So this is my first Sweeney Todd fiction. I watched the movie a few hours ago and a idea popped up in my head. I'm not sure where it's going I just needed to put it online before I changed my mind. Enjoy,
Chapter 1) Dug up the burden
Her dad told her to keep quite, don't touch a thing and stay in place. Therefore she was wondering through the antique store, humming along a song from her Ipod and touched practically every piece of old, ebony wood. The store was smelly, little hints of all the ages.
She wasn't all that interested in the antique. It wasn't her thing, she was to young and to 'shallow' to understand the true meaning of value. At least, that was what her dad told her. He didn't understand she did care, just not on the same level. She blamed it on the generation gap. She had her Ipod, he preferred listening to his dusty record-player. He was the past, she was the future.
Innocently she eyed inside a closet and sneezed when the dust tickled her nose. She huffed and closed the door. 'Why does anyone like to hang around here the entire afternoon?' She rolled her eyes when she heard her dad brag against the salesman. 'Why does it have to be in the me-time?' She staggered further into the store, snooping around. Curiosity lay in her nature. Brought her more then once into trouble. Still, curiosity, wasn't that the way human developed?
She shrugged. 'O well, dad better hurry. I don't think I will be able to deal with this old trash for the next two weeks.'
Hundred curious eyes pierced into hers when she stared into a broken mirror. Her fingertips gently brushed over the gaps, tiny splinters pressing back. She wondered why such a broken piece of rubbish had to stand there. Her fingers run over the smooth sides of the mirror, even the wood seemed torn. Old, broken, unfixable. Rubbish.
She sniffed and rubbed her nose. The store really smelled, badly. The ages of London seemed to relive by air, breathing it in, breathing it out. A quick smell of history.
She moved through a hall filled with old paintings. The frames where dusted, the gold no longer glittered. It lost it's value under layers. A shame really. The people on the paintings where from long, long ago. With wigs, awfully dolled up dresses that cost the women to lock there breath away. The man looked cold, rich but not wise.
She stuck out her tongue and sniggered, continuing her exploration. It ended quickly, a closed door.
But that had never stopped her before. After a quick peek over her shoulder she pulled the handle down and lingered into darkness. The smell hit her in the face and revolted she covered her nose with her sleeve. Her hand run over the wall, in search for a switch. Which she found after a few moment in the awkward darkness.
She switched the lights on, thrilled with wonder whatever might be there.
As the lights brightened her vision her wide smile disappeared. There was nothing more in the room then equipment to fancy up wood and polish it. In racks against the walls where bottles with turpentine, lacquer and all kinds of paint. In the middle of the chaotic work environment stood the shop owners last masterpiece to fix.
A old barbers chair, including a foot frame and the leather elbow rests. Or was it?
Carefully she came closer, giving the chair a better look.
She run over the head of the lion, carved out of both the sides. It felt cold, colder then the air outside.
Another quick peek over her shoulder, worried her dad might caught her doing something stupid as snooping around. Curiosity roared victory again. She touched the seat and the material felt softer then leather. 'Velvet maybe?' She giggled softly, she felt like Sherlock Holmes. Getting further sucked into the role of detective she stepped on the foot frame and gently sat down on the chair. The first few seconds where in discomfort, from the fact of sitting on something with probably high market value.
But the soft material seemed to welcome her, glad someone finally noticed it. She sat back and relaxed, closed her eyes for a spare moment.
Her hands where curled around the lion head's seemed to get numb, as from touching something frozen. As her neck did too, feeling the soft material lingered for her warmth. This strange feeling drained back some worry.
She sat up and rubbed the back of her neck, trying to stop the shivers from running down her back.
Drip, drip. Her lips parted slightly. Was something leaking? Focusing where the tiny sound came from she looked around.
Then tiny needles seemed to pierced into her skin. Quickly she withdraw her hand from her neck and her eyes grew huge.
From her fingertips, down her elbow leaked blood. Thick, crimson blood run down her wrist as she been cut by a butchers knife. Unable to make a sound she held both her arms out. Both her left as her right seemed to been cut open in matter of seconds. Bleeding, red, blood, dripping, seeping, running. But no matter how good she looked she couldn't find the cuts. No cuts, just blood. So much blood.
The cold took her breath away, piercing through he neck as a knife. Panicked she grabbed her throat, coughing and gagging. Her blood run cold, while thick drips rained down on the affected velvet. Even when she fought to breath she noticed how tiny bits covert the velvet and turned it crimson. It seemed to be everywhere, pouring down, slowly dripping on the floor, creating a pool.
The smell was overwhelming, strong and everywhere. And it was everywhere, in the few moments that had passed since she sat down the red liquid seemed to be everywhere. She saw, breathed and tasted it.
Hurling she coughed, hunched forward but wasn't able to get up. She squeezed her eyes very tight, hoping everything would be back to normal when she opened them again.
Tears run down her cheeks. Or where they? She slid jaw over her shoulder, a red line leaving behind.
'I cry blood?!' With that finally thought she opened her mouth and started let out a hysterical scream.
.-.-.
So, uhm.. what do you think? I know I need a beta and that the spelling is bad, but please try to look through that. I would like to get some feedback, thanks.
Nuky