Yo! You ended up with On-a-roll, and at long last here it do be. (: 300 words exactly. Hope it's okay! (And er... sorry for the 18 month delay...)
Practice Makes Perfect
Suzie yanked out the knife, gasping, and looked around again to make sure nobody had chanced upon the two of them. Gingerly, she grabbed the boy’s shoulder and rolled him onto his back, peering at his face. He’d gone pale with shock as soon as she’d stabbed him, and he was only getting paler as the blood pooled underneath him. Hurriedly, she stood up and stepped back, checking that she hadn’t got blood all over the underside of her shoes, or any splatters on her coat. Satisfied she was clean, she dug out a plastic bag from her handbag, and wrapped up the knife before tucking it away. She peeled off her gloves and put them in another plastic bag, then walked quickly away from the alley.
It started to rain.
It was still raining over half an hour later, when she knelt down behind the boy’s head and slid her hand into the cool, welcoming metal of the glove. She was too eager for the kick of the connection to really notice, and then the rain stopped and John Tucker gasped and jerked back to life in front of her, and she was distracted by the tug of her own life flowing through her palm. This, she decided distantly, must be what victims of vampirism felt. She could feel her life being drawn from her, but it didn’t hurt. In fact it verged on being pleasurable. Euphoric, even.
Just not quite enough for her to let go completely.
Her two minutes came to an end and she laid the dead boy’s head back down, the rain tumbling in a sudden deluge. She was already half planning her next resurrection. This felt far too good to give up. The killing was unfortunate, but necessary.
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Date: 2009-02-01 11:49 pm (UTC)Practice Makes Perfect
Suzie yanked out the knife, gasping, and looked around again to make sure nobody had chanced upon the two of them. Gingerly, she grabbed the boy’s shoulder and rolled him onto his back, peering at his face. He’d gone pale with shock as soon as she’d stabbed him, and he was only getting paler as the blood pooled underneath him. Hurriedly, she stood up and stepped back, checking that she hadn’t got blood all over the underside of her shoes, or any splatters on her coat. Satisfied she was clean, she dug out a plastic bag from her handbag, and wrapped up the knife before tucking it away. She peeled off her gloves and put them in another plastic bag, then walked quickly away from the alley.
It started to rain.
It was still raining over half an hour later, when she knelt down behind the boy’s head and slid her hand into the cool, welcoming metal of the glove. She was too eager for the kick of the connection to really notice, and then the rain stopped and John Tucker gasped and jerked back to life in front of her, and she was distracted by the tug of her own life flowing through her palm. This, she decided distantly, must be what victims of vampirism felt. She could feel her life being drawn from her, but it didn’t hurt. In fact it verged on being pleasurable. Euphoric, even.
Just not quite enough for her to let go completely.
Her two minutes came to an end and she laid the dead boy’s head back down, the rain tumbling in a sudden deluge. She was already half planning her next resurrection. This felt far too good to give up. The killing was unfortunate, but necessary.
And it got easier every time.