More Insane Writings

[palla]

Stolen

He’d offered her the Kiss once before and always she’d refused. He’d told her of all the wonders he would have to offer if only she would let him do this one thing. He spoke of worlds laden with treasures, everything sparkling with gems and gold, costing a fortune in any monetary sense. There were worlds she could visit, he’d said, places that the others of her town would never see because they were too foolish to know how to get anything. She was different because she knew what she wanted. There were exotic places to visit, tropical islands, and decadent European countries, and warm plains with nothing to see for miles but sand and desert animals. The others…all they wanted was to work, eat, and sleep. There was no culture, no excitement. Quite plainly, there was nothing. He’d reminded her of that over and over, but still she wouldn’t let him. It was unexplainable, the trembling fear that made her body shake when he spoke of the Kiss. He’d never told her the details, but she knew something would change if she let him. While change was what she wanted, it wasn’t the kind he was offering. Her change was of dreams and goals, his of darkness, blood, and death.

She thought his patience would last forever, forever as he proclaimed he would live. She thought he was joking when he talked about immortality, of power through blood, of flying wings and sharp fangs. It was all some story out of a fantasy novel, the sort that she kept in perfect condition, hidden in her bedroom closet, lest one of her parents find them. They disapproved of such things, saying they would fill her mind with trash and other such nonsense. That made her want to read them all the more, to learn of things she could never have.

Perhaps, if she had been more realistic like her parents wanted, none of this would have happened. She would never have snuck out of the house that night in October last year. She never would have made it to the club her friend had told her about and described in perfect dark details. It was a habitation ground for Goths, punks, and any other brand of outcast. It sounded like she would be welcome there, and she was.

He’d immediately removed himself from the shadows in the corner, approached her in his glory, and introduced himself as Alexia, a girl’s name by her standards, but he wore it with a mysterious masculinity that she admired. Truthfully, it excited her. His presence near her sent tremors through her body, the good kind. The evil trembles would not come until eight months later.

The nights had become shorter, the days longer. Alexia supposedly worked all day long, the reason for only being able to see her at night. She believed him, unfortunately. She should have paid more attention to the signs that he was not what he pretended to be. Technically he had never lied to her, for he did “work” during the day, though it was not her real world definition by which he worked. Deep into the night, June 26th, he appeared in her room suddenly, come through the open door. She hadn’t heard even a rustle of clothing. That was something eerily cool about him, that he could wear the bulkiest clothing and not make a peep. That night he’d worn one of his typical silk shirts dyed the richest purple; loose black pants that looked like they belong with a suit, not silk; and soft leather boots that she envied and sometimes coveted.

About three months after they had started seeing each other, he had begun to talk of fantasies, of dreams, and all the things he would have to offer if she would let him do one thing first. She’d asked him what the one thing was, and all he had said was I want to give you the Kiss. He’d said kiss like it was a name rather than an action. This puzzled her and she asked what he meant by the Kiss. It had angered him that she had questioned him on this subject. He’d never before exploded like he did that night, unless she asked too closely about what he did during the day. That was a closed subject, and so became the details of the Kiss. He offered it many more times and she refused always. She wanted the unknown, but the unknown that at least other people had talked about. This kiss, it was completely unknown, even to her, who studied the unknown to escape the boredom of her dreary life.

On the 26th of June, he appeared in his silken glory again and offered her again this Kiss. She became furious, her blood boiling within her veins. He’d become obsessed with this and it angered her. It was all he talked about. He didn’t even care about her dreams anymore, which before he had always listened to with rapt attention. No longer did he show any interest in her unless it was to offer the Kiss. That night she slapped him, hard and with all her strength. For a moment he was stunned, holding a pale hand to his reddened cheek. His face had begun to contort, becoming bestial with an anger of his own which rivaled hers. With movements that were quicker than lightning, he had snatched her and twisted her arms into a painful position.

You want to know what the Kiss is, he snarled. I’ll show you.

With one hand gripping both hers together, he pulled her head painfully to one side, baring the right of her neck. With a low hiss that sounded all together too similar to the sound of a snake before it strikes, he reared his head and struck.

The pain was immediate, intense. Light exploded in front of her eyes, a concussion of the sight. She screamed for all her worth, but somewhere inside she knew it was useless. She could feel the power that emanated from his body and wondered why she had not noticed it before. That power radiated outward, ready to silence the hearing of anyone who came into range. Unfortunately for her, there was no one around in any case. The neighbors and her parents had gathered at the town dance hall for a fundraiser, one she had refused to go with certain vehemence. Now, and for the rest of her life, she would regret not going.

It seemed that the light lasted forever. The pain had long ago made her body go numb and she could no longer feel it growing leaden. The pain itself was fading, now a distance drum pounded against her head.

Alexia, as he was called in this generation, lowered her body to the ground, lying beside and against her. He gently licked the wound he had inflicted upon her neck. Had she not been paralyzed, she would have felt for it, to feel the damage he had done. That would have been pointless, though, because she’d already realized what he’d done. She’d read too much not too. All she could do now was lie there and wait for movement to come back.

Something cold was upon her lips, something that he was spreading over her lips and forcing into her mouth. There wasn’t really anything she could do to stop it, so she succumbed to it. Any pain that might have remained vanished the moment Alexia’s blood entered her system and became changing it. It raced through her, morphing her DNA to become something less than human. Minutes, maybe hours, later she was able to sit up. The first sight she was able to clearly see was Alexia’s face, grinning cruelly.

That, he said, is the Kiss.

[palla]

Noel

She was beautiful, of course. Aren’t all heroines? She certainly didn’t feel beautiful, or heroic for that matter. Her body and her voice were all that mattered, all that anyone ever cared about, and she hated herself for it. Long before now she had convinced herself that her beauty was flawed. The people of the world must be blind, she thought frequently, to want so badly to see and hear me.

The magazines shouted that her voice was clear, a sweet bell amid dull drums and broken symbols. They raged about her concerts, which she went through only to pay the bills. All over the world people begged her to sing for them. They would pay her well, of course, if she would permit them to listen. This power saddened her. She didn’t want to have it, never had wanted it. What she wanted was to be loved for who she was at the core, for what her soul was like. She remembered having been happy once, a soul that was filled with sunlit and smelled of summer flowers. Now everything was cold, a barren wasteland on the inside.

This change had begun to affect her physically as well. The coldness was ever present in her hands, no matter how many layers of gloves and mittens she wore. Her lips slowly dimmed in their color, a pale rose color that, strangely enough, made her all the more desirable to her fans. She could feel, as well as see in the mirror, that her eyes were changing. What had once been sapphire blue had dulled to an icy shade, yet another thing that people thought was wonderful. They thought she actually cared about her appearance and that these changes were all a part of her publicity, to spread her fame.

No, she wanted to scream at them. Can’t you see how miserable I am? Can’t you see what your adoration has done to me!

No one ever guessed. She had no family that would have noticed, only agents who thought the same as her fans. They even complimented her on it, saying she could probably be her own agent if she wanted. She never bothered to correct them, not once. It was too much of a bother and besides, everyone would be crushed. They would wither and die, become icicles like her. As much as she wanted to be free from the prison that her beauty and her voice had created, she couldn’t do it. She didn’t want to hurt anyone; she just wanted to be free.

There was a concert scheduled for Christmas Eve, something she had promised to do long ago as a benefit for one charity or another. She couldn’t remember. Lately she had been unable to think at all. She couldn’t remember things that had happened five minutes ago, let alone concerts that had been scheduled for five months. This frightened her, but not completely. She knew something bad was happening, but at the same time, it was something wonderful. For whom she could not say, but she knew inside herself, in a place that was not yet frozen, that it would make things better.

She arrived at the hall early, but she didn’t know how early. The dress she had made herself for the evening wouldn’t have kept anyone else warm, but the rest of her skin had become as cold as her hands, as if she had finally become a living icicle. The dress was a magnificent creation of silver and lace. It was a finely woven net, almost, so delicate that a butterfly might have broken it with its landing. It fell in shimmering waves to the floor and was held up by thin straps about the shoulders. It glistened in the strong lights. Everything was ready, as she suspected it would be. No one else had yet arrived, but she went onto the stage anyway. The wood was hard beneath her feet. She could feel the coarseness of it through her thin slippers.

Walking to the center of the stage, she looked out into the hall, blinded by the lights. Her eyes knew they were in pain, but that sense just wasn’t connecting to her brain. Suddenly, she wanted to sing. A song had forced its way into her mind and she just had to sing it. For the first time in her career, her life, she wanted to sing.

The cold no longer reaches me,
I’ve let it go.
Once it might have hurt,
But now I welcome its embrace.

A cage of ice and light
Imprisoning me from the start
Hardened now forever
Keeping me inside.

I’ve been here before, but now it ends.
So long trapped in this winter land
I won’t bear it anymore.

Silver bells from my voice,
Beauty from my face.
Going home now,
No longer to be cold.

Farewell, my darling girls and boys,
I’ve loved you too long, never at all.
Hear my words and cry goodbye,
Noel’s forever sleeping.

The cold no longer reaches me,
I’m released.
Once I might have hurt, but all is well.
I welcome its embrace.

The cold had spread everywhere, too rapidly for anyone to have stopped at this stage. As it raced up and encompassed her brain, she heard furious clapping and realized that people had heard. They didn’t quite know yet what was happening, but they would. For the first time in a long while, Noel smiled sweetly as the darkness came and the cold vanished.

[palla]

I'm sorry for the triple post, but the stories wouldn't have fit in one post and I wanted to explain them in a third.

The first is slightly vampiric, though the word is never outright mentioned.

The second is normal ().

Neither have been edited yet, so any comments or technical advice would be much welcome.

[Tassatul]

Pretty cool. No spelling or grammer errors, youre all set there. As for meaning and metaphorical stuff. . . whoa. Its a bit deep for me, especially the second one. And this is just a personal preference, but ive never like short stories, because i always wonder, 'what happens next?' , and 'what will they do now?'

[BugHunter]

I'll be regretably editing these pieces, hehe. You know, I really should be charging you for putting my well needed time into this. Especially if these stories are just for your personal enjoyment and not going into anything like the Lit Magazine or for a grade. But I'll be nice. And this'll be your last freebie from me.

[palla]

I have no problem with paying a fee. And, of course, you have my gratitude. ;D

Thank you for the comments, Tassatul, and the time you took to read them.

[BugHunter]

ok, I've edited Stolen last night and quite frankly, I dont really like it. Its also pumped full of grammar errors and some even i dont know how to fix. But You'll see my red marks on Monday. I'll try to do Noel soon. Lets hope this one is better. Sorry to say.

[Tassatul]

So mean. Pumped full of grammer errors, really? I didn't notice anything that obvious.

[BugHunter]

Hey, I was sayin sorry if it sounded mean, but thats what i thought about it.

So anyway... ;D I just reviewed Noel and I like it. Good job, Heather! There were only a few mistakes but nothing serious. You'll see my comments on the paper on Monday.

[Dr. Dan]

I hope you get paid francis...lol

[palla]

BugHunter said:

Hey, I was sayin sorry if it sounded mean, but thats what i thought about it.

So anyway... ;D I just reviewed Noel and I like it. Good job, Heather! There were only a few mistakes but nothing serious. You'll see my comments on the paper on Monday.

How much do you want to be paid? I don't have much anymore, but I'll give what I can.

[Dr. Dan]

I'd charge like 28 dollars an hour...but thats just me. lol

[palla]

No! Too much...$5-10 per story, which is a gift considering how short those stories were.

[Cobra5]

I woudn't pay anything for editing, personally... unless it was like, a novel.

[palla]

I can see your point, but who else am I going to get to edit who edits as well as Francis? He's the harshest (thus the best) critic yet. Will, you can't read everything I write because some of them (all of them really) are on subjects you don't like (which I don't hold against you, so don't worry).