She's black and cold, the blood against her skin repelling. You skirt back, you try not to touch it, but the blood is spilling from the wound on her head and the room is small, and you should have thought this through. The hammer is on the floor, the silver head marred with dark red.
It's the only color in the room. She's wearing black, and the skin he can see is too dark, too muddled for you to be sure what precise color it is. Appropriate, you think. You had to do it fast, so she wouldn't do whatever it is she could do to you.
You wanted to kill her the first time you saw her. You wanted to cut her apart, to tear her into pieces, to keep her body in your freezer. Then she got interesting and you didn't, but nobody is interesting forever. She couldn't stay that way forever.
You miss her a little already. You had to do it this way. She was too strong - you've seen her lift a car, you know she could take your table apart without any thought at all. If she was angry (you've never seen her angry but you imagine someone trying to kill her might do the trick) she would do it, too.
You sit as far from the blood for a minute, taking a breath. You're trying to figure out how you're going to get her body out when you see a giant spider on your knee. It's tremendous, brown and squat, not at all elegant.
The bite is fast, and you stare down at it, and you think you should have killed it, but there is suddenly more than one. Two. Three. Seven. More spiders than you can count, all staring at you from the place her body was.
"Bang, bang."
The last think you see is the red of her blood, and the precision of the hammer. The last thing you think is that you should have known. She's a mechanic. Tools are her life.
no subject
Date: 2012-10-24 10:27 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-10-24 11:16 pm (UTC)It's the only color in the room. She's wearing black, and the skin he can see is too dark, too muddled for you to be sure what precise color it is. Appropriate, you think. You had to do it fast, so she wouldn't do whatever it is she could do to you.
You wanted to kill her the first time you saw her. You wanted to cut her apart, to tear her into pieces, to keep her body in your freezer. Then she got interesting and you didn't, but nobody is interesting forever. She couldn't stay that way forever.
You miss her a little already. You had to do it this way. She was too strong - you've seen her lift a car, you know she could take your table apart without any thought at all. If she was angry (you've never seen her angry but you imagine someone trying to kill her might do the trick) she would do it, too.
You sit as far from the blood for a minute, taking a breath. You're trying to figure out how you're going to get her body out when you see a giant spider on your knee. It's tremendous, brown and squat, not at all elegant.
The bite is fast, and you stare down at it, and you think you should have killed it, but there is suddenly more than one. Two. Three. Seven. More spiders than you can count, all staring at you from the place her body was.
"Bang, bang."
The last think you see is the red of her blood, and the precision of the hammer. The last thing you think is that you should have known. She's a mechanic. Tools are her life.
no subject
Date: 2012-10-25 02:24 am (UTC)Is it weird that this is kind of hot?
It's kind of hot.