Work Day. Short Story.

Hope everyone’s week is going well. I finally got some stuff done in my room, specifically shelves and posters put up. Yay for that. Beyond that not much else is happening!

On with the show!

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The fountain gurgled gently behind him, barely audible above the shouts and calls of te milling crowd. He took a bite of his sandwich, then used a napkin to wipe his mouth. He had bought the sandwich only moments ago, but after only two bites, he was already sick of it. Too much mayonnaise. He never learned, he always asked for a little and between the time they put it on the sandwich and wrapped it, it seemed to have multiplied an astounding amount. A big glob of mayonnaise dripped from the back of the sandwich, landing on the ground, he didn’t notice. He put the sandwich down beside himself, still protected by its wrappings, and removed the top layer, then he started to wipe the excess mayonnaise away. He couldn’t afford anything else for lunch and if he didn’t eat this, there would be nothing until at least eight, when he got home. He had forgotten his wallet, again, luckily this time there was some money in his trouser pocket, it was only a fiver, but it was enough. He could picture his wallet, still sitting on the drawers in his bedroom. It wasn’t the first time he forgot it and it wouldn’t be the last either. Nothing too serious ever came of it at least, he knew he wouldn’t forget it so often if he wasn’t in a rush every morning, but that would mean getting up earlier, something he just could not bring himself to do.

With the job of making his sandwich edible done, he left the sodden napkin beside him and began to eat again. The sandwich wasn’t too bad, now that he could actually taste it. Chicken, lettuce and stuffing. He had splurged today, even going so far as to get a bottle of coke,  with the sandwich it had come to 4.50, and as he ate, he decided it was worth every bite. His day wasn’t going that well, work was hellish, as usual, and today it was even worse. The air conditioning was broken, so the lovely warm day outside, translated to a horrifically hot, swampy atmosphere inside. The building was supposed to be all high tech, retain heat or some shit, but they didn’t seem to factor in the sun shining on the windows, which seemed to warp and increase the heat, it was almost as though each pane was a giant magnifying glass, designed to burn them all alive slowly. It was all fine when the air conditioning worked, but when it broke down, on average four times a year, it was like working in the Everglades. He popped the last bite of his sandwich into his mouth and chewed, enjoying the taste. He took a swig from his coke, then closed his eyes, enjoying the slight breeze. His phone beeped. Shit. Time to go back. He stood and gathered up his rubbish, once he was sure he had everything, he began to slow trudge back to the office.

The walk normally took ten minutes, but he made it last twenty. He was a little late, but no one would really notice or care. The boss had suddenly remembered his day was packed with meetings in other offices when he realised the air conditioning was gone. Once his work was done, no one would care if he was a little late. He needed the job, really needed it. Well, at least if he wanted a place to live and the ability to eat food. He was sending out C.V’s to other places, but no one was hiring or at least, no one was hiring him. He’d get something else eventually, he knew he would. He strolled past the rows and rows of people, personalisation was not allowed here, each and every desk looked the exact same, the only differences were the people sitting in front of the monitors. His desk was by a window, at first he had thought it was great, he could look out at the day and people going by but it didn’t take him long to realise it was the position they put the new people in. When a desk in the centre cleared out there was always a scramble for people to claim it. The air might be cool when everything worked, but the sun could get surprisingly hot. He sat down on his chair, it was warm. He moved the mouse around and waited for the screen to come to life. He glanced out the window, they didn’t even open, and down at the people below. There weren’t many, nor could he tell what any of them looked like beyond general colours, he was too high up. His screen brightened and he looked at it, after a moment, he started to type.

He stood and stretched, the day was finally over. He drained his cup of water and set it down again. He was done. His shirt was covered in sweat patches. He gathered his things and left quickly, ignoring the people still working. He didn’t want to chat with them, it would all be bullshit anyway. It wasn’t long before he was stepping out of the elevator, then through the large glass doors. Outside he paused for a moment and sighed in relief, the cool breeze was just perfect. He started to walk again, slowly. He’d have to get the subway and no doubt it would be cramped and hot down there too, he’d waste some time first, then he could head home after the rush of people. He didn’t have money, so going to a coffee shop was out of the question, they wouldn’t let him sit unless he bought something and he wouldn’t be able to afford anything they were selling. He took a left, then a right, he’d head into a bookshop, browse for a bit, it’s not like they knew he couldn’t afford anything.

“Do ya’ve any spare change?” He stopped and dug around in his pocket, retrieving his last coin, he put it into the beggars cup. It wasn’t like he really needed it. The beggar nodded, “thanks”, and started walking again. No doubt he’d go spend it on booze or drugs, his voice was slurred. Oh well. Someone would get enjoyment out of it. He continued walking, he’d get to the book shop. Something sharp jabbed into his shoulder, he cried out, hands were on him, reaching into his pockets, by the time he turned to fight back, the homeless man was running away. His phone, he subway pass, gone. His pockets were empty. His shoulder still stung, he reached back to rub it, wondering what the homeless man hit him with, when his hand hit something hard and plastic. His breath started to speed up, he felt faint. He wrapped his hand around the hard plastic and pulled, it came out easily enough. He brought it around in his hand, hoping and wishing, but knowing what it was anyway. It was as he suspected, a syringe. There was his fresh blood, gleaming in the light and beyond that, the dark red flakes of dried blood. He felt sick, faint. Oh god. What if he got infected with something? What was he even supposed to do? What could he do? He stared at the syringe in his hand, then he turned and went into the nearest shop, he needed to call the police, they’d know what to do, his things were stolen. He tried to push the thought of the syringe away, they’d tell him what to do. It’d be ok, everything would be fine.

The Hunters. Short Story.

My weekend was pretty awesome, went out for my friends birthday, drank lots, danced lots, got stuck talking in a Northern Irish accent, ya know, the usual.

Beyond that I didn’t really do much, I’ve been planning out my thesis thingy now and doing some reading. I’m currently going through Feed by Mira Grant, which is really awesome. I found it when I went on a dystopian novel search on Amazon and I had heard some good things about it previously so I decided why not? And I’m pretty glad I did. I’ve almost finished the first book in the trilogy, will definitely be getting the second, hope it’s as good as the first.

On with the show!

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In the distance he could hear the whoops and yelling, the gentle hum of idling engines. He leaned against the tree, breathing deeply and slowly, relieved to finally have a break. He didn’t know how long they had been chasing him, only that it was still dark. It couldn’t have been longer than an hour, but it felt like much longer. He didn’t even know he could run that far, or that fast. He was losing strength fast though, even now his legs trembled, if he sat down he wouldn’t be able to stand again. If he survived, he’d be in serious pain tomorrow. He chuckled between gasps, if he was in pain tomorrow, he’d just be thankful to be feeling anything. The engines were being revved, no doubt they’d continue the chase any second, shit. He needed to get moving again. He pushed himself from the tree and started to walk quickly, no bothering to try and hide the noise of his movement, they wouldn’t be able to hear him over the revving of their engines or their whoops and catcalls. He stumbled, almost falling, damn branches were everywhere, he caught himself against the trunk of another tree and used that to propel himself onwards. He needed to get away from them, as far as possible, but they had their bikes and quads and an almost eerie talent for tracking him. If he was more paranoid he’d think they’d marked him somehow. The noise of an engine grew louder behind him, he took a right and started moving parallel to it, trying to get away, a headlight flooded the area to his left with blinding light before the bike and its passengers disappeared, he turned again and started to move away. There’d be no one to help him out here and if anyone did come across him, well they wouldn’t interfere, it was sink or swim time and he was struggling to merely stay afloat. There were only supposed to hunt him, technically there weren’t allowed to kill him, no that was to come later, but it was rare someone actually returned from a hunt, more often than not there would be an accident, the harpoon went too high or a throwing knife lodged itself into the neck rather than the leg. No one was questioned or punished when this happened, it saved the government time and money, the expensive chemicals for his execution wouldn’t need to be wasted on him.  If he could avoid getting caught, he would be free. In a way he was lucky, if his crime had been more serious he would have no chance of escape. He had heard stories from other prisoners, about how you might find a wall suddenly blocking your path when you were almost free, or a tree would fall down in front of you, giving your pursuers enough time to catch up. Those stories had been around for years, though there was no way to know if they were true, not for him anyway, as soon as they were confirmed it would mean his death and the truth would mean very little then.

He could have been more careful, they both should have but it was his fault they were caught, he had been the one that was followed, not her, not his Sandy. Even now he didn’t blame her for what she did, if she hadn’t said it, she would be right here with him. There had been no way out of it, they had burst into the room while they were together, and she had started to scream. It was then he knew it was all over and there was very little chance of escape. Still, he’d keep running.

They had been meeting for months now, it started off innocuously, they met for drinks and dinner outside of work, as friends, that was always completely fine. The trouble only started when they were selected for breeding together. Participants were usually friends, it made the process easier, but sometimes feelings did develop. They had stopped their inhibitors, as they were supposed to and copulated. Sandy hadn’t gotten pregnant, which wasn’t any big shock, it was happening more and more frequently. They would be given another two tries and if she didn’t fall pregnant by then, well, obviously there was a problem and they would be matched with other partners. Well, Sandy would be matched with another partner. He would be struck from the record until Sandy had her sixteenth unsuccessful try, then the problem would be with her. They both tested positive for sterility, but that meant little these days and no one could quite figure out why.

After their first time, he felt something more, something he didn’t even know was possible and he thought it was just his own feelings. Even on the inhibitor they were there, just slightly under the surface, small enough to ignore and that was what he had done, until Sandy had drunkenly told him of her feelings too. That started the meetings. They both stopped taking the inhibitor too, to fully feel what it was like. He had even found some condoms on the black market, it was difficult and expensive, but he managed it so there was no worry of an accidental pregnancy.

Her defence was simple, he coerced her, forced her to stop taking her pill. He was expendable, she wasn’t. You needed women to carry a child, you only needed men for sperm and there were plenty of men. She was going to get off no matter what, everyone knew it. It was always the way, women were important. It had been fun, when it was happening, but was it worth it? Not that it mattered now of course. He couldn’t quite decide, all through the trial, waiting in jail, he just couldn’t figure out if it was actually worth it or not. Sure, he had moments of joy, but if he had lived longer, he would have had more. If only she’d gotten pregnant when they were trying, they’d have been able to stay together, at least for a few years anyway. After their child reach its fifth year it would be taken from them and they would both be relocated but they would have had time together.

A bike crashed through the trees in front of him, he skidded to a stop and fell, jolting his arm against the ground, pain flared along it, he couldn’t breathe the air driven from him. He groaned and rolled over onto his front and struggled to his feet, he didn’t think they’d seen him. He started to walk again, staggering along. He could hear them all now, so close, so very close. He wouldn’t get away, he couldn’t, there was no escape. He dove to the left he wouldn’t give up. Someone shouted behind him, he turned, light illuminating their grotesque masks, distorted animal faces, a woman’s shrieky laughter filled his ears as the harpoon left her hand. Pain, hot and bright from his midsection, the impact forced him backwards, into a tree.  Breathing was difficult, coming in short gasps, there was so much pain. They got off their bikes and slowly surrounded him, cackling and whooping still, it would be over soon, but first they’d have their fun. As they moved closer around him he finally reached his decision.

Deadly Secrets. Part 41

Part 1, Part 40

The blood was warm, but it was rapidly cooling, there was much more of it than expected. The pool around the pair of them had seemed to stop growing, the suddenly cool blood began to congeal around the edges. There wouldn’t be much time. People would be coming soon, any second someone could turn the corner and see them. It might only look a little odd at first, then they’d see the blood. The body was heavy and after a brief heave, it fell on its side with a slight thud, the skull cracking against the ground. He stood up, shaking slightly. Her blood was all over his hands, his clothes. The car was close by, he’d have to get her there. He grabbed her under her arms and began to drag her to the car as fast as possible. There wasn’t enough time, there was a trail of blood leading towards the car, he opened the back door and unceremoniously shoved her onto the back seat. He ran to the trunk and opened it, there. It wouldn’t be much but hopefully it’d be enough. He took out one of the bottles of water and started to pour it onto the blood pool. Once the bottle was emptied, it hadn’t made much of a difference, the blood began to move towards the gutter, he reached back and grabbed two more bottles. When he was done, it wasn’t perfect but it would do. There was still traces of blood but in the growing dark it would be hard to see properly, it was fainter now than before and perhaps, if it didn’t rain during the night, people might just think it was some kind of paint stain or something. His clothes were wet and cold from her blood, he didn’t have a spare pair with him. He’d need to dump the body somewhere, he couldn’t bring it back to the apartment, not while he was covered in blood. The back seat would be stained, he’d have to be extremely careful about where he left the car until it could be cleaned. Where could he take the body? Where could he get rid of it?

He drove aimlessly at first, spiralling outwards, trying to figure out what to do, he didn’t have the luxury of time, time to think or figure out a plan. How could he have been so stupid, so monumentally blind? He shouldn’t have let his guard down, he shouldn’t have begun to trust her. It was his fault. If he had of waited a little longer, he could see her changing, he knew it, but he had been too eager, he should have waited. He shouldn’t have pushed her so much. She must have seen how eager he was, used it against him. Of course she would, she was becoming ruthless. He had been right at least, she was developing her instincts. She tried to kill him, not in the heat of the moment, but after cold consideration. She could have left at any point, she could have run, but she chose to attack him. He had been right and though it was little use now, it was reassuring. The river. That was the best option. He’d dump her body there, she’d be carried off a good distance and the water would destroy a lot of evidence. They had fought and he couldn’t remember if she had scratched him in the struggle. He didn’t think so, there was no pain, but that meant little, not when he had such a rush of adrenaline. He’d have to check his arms when he finally stopped. At least it was fully night now, he would be less likely to be seen, now he just needed to make it to the river without being seen.

The river gurgled and splashed merrily as he dragged her body carefully towards the edge, the hands had been removed, as had her teeth. It had been a messy process but it had to be done. He pushed the body into the river and watched it bob along for a second before the darkness took it. The river only ran through the city briefly, afterwards there was a long stretch of land where it wouldn’t be found, if it washed up along the shore animals would consume a lot of the body, if not she might even wash up another city over, it might be a while before they pinpointed her origin. They might think that the abductor took her from her own city and carried her elsewhere. At least that was his hope. He picked up a tooth from his hand and dropped it into the river, doing it one by one. When that was done, he went back to the hands and started to cut. When he was finally finished, he had skinned her hands and cut the skin into small pieces, which were then scattered into the river, finally, he threw her skinned hands into the water. He bent down at the edge and rinsed his hands. The water was colder than he expected and by the time he had finished, his hands were almost numb. He returned to the car and looked in the backseat, the dark stain wasn’t visible against the fabric, not when it was so dark, he’d get away with it for a short while at least. The clothes she had been wearing were balled up in the back, no doubt the blood had already glued them all together. He’d burn the clothes later.

He drove back to the house, he didn’t want to return to the apartment just yet. He pulled into the driveway, parking the car as close to the house as he could. He wanted to change as soon as possible, the blood had kept sticking to his skin when it was wet, now it was dry, it was binding to his skin, pulling and tugging against him. He didn’t like it, it felt dirty. He didn’t like the feelings he was experiencing. He went into the kitchen and grabbed as many cleaning supplies as he could carry and brought them outside.

It took an hour of scrubbing before he decided to give up. The blood stain was still there, but it looked like wine or maybe some kind of red drink. No one would pay too much attention to it. He could always but some food colouring tomorrow and use that to dye the stain a weird colour, that would distract further from it. He entered the house again, taking his supplies with him and went to upstairs to the bathroom. He stripped from his clothes and got into the shower.

When he was done, he felt better. He changed into clean clothes and took the blood-stained clothes and brought them down to the fireplace. He started the fire and began to feed the clothes to the flames. It took a while, but he didn’t mind, he needed to think and the heat of the flames was soothing. It wasn’t his fault that this happened, no, it wasn’t. He needed to think. He stood and went to his study. Once there the lips whispered to him, over and over again. They knew who’s fault this was and now, so did he. It wasn’t his fault, not at all and now he would get his revenge. He smiled and started to plan.

The Caretaker. Short Story.

My weeks going pretty well, saw Iron Man 3 yesterday, which was pretty awesome. It was much better than I expected, very enjoyable. I spent most of Monday in a car, going around the country, that was ok, but pretty tiring. Got my last assignment in too on Monday, last thing is the Thesis and I’m done my masters. Scary thought that.

On with the show!

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He clicked the switch. Nothing. Shit. He sighed, it always happened like this. Damn light bulbs. He left the room, searching for the spare bulbs, where did Angie put them? God only knew, she could get some weird ideas into her head sometimes. He had gone to the fridge before and found the wine opener, it had been missing for two weeks beforehand. She probably realised she put it somewhere weird and placed it there to avoid getting blamed. He went to the kitchen first and started searching through the drawers, but there was nothing but the usual rigmarole. He opened the first cupboard, it was full of cutlery. He opened the second and there they were, light bulbs galore. He didn’t remember seeing them here before, he took one out and quickly went back into the sitting room, it fit, he clicked the switch again, the light filled the room. Finally. He sat down in his chair, he could finally relax. If Angie had seen the broken light bulb she would have raised hell that he hadn’t changed it. It would be his fault of course, it’s not like she could change it, she couldn’t even put a dvd into the player.

He couldn’t wait until he could leave her, though he didn’t expect that to be any time soon. His sister would need a carer for the rest of her life and he couldn’t afford to hire someone yet, but that would change soon, he had some lucrative jobs coming up soon and they’d give him enough money to be able to afford someone to look after Angie, even if it wasn’t full time, it would give him plenty of free time to do other things, fix the place up a bit, maybe even go on a few dates. He had tried that before, it hadn’t worked out, as soon as they found out about Angie, they bolted. Oh well. Their loss. Still, it would be nice to have someone eventually. A loud banging echoed from upstairs, he sighed and stood up, well at least he had a few seconds to sit down. He went upstairs carefully, turning on the lights as he went, he didn’t want to startle her, their father had once, it didn’t end well. “Angie? Everything ok?” The banging continued, not that he expected an answer, she didn’t really talk much anymore. He entered her room, she was on the floor, banging her shoe against the wood, “what is it?” She banged it down once more, then pointed at the spot she was hitting, “I don’t see it.” She pointed again, “Oh. Ok…well done.” She smiled, pleased with herself. “Do you want to put your shoe on again?” Angie looked at it for a second, then she sat back to put it on. “Do you need a hand?” She shook her head vigorously, “Ok.” It took her a moment before she managed it. “Are you hungry?” She shook her head, good, he hadn’t gotten anything in. He left the room, she’d be ok by herself. She always was, as long as someone was in the house.

He turned on the TV, he’d pop in a kids movie, that would keep her distracted and he’d be able to relax too. He flicked through them all, trying to find something they hadn’t seen a thousand times already. Finally he settled on one and put it into the DVD player, as the opening scene played he heard her drop something and come running. No big surprise there. She ran into the room, stumbled in her excitement, then plopped herself on her couch. It was hers and hers alone, no one else was allowed sit there. She watched quietly, nodding along as the characters talked. Sometimes he wondered if she thought they were actually talking to her.

He was drowsing off when the movie finally ended, it was late enough so they could go to bed. Angie would put herself to bed at some point in the night, it was always easy to to leave her to her own devices when it came to putting her to bed. She didn’t like to be bossed around. That was another reason he couldn’t really get a carer, the instructions were so complicated, assuming they even agreed to watch over her. As he went to bed he poked his head into her room, there was some food there, no surprise. She was supposed to keep her food in the kitchen, but she never did. He didn’t mind that much, his parents always did, but it wasn’t like she left the mess, she managed to clean up after herself mostly. He had never actually seen her clean, no doubt anything that was spilled was licked up from the floor.

The next morning he checked the food supplies, they were too low. He’d have to get something for her very soon or else he’d be sorry. She had broken his hand the last time. He drove to the shops quickly, she couldn’t be left alone for too long. He bought some meat and vegetables, he’d do a proper shop later, but it would do for now at least.

He cooked all the food he had bought and had a small bit himself, she would eat a little when she wanted, he could leave her graze. She didn’t like her meat too well done, but he did it anyway, it was safer for her. He didn’t want her getting sick, she wouldn’t do well in the hospital, she didn’t like all the people and how fast everything changed.

He drove around the area slowly, he’d have to get something nice this time, the last time the meat had looked fine but its source seemed a bit dodgy, all dirty and gross. There. A young woman, homeless of course, but relatively clean. “Hey, hey you.” She walked to the car, “wanna make some money? I can give you a place to sleep too.” “What will I have to do?” “Not much, just play with my sister.” “What?” “She’s a little…strange. It’s hard to get people to spend time with her. It’ll only be a few hours, don’t worry. I can drop you back here and everything afterwards.” “…Ok…why not. What age is she?” “Forty-three.” “What’s wrong with her?” “I don’t really know, the doctors couldn’t tell us. We just leave her be mostly, look after her. She isn’t violent or dangerous or anything.”

He lead her into the house and gestured towards the room. She walked right in, like she owned the place. He grabbed the knife and quickly slit her throat, holding her close as she shook and struggled. Once she stopped, he started to butcher her. She’d feed Angie for a few months at least now. She didn’t mind animal meat, as long as it had a little human in there too. He could grind it up a little to make it last longer. It would distance the time between the next time he needed to go out. He always felt bad doing it, but it needed to be done after all, family was more important than strangers. He put it all in the freezer then took a little out to cook. After a few minutes the kitchen started to smell like meat, before long he could hear her thudding overhead, running for her meal.

The Painter. Short Story.

His paintings were renounced around the world for their brilliance, some were photo-realistic, some were portraits and others were fantastical scenes and they all had one thing in common, they were utterly captivating. A person could stand for hours in front of one and still see new things afterwards. He occasionally used live models and when he did, thousands of people applied for one position and now, now he wanted to paint her. Samantha didn’t know how he knew of her, she wasn’t a model, she wasn’t on TV, she wasn’t glamorous and yet here she was, sitting in his studio.

The studio was much smaller than she expected, smaller and much more cluttered. She had thought it would all be modern and sleek with clear white lines and neat little rows of paint pots, instead it was a mess. Brushes were scattered across the floor, drips and drops of god only knew what covered the floors and walls, a few even decorated the ceiling. There were dust sheets everywhere but they seemed to do a poor job of protecting anything. Glasses and jars of liquid were dotted around the room, she didn’t know what was in any of them. There was a wall of shelves, with references books and supplies, and in the centre of it all, a stool on which she could sit and pose, with large bright lights to illuminate her. It was on this seat that she sat, trying to stay as still as possible. Jonathan had told her she could shift and move as much as she liked, but she worried that would be detrimental to his painting. So she sat quietly, ignoring the dull ache in her back and the slight numbing of her legs, occasionally wishing she had chosen a more comfortable position in which to sit. He hadn’t arranged her, as she had expected, he merely asked her to sit comfortably. Of course then Samantha had been trying to sit in a flattering way, in a way that would make her appear beautiful, something she was not. She had no illusions about that. She had never been beautiful and she never would be, she might be considered pretty occasionally, but the closest she usually got was mildly decent. Her nose was too long, her chin too short, her forehead just a smidge too large, her eyes slightly crooked. It was a face she had hoped she would grow into as her mother so often told her she would, but sadly, she never did. Her body was equally disproportionate, her arms too long, her legs too short, her hips too thin. Samantha felt she walked oddly too, swaying just a little too much. No one ever commented on it, or said anything to her, but that didn’t make a difference. She knew what she was and what she saw, there was little point in deluding herself. She had no idea why Jonathan wanted to paint her of all people, and when she enquired he had looked at her, his head a little to the side, the picture of utter confusion, “why wouldn’t I want to paint you?” Samantha had no answer for that. She supposed you didn’t need beauty to be painted. Maybe he saw something in her she couldn’t see herself, or, more likely in her opinion, he needed a living model for the painting of a troll or some other equally ugly creature. It didn’t matter to her why he wanted to paint her, or  what he was painting her for, she just enjoyed the idea that her face would be immortalised long after she was gone. People would see the painting of her in the years to come and wonder about her. She could be the next Mona Lisa, but not as pretty. Her hair was long, it was her best feature as far as she was concerned. It was brown with a slight curl and brilliantly soft and glossy. Samantha took very good care of her hair, her skin too for that matter. It was slightly pale, but supple, smooth and soft. She had no blemishes, no spots and no blackheads. Samantha hadn’t really done much for that to happen, it just seemed to maintain itself. Her favourite comment by far was by a co-worker, displeased with a recent break out and exasperated by Samantha’s lack of help, she had exclaimed that it was as though she was a “walking, talking Photoshop.”

“Ok, I’m done for that day, so you can move all you want now.” Samantha got down from the stool and stretched, feeling her muscles begin to relax, pins and needles danced along her lower back and left thigh. She limped over towards the picture, curious as to what he had done today. Each day he focused on a different aspect of her, and today it was her eyes. She stood looking at the painting for a few moments, hardly able to believe what she was seeing. They were perfect, such a light shade of blue with a small smattering of hazel and gold, she could hardly believe Jonathan was able to see that from where she sat, she could barely see it herself in a mirror. She looked at them expecting them to blink. “They’re beautiful.” “I’m just painting what I see.” Samantha shook her head slightly, she had had this argument with him before and she knew she wouldn’t win. Nothing so beautiful could belong to her. “What time do you want me back tomorrow?” “Let’s say about twelve, is that ok? It shouldn’t be too much longer either.” “Yeah, that’s fine.” She could hear him moving about behind her, cleaning up for the day.

Samantha was there the next day a little early, as usual and Jonathan was a little late, as usual. They entered the building together and Samantha went to her seat. “We might run a little late today if that’s ok, I think I might get you finished.” “That’s fine, take as much time as you need.” She was being paid handsomely for this, she didn’t mind missing work or spending her days here. It was quite pleasant truth be told. She sat down and made sure to sit comfortably this time and, as always, as soon as Jonathan stepped up to the canvas she straightened and shifted until she was sitting in roughly the same pose as the day before.

After hours, Jonathan stepped away from the canvas, sweating lightly, his mouth slightly agape as he gasped. “Finished.” “Can I see?” “Hold on one moment.” He moved around behind her as she stood and placed his hands over her eyes. “C’mon, slowly, there we go, hang on, take an extra-large step here, ok around and…three…two…” He moved his hands, she brought hers to her mouth. It was stunning. “I…I can’t…I don’t..” “Do you like it?” “I love it.” He smiled, “good, I’m glad. I was worried you wouldn’t.” “How could anyone not love this?” “I don’t care about what anyone thinks, I care about what you think.” “What would you have done if I didn’t like it?” “I’d have burned it and started again.” “No, you couldn’t.” “I would have and it wouldn’t have been the first time.” Tears were streaming down Samantha’s face. “I’m afraid there’s just one last thing left to be done.” She nodded, not really listening. It had been explained to her before she had signed the contract. Jonathan took a small brush and scrawled his name across it in black. He handed her a pin, taking a breath Samantha pricked her finger and placed it gently on the canvas where he had pointed. She moved her finger away and put it into her mouth. “Now it’s finished. The remainder of your fee will be delivered to your bank account tonight,” he hugged her tightly, “thank you so much.” “No, thank you.”

On the journey home Samantha regretted that she wouldn’t get the painting itself, of course she would be given a poster, one that was signed at that, but it wouldn’t be the same, it wouldn’t capture the magnificence of the painting. It was simply her, sitting in front of a red curtain. It all looked so lifelike, so astounding.

The drop of blood slowly faded from the painting, the eyes of the portrait became brighter, the skin clearer. Soon it seemed to almost glow with life.

Samantha took an extra few days off work when it was done, she was feeling a little run down, but soon she began to get better. She was more tired than she had been previously, but that wasn’t any great shock, after all she had been a bit sick, obviously her body was tired from fighting off the illness. It wasn’t long before she started to feel a little depressed, not very noticeable at first, but slowly becoming stronger and stronger until one day she couldn’t get out of bed, she couldn’t move, she could barely breath. It felt as though a great weight was crushing her chest.

Three weeks later Samantha took her own life. It warranted a small article in the back of the newspapers, but no one besides her family and friends mourned her. The day she died the colours of the painting seemed to grow brighter and the eyes became a little sadder.

Jonathan looked at his latest piece. It could be difficult sometimes but he was making art and art required sacrificed. The painting would live forever, he had given them immortality. What did it matter if their souls remained in canvas. They would live far longer than they would have otherwise, they would be known around the world, they would be studied and admired, he offered them something that was far greater than anything they could have achieved alone.

Deadly Secrets. Part 40.

Hope everyone’s had a good week. Mine went pretty well.

Went to Ikea, got some shelves, that was fairly awesome. I’ve needed shelves in my room for a good while now. Got them set up pretty quick too, though I got a big-ass splinter while assembling them. It it was a weird combination of paint chips and what ever wood they make their cabinets out of. Every time the tweezers grasped a bit that was sticking it, it would just break off the larger splinter, so it had to be dug out of my finger. Yeah, that was fun.

On with the show!

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Part 1, Part 39

He was beginning to trust her more and more, no longer was she confined to one room when he left, she was free to roam the apartment. The door was locked from the outside though, she had tested that, there was no way for her to open it, not without the keys. She was able to do things now, shower when she wanted, eat when she wanted, she could even watch TV. It was so liberating after being locked up for so long. She cooked dinner for him too, trying to get his guard down, she hoped the more he knew her, the less likely he would be to kill her, she wanted to make things as difficult as possible for him. Her main fear was that she wasn’t strong enough to attack him, if she tried in the apartment, there would be no way for her to escape if she couldn’t kill him, Sandra wanted to be outside so if things went bad, she’d still be able to run. Tonight she was making steak, she had always enjoyed cooking, it was nice going back to it as it distracted her, allowed her to distance herself. When she cooked she went into another world, all that was important was the food in front of her. Sandra planned to ask him to bring her out tonight, if he brought her hunting, tonight would be the night she’d escape. He’d drive a good distance from the apartment, he had been saying that too many people disappearing so close together would be suspicious, and she agreed, though she wanted the suspicion. The more police hunting for the abductor, the more likely they would be to catch him and find her.

The table was set, there was no candles or flowers, but that was only a minor inconvenience. If he thought she was romantically interested, she might not need to attack him to get away, she had already done so many awful things, and there was the fear that just one more would be the tipping point, that it would begin to take her over. She didn’t want to lose herself when it was all over and she was finally free, she wanted to be the same person, but what if it was already too late? She had changed, she knew that, but how much? What if it was something fundamental, something unfixable. She smoothed down the table cloth and double checked that everything was laid out perfectly. The plates were warming in the oven and the food was almost done, she heard the rattle of keys in the door and she scurried back into the kitchen. The smell of food filled the apartment, “Hello?” “I’m in the kitchen, just finishing up, go sit at the table” “Will do, smells good.” She heard him put down some bags and go to the bathroom, she slid the steaks onto the plates and topped it with a small amount of sauce, then added some to the side. She added oven chips to the side, then some green beans. She carried the plates into the living room and placed one down carefully in front of him, Sandra sat down across from him and poured some water into his wine glass, there was no actual wine in the apartment so she had to improvise. Everything looked pretty good if she did think so herself.

They ate slowly, mostly in silence, she allowed him to lead the conversation, he seemed to enjoy silence and so she only spoke when spoken to, it seemed safest. When they were done, she put the plates into the kitchen, while there she slipped one of the knives into her pocket. It was dull, but it would be much better than her bare hands. She went back into the sitting room and sat down at the table. She took a small sip of her water, then took a breath, “I was thinking maybe we could go out tonight, go hunting?” Sandra smiled, he looked at her. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.” “Oh please, I’m so close to getting it, I really am…I” she looked down at the table “I need it.” He smiled, “I know that feeling, but you’re going to have to learn to control it if you don’t want to get caught.” Her head snapped up again, eyes excited “I will, I promise I will but just one more, that’s all. Then I’ll stop,  for as long as you say and I won’t ask again.” He smiled at her, it was almost fatherly. “Ok then, last one. Then we’re going to take a break for a while.” she nodded and her smile grew. “Thank you…Can I choose too?” “Sure, why not. Though if I say it isn’t a good pick, will you listen?” “Yes, of course.” “Ok, then let me just clean up and we’ll go.” He stood then paused, “There’s also something I want to show you, I think you’re ready for it.”

He went to the bathroom and washed his hands, then he splashed some water on his face. He knew this day would come, though he thought it would take a little longer. She was evolving, growing on her own. It was time he showed her his real house, his trophies. Some day she might move in there with him, she wasn’t ready for that, not yet, but someday soon he would float the idea.

She tried to slow her breathing in the car. She was so close, so very, very close. The streets passed by unnoticed by her, it was all shadows and orange blurs, she tried to look at the people but she couldn’t focus. After what seemed like hours, she picked a man at random, he was walking alone and the street was deserted. “Him.” “Hmm. I don’t know if he’s a good pick.” “He’s perfect, he’s alone, he’s in good shape but we could take him.” He nodded, “ok, maybe. We’ll follow him for a bit, see what he’s like.” “Ok.” He pulled over and they both got out, they walked a little distance from him. The man was dressed in jeans and a shirt, a light back pack was slung over one shoulder. As she walked Sandra’s hand rested in her pocket, grasping the knife lightly. She needed to be quick, she didn’t want any innocent bystanders caught in the fight. She pulled the knife out of her pocket and held it against her side, she let him pull forward slightly, he’d be easier to take from behind. She gripped the knife tightly and brought up her arm, she needed to just do it, it’d be over so quickly. The man turned the corner and she swung her arm down. The metal glinted dully in the orange light, he turned just as she struck, the knife cutting him only lightly, its blade glancing from his body. She stabbed again, his arm blocking her, his free hand darted forward, punching her in the stomach, Sandra bent over double, trying to catch her breath, the knife slipping from her suddenly limp fingers. No, this wasn’t how it was supposed to go, the knife clattered as it hit the ground, there was no one around, no one to help. She had to run, that was the only option. She stood, still trying to breathe and tried to run, she stumbled a few steps before her grabbed her hair and pulled her back, he swung at her, she dodged, the knife skimming against her stomach, she didn’t feel the pain, or the warmth of the blood as it dribbled down her stomach. The cut was only shallow, she grabbed for his arm, they fought, each trying to gain leverage over the knife. His eyes widened as the knife plunged into soft flesh, she gasped as warm blood spurted around her hands, they fell to the ground together, a pool of blood soaking them both.

Moving On. Short Story.

Hope everyone is having a good week, mine is progressing pleasantly enough. I had a bit of Disney/Pixar movie kick the other day, there were a few of them on Netflix so I figured why not? Beyond that I haven’t been up to much. It’s a little strange not having class, plus, it’s almost summer! What the hell has happened to the year? It feels like only yesterday it was New Years. I remember being a kid and everything took forever, a week was endless, a month was a year, a year was an eternity. I miss that. The only thing I can figure is that kids have some kind of time slowing device that you forget about once you hit a certain age, somebody should get a few scientists on that right away.

Damn kids, always hoarding futuristic technology, with their UPhones and Playboxes.
On with the show!

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Ghosts.

She closed the lid of the music box, the thin tinkling continued for a few seconds before stopping. Alison didn’t know what she was doing in this room. Why after all this time she came here, but then it always drew her back. She breathed deeply, the smell of perfume seemed to fill the room, it was light and floral. The box itself was small, and stained a deep brown, small golden clasps clung to each corner, while a small gold catch kept it closed. Once opened it would reveal the red velvet covered insides, two short but deep spaces. The jewellery that was once nestled in the box was long gone. Alison moved it back further on the dressing table, worried she might knock it off. The makeup was still in the same place, as were the perfume bottles, Alison didn’t pick any of them up, no doubt they were all useless by now. The bottles themselves were pretty and she planned on using them for something else, when she could. She stood for from the small seat, and turned from the mirror. The room hadn’t really been touched in years. Not since it happened. Her father had moved out of the room and into spare room. He didn’t want to be there without her. The room became her shrine. Alison went to the wardrobe and opened it, only her clothes remained, her father had removed his own. Alison leaned into the dresses. It was a pity none of them would fit her, but then wearing them might be a bit macabre. Alison left the room, the wardrobe doors still open.

The house was filthy, absolutely filthy. Clothes were strewn about the place, both Alison’s and her fathers. Sometimes she felt bad and tried to clean but it only lasted a few days before she grew bored with it. Dirty dishes filled the sink, empty cans and bottles of beer littered the sitting room floor. She sometimes half expected an overflowing ashtray to be sitting beside the couch, even though her father had stopped smoking years ago at the insistence of Janice, she had expected him to start again once she was gone. Neither of them worked, they just pottered around the house, staying out of each other’s way. It seemed best. Her father never really looked at her much, always avoiding eye contact, though she never understood why. Everything was fine until she died, that’s when it started. He would avoid Alison, then he would refuse to meet her eyes. Alison thought he blamed himself for her death, though it wasn’t his fault, there was nothing anyone could have done. Janice, her mother, had been crossing the road when she was hit by a car, she hadn’t crossed at any lights, the driver hadn’t seen her until just before the car stuck her. Alison didn’t blame the driver, how could she? Janice was the one who hadn’t looked before crossing. Sometimes she wondered if Janice had done it on purpose, but the witnesses said she stepped out into the road while changing the song on her phone. She always liked to listen to music when she went for her walks.

The had been close once her and her father, before it happened. Her death had driven a wedge between them. She had tried, really tried to make things better, but it didn’t work, everything she did just made it all worse. She spent most of her time in her room now, watching movies or reading. Alison had changed since it happened. She knew that, but she never really saw how much. Her friends did. They didn’t want to hang out with her. They always had plans, they couldn’t go out to dinner, or to the movies. So she was stuck here, like this. Where could she go herself? Occasionally she went for walks, but not that often. Mostly it was just to get out of the house for a little while, get some fresh air. The money coming in wasn’t much, but enough. It wasn’t like she had any expenses either so they were able to stretch it out a bit. He could always afford his beer though, he made sure of that, even if it meant he didn’t eat any food. Though she still tried to get him to eat when that happened.

He sat in the sitting room, watching old movies. It was easier this way. He had tried to continue working after it happened, but he couldn’t. He regretted leaving now, now he wanted to get away more than anything, but her couldn’t leave her alone, she wouldn’t do to well by herself. He knew that, so did everyone else. He considered maybe sending her to a home, but he couldn’t just abandon her like that. They lived together still and they would until one of them died, he knew that in complete and utter certainty. He didn’t know what kind of mental break she had, nor did the therapist she had went to briefly. After three sessions she returned home crying and refused to go back. They had argued about it, extensively, but after a week of constant shouting, he had given up, maybe she was right, maybe it was best if she didn’t go back. After all, she wasn’t hurting anyone, not really. Well, no one other than him and he could deal with it. He had gone to therapy himself, but that didn’t work out either, no shock there though. He never liked talking about his feelings with anyone, least of all some stranger. He didn’t understand her transformation, not at all, but he could live with it. The woman he had loved for so long had died the day their daughter had. Janice would no longer acknowledge that name, she looked in the mirror but she didn’t see herself, her wrinkled skin and stained teeth, instead she she saw face of their daughter, smooth and fresh. Everyone had different ways of coping, maybe someday she’d snap out of it, maybe she’d return to normal. He moved out of their room, it didn’t seem right, still being there without her. He drank deeply from the can beside him, draining it, then he opened another. Things would work out in the end, they’d have to. The front door closed over gently as she left the house, he raised the volume of the TV, he just hoped that whatever happened, she would find peace in the end.