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DISCLAIMERS
"Sweet dreams are made of this" by the Eurythmics
Based on the movie 'Sucker Punch'
X-men belong to Marvel Inc.
No money will be made off of the following story
Please see author page for the cool graphic I made
for this but can't load on here...
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- SUCKERPUNCH -
Sweet dreams are made of this...who am I to disagree
KRAAAA-KOOOOOM!
The girl on the bed is hiding her face in her knees, her shoulders hunched protectively around herself as she rocks back and forth. Her hair is darker than the other shadows that fill the room; it alone stays black during the frequent intervals when her room is illuminated by the play of lightning outside her window.
CHOOOM!
She is listening to the peels of thunder, to the rain beating on the roof, and to the voices raised in argument outside her door. A woman's voice, and a man's. She covers her ears with her hands, tears streaming down her cheeks; one of which bears the slightly reddened imprint of a hand.
The argument breaks into soft murmurs, and there are a few gentle laughs. The girl on the bed tightens her grip around her knees and shudders.
I travel the world and the seven seas...everybody's looking for something
The doctor is murmuring, his expression grim as he straightens. Beneath him is—is—
The girls at the end of bed hold each other, their porcelain-fair skin devoid of color. They are almost identical in appearance, with inky black hair and startling green eyes, held wide beneath thick fringes of eyelashes as they survey the prone form on the mattress.
A form that looks much like them.
The man standing behind them speaks. He is a large person, almost two feet taller than the girls, and about twice their breadth; his head gleams bald above his heavy eyebrows. His face is hard and unyielding, especially around his mouth; he has no laugh lines…only wrinkles gained by frowning.
His strong, weathered hands descend; wump, wump, each landing on the shoulder of one of the girls.
They tremble.
Some of them want to use you
KRAAA-KOOOM!
The thunder rumbles on outside the window. The two girls now sit Indian-style on the bed, clutching each other's arms and shaking slightly.
One of the girls is whispering in her sister's ear, her expression filled with urgency.
The other nods slowly.
Both faces contort with fear, and they look toward the door, then back at each other.
RRRRUMMBBBLLEEEE, the thunder outside.
The first girl looks down. Her sister pats her shoulder, then asks her something, her face filled with care. Both nodding, the pair stretch out on the bed, whispering into the night.
Some of them want to get used by you
The dirt beneath the two pairs of gleaming black penny loafers is muddy, and welts appear in it often from the falling rain. The girls in the shoes stand under a shared umbrella, also sharing an expression of hollow loss as they watch a long, polished coffin descend into the earth.
"Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust…" murmurs the vicar solemnly, his eyes trained on the small book in his hand. "…in sure and certain hope of the resurrection unto eternal life, through our Lord Jesus Christ; at whose coming in glorious majesty to judge the world, the earth and the sea shall give up their dead; and the corruptible bodies of those who sleep in him shall be changed, and made like unto his own glorious body; according to the mighty working whereby he is able to subdue all things unto himself."
Behind the girls, the eyes of the man linger on the coffin, but do not reflect loss; rather, they are filled with a kind of greed. A vast hunger.
His hands again find the girl's shoulders, and they stiffen, and reach for each other's hands. Their fear-filled eyes tell a story.
"I heard a voice from heaven, saying unto me, write, from henceforth blessed are the dead who die in the Lord: even so saith the Spirit; for they rest from their labors." The Vicar looks up, at the solemn crowd.
"The Lord be with you." He says.
"And with thy spirit," the attendants murmur back. The girls do not seem to possess a voice; only their lips move in the briefest of whispers.
Some of them want to abuse you
"The Last Will and Testament of Sarah Grace Kinney," the lawyer reads, in a voice as greasy as his hair. He thinks about how odd it is that the lady had kept her maiden name, instead of taking her husband's.
The two girls sit on either side of the man, their eyes still wide and uncanny as they stare into space, their eyebrows drawn together in an expression of extreme distress. In the lawyer's opinion, they rather resemble the rabbits he hunts on weekends.
The four people are seated on green, velour furniture in the glamorous parlor of the mansion that Sarah Kinney has left behind, to her only living relatives; these girls, and her husband, the man sitting between them.
Hesitating, the lawyer glances up and meets the man's eyes. How curious…they had been married for only four months at the time of the lady's death. He decides it is none of his business, and continues to read the document aloud.
"Beneficiaries: I give my property to the following persons: One-fourth of my liquid assets to my spouse, and the balance, as well as the estate and my belongings, to my children, equally and their issue, per stirpes. These funds are to be released to my children as a monthly allowance of ten dollars; the balance is to be released in full when my daughters reach the age of majority." The lawyer looks up and sees that the man's knuckles have gone white on the girl's shoulders.
After a moment the attorney speaks on, but the girls can no longer hear him.
Some of them want to be abused
RRRRRRUUMBBBLEEE!
The sisters are lying on the bed again, bundled under the quilts as they whisper to each other. Lightning is streaking across the window pane, in large, brilliant forks.
One of the sisters asks a terse question, her lips and teeth pronouncing the world kill.
Her twin nods slightly, then replies, her teeth gritted in an expression of ferocity, her eyes flashing in the semi-darkness.
Smiling slowly, her sister reaches out and pats the other girl's hand.
Sweet dreams are made of this...who am I to disagree
One of the girls is screaming, flailing her arms at the larger figure seeking to engulf her in thick, strong arms. Her nails scratch the man's cheek; he roars and with a rippp! tears off a large portion of her sleeve and upper collar.
He leans down and hisses something in her ear, through gritted teeth. Reaching out, he shoves the girl against the wall and with his other hand begins to undo the front of her frilly dress.
"NO! NO!" The girl's mouth moves clearly in protest, her eyes rolling around the corridor desperately. Her sister's door remains inert; she is alone. With a grunt of effort she brings her knee up into the man's crotch and meets the mass there; he lets out a yell and automatically curls away from her. She slips out and runs down the hall, her bare feet slipping on the shiny wood surface.
The other girl meets her at the end of the hall, and sees her sister's frantic eyes. Her lips move, and her gaze slips past to the man coming toward them.
His arm reaches the distressed girl first, and shoves her aside. She hits the wall and stumbles, while he grabs the newcomer's arm and drags her towards one of the rooms.
Her face speaks of fear.
The door is torn open, then slammed shut. Scrambling to her feet, the girl still in the corridor wipes the blood from her nose with a shaking hand. She hears something, and her lips part and silently mouth the word: No.
Acting on instinct, she runs down the hallway, not even thinking that she has nothing to defend herself with. Her hand grasps the knob and twists it violently until the door opens; she sees her sister writhing like mad against the man, who is backing her toward the bed.
The girl at the door shouts, her face contorted, the cords of her neck standing out.
Ignoring her, the man pushes her sister closer to the bed. Leaping forward, she grabs at his arms; he flings her across the room again and she hits the windowsill, her head bouncing with a snap!
Time seems to slow down.
On her feet again, the girl pounces at the man with hands outstretched. He whirls around; there is a soft shlunk sound, and then he steps back, leaving the two sisters facing each other.
There is confusion. The attacking girl sees red bubbles at her twin's lips; hears a strange gurgle in her breath. Her hands feel wet. She looks down, and her veins feel icy as she sees her fists pressed against her sister's torso, surrounded by dark, blossoming stains.
Blood stains.
She stiffens and mouths a question.
The injured sister then looks down at the stains. She meets her sister's eyes as they both look up; then one set of the beautiful green orbs close forever as their owner falls backward, onto the floor.
No, the still-standing sister whispers, holding her hands in front of her in shock. There are strange things projecting from between her knuckles; bones, covered in fresh blood, and slime. And pieces of her twin.
No,she repeats, in shock.
The man beside her starts to shout, his face twisted in disgust; but the girl doesn't seem to notice his presence. She continues to stare at her hands, and the girl beyond them, who is lying propped against the bed.
He reaches into his coat and pulls out a revolver; now the girl jerks her head toward him, and his hands tremble. The gun drops to the floor and skitters away.
She takes a step in his direction, the intent in her eyes clear. The man opens his mouth; he is the one that is terrified now.
Then the girl suddenly turns away, and begins to run, her breath coming in choked sobs.
Sweet dreams are made of this...who am I to disagree