This is a pet project iI've been woking on for a day or so because I recently discovered just how amazing DRRR is! I hope you enjoy reading it. Leave a review if you want more!
Her feet pounded down the checkered, lacquer hallways, slick with sweat and gnarled with thick calluses. Lengthy hair of sable onyx cascaded from her scalp in wispy helixes as she sprinted towards the French-style double doors. Just beyond that was safety. Just beyond the threshold was help. But her feet could not thunder away fast enough to escape the twisted hand that reached towards her. Clad in black, a young man twined his lanky fingers about the massive clump of tangles sharply. The young woman was yanked backwards and heaved to the floor viciously. Her attacker drew something of shimmering silver from his pocket. It was the blade of a razor, somber and solemn in the man's gloved hands. He took the edge, balanced between two fingers, and slid it down the flesh of her wrists vertically before stalking out the door.
Scarlet flowed from her veins like water through a stream. It pooled about her knees and legs, enveloping her huddled body. She reached forward with five trembling fingers. Nails dug into white tile, turning it vibrant maroon. She clawed towards the small cherry wood coffee table, vision blurred from blood loss. The cherry colored life-force that dribbled from her forearms left big streaks on the floor as she struggled to reach her cellular phone. She gripped the thin black square with all her strength, which wasn't much anymore. Her gangly fingers dialed the three numbers necessary to survival just before all traces of light fled from the room.
XxXxXxX
Eyes of gold fluttered open as the rest of her frail body shot upward. The young woman rocketed across cold, unforgiving, stone floor. Her body was wrecked with violent shivers, rippling up and down her spine like waves of illness. She stationed herself above a cracked, porcelain sink as her face greened. With a sickly heave, the terrible nightmare was flushed from her body. Her breath began to slow, loosing its shortness and returning to normal. She wiped her thin lipped mouth on a stained blue towel. It was rough against her cheeks and smelt of soured milk. She turned to the glittering mirror behind her and frowned at the reflection.
Her face was hardly attractive, plain and boring. A pale body, thin to the point of wayward bones jutting from beneath her fair skin, grimaced back at her. Her skinny appearance had come from a short, but extreme, bout of bulimia. The same jet hued hair dripped from her skull, though it had been chopped boyishly short. It curled lightly and stuck out every which way, adding a dash of sweetness. She had draped a loose ashen tank top over her jagged shoulders that cut off at the knee and ace bandage was twined around each of her wrists. There were scars of various shapes and sizes traveling up and down her torso, arms, and legs in blotchy patches of darkened flesh.
Byoki was the name witness protection had given to her. That was the name she was stuck with for the rest of her life. In itself, the name meant disease and ailment. But she wasn't complaining, she was simply happy to be alive.
Doctors dubbed it a miracle that Byoki had lost most of the blood in her body but still survived. Not to mention, the other attempts to slaughter herself while she was in a mental hospital. The murder of her family had occurred at sixteen, two years of witness protection and grueling therapy later, she arrived in Ikebukuro under the name Kokkaku Byoki. She missed her mother and father a loathsome amount, but no one was yearned for more than her baby sister. Byoki loved the six year old child more than anything. Every night she relived that initial terror, and nervous breakdowns were a daily event. But that would not stop her from living.
Byoki gripped the rust coated shower knob and turned it down. Stepping out, she realized just how deceitful the living space was. Her apartment was far less than lovely. The walls were chipped, revealing huge tears of chilling, red brick. Byoki walked in big strides across the simple, cement floor. She lived on the first story in a notorious area, populated by a group known as the Yellow Scarves. It surprised her how exciting Ikebukuro was in the few days she'd been there. Byoki had faced being attacked in an alleyway, hit by a car, and recruited by a feminist color gang.
But today, none of that mattered. Nothing would get in the way of her goal for the week. Byoki was Hell-bent on finding a job. If she didn't find some income soon, she wouldn't be able to pay rent. Though she had over three weeks left and was only about fifty dollars short, paranoia heavily affected her money issues. Witness protection suggested she find a job in the new environment that fit her skills. Unfortunately, Byoki had no talents. The only thing she was decent at was cooking, and even then she certainly wasn't a master chef. With any luck, she'd be able to find a decent job in the food industry.
Byoki finished toweling off her silky hair and tugged a thin, purple, dress shirt over her torso. She spat out a glittery, red retainer before smiling out her boarded window. Rays of golden sunlight drifted through the hunks of maple wood keeping her apartment in a manner that screamed 'Abandoned'. Byoki pulled a pair of heavy black pants over plaid boxer shorts lazily. The young woman packed her pockets with a wallet, keys, and, most importantly, an impressively barbed pocketknife before heading out the door with a determined look plastered upon her lanky face.