Post by jabujabu on Oct 3, 2005 16:31:39 GMT -5
Well here's a story I wrote, it's only about a page and a half, despite the fact that it looks like a helluva lot. As a side not the description of the house if based on my own house.
You pull up in your beat up, black Honda to the house. Looking at the picture in your hands, you check to make sure that this is indeed the house you were sent to. Strange, it looked bigger in the picture. Shrugging you tuck away the photo into your brown coat and walk up to the door. You stare at the bright colors in the flower bed as you walk past. It's so beautiful; it seems almost a shame to enter the house disturbing the people who tended to these flowers. Shaking your head you walk into the shaded porch, the disturbance had to be made.
Quickly you glance out at the road to make sure no cars are passing, and find the coast clear. You smile; there never were very many people in these suburban developments. You open the first door with the screen window and get to the second. It's locked of course but a little help from your trusty lock pick and the door swings open. Quickly you step in before you are noticed.
The interior of the house seems to be a place of relative clutter, you note, and apparently no one was home at the moment. This makes it so much easier to your job, less of a chance of your entrance being found. As soon as you enter the door you turn to the blue carpeted stairs. The stairs match the looks of the rest of the house, objects lay all over it. Old Halloween masks, a froggy watch in a pink box and old AOL CDs meets your eyes as you ascend the stair, keeping a close watch on your feet so you don't step on anything.
When you reach the peak of the stairs you turn left, away from the bookshelf with young children's books, into a room with the same blue carpeting as the stairs. You immediately notice two things as you enter the room.
The first thing you notice is a bed to the left. Its sheep sheets are littered with a variety of stuffed animals. Beanie baby eyes stare at you with their blank stares from their laying position, watching your every move. The bed too matches the rest of the house, it's unmade and in a relative state of disarray.
The second thing you notice is the piles of books in the center of the room. They jut up like skyscrapers from the floor. Some of them tilt like the Leaning Tower of Pisa but all of them still stand in balance. You walk the thin path through the clutter on the floor to get a better look at these skyscrapers. A straight pile of Japanese cartoons, what were they called again? Mango?, brushes against the top of your thigh as you pass it. As you get a closer look at the books they appear to be mostly in the fantasy genre. Stoker, Weis, Hickman, MacAfferey, all the big names seemed to be here along with some lesser known writers. You almost feel pity for the girl who owns these books; it seems a shame to kill such a well read child.
Looking up from the books you see a wooden dresser. Leaning over the books so as not to disturb any with your feet and make the towers fall down like dominoes, you observe the top and contents of the dresser. From the size of the clothes in these dressers, your target was a small teenager. Why did your master want you to kill a teenager? The top of the dresser was littered with many objects. An African snake box sat next to a plastic margarita glass, McDonald’s Furby toys sat next to a Hungarian doll. Well nothing could be learned from the top of the dresser; the child could be any nationality and be like any number of things.
After learning as much as you could from the dresser you carefully ease back on to your feet. A soft thump is heard from down stairs but you ignore it, it's probably just the house creaking. Turning you head towards the window, looking at the colorful, plastic shelves next to the rocking chair. Was this a teenager or a twisted five year old?
You chuckle at this as you walk a few steps before kicking something. Looking down you see that you kicked some clay tiles cemented into a wooden frame. The picture they make is of a dolphin and shark in a yin-yang sign. Some papers shifted as the wooden frame was kicked and you bend down to inspect the writing on the papers. Reading a little you find that this particular page is describing a demon. Red skin that looks like innards on the outside...long fingers that reach to the ground with entirely too many joints...sharp teeth...able to produce magical barriers against bullets. Man, this was creepy, but you still have no clue why your boss wants you to kill the child.
"Who the hell are you?" says a female voice from behind you.
Dropping the paper you stand, startled. Why hadn't you heard her footsteps as she came up the stairs? "I might ask you the very same question." you say, smiling smugly.
The girl isn't much to look at. Short, like you guessed, with long brown hair that hung over her thin, pale frame. She looked fragile rather than menacing. Still you don't underestimate her; after all she did kill your best friend.
"You're in MY house and you want to know my name?!" she seems angry as she swings the door shut. Actually it would've slammed shut had not the Easter basket on the floor stopped it. Many large branches stand behind the door and she grabs one that was sharpened to a point. You don't know how sharp it is, but you don't want to find out.
Pulling out your pistol you aim it at her, but she seems not to notice.
"My ideas, you stepped on my precious ideas!" she shrieks.
Quickly you aim for her head and fire before she can alert the neighbors to your presence. The bullets drop harmlessly to the ground and your eyes widen. You have to get out of here quick; obviously there is more to this girl than meets the eye. Jumping over the clay tile piece you open the lock on the window and pull up the screen. You hear footsteps behind you and feel the point of the spear-like stick in your back before you fall.
You were lucky all the stick did was push you; all that happened was that you broke your ankles. Slowly you begin to crawl away and you hear the girl run down stairs, probably to call the police. To your surprise you hear the front door opening and you see her appear, walking into the unfenced backyard.
"My ideas, how dare you step on my ideas!" she hisses. You hear a growling from behind you and you turn your head, wincing in pain as your broken ankles shift. The pain of your ankles is soon forgotten in fear of what you see. It is the demon, the demon you read about in her papers. From the abnormally large fingers to the color of the skin, it was the demon. The demon roars and flexes his fingers into snail shell-like spirals. The girl nods and the creature straightens his fingers on one hand.
"Surely you wouldn't kill me." you say, but the look on the girl's face tells you otherwise.
"You stepped on my ideas," she says coldly nodding again, with her back against the house. Her eyes closed.
The demon lets out a roar that sends vibrations through your bones and it plunges the straightened fingers into your back, just missing the spine. Then you see the girl move from her leaning position and go towards the demon, but it seems as if it is in a distant world. The demon clings to the girl like a young child clings to their mother, though he was easily a foot taller than her and could've killed her with one swipe. Her eyes are open now as she stares at your bloody body.
"That's why nobody, touches my ideas. Nobody." she says, hugging the demon like it was perfectly normal, ignoring the fact that it was smearing blood on her light blue tank top. Both turn back to the house, ignoring your bleeding body.
Your vision grows black rapidly and you struggle to think. You know now why your friend never returned, you know now why you were supposed to kill her, and you know now that you should've never touched those papers. Of course you know now you're dying. "Master...I've...failed." you choke out before you slip into the abnormally long fingers of death.
You pull up in your beat up, black Honda to the house. Looking at the picture in your hands, you check to make sure that this is indeed the house you were sent to. Strange, it looked bigger in the picture. Shrugging you tuck away the photo into your brown coat and walk up to the door. You stare at the bright colors in the flower bed as you walk past. It's so beautiful; it seems almost a shame to enter the house disturbing the people who tended to these flowers. Shaking your head you walk into the shaded porch, the disturbance had to be made.
Quickly you glance out at the road to make sure no cars are passing, and find the coast clear. You smile; there never were very many people in these suburban developments. You open the first door with the screen window and get to the second. It's locked of course but a little help from your trusty lock pick and the door swings open. Quickly you step in before you are noticed.
The interior of the house seems to be a place of relative clutter, you note, and apparently no one was home at the moment. This makes it so much easier to your job, less of a chance of your entrance being found. As soon as you enter the door you turn to the blue carpeted stairs. The stairs match the looks of the rest of the house, objects lay all over it. Old Halloween masks, a froggy watch in a pink box and old AOL CDs meets your eyes as you ascend the stair, keeping a close watch on your feet so you don't step on anything.
When you reach the peak of the stairs you turn left, away from the bookshelf with young children's books, into a room with the same blue carpeting as the stairs. You immediately notice two things as you enter the room.
The first thing you notice is a bed to the left. Its sheep sheets are littered with a variety of stuffed animals. Beanie baby eyes stare at you with their blank stares from their laying position, watching your every move. The bed too matches the rest of the house, it's unmade and in a relative state of disarray.
The second thing you notice is the piles of books in the center of the room. They jut up like skyscrapers from the floor. Some of them tilt like the Leaning Tower of Pisa but all of them still stand in balance. You walk the thin path through the clutter on the floor to get a better look at these skyscrapers. A straight pile of Japanese cartoons, what were they called again? Mango?, brushes against the top of your thigh as you pass it. As you get a closer look at the books they appear to be mostly in the fantasy genre. Stoker, Weis, Hickman, MacAfferey, all the big names seemed to be here along with some lesser known writers. You almost feel pity for the girl who owns these books; it seems a shame to kill such a well read child.
Looking up from the books you see a wooden dresser. Leaning over the books so as not to disturb any with your feet and make the towers fall down like dominoes, you observe the top and contents of the dresser. From the size of the clothes in these dressers, your target was a small teenager. Why did your master want you to kill a teenager? The top of the dresser was littered with many objects. An African snake box sat next to a plastic margarita glass, McDonald’s Furby toys sat next to a Hungarian doll. Well nothing could be learned from the top of the dresser; the child could be any nationality and be like any number of things.
After learning as much as you could from the dresser you carefully ease back on to your feet. A soft thump is heard from down stairs but you ignore it, it's probably just the house creaking. Turning you head towards the window, looking at the colorful, plastic shelves next to the rocking chair. Was this a teenager or a twisted five year old?
You chuckle at this as you walk a few steps before kicking something. Looking down you see that you kicked some clay tiles cemented into a wooden frame. The picture they make is of a dolphin and shark in a yin-yang sign. Some papers shifted as the wooden frame was kicked and you bend down to inspect the writing on the papers. Reading a little you find that this particular page is describing a demon. Red skin that looks like innards on the outside...long fingers that reach to the ground with entirely too many joints...sharp teeth...able to produce magical barriers against bullets. Man, this was creepy, but you still have no clue why your boss wants you to kill the child.
"Who the hell are you?" says a female voice from behind you.
Dropping the paper you stand, startled. Why hadn't you heard her footsteps as she came up the stairs? "I might ask you the very same question." you say, smiling smugly.
The girl isn't much to look at. Short, like you guessed, with long brown hair that hung over her thin, pale frame. She looked fragile rather than menacing. Still you don't underestimate her; after all she did kill your best friend.
"You're in MY house and you want to know my name?!" she seems angry as she swings the door shut. Actually it would've slammed shut had not the Easter basket on the floor stopped it. Many large branches stand behind the door and she grabs one that was sharpened to a point. You don't know how sharp it is, but you don't want to find out.
Pulling out your pistol you aim it at her, but she seems not to notice.
"My ideas, you stepped on my precious ideas!" she shrieks.
Quickly you aim for her head and fire before she can alert the neighbors to your presence. The bullets drop harmlessly to the ground and your eyes widen. You have to get out of here quick; obviously there is more to this girl than meets the eye. Jumping over the clay tile piece you open the lock on the window and pull up the screen. You hear footsteps behind you and feel the point of the spear-like stick in your back before you fall.
You were lucky all the stick did was push you; all that happened was that you broke your ankles. Slowly you begin to crawl away and you hear the girl run down stairs, probably to call the police. To your surprise you hear the front door opening and you see her appear, walking into the unfenced backyard.
"My ideas, how dare you step on my ideas!" she hisses. You hear a growling from behind you and you turn your head, wincing in pain as your broken ankles shift. The pain of your ankles is soon forgotten in fear of what you see. It is the demon, the demon you read about in her papers. From the abnormally large fingers to the color of the skin, it was the demon. The demon roars and flexes his fingers into snail shell-like spirals. The girl nods and the creature straightens his fingers on one hand.
"Surely you wouldn't kill me." you say, but the look on the girl's face tells you otherwise.
"You stepped on my ideas," she says coldly nodding again, with her back against the house. Her eyes closed.
The demon lets out a roar that sends vibrations through your bones and it plunges the straightened fingers into your back, just missing the spine. Then you see the girl move from her leaning position and go towards the demon, but it seems as if it is in a distant world. The demon clings to the girl like a young child clings to their mother, though he was easily a foot taller than her and could've killed her with one swipe. Her eyes are open now as she stares at your bloody body.
"That's why nobody, touches my ideas. Nobody." she says, hugging the demon like it was perfectly normal, ignoring the fact that it was smearing blood on her light blue tank top. Both turn back to the house, ignoring your bleeding body.
Your vision grows black rapidly and you struggle to think. You know now why your friend never returned, you know now why you were supposed to kill her, and you know now that you should've never touched those papers. Of course you know now you're dying. "Master...I've...failed." you choke out before you slip into the abnormally long fingers of death.
