001. Link - August/September - Rambles & Snippets - Fiction[NET]
A young woman, dressed in scruffy jeans and a dark singlet walked purposely down the driveway. She was barefoot and her long hair was out from the ponytail she often wore it in, making him smile - a grimace - one he didn't often make.
It was late afternoon and he'd interrupted her. Her hands were dirty with blood and she had them mostly hidden in an old rag - not that it really mattered if anyone else saw her, he guessed. It would only make their night more fun. They didn't really have any other plans, and he loved being able to watch her work. His very own plans - or ones like what he himself would have thought up if she hadn't first, being acted out while he sat back and relaxed, hardly having to lift a finger. He couldn't think of many other things which would make it a nicer night. She was such a little hellcat. The last place she’d lived, they'd ended up killing the neighbours on both sides, and she'd been so cute as she'd destroyed all that could link them.
"What do you want?" she asked in the form of a statement, seeming to glare at him before she removed the security from the gate and turned her back on him as he entered, stalking back off to her work. He sneered, and then heard her scoff.
"Stop smiling at me!" she demanded, and he chuckled.
"Yes, dear..."
"Sit." she ordered, and he obeyed. He had a book with him, as always and he continued on from where he was up to as she returned to her work, watching him over the now still body without making it obvious. He was dressed in jeans as well, old ones, a pair she had bought for him once, she thought, and a dark shirt which contrasted against his pale skin and made the bruise-like shadows under his eyes stand out more.
“Still an insomniac?” she asked, and he nodded, ‘hmm-ing’ under his breath in reply, too involved in his novel to pay her any attention. She returned to her job, coaxing her patient back to consciousness only to slit his throat and trace pictures over his chest in blood while he gasped and made sounds like a fish out of water while he lost grip on his life, and she giggled at the thought - it wasn’t like he’d survive in water either - and then jumped as arms slipt around her and another hand joined her in the finger painting.
“You didn’t share?” his voice was low at her ear and she pouted, leaning back against him.
“He’s mine.” She protested childishly and he squeezed her tight.
“I share.” He reminded, his voice still low.
“No, you don’t.” she retorted, and then gasped for breathe. “You’re choking me…”
A brief struggle, a shout and a cut later, she's free and he's nursing a cut and they were kissing, practically purring as his blood stained her shirt.
002. Mint --->
It was late afternoon and he'd interrupted her. Her hands were dirty with blood and she had them mostly hidden in an old rag - not that it really mattered if anyone else saw her, he guessed. It would only make their night more fun. They didn't really have any other plans, and he loved being able to watch her work. His very own plans - or ones like what he himself would have thought up if she hadn't first, being acted out while he sat back and relaxed, hardly having to lift a finger. He couldn't think of many other things which would make it a nicer night. She was such a little hellcat. The last place she’d lived, they'd ended up killing the neighbours on both sides, and she'd been so cute as she'd destroyed all that could link them.
"What do you want?" she asked in the form of a statement, seeming to glare at him before she removed the security from the gate and turned her back on him as he entered, stalking back off to her work. He sneered, and then heard her scoff.
"Stop smiling at me!" she demanded, and he chuckled.
"Yes, dear..."
"Sit." she ordered, and he obeyed. He had a book with him, as always and he continued on from where he was up to as she returned to her work, watching him over the now still body without making it obvious. He was dressed in jeans as well, old ones, a pair she had bought for him once, she thought, and a dark shirt which contrasted against his pale skin and made the bruise-like shadows under his eyes stand out more.
“Still an insomniac?” she asked, and he nodded, ‘hmm-ing’ under his breath in reply, too involved in his novel to pay her any attention. She returned to her job, coaxing her patient back to consciousness only to slit his throat and trace pictures over his chest in blood while he gasped and made sounds like a fish out of water while he lost grip on his life, and she giggled at the thought - it wasn’t like he’d survive in water either - and then jumped as arms slipt around her and another hand joined her in the finger painting.
“You didn’t share?” his voice was low at her ear and she pouted, leaning back against him.
“He’s mine.” She protested childishly and he squeezed her tight.
“I share.” He reminded, his voice still low.
“No, you don’t.” she retorted, and then gasped for breathe. “You’re choking me…”
A brief struggle, a shout and a cut later, she's free and he's nursing a cut and they were kissing, practically purring as his blood stained her shirt.
002. Mint --->