Conscribo

i

:twf blood and mild(?) gore:

"She got down on one knee.."

Rubber soles scuffed against the rough asphalt as she cautiously stalked from the alley way. She could hear sirens in the distance, far enough to allow her escape. Once she was sure she had lost any of her prosecutors, she clutched her bag of stolen items and dashed off, sticking close to the walls where moonlight couldn't reach her. Her red hair whipped behind her as she ran, a bright shock of fire not unlike her personality.

She rolled under hanging pipes and cleared rubble easily in this city she's always known. From the biggest intersections to the underground passages, it was all just instinct. The pavement imprinted into every jump, memory of sudden drops apparent in the way her legs automatically braced themselves for impact.

She turned by a closed bakery, then took a left, straight into the housing neighborhoods and past the low-hanging clothes lines. The red head hooked a left, then a right. Another left and two rights. Straight, straight, and then she was covering uneven ground, satchel banging against her side.

The cracked concrete gave way to patches of pressed dirt. Steel toed boots fell upon mounds of dirt and twigs and dead leaves, lifeless in the winter air. Tall trees seemed to materialize in front of her, growing denser with each bound she took.

Cold harsh air beat on her skin as she rushed, taking in controlled but slightly labored breaths. Finally, muscles burning with exertion, she slowed to a stop by a clump of huge pines. Here, natures giants spotted off, opening up into a clearing 30 or so yards from the girl. Right in the middle sat a small, run-down building.

Tired but determined, the runner took one last deep inhale before tightening her coat around her and starting towards the shambled shack.

She shoved the door open, worn wood creaking beneath her steps as she approached the figure lying in the middle of the room. A woman around her age, just about 25 with dark ashen skin and sunken cheeks, lay wrapped in crude blankets. The ginger crouched before the woman, caressing her dead face with a gloved hand.

Still cold.

She gave a kind of melancholy smile. It was there, but just barely. A sad, fleeting promise on her face. 'I'll get you back', it seemed to say.

Then she steeled herself, dropping her bag and grabbing a bottle of thick red sludge. She stood up, drawing a ring of blood around the dead woman, lighting the candles that sat around in a circle. After a series of chants in a forgotten language, she took out a lighter and– with one last look at the beautiful cold body-- threw it onto the blankets. There was nothing left to do now but hope she did everything right, so she got down on one knee, and finished the ritual.

-FIN-

**********************

"The elevator dings.."

Mirrors surrounded me on all four sides in the metal box. How I keep ending up like this I'll never know. I wish it would end.

"Excuse me sir,", a woman to my right nudges me, "Is this your stop?" I turn to look at her, puzzled.

"No, I don't think it is.", I start to say, but something stops me. A green light flashes in my peripheral and I turn to look at the source. A small arch with golden numbers one through twelve engraved on it sit right above the door. A line points to number five, our stop.

Ah. My eyes start to bleed and I am sobbing silently. I turn towards the woman to reply but she is gone.

"Yes.", I say anyway.

"Yes, this is my stop." Thick bead of tears and blood drip down my face and I smile.

"Yes this is my stop."

7

There is nothing. There is just me and the mirrors. They reflect endlessly, each reflection layer tainted with a darker and darker green as it goes.

"This- yes!! This is mY s t o p!!", I cry.

I make no noise.

A white flicker starts in the deep corner of a mirror behind me. I can see it. It moves a bit.

9

I start shaking, the up-beat tone of elevator music plays in the background. My nose starts bleeding. I am shaking.

I smile.

"THIS is my STOP." I grit my teeth.

"This. Is. My. Stop." I say slower this time.

11

I can see eyes in the white blob now. It's closer. Ugly long fingers claw its way through the layers of green.

It is behind me, I can see it.

12

The elevator dings, and I am pulled into the mirrors behind me. The creature smiles at me, and I cry.

"This is your stop.", it whispers, voice low and grating on my ears like sandpaper. I listen.

_____________

Mirrors surrounded me on all four sides in the metal box. How I keep ending up like this I'll never know.

I wish it would stop.

-FIN-

*************

Whispers

Lilacs count in the summer. We never hear it because they whisper, not wanting to be heard.

But somehow, one night, you stumble upon a bushel of them. Why? You were just going for a walk. But they don't know that.

They stop their counting and hold in breaths, the silence pregnant with fear. And your giant foot comes down upon them squishing their stems, their life lines beneath your shoe.

It doesn't matter to you.

They're just some insignificant flowers, you think. Then two more you kill.

It's silent in the crisp night air. You walk on.

It doesn't matter to you.

You walk past the bush and continue on your midnight stroll. The stars sing in whispers for the dead lilacs from above. The moon weaves condolences into its gentle beams. The wind carries along tears, for the lilacs cannot. That's three this time, the flowers note mournfully.

They add them to their numbers, and continue counting.

-FIN-

I wrote these at around 2am yesterday and barely proof read but here you go.