This is just a little one-shot I found floating in my head the day after The Forgotten Holiday. A.K.A. Thanksgiving.
This story surprised me actually. I was lying in bed listening to Imogen Heaps' album, Speak For Yourself. First of all, that album is so perfectly Cam. [With a few exceptions.]
This story is a little depressing actually, and I honestly have no idea where it came from. ( Besides my head.)
Please, enjoy.
You and your best friend have just come home from a 'girl's day out'.
The sun is just beginning to set and you like the feeling that the end of the day gives you. A warm, solid, safe feeling.
But as soon as you step through the front door you know something's not right. The air is too still, too close.
You hear your friend's breathing, deep and slow, and you know that she feels it too. You stand up straighter and put your arm out to your side, palm back, taking three steps forward.
"Stay here." You tell her, even though you know the last thing she wants is to move.
You walk across the room and then you see him.
The crazy stranger.
He's right in front of you, screaming and spitting. You think his breath smells strange but you can't identify why.
His face is close to yours and you can see his red, splotchy, unlotioned skin, but you can't recognize him.
You see his hair, his eyes, nose, lips but they won't come together, won't make a face. You know that you should find some distinct mark, a scar or mole, for later identification, but you can't.
He takes a step toward you and you find that it wasn't impossible for him to get closer. He's swinging his arms wildly, yelling louder.
His voice is like roaring in your ears. The words are so loud you can't process the meanings behind them.
Water. All you can think of are waterfalls, cascading around you, because that's all his, anyone's, voice is.
"It's always like this." You think. Because when someone is yelling at you, it's just enough to get past the waterfall, let alone figure out what they were trying to tell you.
You are bombarded with a loud, ear-splitting noise, and you think it could possibly be the worst sound you've ever heard, but before you can identify it, there's a white-hot fire blazing through your chest. It's consuming your lungs and suddenly your feet are slipping.
The world tilts sideways and darkness begins to descend, but this isn't like the sunset. This is a cold, dark, hopeless feeling, because your last thought is, "She's alone….with him."
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The first time you open your eyes all you can see are shapes. Indistinct, blobby beings.
You blink and the world remains fuzzy. One of the shapes moves and you realize that you can feel it.
It gets bigger and smaller, bigger and smaller. You have a revelation when the world suddenly clears and you find yourself staring at your hand.
You laugh, feeling silly. You blink, but don't open your eyes, because suddenly you're tired, and sleep is always welcome.
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The second time you open your eyes, the world is clear and you immediately notice a strange stain on the ceiling. You examine it with many different theories.
Food, human waste, playdoh…your mind trails off when it hears shuffling, thudding noises.
You turn your head to the right and find your best friend locked in a duel with the crazy from before. You see your friend landing a solid punch and you can't help but smile.
You're glad she listened to you and took those self-defense lessons. It's apparent to you that she's been practicing because you can see the blood running from the crazy's nose.
She told you not to worry, but you knew there was danger out there, on the streets.
In here, with her.
The world is growing dark again and you wonder who's messing with the light-switch, 'cause you know it's not bedtime yet. You reckon that you've never really had a bedtime, so what does it matter? And with that, you're already gone.
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The third time you open your eyes, you can feel it. That fire from before.
It's still in your chest, but it's traveling. You feel it in your throat and deep in your stomach.
You gasp your breaths because it hurts so bad.
You look down your body and find a little hunk of metal protruding from your chest. You don't have any time to think about it, 'cause you hear a soft cry and a thud.
Your head is automatically turning to check on your friend. She's lying on her back and he's on top of her, punching wildly, caught in a frenzy. You hear the sickening smacks and she's not moving.
She's not moving.
The world is falling into place around you and your head is filled with images and feelings that aren't yours.
You want to know who's messing with your head, 'cause some of this bullshit seems familiar, but your brain is tugging you back to reality.
You know the crazy will kill her. The only one that ever mattered.
And you can't accept that. You won't accept it.
You look back to the pipe sticking inside you. Your hands grab a hold and slowly begin to pull.
You want to scream from the pain, but you can't. He'll kill you if he hears and then no one will save her.
You settle for heavy breathing, quiet whimpers. The pain is sickening and you almost black out.
But there! It's out and you hold on tight because it's like soap, only there's no water.
Only blood.
Your body protests, but you find strength in the legs that failed you earlier, and you manage to get onto your hands and knees. You raise your head to find that he's not hitting her anymore.
He's staring at you. This is a relief, because you'd take staring over hitting any day.
He's so still you think he might be sleeping, but then he blinks and begins to move.
Slowly, slowly and carefully he gets off your friend. She doesn't move and the white-hot flares up inside your chest again.
Only this time it's different. The world is shining with clear, almost sparkling, brilliance.
You understand now how your friend can appreciate the sunrise. For that's what this is. The sun is rising inside you. It's hot and strong and energizing.
The crazy is standing over you now, and you look up into his eyes. You look on his face and wonder how you could have ever mistaken his identity.
"He was supposed to help us." Your mind cries, "Protect us. Laugh with us. Cry with us." There are tears running down your face, dripping onto the floor.
Red turns to pink.
He begins to kneel just as you begin to surge upwards. You marvel at your speed and strength when the pipe plunges into his heart faster than he can stop you.
His breath burbles and he coughs blood onto you, but you don't care, 'cause your shirt is so red already.
He falls into a heap and doesn't move. You make your way over to your friend and kneel down, hoping she's still breathing.
She looks so still and fragile that your tears begin anew. You don't know how long you've been sobbing, but the tears instantly stop when you hear a low moan.
You look to your friend's swollen, bloody face and see the grimace. You watch as she slowly rolls over and attempts to push herself up.
You wipe your eyes and smile, thanking your tech-producer for having such bad hand-eye coordination that he plunged the pipe into the right side of your chest, instead of your heart.
Dark? Horrifying? Like I said, this one surprised me.
The narrator was ambiguous when this story first popped into my head and I just left it that way. Makes it more fun. 'cause honestly, those girls would anything for one another.