt him!”</i> She shudders, she doesn´t want to meet the black of his gaze – afraid of what she will find there.
<i>”Don´t hurt him?”</i> the villain-boy echoes as he turns toward her again and the pseudo-sincerity of his voice glides easily over mocking and cruel amusement. <i>”Who are you, bloody mother Teresa?”</i>
And it is then that the security guard sees his opportunity to flee – as their burglars eyes are trained on Saedís´ pale face. In one swift moment he turns around, and something glitters in his hands as he brings them down with full force over the arm that holds the gun. She doesn´t hear the sound of the bullet as it presses through her skin where she stands – swaying and bewildered and destroyed.
Instead – a scream pierces the sickening silence, and now she can taste the blood on her tongue.
She should have died by the ocean, she thinks, that would have fulfilled the meaning of her name.
<i>”Run”</i> she whispers to the security guard – whose actions had betrayed her so. But those noble words, they did nothing to soothe the burn in her shoulder or the horror in the back of her brain.
The taste of fear and hopelessness (mingled faintly with the acrid flavor of defeat) strung bitterly along her thick and heavy tongue as she whispers again - <i>”Run.”</i>
Strange how few things change, even underneath the tolling, marring forces of hurt.
But the world never did favor the pure of heart.
<font size=14pt><center> SAEDÌS</font>
<center></table></center>
Item 1: box of matches
Item 2: hair salon
Item 3: frightened security guard
Word count: 1097