Brigit's Flame -- Week One; Oct 09
THEME: INSTEP
They had stretched him across the doorway like an “X.” His head lulled upon his shoulder as a guttural moan broke between bloodied, beaten lips. Kelsey covered her mouth with her sleeve and braced her jaw against her gag reflex. His palms and insteps each had a single, rusted railroad spike pierced through them, keeping him aloft like an ancient offender on Gol’gotha. Coughing, Kelsey turned away from the gruesome sight.
Once again he moaned a mournful note that hung upon the still and musty air. Light streamed in through the hotel’s windows, golden eventide that caught upon the dust motes and a few lazy flies gathered to feast upon her friend’s rotting corpse. No, he wasn’t her friend.
Kelsey sniffed once, twice, and wiped her running nose on her jacket sleeve. It was no filthier than the rest of her, and there was no longer any reason to stand on public appearance. There was no public.
“I’m sorry,” She slurred and turned once more to face the crucified man. They’d hung him over the entrance to the kitchen-she didn’t know why, and didn’t care to ask.
Her voice startled a reaction out of it. Head jerking up, the man snarled and his teeth snapped together. He struggled against the irons restricting him with enough force that they wobbled in their place. Kelsey gulped, lifted her shot gun to her shoulder, and took aim.
At this distance, it was no contest.
The stilled corpse hung limp now. If he fell from his perch, he would do no more harm… but she would not be the one to move him.
Kelsey’s lips parted to say something-anything. It was what you should do in this situation, wasn’t it? Her words caught upon the silence and slid back down her throat, unspoken. She stared for a few minutes more, turned, and walked away.
They had stretched him across the doorway like an “X.” His head lulled upon his shoulder as a guttural moan broke between bloodied, beaten lips. Kelsey covered her mouth with her sleeve and braced her jaw against her gag reflex. His palms and insteps each had a single, rusted railroad spike pierced through them, keeping him aloft like an ancient offender on Gol’gotha. Coughing, Kelsey turned away from the gruesome sight.
Once again he moaned a mournful note that hung upon the still and musty air. Light streamed in through the hotel’s windows, golden eventide that caught upon the dust motes and a few lazy flies gathered to feast upon her friend’s rotting corpse. No, he wasn’t her friend.
Kelsey sniffed once, twice, and wiped her running nose on her jacket sleeve. It was no filthier than the rest of her, and there was no longer any reason to stand on public appearance. There was no public.
“I’m sorry,” She slurred and turned once more to face the crucified man. They’d hung him over the entrance to the kitchen-she didn’t know why, and didn’t care to ask.
Her voice startled a reaction out of it. Head jerking up, the man snarled and his teeth snapped together. He struggled against the irons restricting him with enough force that they wobbled in their place. Kelsey gulped, lifted her shot gun to her shoulder, and took aim.
At this distance, it was no contest.
The stilled corpse hung limp now. If he fell from his perch, he would do no more harm… but she would not be the one to move him.
Kelsey’s lips parted to say something-anything. It was what you should do in this situation, wasn’t it? Her words caught upon the silence and slid back down her throat, unspoken. She stared for a few minutes more, turned, and walked away.