A short story I wrote in about an hour as a challenge to myself. Not a happy ending. Possibly disturbing, but make of it as you will.
"Who has done this foul deed?"
"You should know." A voice harsh and dark answered him, "Seeing as you are the reason this started." The voice was familiar. He knew it from somewhere deep in his memory.
"The fault is none but your own." A gentle, caressing, feminine spoke softly. "Look into my eyes and know your heart." He felt a slender smooth arm on his back, calming him.
"The damned have marked you as their own." The woman continued to speak, "And you have marked them as well. Didn't you enjoy it stranger?"
"Enjoy what?" He asked afraid to look anywhere but at the ground. The weight on his back was released and he felt true fear.
"Killing me!" The woman yelled at him and she was joined by seemingly thousands of voices. He looked up and saw she was no longer lying on the wet grass, her face was now one to make a demon look beautiful, and her eyes. Her eyes! They damned him!
The city was a disgusting place to him. The smog filled sky and the displeasing music of car horns and police sirens. He had grown up in the country, in a small rural town. When he was reaching his formative years his family had moved into the big city for the opportunity. They had lost it. Yet he remained. For even in this hell he could find beauty. He walked quickly down the street, eyes frantically gazing everywhere, but that was normal for him. He always had to aware unless someone slipped a knife in his ribs to make off with his wallet, or he missed the sign that even for the damned there was hope.
Her name he did not know. He had always watched her form afar unsure he if was dreaming. She was an angelic visage in the landscape dominated by the derelict concrete sky towers and cracked asphalt roads. The ugliness of the city could not mar her beauty. Indeed it made her more noticeable. He had first noticed her help an elderly man to his feet after he had tripped on a rise in the pavement, while others had just ignored the man's plight. So he watched her, and saw that physical beauty was accompanied by a heavenly grace and good will. She was the last angel not corrupted in this hell, he thought.
His mind painted all sorts of wonderful images of her. She was his inspiration for living. The knowledge that there could be such beauty even in the darkest places. He dealt in cruelty and death. She dealt in life and kindness. He swore to himself that he would protect this angel from harm.
So he was shocked the day he actually met her. He had kept his distance. Always kept his distance. Now, he had gone to the bar he noticed she frequented.
"Hello stranger." She said, dressed as a waitress, as he came in the door.
"Hello," He replied taking a seat at a table, noticing how beautiful her eyes were, "Could I get a beer please?"
"Certainly stranger." She said and he could feel a few other men in the bar glaring at him. One man kept reaching in and out his coat, the man looked unsettling to say the least. A scar ran down the man's face, over his eye. Finally the man seemed to pull something out of his coat. Instinctively, he knocked down the table and took cover as he heard a gunshot, followed by screams. The gunshots kept coming and he finally heard the man go to reload, he stood up slowly, his hand guns coming out of his hidden holsters. He fired one shot from each, one bullet exploding the gun in the man's hand and the other hitting him in the chest.
He walked towards the now dying man and asked, "Why?"
"She's mine," The man said laughing coughing up blood, "And stranger, I will have her even in death!" The man's last statement was jovial and he turned his head to look where she had been. She lay there dead. All of the bullets had been aimed for her. Not him.
"Do you know what you did stranger?" The demon woman asked him, "Do you, or do you not remember." He moaned unwilling to answer.
"Very well," She continued, "You grabbed my body and shot a man driving his car. You took the car, and brought us here." He cried, tears of fear. This could not be happening.
"And you had no remorse for him!" She screamed grabbing him with her clawed hands, "After all what does one innocent life matter to one who's killed so many!"
"No!" He yelled with fury, finally regaining his voice, "There was only one innocent in that city! That was you!" Instantly her features softened, her hands becoming human followed by the rest of her.
"Why then?" She asked, her voice sounding hurt, "Did you save yourself instead of me?" The question echoed in his mind. He had failed. The apparition faded and then returned to where it had came from. He had only a couple of things left to do. After a short walk he found the car he had stolen, he found a shovel in the trunk. He dug the grave, a shallow one, and marked it "The Last Innocent" using large rocks. Finally he placed one of his pistols in his mouth. With a final prayer for her soul, he pulled the trigger, regretting he never knew her name.
Short story by Phil
Read 670 times
Written on 2009-01-28 at 00:14
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The Regret Washes Over and Remains
The dark night sky had its own eerie beauty. The stars glittered as emeralds in a black blue sea. The heavens were clear and clean tonight. A man stood on the grass fields surrounded by trees. His body was shaking vigorously. The smell of copper had invaded his nostrils. The sky was innocent and beautiful. The scene before him was could not be described with such kind words. She lay on the grass. Somehow she was still able to retain her grace. But it was her eyes that haunted him the most. Like emeralds in a black blue sea, they screamed at him. He dropped to his knees and yelled into the night."Who has done this foul deed?"
"You should know." A voice harsh and dark answered him, "Seeing as you are the reason this started." The voice was familiar. He knew it from somewhere deep in his memory.
"The fault is none but your own." A gentle, caressing, feminine spoke softly. "Look into my eyes and know your heart." He felt a slender smooth arm on his back, calming him.
"The damned have marked you as their own." The woman continued to speak, "And you have marked them as well. Didn't you enjoy it stranger?"
"Enjoy what?" He asked afraid to look anywhere but at the ground. The weight on his back was released and he felt true fear.
"Killing me!" The woman yelled at him and she was joined by seemingly thousands of voices. He looked up and saw she was no longer lying on the wet grass, her face was now one to make a demon look beautiful, and her eyes. Her eyes! They damned him!
The city was a disgusting place to him. The smog filled sky and the displeasing music of car horns and police sirens. He had grown up in the country, in a small rural town. When he was reaching his formative years his family had moved into the big city for the opportunity. They had lost it. Yet he remained. For even in this hell he could find beauty. He walked quickly down the street, eyes frantically gazing everywhere, but that was normal for him. He always had to aware unless someone slipped a knife in his ribs to make off with his wallet, or he missed the sign that even for the damned there was hope.
Her name he did not know. He had always watched her form afar unsure he if was dreaming. She was an angelic visage in the landscape dominated by the derelict concrete sky towers and cracked asphalt roads. The ugliness of the city could not mar her beauty. Indeed it made her more noticeable. He had first noticed her help an elderly man to his feet after he had tripped on a rise in the pavement, while others had just ignored the man's plight. So he watched her, and saw that physical beauty was accompanied by a heavenly grace and good will. She was the last angel not corrupted in this hell, he thought.
His mind painted all sorts of wonderful images of her. She was his inspiration for living. The knowledge that there could be such beauty even in the darkest places. He dealt in cruelty and death. She dealt in life and kindness. He swore to himself that he would protect this angel from harm.
So he was shocked the day he actually met her. He had kept his distance. Always kept his distance. Now, he had gone to the bar he noticed she frequented.
"Hello stranger." She said, dressed as a waitress, as he came in the door.
"Hello," He replied taking a seat at a table, noticing how beautiful her eyes were, "Could I get a beer please?"
"Certainly stranger." She said and he could feel a few other men in the bar glaring at him. One man kept reaching in and out his coat, the man looked unsettling to say the least. A scar ran down the man's face, over his eye. Finally the man seemed to pull something out of his coat. Instinctively, he knocked down the table and took cover as he heard a gunshot, followed by screams. The gunshots kept coming and he finally heard the man go to reload, he stood up slowly, his hand guns coming out of his hidden holsters. He fired one shot from each, one bullet exploding the gun in the man's hand and the other hitting him in the chest.
He walked towards the now dying man and asked, "Why?"
"She's mine," The man said laughing coughing up blood, "And stranger, I will have her even in death!" The man's last statement was jovial and he turned his head to look where she had been. She lay there dead. All of the bullets had been aimed for her. Not him.
"Do you know what you did stranger?" The demon woman asked him, "Do you, or do you not remember." He moaned unwilling to answer.
"Very well," She continued, "You grabbed my body and shot a man driving his car. You took the car, and brought us here." He cried, tears of fear. This could not be happening.
"And you had no remorse for him!" She screamed grabbing him with her clawed hands, "After all what does one innocent life matter to one who's killed so many!"
"No!" He yelled with fury, finally regaining his voice, "There was only one innocent in that city! That was you!" Instantly her features softened, her hands becoming human followed by the rest of her.
"Why then?" She asked, her voice sounding hurt, "Did you save yourself instead of me?" The question echoed in his mind. He had failed. The apparition faded and then returned to where it had came from. He had only a couple of things left to do. After a short walk he found the car he had stolen, he found a shovel in the trunk. He dug the grave, a shallow one, and marked it "The Last Innocent" using large rocks. Finally he placed one of his pistols in his mouth. With a final prayer for her soul, he pulled the trigger, regretting he never knew her name.
Short story by Phil
Read 670 times
Written on 2009-01-28 at 00:14
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text
