Welcome to my dungeon, my children. Here I shall let you wonder the inner depths of my dreams and dalliances.
I am writing this because I am simply fed up with my own style of writing. Meaning: I care too much. When you care too much, you stop having any fun. So right now I am writing just for the fun of it and I hope you enjoy it as much as I did writing it.
I am not really sure where this will go, but I do know that there will be a next chapter and it will be in Middle-Earth.
The story is mine and the Hobbit is not. End Disclaimer.
It all started with a bang, a loud thunderous boom that shook the house's foundations. The pencils and pens rattled in the handcrafted yellow pot before tipping over and falling in harmony on the floor. Each hit with a distinct clatter and the yellow pot chipping into a certain fine point, but they were masked by the sudden sounding of car alarms. Through the dark blue tied curtains, the world had a bright light gray haze. It could have been a glorious picture of heaven, despite it truly being hell.
In the distance, a thick flurry of smoke encased neighborhoods and was quickly spreading across the one-time suburban city. White house after white house had somehow caught on fire and plumes of smoke drifted up into the sulfuric air. No life could be seen or heard until rough coughing and dragging feet drifted to the house's window. One red pen in particular caught the light on its sharp tip, listening intently on the struggle outside. Heavy labored breathing, broken by more fits of cough crawled ever closer.
A sudden muffled thump told the story of a broken soft body falling to the hard sidewalk. Two long agonizing grunts signaled shifting limbs and the continued trek into the house. The golden polished cheap doorknob quickly turned and the door was pushed open. Soft light descended into the hallway, highlighting not one-but-two bodies. One was hanging off of the other in a limp pose. A few more steps and quick kick to close the door, two bloodied and dirty figures were revealed.
One was a man, hanging like a rag-doll from the other. His face was eerily white, reminiscent of death. The nameless man's hair was once golden brown, but now dusted with ash. The face was charcoaled but still finely chiseled. Youth still betrayed him in his lightly bearded face. Health was however, not his visage as his left leg was mangled, bleeding long pumps of bright red on the green and gray tiled floor. His feet squelched against the now wet floor and the other struggled into the red pen's domain. The legs of the other gave out and they both sprawled onto the vanilla carpeted floor of the red pen's office.
Long panting and choking coughs signaled the decaying position of the beaten man. A woman of darker hair turned to her wounded comrade with fixed eyebrows. The complete stop of the rise and fall of her chest exposed her deepening dread.
"Turn'd out to be some day, eh?" He wheezed and she watched the paths of sweat trickle down his forehead.
"Nah-" she replied and his green eyes fixated on her own. "Same shit- different day is all." His grin light up his face, so alive that it brought a burn to her eyes.
"I think that shotgun got me pretty good," he whispered only as lovers do. Her brown eyes twitched in anger, frustration, and inescapable tragedy.
"If you think for one second that I am going to let you go so easily, then you better be prepared to die twice." His almost laugh rewarded both of them the grueling choking cough of blood. Straining, she lifted herself up and checked his vitals. Despite the tourniquet, the blood was flowing too freely.
"You're going to make me laugh myself to death," he replied in a wry voice. She ignored him and tried to check his leg. His leg jerked away from her dried bloody hands. "Don't bother!" Her eyes found his. The unsteady rise and fall of his breathing made the surge of the inevitable that much more unbearable. "I know you hate to hear this kid, but it looks like you are gonna have to go on without my wily charms." Again, the brown eyes met his own with the same look of defeat.
"I'm not going anywhere, so shove it up your ass," she spit uselessly. He sighed, eyes rolling skyward. His breathing took another turn for the worse as racks of coughs jacked deep out of his chest. Her hand grabbed his own as his face pinched in pain. A light red hue tinged the inside of his lips and the finality of the situation sunk into her, leaving her breathless and empty.
"It's okay," he wheezed at her despair. Their eyes met again and his bloody fingers reached and pinched her chin. "It will be okay," he consoled and she mourned at how he was comforting her. A burn pricked her eyes and a few tears fell away unwanted.
"Please-"
"Don't you dare," he gritted his teeth at her, releasing his fingers with a flop. Her eyes closed to stop the wanton crying that generalized her sex. The world was collapsing as if it was all one big paper-mach house in the wind and he was still scolding her.
"How did this happen?" She whispered. His hand lightly found hers.
"Because… because we dared to dream bigger."
Voices, ugly and cold barked out around the house. The woman's eyes snapped open, pupils dilating in fear and expectation. She glided into the air away from the man and into the darkness of the room. As she disappeared into the shadows, the door was ripped open in a screech, gashing a hole into the wall beside. Men in uniform quickly dispersed into the hallway. One-two-three-four-five- and finally six filled the hall. The uniformed men turned each and every way before setting their eyes onto the body of the prone man.
"Captain, we gotta a body to go with the blood," one chirped into his headset.
"Approach with extreme caution," a voice gritted out. The seven men cautiously walked toward the dying man with nothing but hate on his face. Two of the men circled the man, checking to see if he was armed. The man on the floor spit at the nearest before getting cruelly kicked on his wounded leg.
A guttural scream ripped through the house and the unsettling feeling lingered. "Someone is going to die," thought the red pen still glinting in the haze. That's when the pen noticed, the happy yellow pot was missing.
"Lucas, Mark, Tom, and Harry circle the house." The other men left to their duties while one of the men continued to grin delightfully down.
"So where did I leave off," the uniformed man slipped off his black ski mask revealing a vindictive stare. The injured man's shock sunk in.
"What the fuck-" The injured man's words were cut by the boot stepping carefully and painfully deliberate on his face.
"Ian, we need to be sure the other is not around," the partner warned.
"Who cares? We got the one that matters," the man declared to the disdain of the other. Too busy to notice the shifting shadows behind them, the woman reappeared and struck fast with the sharp end of the happy yellow pot onto the partners exposed head. As the partner toppled with shattered red pieces of yellow, the woman slid the partner's boning knife from his hip holster and aimed for the others back. Sensing danger, the man spun and caught her wrist stopping her momentum. Her dark hair swished into her eyesight and he pushed her backward, causing her to trip and fall.
The jar of landing loosened her grip and the man held the knife to her own neck. Excitement made his nostrils flare and an ugly grin adorn his face. His partner lay dead in a pool of blood was not even a thought.
"So you must be her," he smiled. She pushed experimentally against his limbs, but the knife pressed dangerously on her jugular artery. Pleasantly, he smiled more with his teeth. "I've heard all about you," he let slip. Her eyes met his unpleasant ones. "You're the girl who got away… Ha! What a load," the knife softly twisted to its tip and slid down her neck to her heart.
"Now I got a joke- wait 'til you hear this one- there once was a girl. Now- she wasn't a whore you see, but all the men wanted her." His hand squeezed her left wrist painfully and fear crept through her adrenaline. Even though her right hand was free, there was no weapon to be had. "They- positively- wanted her. So every day and every night they snuck into her house trying to get a peek at her delicious virginal body. And boy- was it delicious," his body wretched on her own, exposing his sadism and the possible horror he could inflict. "Until one day, one fine young boy saw her too and of course- wanted her for himself. So when he snuck into the house and found the others, imagine his surprise that he found her eating their attention up. I mean EATING it up, like the little bitch she was." His smile stretched over his gleaming teeth and the tip of the knife pinched deeper into her skin.
"So the fine young boy had to do the only the respectable thing- put the bitch down," he whispered down and the woman felt a growing stiffness pressed against her thigh. Her right hand clenched down into a fist and felt something light and plastic against her knuckles. In an instant, her hand grasped the delightful red pen and swung it in a perfect arch into the man's neck. A popping like-squishing noise erupted from the man's mouth. Eyes open in surprise as he flung himself backwards, fingers clutching at the now malicious red pen. Blood dribbled down his neck in rivets and the woman knew it was a death blow. His knife lay forgotten to the side as she picked it up.
The woman's eyes traveled to her comrade who now lay still. Green eyes staring into nothing and showing no one inside. The woman took a moment to gaze at her comrade for the last time before silently turning and running out the door of the house. The red pen was still lodged firmly into the struggling bastard's throat.
As she ran out of the house, the light blinded her in the ugliest of ways. The world was shattered and she wobbled as best she could into the bushes. Helicopter propellers cut through the air and the woman felt her escape hanging by a thread. Watching the guards, she crawled through the dry thicket and kept as low as she could. Passing to their right, she bolted across to the neighboring yard and as she reached their patio area, the woman felt herself lift up in the air.
Sound by itself was fried electricity in her ears and a dead and sharp ringing was left in its wake. Heat made its way across her lifted feet and then calves. The strong pulse of wind threw her. The light hurt her eyes too much to have open and she fell into the crystalline waters of a common pool. Bubbles of air flew past her in a physical dance that was too perfectly simple for this complicated world to understand. Behind her in the world above, lights brilliantly flashed a spectacle of colors while the water rippled because of her descent. Her arms were lazy and shock had set in. The last thing she could recall was that shiny red pen.