Dahlia felt him stiffen.
She had done something wrong.
She heard his question and nodded weakly. It still hurt to move.
Maybe the duration of the story would give her enough time to figure what was going on.
She remembered this man's voice. She remembered pain. She remembered a different man, restraining her, hurting her, but that was it.
There was nothing else.
It didn't feel like she had forgotten.
It felt like there wasn't anything there to begin with.
Monday, May 14, 2012
The Sensitive Soul
The man's back noticeably stiffened as her tears began to flow. Oh by the Light. He hated this, this thing humans did. It just proved how their minds were not meant to handle the emotions they created for themselves. He held her closer, and began to rock her very slightly, side to side and in time with his steps. He tried not to grimace as the cold, clammy petals of the flowers she clutched flopped against his forearm.
"Sssh, sssh," he murmured, pressing the bridge of his nose against the curve of her skull. "Don't strain yourself, my la- Dahlia," he hurriedly corrected himself. "I didn't mean anything. Just keep calm, and stay with me...."
His voice trailed off as he lifted his head to look down the road. Why had they decided to camp so far from the city? Why had he decided to walk so far in? But, if he hadn't, this girl would be dead for sure... Or worse.
He was still perplexed by her, though. He was quite sure she had been dead when he had first rushed to her, despite his hopes otherwise. And with the size of the wound and the amount of blood that had drained from her, her survival was nothing short of a miracle. And he could not bring himself to doubt that it wasn't. He could have sworn, just as his legs had carried him to her, that he had felt a chilled rush of divinity pulse in the air.... But he could not feel it in her now. Of course, that may have been because the only thing he could feel was her bloodied ribs scraping against his as she cried.
"Please, lady Dahlia," he begged without pleading. "We're close now," he lied. "Would you like to hear a story?"
"Sssh, sssh," he murmured, pressing the bridge of his nose against the curve of her skull. "Don't strain yourself, my la- Dahlia," he hurriedly corrected himself. "I didn't mean anything. Just keep calm, and stay with me...."
His voice trailed off as he lifted his head to look down the road. Why had they decided to camp so far from the city? Why had he decided to walk so far in? But, if he hadn't, this girl would be dead for sure... Or worse.
He was still perplexed by her, though. He was quite sure she had been dead when he had first rushed to her, despite his hopes otherwise. And with the size of the wound and the amount of blood that had drained from her, her survival was nothing short of a miracle. And he could not bring himself to doubt that it wasn't. He could have sworn, just as his legs had carried him to her, that he had felt a chilled rush of divinity pulse in the air.... But he could not feel it in her now. Of course, that may have been because the only thing he could feel was her bloodied ribs scraping against his as she cried.
"Please, lady Dahlia," he begged without pleading. "We're close now," he lied. "Would you like to hear a story?"
A Non-existant Past
"..."
It wasn't an unusual request. In fact, it was logically the first question that one would ask upon meeting someone new. It wasn't the words themselves that gave her such a feeling of emptiness and discomfort, it was the answer.
"Dahlia"
It didn't feel quite right, but it was the only thing in her mind.
She tried digging a little deeper, to see if there was anything else that could be her name when a rush of memories swept over her and she realized what had happened that night.
She buried her face into her rescuer's chest and began sobbing.
A small bundle of flowers clutched tightly to her chest.
It wasn't an unusual request. In fact, it was logically the first question that one would ask upon meeting someone new. It wasn't the words themselves that gave her such a feeling of emptiness and discomfort, it was the answer.
"Dahlia"
It didn't feel quite right, but it was the only thing in her mind.
She tried digging a little deeper, to see if there was anything else that could be her name when a rush of memories swept over her and she realized what had happened that night.
She buried her face into her rescuer's chest and began sobbing.
A small bundle of flowers clutched tightly to her chest.
A More Gentleman-like Manner
He was so happy that he was almost numb to the relief of seeing her come to. The pressure on her side loosened slightly as he said in a low voice that could not hide its exotic accent-
"It's okay, my lady. I am here to help you."
Realizing he was faltering, he pushed soaked cloth back harder against her skin. Out of habit and fear, he checked the alley again for any sign of the constable. She was awake now, at least, so if things came to that she could vouch for him... Hopefully. Hopefully she didn't think it had been him....
He snapped himself out of his concerns. How dare he. There were much more important things to worry about now than his stupid criminal record. Humans didn't understand anyway. Keeping the pressure on her side as best he could, he tugged off the long overcoat he wore, using his teeth to tear off a long strip from the bottom hem. He wrapped this around the makeshift bandage as best he could, saying calmly despite his frantic state of mind-
"I'm going to take you to some people that can help you, okay? You've lost a lot of blood, but try to stay awake. Just hold onto me. I'm going to take care of you."
Covering her exposed body with what remained of his coat, he slid his arms underneath her shoulders and knees, lifting her tiny frame and resting her against his chest. He tried to balance her as he began hurridly walking, keeping her oozing wound pressed against his body. He felt the wet redness soaking into his vest and undershirt, but he didn't care. Nocona could get him new ones. She was nothing at all in his arms. He could hardly believe her body could hold so much blood, and then have survived losing so much....
He tried to quicken his pace, realizing that there probably wasn't much time. Knowing he had to keep her conscious, he glanced his blank eyes onto her and slowly asked, "What is your name, my lady?"
Thursday, May 3, 2012
The Life Cycle of a Caterpillar
Void.
Nothingness.
Suddenly, two glimmers of light, diametrically opposed.
One fleeting, with hope and warmth that she had never experienced in all her days.
The other stronger, almost familiar. A cool wind and petrichor.
The second of the two was the one that enveloped her, that drew her back to that winter night and the scene of the attack.
The first thing that registered was a throbbing pain in her skull, followed quickly by the dull ache permeating throughout her waist and pelvis.
She heard a low, frantic murmur pleading with her to say something, anything.
A pained groan was the only thing that escaped her lips.
As the fog left her eyes she finally saw the unusually tall man leaning over her.
A tiny flash of panic struck her and she tried to move away, but the intense pain that wracked her body and a strong hand on her shoulder quickly squelched that attempt.
Her hand landed in the pool of blood surrounding them both and her fingertips brushed a few silken petals. She tried to glance over, to figure out what she touched, but even that small movement caused sparks of pain behind her eyes.
She calmed slightly and focused on his face. It was hovering a few inches above her own. Startlingly blue eyes looked over her face as his hands returned to the wound at her side.
She closed her eyes tightly and worried that she may be loosing her mind. She could have sworn she saw strange markings fading from from his face and when she looked again, they were gone.
She frantically tried to collect the scattered fragments of thought that flitted through her mind.
"Wh-who?" she mumbled through the blood seeping at the corners of her mouth.
Nothingness.
Suddenly, two glimmers of light, diametrically opposed.
One fleeting, with hope and warmth that she had never experienced in all her days.
The other stronger, almost familiar. A cool wind and petrichor.
The second of the two was the one that enveloped her, that drew her back to that winter night and the scene of the attack.
The first thing that registered was a throbbing pain in her skull, followed quickly by the dull ache permeating throughout her waist and pelvis.
She heard a low, frantic murmur pleading with her to say something, anything.
A pained groan was the only thing that escaped her lips.
As the fog left her eyes she finally saw the unusually tall man leaning over her.
A tiny flash of panic struck her and she tried to move away, but the intense pain that wracked her body and a strong hand on her shoulder quickly squelched that attempt.
Her hand landed in the pool of blood surrounding them both and her fingertips brushed a few silken petals. She tried to glance over, to figure out what she touched, but even that small movement caused sparks of pain behind her eyes.
She calmed slightly and focused on his face. It was hovering a few inches above her own. Startlingly blue eyes looked over her face as his hands returned to the wound at her side.
She closed her eyes tightly and worried that she may be loosing her mind. She could have sworn she saw strange markings fading from from his face and when she looked again, they were gone.
She frantically tried to collect the scattered fragments of thought that flitted through her mind.
"Wh-who?" she mumbled through the blood seeping at the corners of her mouth.
Civil Blood
His bloody hands slid beneath her coat, grasping at her chest, pressing into her sternum. He pressed himself further into her, his thighs heavy as they weighed her down. He buried his head into the crook of her neck, not caring as it shoved her face roughly into the stone ground. His hands remained clamped over her heart, feeling every beat, ever breath, beneath the cage of bone within.
They slowed faster than he expected. He felt the blood pouring from her side, soaking the leg of his pants in the sticky warmth. He let himself slide further into her, letting himself derive what he needed from her even as she expired. He took his hands off her chest, leaving trails of her rich blood across her white skin as he wrapped his arms around her bare waist. His heart, beating well beyond its normal rate, could only feel offset by the stillness within her's.
The stillness, that was what he truly desired. He felt the muffled silence of the night settle around him, around her, as his body pressed what was left of her breath from her's. He lifted his head slightly to look upon her face. Even bloody, she was still remarkably pretty. Probably one of the prettiest girls he'd collected, at least from this part of town. His hand brushed across her cheekbones as he went to press her eyelids shut. He knew he would enjoy his time with her before she started to decay...
He began to pull himself off of her chest. Jeezus, he had gotten too carried away. He had to get her home, had to stop up that wound so the police couldn't track the blood trail, had to burn these pants-
Kchunk.
Stabbing pain shot down his neck straight into his spine. The blow flattened him onto her, but he was immediately seized by the back of his jacket and forcefully thrown off. He gasped as the foot bashed against his ribs, and the cane that had struck his neck came at his exposed side now. A guttural scream ripped from his lungs, only to be cut short as another kick impacted them. He scrambled on hands and knees to get away from his assailant, the blow from the cane across his back only propelling him faster. As he staggered as fast as he could back to his feet to run, he saw a man with markings like a skull branded across his face standing over the girl and holding the cane stained with his blood. Their eyes met, and Alexander felt like his soul itself burst into flames.
"GET OUT!" the man bellowed.
Alexander was already gone.
The man shoved his hair out of his eyes, landing hard on his knees as he rushed to help the girl. What had that boy done to her? How could humanity be so sick? He grabbed her jacket, using it to apply pressure to the gash in her side, but there was so much blood on the ground he doubted it would do much. He tried anyway, though.
"Miss?" he asked, lifting her face off the ground. "Miss, can you hear me?"
He cast an uneasy glance down the alley, hoping the noise hadn't attracted the police. This wouldn't look good to them with anyone, much less a man with as much of a reputation as he had...
"Miss, please. Say something to me, my lady."
She did not look good. But he swore he could feel something inside of her, some wisp of life he was trying so hard to catch before it disappeared...
"Please, my lady, please...." he begged, holding her side as if he was trying to force the blood back in.
They slowed faster than he expected. He felt the blood pouring from her side, soaking the leg of his pants in the sticky warmth. He let himself slide further into her, letting himself derive what he needed from her even as she expired. He took his hands off her chest, leaving trails of her rich blood across her white skin as he wrapped his arms around her bare waist. His heart, beating well beyond its normal rate, could only feel offset by the stillness within her's.
The stillness, that was what he truly desired. He felt the muffled silence of the night settle around him, around her, as his body pressed what was left of her breath from her's. He lifted his head slightly to look upon her face. Even bloody, she was still remarkably pretty. Probably one of the prettiest girls he'd collected, at least from this part of town. His hand brushed across her cheekbones as he went to press her eyelids shut. He knew he would enjoy his time with her before she started to decay...
He began to pull himself off of her chest. Jeezus, he had gotten too carried away. He had to get her home, had to stop up that wound so the police couldn't track the blood trail, had to burn these pants-
Kchunk.
Stabbing pain shot down his neck straight into his spine. The blow flattened him onto her, but he was immediately seized by the back of his jacket and forcefully thrown off. He gasped as the foot bashed against his ribs, and the cane that had struck his neck came at his exposed side now. A guttural scream ripped from his lungs, only to be cut short as another kick impacted them. He scrambled on hands and knees to get away from his assailant, the blow from the cane across his back only propelling him faster. As he staggered as fast as he could back to his feet to run, he saw a man with markings like a skull branded across his face standing over the girl and holding the cane stained with his blood. Their eyes met, and Alexander felt like his soul itself burst into flames.
"GET OUT!" the man bellowed.
Alexander was already gone.
The man shoved his hair out of his eyes, landing hard on his knees as he rushed to help the girl. What had that boy done to her? How could humanity be so sick? He grabbed her jacket, using it to apply pressure to the gash in her side, but there was so much blood on the ground he doubted it would do much. He tried anyway, though.
"Miss?" he asked, lifting her face off the ground. "Miss, can you hear me?"
He cast an uneasy glance down the alley, hoping the noise hadn't attracted the police. This wouldn't look good to them with anyone, much less a man with as much of a reputation as he had...
"Miss, please. Say something to me, my lady."
She did not look good. But he swore he could feel something inside of her, some wisp of life he was trying so hard to catch before it disappeared...
"Please, my lady, please...." he begged, holding her side as if he was trying to force the blood back in.
Wednesday, May 2, 2012
Life, Death, and...
The dark street was empty. At least, it appeared to be at a casual glance. It wasn't until its lone inhabitant shuddered from the cold and began walking again that anyone would have noticed her.
She was pale, but her light skin was hidden under long, raven locks. She was bundled in a black coat that was far too thin for the weather, but, one could see by her generally shabby appearance, she simply could not afford anything better.
She continued along the shadowy path clutching a small bouquet of dahlias. They were quite different from the other flowers in the stand. The edges of the petals curved backwards instead of forward. 'Some cutting off of a barely living root' the salesman said. 'Les Etoiles de Diable' he called them. The french sounding flowers were not selling so well in the poorer district of England, and the flower seller was more than happy to sell them to the girl at a price she could afford.
The girl had shyly slid her pennies across the counter and started back towards the apartment she shared with her mother.
The flowers were a gift for her. The woman showed no love for her only daughter, yet the girl still felt an obligation to try to please her mother if the opportunity presented itself.
She was lost in the thought that this time she might actually succeed in coaxing a smile from her mother when a pair of arms grabbed her and pulled her into a pitch black alleyway.
The scream that formed in her throat was lost when her head impacted against the cobblestone street. Before she could muster another, a gloved hand closed around her neck like an iron vice.
Though the pain stunned her, she still struggled to get away. Hot tears slid down her face and she redoubled her efforts when her attacker's free hand tugged the tails of her jacket away and slid under her skirt.
Her mind was too clouded with fear and desperation to hear the man above her angrily demand that she stop trying to escape.
In one last attempt she lashed out with her legs and clawed desperately at the hand that was assuring her silence.
She only stopped when a flash of silver glinted in the moonlight and the sharp edge of a knife plunged into her side.
There was an unusual cold that settled into her skin. It had little to do with the man busying himself with unbuttoning her coat, and everything to do with her blood draining from her body to pool underneath them.
Her once pale face was now a ghostly white mask of pure fear. Her breaths were now shallow gasps and her once lovely, dark eyes that glittered with life now clouded with death.
She was pale, but her light skin was hidden under long, raven locks. She was bundled in a black coat that was far too thin for the weather, but, one could see by her generally shabby appearance, she simply could not afford anything better.
She continued along the shadowy path clutching a small bouquet of dahlias. They were quite different from the other flowers in the stand. The edges of the petals curved backwards instead of forward. 'Some cutting off of a barely living root' the salesman said. 'Les Etoiles de Diable' he called them. The french sounding flowers were not selling so well in the poorer district of England, and the flower seller was more than happy to sell them to the girl at a price she could afford.
The girl had shyly slid her pennies across the counter and started back towards the apartment she shared with her mother.
The flowers were a gift for her. The woman showed no love for her only daughter, yet the girl still felt an obligation to try to please her mother if the opportunity presented itself.
She was lost in the thought that this time she might actually succeed in coaxing a smile from her mother when a pair of arms grabbed her and pulled her into a pitch black alleyway.
The scream that formed in her throat was lost when her head impacted against the cobblestone street. Before she could muster another, a gloved hand closed around her neck like an iron vice.
Though the pain stunned her, she still struggled to get away. Hot tears slid down her face and she redoubled her efforts when her attacker's free hand tugged the tails of her jacket away and slid under her skirt.
Her mind was too clouded with fear and desperation to hear the man above her angrily demand that she stop trying to escape.
In one last attempt she lashed out with her legs and clawed desperately at the hand that was assuring her silence.
She only stopped when a flash of silver glinted in the moonlight and the sharp edge of a knife plunged into her side.
There was an unusual cold that settled into her skin. It had little to do with the man busying himself with unbuttoning her coat, and everything to do with her blood draining from her body to pool underneath them.
Her once pale face was now a ghostly white mask of pure fear. Her breaths were now shallow gasps and her once lovely, dark eyes that glittered with life now clouded with death.
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