Pondbell: Coldblooded (Ongoing)

Caput Unun

My name is Naira Ayad, Lieutenant General of the Western Special Counter Unit's assault division. If you were looking for a love story, you came to the wrong place, and I really recommend you look somewhere else. This story is a lesson on trust, its value, and just how costly the price of betrayal can be.

If I'd simply killed him when I first met him, if I had warned her just in time, how many lives could have been saved? How much heartache could have been prevented? Goddamn... my head's spinning; I don't have much time left, so I'll wrap this shit up.

I'm plunging headfirst out of a plane, looking at what was once my beautiful home, now ravaged by war and chaos. I'm falling, landing feet first into what I'm sure will be certain death; it doesn't matter anymore, though. The only thing that matters now is revenge. I have longed to hear the death rattle of the man I once loved. I want him to beg for mercy before my blood-stained hands wrap around his throat. I'll smile, knowing there's none to spare. Then, and only then, will I be able to die a happy woman.

I suggest you not get very attached to me because, at the end of this story, I will be long dead.

Naira reclines on her bed. A menagerie of stuffed animals serves to support her enervated head. The room was somewhat darkened but not dark enough. Her not fully closing the blackout curtain allows an intrusive gray-white streak of sunlight to slip into her room. The thought of having to pull herself up to secure the curtains fully is swiftly dismissed at the prospect of laying idle a few moments longer until she must reluctantly ready herself for the day ahead. She slowly shifts her gaze away from the light and to the center of her cluttered bedroom. Clothes, both dirty and clean, are strewn about the floor, and dirty dishes lie in a molding pile in the darkened corner she dare not venture to. She rolls her eyes at the arduous thought of tidying and buries herself deeper in her oversized green sweater and large pink comforter. The world outside of this bed is bitter and not suitable for someone so fragile. She intends to cherish this warmth while she has it. She stares despondently at her television, the brightly colored cartoons reflecting on her golden brown irises. While gathering the will to prepare for work, she thinks, "It's been days since I've had a meal that's actually filled me up, but it's not like I've even been hungry lately. Man, this shitty job doesn't even pay enough for me to buy some shit that could cheer me up. They're lucky I'm just too lazy to find a new one... they're lucky I don't quit right now and enjoy my damn weekend. Yeah, I'd be all like, 'No, I ain't fired, I quit! Oh, and by the way, you're fired. Boom, Ms.Claridge, how ya like those apples!' yeah, somethin' cool like that," She grins slightly, shakes the thought out, and rubs her face with both palms while standing. Her feet are spared an excruciating encounter with the icy floor as she slips into her bunny slippers. Naira reaches for her phone and wastes more time by browsing social media.

She hears a commotion and several loud thunderous footsteps. Five furious blows to her bedroom door snatch her from her thoughts; her heart skips a beat. Naira shakily grabs a pair of scissors from her untidy dresser, knocking over several empty water bottles in the process. "You seriously couldn't have picked a poorer person to rob," she muttered as she advanced on the door. She yanks it open whilst raising her makeshift weapon.

Towering in front of her stood Cole in a navy blue turtleneck and khaki trousers. Naira looks into his cat-like eyes, colored like precious pearls, and notices he's visibly upset. His silvery hair hangs loosely over his shoulders as he studies her back. His glossed lips were slightly pursed, and his eyes were low and unamused. Naira looks down and sees two reusable grocery bags in his pale hands. A noisome wave of noxious miasma fills his nostrils. The acrid scent wrapped him in their malignant embrace, causing his eyes to water in protest. Its tendrils stroked his uvula and triggered the slow creep of bile in his belly to begin its ascent.