Acrylic - Hiatus -

Let the Show Begin

 Fear makes people do things, that at times, are not the best option. It's quite silly, really, people don't know how to think properly at times, it's as though they had forgotten how to at all. The pumping of the blood, the racing of the heart, one would think that in the midst of the internal, bodily chaos, the mind would attempt to take control and be able to try make things calm. But, alas, it only adds to the chaos, scaring us even further off of the edge of safety.

After that old man had been crushed beneath the wheels of death, things on the train car seemed quite silent, as though even the air itself was too fearful to take a breath. Hush, hush, if we do not speak at all, then the big bad Devil cannot find us, he will not rip us from the grips of life and smash us down into the pits of Tartarus. But, even silence cannot save us, for bad things will continue to power through and happen either way, sweeping innocents and guilties up in their grasp and squeezing the power out of us.

But, what does this have to do with fear? Everything. Fear does the same thing, paralyzes us, rips us from our little bubbles and thrashes us down into terror and nightmareland. Fear is our enemy, it is the essence that is the land of the enemy, the exact reason why we, at times, can only survive and not thrive.

Though, that is another topic of another time, another story of another life, another debate that will and has been had, a taboo subject that we secretly embrace. Now, then, what does fear have to do with our story here, the one we have spun, the one that may soon be not just a story?

As the young duo crawled closer to their destination, the train chugging along without a care in the world, one more incident had happened. It should've been expected, why wouldn't it happen? It was expected to have happened at some point, though not this late into the train ride.

A middle aged looking woman had gotten up to go and use the bathroom, which was in the back of the large car. Feebly moving, she walked down the aisle like a bride at a funeral, she was a rather pretty thing. Long brown, wavy hair that went down to her mid back, young eyes of beautiful ocean blue, nice clothing. One who looks and does not see would ever notice the slight bags under her eyes, the greying of her roots from premature stress, how her hands were already starting to wrinkle a little, the slumping of her shoulders. Perhaps she had been a mother, a caring mother who was now forcefully ripped from her kids, tossed into one hellish night after the next of fear and worry.

No one ever would have suspected what she was going to do once she got into the bathroom, not at all. As she got to the bathroom, she opened the door to the single female bathroom, and slowly walked inside, letting out a small, quiet sigh and plopping her bag onto the floor. Silent as a dove in the night, she slowly made her way to the toilet and just plopped down, then reached into her bag and dug around a little, what could she be looking for in there? There was a small gleam from the bathroom lights upon whatever it was she pulled out, a small, weak smile now taking root upon her tired and worrisome looking features.

About twenty minute later, exactly one thousand two hundred seconds later, Sasha got up to use the bathroom as well, unaware that the lady had yet to come out. She had been too busy dealing with Deviant, who had been rather rattled by the whole event, but had eventually fallen into a fitful sleep on the seat. What else could she do? She was no doctor, no therapist, not even an adult who could deal with something like this. So, she'd just have to do what she could, and hope that just the comfort she could give would be enough for the boy.

Carefully walking down the aisle, but she was no bride here, she was a bridesmaid. She would bear witness, witness to the adjoining of two souls, one having just emerged from her prime, and another that had been spinning and taking since the dawn first came and the sun rose. As quiet as a church mouse in the spring, she stepped towards the door and opened it up, casting a look over her shoulder as she then walked in, closing the door behind her, before then turning to look over at the toilet.

What she saw, made her blood turn arctic and her heart nearly stop within its tracks.

There, the lady was, slumped on the toilet, a mask of pure ecstasy embroidered on her face, though under it, was probably a persona of great tragedy. The gleaming item had fallen out from her limp hands, having clattered onto the floor, it was a small cooking blade, coated in the substance of life. If one were to travel down her slightly aged face, down to her neck, they would see the damage that had been done to her throat. It was sliced open like a ripe fruit, the juices inside filtering out like juice from the jug. It was clear she had done this to herself, and had waited for it to bleed out. Fear had done this, and would strike others in similar fashions, just as long as the fear got away and stayed away, people did not care how it was disposed of.

The girl would've taken a step back, after all, Sasha had not come in here and expected to find a dead body sitting right on the porcelain throne, if she had been a few years younger than she was now, she probably would have wet herself as well, the poor thing. However, the olive skinned girl did not scream, she did not shout for help, she did not break like a beaver dam and begin to spill tears. No, she had to be strong, she had to be the adult, she was the adult now. So, she had to ensure her own survival and safety, along with Deviant's. What would they think if security busted in there and saw this? They'd think she had done it, that's what.

Letting out a shaky sigh, she stepped closer and snatched the purse from the floor, hefting it up onto her shoulder, there had to be some cash in there or something of value, not like the older female would need it where she was going. Sasha then glanced at the knife upon the floor and snatched that up too, creeping over to the faucet and turning it on, being as quiet as she could, as though she was scared the body might jump up and strangle her for touching the items. Washing the blood from the knife, then drying it with a small hand towel, she then quickly shoved that into the purse, starting to head for the door.

But, something compelled her to take one last look at the woman, so she did, staring at her face. The older had probably had a life, kids even, would the kids ever even find out that their mom had sliced open her own throat? So, she traced her steps back a bit and then took a step over to the possible mom, and reached out, shutting the eyes of the dead softly, before then pulling back and fleeing the bathroom, that was all she could do for her. Nothing more, nothing less, just let her eyes rest once more and for all eternity.

As she made her way back to her seat, seeming even more dull now, she took her seat, glad that her boy was still asleep, not wanting him to question why in the world she had a purse on her shoulder, which clearly did not belong to her in the slightest.

It was then that the train came to a screeching halt, causing most people to look over as the train doors banged open, it appeared they had arrived at their destination.

"Everyone, stand and leave the train immediately, anyone left behind will be shot. Once you leave, you must within twenty four hours, key word is must, register within forty eight hours with the King. If you do not do so, you will be found and shot, and don't think we don't know you haven't registered, dogs. Now, move out!" The guard to the side of the door commanded, his voice strong and rough, clearly not playing around here.

Sasha looked over at Deviant and gave him a small shoulder shake, prompting him to wake up, before then standing and taking his hand, he now being awake, though a tad groggy. No matter. Holding onto his slightly smaller hand, she led him out of there like a lamb, out from the train and into the raining city outside. The final pieces had entered the board, the final actors ready to perform.

And that moment, yes, that one right there, is where the real story begins.