Incomprehensible
Title: Lack of comprehension
Author: Susan
Word Count: 207, which is the most random number imaginable
Rating: G
Characters: D, Chris, pets, Sofu or Papa D, but I'm not sure which.
Notes: This is... odd. It's not REALLY written in second person, however it may have started out in my head. As for which relation it is, pick whichever seems more appropriate for stalker-ish-observations-and-omnious-last-lines. I promise I won't object to whichever you choose.
You stand in the doorway for a few minutes, hands clasped tightly before you. You probably would have lingered longer, but Chris and the pets come to see what is so fascinating.
Nothing obvious, it’s more what isn’t there that’s making you linger, making you wait, making you watch with your face oh-so-carefully expressionless, making you twist your hands slightly as though struggling not to wring them.
The child speaks, and you don’t respond. He hesitates, then dares to tug lightly on your cheongsam, staring up at you with worried blue eyes. You thin your lips, ignoring him a second longer, then look down at him and smile brilliantly, ushering him back inside, presumably promising tea and treats.
You stop as you close the door, staring up the steps with a hint of worry showing in your mismatched eyes.
Is he late again? Your little pet human? What makes this time so special? He’s done it before, and - presuming he’s not got himself killed - will again.
Why do you look so worried, so tender? You’ll only start screaming and throwing things when he does get here.
I do not understand you child. And I think it may be too late for you to be saved.
Author: Susan
Word Count: 207, which is the most random number imaginable
Rating: G
Characters: D, Chris, pets, Sofu or Papa D, but I'm not sure which.
Notes: This is... odd. It's not REALLY written in second person, however it may have started out in my head. As for which relation it is, pick whichever seems more appropriate for stalker-ish-observations-and-omnious-last-lines. I promise I won't object to whichever you choose.
You stand in the doorway for a few minutes, hands clasped tightly before you. You probably would have lingered longer, but Chris and the pets come to see what is so fascinating.
Nothing obvious, it’s more what isn’t there that’s making you linger, making you wait, making you watch with your face oh-so-carefully expressionless, making you twist your hands slightly as though struggling not to wring them.
The child speaks, and you don’t respond. He hesitates, then dares to tug lightly on your cheongsam, staring up at you with worried blue eyes. You thin your lips, ignoring him a second longer, then look down at him and smile brilliantly, ushering him back inside, presumably promising tea and treats.
You stop as you close the door, staring up the steps with a hint of worry showing in your mismatched eyes.
Is he late again? Your little pet human? What makes this time so special? He’s done it before, and - presuming he’s not got himself killed - will again.
Why do you look so worried, so tender? You’ll only start screaming and throwing things when he does get here.
I do not understand you child. And I think it may be too late for you to be saved.