by What Yoyo does in class instead of listening.
Blood
The sound of her body slamming against the wall reverberated through the empty hallway. In an instant her breath had quickened, become heavy. She gasped through clenched teeth, angry and in pain. The cold metal of a handgun was pressed against her throat, a hindrance to her ability to fight back. She winced as the hand gripping her arm tightened cruelly. She glared at her attacker in vengeful defiance.
"What exactly do you hope to accomplish here?" She choked slightly as the barrel of the gun pressed harder against her throat in response.
"If I can kill you, I will cause him more pain than if I killed him outright. A man in pain is more likely to make a mistake. Mistakes cause men to become easier to kill." The grin on her attacker's face grew. He was already proud to have caught his victim off guard; now he was reveling in his plan for victory over his foe.
She knew this man and she knew of whom he spoke. She was close to the man who was being threatened. She had done her best to help him, encourage him, and befriend him. She knew the many enemies, including this one, he had made over the years. She had worked hard to defend him from these people. Everyone knew the two of them were friends, making this armed man's plan brilliant.
She chuckled as best she could with a gun cutting lower her air supply. "Go ahead. Shot me. Everyone who hears of my death will go after him, taking advantage of his mourning" -- there was an ugly tone of sarcasm attached to that word -- "in order to kill him. Heh," she laughed at the expression on her attacker's face. "You think he will mourn, become weak, care, but you will see that the rumors and appearances are not as realistic as everyone thinks. You can kill me, but he will kill you as soon as you appear before him."
She grinned a toothy smile as the gun was pressed deeper into her throat, almost completely cutting off her air flow. His grip on her arm tightened once more and he pressed her hard against the wall. He seemed to think that hurting her would force her to tell him that everything she had said was just a ploy to save her life. When she did not recant her words, he became angry. "You're a liar," he hissed.
Her vision was swimming from lack of air when a shot rang out. It echoed hollowly throughout the empty house. Blood splashed on the hard wood floors and the wall, staining them a dark red. She stared at where her attacker's head had been moments before. He was now hunched over, his head level with his shoulders. The gun dropped into the center of the growing pool of blood between them.
The man straitened, an evil grin on his face. He watched with sick humor as his victim coughed up blood and fell to her knees. He stepped back and looked at her a moment before bowing and walking casually out the door. The woman hissed in frustration and collapsed in the puddle of red liquid beneath her.
Gunshots
He had been happily married for some time. He had a good job and a good position in society. He had good friends who supported him and raised him to the top. He had many enemies, but he also have power and allies. He was not concerned with much in life; he was comfortable, but not uncautious.
The funeral was especially hard for him. he had never dreamed that one of his followers, supporters, and friends would be killed. She had been murdered, no less; caught off guard in her own home. There was no way to tell who had killed her, either -- she had been killed with her own gun.
He was angry. He was angry at the murderer. He was angry at her for leaving at such a critical moment. He was angry at himself for not being able to protect her. There was little he could have done, he knew. He had been informed of this fact at least once every day since it had happened.
He stopped walking suddenly and punched the wall beside him. He stood there a moment, his fist against the unforgiving brick, relishing in the pain it caused. It was a temporary distraction from the pain of loss. His wife gently wrapped her arms around him in an effort to comfort him.
"Go on ahead and start packing her things," he said. She had no family left to take care of her belongings. "I'll be there in a few minutes." She looked at him softly, love and concern evident on her face. He smiled at her. "I'll come soon. I won't die." He kissed her on the forehead. She hesitated a moment before resuming her walk down the road.
He frowned as she rounded a corner. "I won't die." His wife would never voice that silent fear in her heart. Someone else always said it, voiced their thoughts, kept them realistic. He had said that to her the last time they had parted ways. He had meant it as a joke, to beat her to it for once. He had not thought she would actually die. She had laughed instead of confirming that she would not die. It was irrational, he knew, but he wished he would have let her say it as always. Maybe things would have turned out differently.
He spun around quickly, his hand on his gun. A dark figure approached him from the road. The figure took long certain steps. He had his hands in the pockets of his black hoodie. When the man reached him, he stopped, looked up, and grinned.
"Could you help me find this address," the man asked as he pulled a scrap of paper from his pocket.
He examined the paper, then opened his eyes wide. It was her address. He turned back to the dark man and drew his gun as he took a step to the side. Pain shot through his arm, stunning him momentarily.
"I'm glad she was wrong. You care enough that you are distracted. Too bad she can't know that now." The man in black grinned. He shoved his gun in the guy of the wounded man. "Tell her I said hello when you two meet, again."
Soundless
The rhythms of the room were soothing. The machines beeped out a bet the was accompanied by the slow drip of fluid. A cool breeze made the blinds rattle and the curtain thumped quietly against the wall. The florescent light above buzzed, barely audible.
The man in the bed groaned and murmured something, his sleep disrupted by dreams. The woman sitting beside him took his hand and held it close. She had been by his side since before they had gotten married, and now she was afraid she would not be able to be with him much longer.
He was in danger. The wounds he sustained were serious, but it was the mental wounds he had to deal that concerned her. He was awoken one night sobbing and told her what disturbed him so much.
"She thought I didn't care!" he had cried, nearly ripping the IV out of his arm in his frustration. "How could she think that?"
She sighed at the memory. He cared about his friends and supporters deeply. The idea that one of them thought he did not was going to tear him apart. There was nothing he could do to tell her otherwise, and he had been shot by the man who had killed her; she feared it was too much for him to bear.
She loved him and wanted to help, but she had no idea what to do. The only thing she could do was sit by his side, whispering calming words when his dreams became too much for him. She determined that she would be strong to help him be strong. As she thought about this, a lone tear trailed down her cheek.
"You're beautiful even when you cry, but I prefer dry eyes for my wife." The soft voice disrupted her thoughts. Her husband looked up at her tiredly from his pillow. A weak but genuine smile was on his lips. Regret-fueled fever burned in his eyes beside his love for her. "I've made you worry. I'm sorry."
She placed her hand on his cheek and stroked it gently. "You promised that you would not die. I am holding you to that promise." She smiled, hoping to see it reflected in his eyes, not just his face. "I love you too much to see you eaten alive by guilt." She would have laughed to lighten the mood, but a gurgling sound beat her to it.
"Go eat," he said, closing his eyes. "I'm not going anywhere."
She kissed him on the forehead as she stood. It had been nearly a day since she had eaten anything. She quietly made her way out of the room, closing the door behind her. There was a vending machine at the other end of the hall that she had seen that had some snacks she could get. She put a few coins in the machine and pressed the buttons that would give her a small bag of chips. As the machine whirred and began to move the bag forward so it could drop into the basin below, she heard running feet coming down the hall. She turned and watched as a small group of nurses rushed past her. She wondered what the emergency was as she turned back to get her snack. She stared at the machine in disbelief. Her snack was stuck between the glass and the bottle of water below it. She looked around, hoping someone would be able to help her, but there was no one around. She banged her head against the glass.
A small thunk caused her to open her eyes. Her chips were in the basin, knocked loose by the movement of the glass. She took it out and ate the chips on the way back to the hospital room, glad her stomach would be quiet now. As she reached for the handle of the door, it opened to reveal a nurse, a sad expression on her face. Behind her, a terrible continuous beep was made silent with the jarring click of a button.
Blood
The sound of her body slamming against the wall reverberated through the empty hallway. In an instant her breath had quickened, become heavy. She gasped through clenched teeth, angry and in pain. The cold metal of a handgun was pressed against her throat, a hindrance to her ability to fight back. She winced as the hand gripping her arm tightened cruelly. She glared at her attacker in vengeful defiance.
"What exactly do you hope to accomplish here?" She choked slightly as the barrel of the gun pressed harder against her throat in response.
"If I can kill you, I will cause him more pain than if I killed him outright. A man in pain is more likely to make a mistake. Mistakes cause men to become easier to kill." The grin on her attacker's face grew. He was already proud to have caught his victim off guard; now he was reveling in his plan for victory over his foe.
She knew this man and she knew of whom he spoke. She was close to the man who was being threatened. She had done her best to help him, encourage him, and befriend him. She knew the many enemies, including this one, he had made over the years. She had worked hard to defend him from these people. Everyone knew the two of them were friends, making this armed man's plan brilliant.
She chuckled as best she could with a gun cutting lower her air supply. "Go ahead. Shot me. Everyone who hears of my death will go after him, taking advantage of his mourning" -- there was an ugly tone of sarcasm attached to that word -- "in order to kill him. Heh," she laughed at the expression on her attacker's face. "You think he will mourn, become weak, care, but you will see that the rumors and appearances are not as realistic as everyone thinks. You can kill me, but he will kill you as soon as you appear before him."
She grinned a toothy smile as the gun was pressed deeper into her throat, almost completely cutting off her air flow. His grip on her arm tightened once more and he pressed her hard against the wall. He seemed to think that hurting her would force her to tell him that everything she had said was just a ploy to save her life. When she did not recant her words, he became angry. "You're a liar," he hissed.
Her vision was swimming from lack of air when a shot rang out. It echoed hollowly throughout the empty house. Blood splashed on the hard wood floors and the wall, staining them a dark red. She stared at where her attacker's head had been moments before. He was now hunched over, his head level with his shoulders. The gun dropped into the center of the growing pool of blood between them.
The man straitened, an evil grin on his face. He watched with sick humor as his victim coughed up blood and fell to her knees. He stepped back and looked at her a moment before bowing and walking casually out the door. The woman hissed in frustration and collapsed in the puddle of red liquid beneath her.
Gunshots
He had been happily married for some time. He had a good job and a good position in society. He had good friends who supported him and raised him to the top. He had many enemies, but he also have power and allies. He was not concerned with much in life; he was comfortable, but not uncautious.
The funeral was especially hard for him. he had never dreamed that one of his followers, supporters, and friends would be killed. She had been murdered, no less; caught off guard in her own home. There was no way to tell who had killed her, either -- she had been killed with her own gun.
He was angry. He was angry at the murderer. He was angry at her for leaving at such a critical moment. He was angry at himself for not being able to protect her. There was little he could have done, he knew. He had been informed of this fact at least once every day since it had happened.
He stopped walking suddenly and punched the wall beside him. He stood there a moment, his fist against the unforgiving brick, relishing in the pain it caused. It was a temporary distraction from the pain of loss. His wife gently wrapped her arms around him in an effort to comfort him.
"Go on ahead and start packing her things," he said. She had no family left to take care of her belongings. "I'll be there in a few minutes." She looked at him softly, love and concern evident on her face. He smiled at her. "I'll come soon. I won't die." He kissed her on the forehead. She hesitated a moment before resuming her walk down the road.
He frowned as she rounded a corner. "I won't die." His wife would never voice that silent fear in her heart. Someone else always said it, voiced their thoughts, kept them realistic. He had said that to her the last time they had parted ways. He had meant it as a joke, to beat her to it for once. He had not thought she would actually die. She had laughed instead of confirming that she would not die. It was irrational, he knew, but he wished he would have let her say it as always. Maybe things would have turned out differently.
He spun around quickly, his hand on his gun. A dark figure approached him from the road. The figure took long certain steps. He had his hands in the pockets of his black hoodie. When the man reached him, he stopped, looked up, and grinned.
"Could you help me find this address," the man asked as he pulled a scrap of paper from his pocket.
He examined the paper, then opened his eyes wide. It was her address. He turned back to the dark man and drew his gun as he took a step to the side. Pain shot through his arm, stunning him momentarily.
"I'm glad she was wrong. You care enough that you are distracted. Too bad she can't know that now." The man in black grinned. He shoved his gun in the guy of the wounded man. "Tell her I said hello when you two meet, again."
Soundless
The rhythms of the room were soothing. The machines beeped out a bet the was accompanied by the slow drip of fluid. A cool breeze made the blinds rattle and the curtain thumped quietly against the wall. The florescent light above buzzed, barely audible.
The man in the bed groaned and murmured something, his sleep disrupted by dreams. The woman sitting beside him took his hand and held it close. She had been by his side since before they had gotten married, and now she was afraid she would not be able to be with him much longer.
He was in danger. The wounds he sustained were serious, but it was the mental wounds he had to deal that concerned her. He was awoken one night sobbing and told her what disturbed him so much.
"She thought I didn't care!" he had cried, nearly ripping the IV out of his arm in his frustration. "How could she think that?"
She sighed at the memory. He cared about his friends and supporters deeply. The idea that one of them thought he did not was going to tear him apart. There was nothing he could do to tell her otherwise, and he had been shot by the man who had killed her; she feared it was too much for him to bear.
She loved him and wanted to help, but she had no idea what to do. The only thing she could do was sit by his side, whispering calming words when his dreams became too much for him. She determined that she would be strong to help him be strong. As she thought about this, a lone tear trailed down her cheek.
"You're beautiful even when you cry, but I prefer dry eyes for my wife." The soft voice disrupted her thoughts. Her husband looked up at her tiredly from his pillow. A weak but genuine smile was on his lips. Regret-fueled fever burned in his eyes beside his love for her. "I've made you worry. I'm sorry."
She placed her hand on his cheek and stroked it gently. "You promised that you would not die. I am holding you to that promise." She smiled, hoping to see it reflected in his eyes, not just his face. "I love you too much to see you eaten alive by guilt." She would have laughed to lighten the mood, but a gurgling sound beat her to it.
"Go eat," he said, closing his eyes. "I'm not going anywhere."
She kissed him on the forehead as she stood. It had been nearly a day since she had eaten anything. She quietly made her way out of the room, closing the door behind her. There was a vending machine at the other end of the hall that she had seen that had some snacks she could get. She put a few coins in the machine and pressed the buttons that would give her a small bag of chips. As the machine whirred and began to move the bag forward so it could drop into the basin below, she heard running feet coming down the hall. She turned and watched as a small group of nurses rushed past her. She wondered what the emergency was as she turned back to get her snack. She stared at the machine in disbelief. Her snack was stuck between the glass and the bottle of water below it. She looked around, hoping someone would be able to help her, but there was no one around. She banged her head against the glass.
A small thunk caused her to open her eyes. Her chips were in the basin, knocked loose by the movement of the glass. She took it out and ate the chips on the way back to the hospital room, glad her stomach would be quiet now. As she reached for the handle of the door, it opened to reveal a nurse, a sad expression on her face. Behind her, a terrible continuous beep was made silent with the jarring click of a button.
Last edited by Yoyo on Fri Sep 18 2009, 10:02; edited 1 time in total
