prompt response for kawaiispinel
Title: By Fire
Word Count: 1,257 >< I AM SO SORRY. I don't know what happened.
Note: Uhm. This was an emotional roller coaster of terror and pain bleedover. YEAH. Idk. I'm sorry this turned out so long. I definitely did not mean for that to happen but. stuff.
Life's no storybook. Love's an excuse to get hurt and to hurt.
In storybooks, the kind her grandmother read her as a child, the good characters always came out on top in the end. They suffered but they never suffered more than they could handle. The bears had their home disturbed by Goldilocks but they still had a home and lived happily ever after. Cinderella had a horrible step family and lost her slipper but she got the prince and lived happily ever after.
Happily ever after.
She's not naive enough to think everyone gets happy endings. She's not so naive to believe that she'll get one. She doesn't deserve it.
--
It hits her in an instant with intensity that knocks her to her knees and prevents her from speaking. Someone picks her up from the sidewalk and sets her down on a bench. They try to speak to her but for five minutes she's incapable of speech. She's trembling and staring into nothing. When she finally is able to speak, it takes more effort than she has to convince the stranger that she's fine.
Kindness from a stranger. She receives proof everyday that she's right and good is everywhere, but it's impossible to think about that at the moment.
She saw into someone's eyes. They were burning alive. Again. She's done this before. During the fire that fell from the sky. She doesn't think she can do it again. She's terrified to be near that again. Ever again. Never ever again. But she has no choice. She has no choice.
Elizabeth doesn't follow him. She runs to Josef's apartment. She finds him on the way. Injured. Limping. Her worry provides an escape from her terror. And she is worried. She hates to see him hurting. It hurts her. She bandages his wounds with careful, loving hands, pressing a kiss against them after she's finished. Gentle, caring. This is love, Josef. Whatever you knew before forget it because this is love.
When there's nothing left to do, she sits on the edge of his bed, staring and thinking and remembering. The pain. The screams. The smell that's too much like pork in the air. The terror is clear in her face. He questions her. Intensely. There's a protective sound in his voice that she clings to and forces herself to not think of how much it sounds like his voice when he spoke to Trevor. No need to give him someone else to kill.
She makes excuses. She says that the last death she had really affected her, and she wants to forget about it so please stop asking. He concedes. It's her life, he always says. He presses his lips against hers and helps her forget.
Elizabeth stays with him for longer than she's stayed with him before. Four days. Too long. She can't help it though. He makes her feel safe like he could destroy the fire that terrifies her with the strength and intensity of his own. It's too long because he has to leave. He has to leave, and he had that look in his eyes that she's slowly coming to realize what it means.
Who is he killing?
He's gone too long. She leaves before his absence can make her feel guiltier. She visits Aaron instead.
--
The fire happens before she's ready for it. She never would have been ready for it. She's in a warehouse, hiding behind a barrel, trembling as she waits for it, trying to keep her voice quiet but she's so terrified. She's so scared. The first experience with this gave her a phobia of fire, of dying in fire. She could go out any other way but not this way. Not like this. One man dumps gasoline on the one tied and gagged in a chair. Who knows why. Neither of the men are good men. They've both killed. They've both done evil deeds with flourish and without regret.
The man tied to the chair starts to scream behind the gag. He wants to die. Elizabeth can feel it. He wants to be shot in the head, put out of his misery. She wishes the man with the match would listen, would have a heart for half a second, but he tosses the lighted match on to the man and watches to be sure he's caught on fire before turning and walking away.
The pain is unbearable. It rockets through her and makes it hard to get to her feet but she has to. He's screaming through his gag. No one can hear it but her. It's too stifled to echo off the walls of the warehouse but it echoes in her head. She tries to take more pain but she can't. She moves toward him because she has to. She has to be near him. She has to help. Tears stream down her face as she trembles tripping and reaches for him more out of compulsion than any logic. She has to reach him. She has to help him. She has to let him know that he's not alone. Her hands catch on the fire, on burning peeling away flesh, and she screams and falls back on the pavement.
She's trembling from pain and misery and fear in a ball on the floor, wings out and around her back. Elizabeth tries to push herself up but her hands are burning, and she yelps and falls back down. She uses her elbows instead, staring at him from the floor while she pushes herself into a seated position. Helpless. Helpless to do much other than take as much pain as she can. He can't even see her.
Her voice catches on a sob, and she starts to sing, a broken whisper to keep herself from passing out, to center herself on something. And it's like a prayer because God is there, right? And He can make this stop. Why won't He make this stop? "Jesus, loves me... this I know... for the Bible... tells me so..." She does sob then, closing her eyes as the tears fall faster. "Little ones... to him... we- we- they are weak... but H- he is st... strong. Y- yes, Jesus... loves... me." Her voice cracks and breaks, and she succumbs to the tears. "Please. Please, m-m-make i-it stop."
It takes so long for it to stop. Her hands are the only part of her still trembling. Her face is pressed against the cold pavement to grant her some relief from the heat. He's dead. He's a charred mess in a chair. No longer human. No longer anything resembling human. The smell of pork invades her senses forcing her to lean over, puking on the floor.
She looks down at her hands. They're red. They're scarred. They're- Oh, God. They're burning. Still. She can feel it. She pushes herself up with her elbows and gets on her feet, running out of the warehouse, shoving her hands in the snow and screaming because it's too cold and too hot and her hands are melting the snow.
Panic settles over her, invading her, making it hard to think straight. She hasn't stopped crying since it started, hasn't stopped trembling, hasn't stopped feeling nauseous but it's all so much worse now, because what if this is it? Her hands are scarred. She's not- She's not the same. She's not the same as she was and what if he doesn't love her anymore because of it? What if he hates her? What if he doesn't care at all? Because her hands are ugly.
One difference. One change. One-
Love is fragile.
What if no one can see her the same again because her hands are scarred?
She can't breathe. She can't think rationally. Elizabeth leans against the wall, hands shaking in the snow, afraid to see him, afraid to see anyone.
In this moment she knows with absolute certainty that one day fire will consume and destroy her, too.
Word Count: 1,257 >< I AM SO SORRY. I don't know what happened.
Note: Uhm. This was an emotional roller coaster of terror and pain bleedover. YEAH. Idk. I'm sorry this turned out so long. I definitely did not mean for that to happen but. stuff.
Life's no storybook. Love's an excuse to get hurt and to hurt.
In storybooks, the kind her grandmother read her as a child, the good characters always came out on top in the end. They suffered but they never suffered more than they could handle. The bears had their home disturbed by Goldilocks but they still had a home and lived happily ever after. Cinderella had a horrible step family and lost her slipper but she got the prince and lived happily ever after.
Happily ever after.
She's not naive enough to think everyone gets happy endings. She's not so naive to believe that she'll get one. She doesn't deserve it.
--
It hits her in an instant with intensity that knocks her to her knees and prevents her from speaking. Someone picks her up from the sidewalk and sets her down on a bench. They try to speak to her but for five minutes she's incapable of speech. She's trembling and staring into nothing. When she finally is able to speak, it takes more effort than she has to convince the stranger that she's fine.
Kindness from a stranger. She receives proof everyday that she's right and good is everywhere, but it's impossible to think about that at the moment.
She saw into someone's eyes. They were burning alive. Again. She's done this before. During the fire that fell from the sky. She doesn't think she can do it again. She's terrified to be near that again. Ever again. Never ever again. But she has no choice. She has no choice.
Elizabeth doesn't follow him. She runs to Josef's apartment. She finds him on the way. Injured. Limping. Her worry provides an escape from her terror. And she is worried. She hates to see him hurting. It hurts her. She bandages his wounds with careful, loving hands, pressing a kiss against them after she's finished. Gentle, caring. This is love, Josef. Whatever you knew before forget it because this is love.
When there's nothing left to do, she sits on the edge of his bed, staring and thinking and remembering. The pain. The screams. The smell that's too much like pork in the air. The terror is clear in her face. He questions her. Intensely. There's a protective sound in his voice that she clings to and forces herself to not think of how much it sounds like his voice when he spoke to Trevor. No need to give him someone else to kill.
She makes excuses. She says that the last death she had really affected her, and she wants to forget about it so please stop asking. He concedes. It's her life, he always says. He presses his lips against hers and helps her forget.
Elizabeth stays with him for longer than she's stayed with him before. Four days. Too long. She can't help it though. He makes her feel safe like he could destroy the fire that terrifies her with the strength and intensity of his own. It's too long because he has to leave. He has to leave, and he had that look in his eyes that she's slowly coming to realize what it means.
Who is he killing?
He's gone too long. She leaves before his absence can make her feel guiltier. She visits Aaron instead.
--
The fire happens before she's ready for it. She never would have been ready for it. She's in a warehouse, hiding behind a barrel, trembling as she waits for it, trying to keep her voice quiet but she's so terrified. She's so scared. The first experience with this gave her a phobia of fire, of dying in fire. She could go out any other way but not this way. Not like this. One man dumps gasoline on the one tied and gagged in a chair. Who knows why. Neither of the men are good men. They've both killed. They've both done evil deeds with flourish and without regret.
The man tied to the chair starts to scream behind the gag. He wants to die. Elizabeth can feel it. He wants to be shot in the head, put out of his misery. She wishes the man with the match would listen, would have a heart for half a second, but he tosses the lighted match on to the man and watches to be sure he's caught on fire before turning and walking away.
The pain is unbearable. It rockets through her and makes it hard to get to her feet but she has to. He's screaming through his gag. No one can hear it but her. It's too stifled to echo off the walls of the warehouse but it echoes in her head. She tries to take more pain but she can't. She moves toward him because she has to. She has to be near him. She has to help. Tears stream down her face as she trembles tripping and reaches for him more out of compulsion than any logic. She has to reach him. She has to help him. She has to let him know that he's not alone. Her hands catch on the fire, on burning peeling away flesh, and she screams and falls back on the pavement.
She's trembling from pain and misery and fear in a ball on the floor, wings out and around her back. Elizabeth tries to push herself up but her hands are burning, and she yelps and falls back down. She uses her elbows instead, staring at him from the floor while she pushes herself into a seated position. Helpless. Helpless to do much other than take as much pain as she can. He can't even see her.
Her voice catches on a sob, and she starts to sing, a broken whisper to keep herself from passing out, to center herself on something. And it's like a prayer because God is there, right? And He can make this stop. Why won't He make this stop? "Jesus, loves me... this I know... for the Bible... tells me so..." She does sob then, closing her eyes as the tears fall faster. "Little ones... to him... we- we- they are weak... but H- he is st... strong. Y- yes, Jesus... loves... me." Her voice cracks and breaks, and she succumbs to the tears. "Please. Please, m-m-make i-it stop."
It takes so long for it to stop. Her hands are the only part of her still trembling. Her face is pressed against the cold pavement to grant her some relief from the heat. He's dead. He's a charred mess in a chair. No longer human. No longer anything resembling human. The smell of pork invades her senses forcing her to lean over, puking on the floor.
She looks down at her hands. They're red. They're scarred. They're- Oh, God. They're burning. Still. She can feel it. She pushes herself up with her elbows and gets on her feet, running out of the warehouse, shoving her hands in the snow and screaming because it's too cold and too hot and her hands are melting the snow.
Panic settles over her, invading her, making it hard to think straight. She hasn't stopped crying since it started, hasn't stopped trembling, hasn't stopped feeling nauseous but it's all so much worse now, because what if this is it? Her hands are scarred. She's not- She's not the same. She's not the same as she was and what if he doesn't love her anymore because of it? What if he hates her? What if he doesn't care at all? Because her hands are ugly.
One difference. One change. One-
Love is fragile.
What if no one can see her the same again because her hands are scarred?
She can't breathe. She can't think rationally. Elizabeth leans against the wall, hands shaking in the snow, afraid to see him, afraid to see anyone.
In this moment she knows with absolute certainty that one day fire will consume and destroy her, too.