Been really diving back into my twilight obsession. Trying different perspectives to practice. Got any prompts or predictions? Which of the wolves do you hope it'll be?
The rain beat it's violent rhythm onto the roof of the little red truck, speeding towards the nearby reservation. It drummed over the windows and dripped down the hood, leaving thick trails of mist spraying behind the tires. The girl boxed within the old metal walls fumed at the wheel. She was out for vengeance, and answers, and.. Jacob. Bella was hunting for the second boy who'd vanished unceremoniously from her life, this time without so much as a warning.
'Man,' she thought through her fury. 'It's really coming down.'
And it was the last thing in her mind before the pavement below gave way to an impossibly shallow pool of water. She'd been on the recieving end of many a lecture from Charlie on the dangers of hydroplaning. So she knew, reasonably, what to do, and went over the short checklist that had been drilled into her.
Don't brake; just coast through it and slowly let off the gas. But her foot collided punishingly with the pedal, begging it to slow down.
Don't swerve; lightly steer the direction you want the car to go. So why was she rolling the wheel?
Because the third step was don't panic, and well.. you get the idea.
Like magic, the heavy tin can drifted and bounced over the slickness, swerving of its own accord in a cruel dance. Isabella screamed out a wordless shriek, unfamiliar even to her own ears. Flesh and bones and blood were joggled mercilessly about the cab, and the truck didn't stop rolling until its metal was met with the firm fist if the pine.
...
BELLA SWAN
It's safe to say that by now I'm familiar enough with Death that I can speak about it fairly. It's funny how the mind works in the final moments; how confused it is about the immediate, yet everything else suddenly seems so clear. Firstly, I was sure that I still loved.. Edward. But he didn't love me, so he and his family were gone. I knew I also loved Jacob, but it would never be enough. Finally, I was absolutely certain that to die by the hands of fate was infinitely better than suffering a life without either of them.
I was much less sure of the sound of a half dozen sniffing puppy snouts reverberating through my eardrums. It was almost comical, given that I'd never thought much about dogs in the same way I never thought much about Mike Newton. Instead, I drew focus to the familiar script that sung through whatever was left of my consciousness:
"Why should I play the Roman fool, and die on mine own sword? Whiles I see lives, the gashes do better upon them."
"Turn, hell-hound, turn!"
But they did not turn. No, the hellhounds of Macbeth came close enough to reach out and touch. I could run my fingers through the russet locks, if only my limbs would heed direction. Maybe they were gone, my hands. Something wasn't quite right, the whole angle of the world had been shifted drastically. What once stood upright was now sideways, everything was amiss. And fire. Somewhere, something was on fire. Maybe these hellhounds were all running from the fire, though one seemed to be taking shelter. Smaller than the others, it was able to crawl through the long crushed space that was once a window. His pack errupted into a fury behind him, snarling fiercely with their pearly canines on full display. All but one, who whimpered and cried while it paced back and forth frantically. I lay awestruck under his wise gaze, far to human beads of warm brown reassuring me. How odd. Monstrous teeth sunk into the tattered brown cloth of jacket, one that Charlie had picked out to surprise me with when I'd first moved to rainy Forks. The wolf gave a cautious tug, fire singeing the tips of its fur. And then there was pain, seemingly from everywhere all at once. It overwhelmed my entire being, radiating out from each vein and up through my throat. The pacing brown hound suddenly joined in the vicous symphony, causing the others to flinch. Still, the large grey wolf continued to drag his screaming catch from the wreckage.
I wouldn't see how he carried me to safety not a minute too soon, or hear the explosion of metal and oil. I'd remember the sirens, vaguely, and deep worried creases on honey-skinned faces. Faces that rested on thick muscles and shirtless chests. The heat, the heartbeats, the familiar feel of drifting through the air in someone else's arms. I'd forget most of the pain, how it became too much, and how my eyes drifted shut.
Dying was peaceful when you could forget, and I was finally falling into peace.