This is probably the darkest piece I have ever written.
I'm not entirely sure how this drabble was written. You might blame my recent re-read of the Raven by the master of horror, Poe. Regardless, it is what it is. I had something else in mind entirely when I sat down and decided to write, but this is what came out. Do with it what you will; I have an actual direction it came from, following some speculation/head cannon I have going for Supernatural. But you're welcome to see it however you wish. That's the beauty of writing.
Disclaimer: Even though this story only faintly hovers in the Supernatural area, I still don't own the show or any of its characters. Not even the one depicted here, however hidden his identity is. I also don't own the song I recommend reading with this...
Speaking of, Higurashi No Kaku Koro Ni's main theme goes eerily well with this. I didn't even realize it until the song showed up on a random playlist I was listening to during my final read through. I do recommend listening to it; that song had me looking over my shoulder while rereading this.
watch?v=UuofG8a7EEk -the link to the song on youtube.
SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN
Calloused hands splash lukewarm repulsively scented water over an unshaven face. Scrubbing, wiping, pulling, cleansing, though it's still there. It has leaked into his pores, deepening the hue of otherwise ashen flesh. Saturating. Traces linger beneath cracked fingernails. Soiled, tainted, stained forever. The faucet drip, drip, drips nearby, breaking the otherwise consuming, ravenous silence.
Run.
The mirror is dirty, smudged with thousands of fingerprints and buried beneath their stories. Their boney fingers tap, tap, tapping across glass, tap, tap, tap across the drawn, gaunt features staring back. Beneath their touch, the cuts and lines are softened, broken by smudge and shadow both translucent and grown.
We need to get out of here.
Hands reach, silver gleams. Fine, honed, wretched steel pulls across jawline, severing follicles at root. The dim bulb overhead glows weakly, flickering in and out, casting liquid shadow to spill across stained linoleum. Frustrating how it squirms and writhes. How it just can't stay still so this may be done efficiently, with minimal collateral. Yet the task still gets completed in spite of a sting, cut, slash breaking across taunt cheeks. Instantaneously joining the mottle of scrape, scab, bruise. Indistinguishable.
Quick!
The porcelain of the sink is mildewed and worn, dull, frayed. Wiry hair falls to its basin, bound no longer. A deft flick and the faucet floods. The stream is strong and thick as it pools in the bowl, but the drain is clogged, leaving a fetid puddle with a faintly metallic reek. Head bowed, fingers lace and pull through clumped mats of hair. Teasing at the vile layers of grit. Rinsing but never quite cleansing.
Not much time.
The end result is almost human. Almost, if not for twin shallow black holes haunting a blank expression. A face so worn, stretched gaining years but running from time.
There's no where to go.
Echoes of a phantom drum vibrate through the air. An answering reply resonates beneath pectorals, forming a mismatched harmony. Boom, boom, boom counting seconds that tick, tick, tick. So smooth, so steady it lulls the nerves not.
We're trapped.
Muddied boots squeak and slap then snap across the floor, crunching thin tile underfoot. It snaps in a way that has green flickering and breaks the cadence of the march. The pace of a rhythm long lost beneath the lead of eyes dimming, glassy, staring, hollow, black. Flashes white and dark nearly make knees buckle, give, bend, beg, plead. Every action redolent. Every act recalling so much and so little when all that's needed is blank. To forge a path untrod, the memory of roads once traveled must not interfere.
Stop.
Stillness is all that meets, greets, evaluates and dismisses. Yet bow shoulders stiffen to a harsh angle and refuse to lessen, ready to fire. Listen. The faint clank, groan of pipes and the distant rev of an engine spewing black smoke into the tainted sky. Yet there's something more too. The weight of the air settles heavy as rocks, dense and thick as a tomb. Something is not right. Pop, pop, pop breaks nerves, the light self-destructing. Surrendering its weary battle with life, plunging the room into darkness as fragments of glass scream their final tale. Breaking skin to weep crimson.
Please.
Instinct sends out its ripples as warnings. Settling like fragments of glass across senses. Acute. The familiar pressure builds. Unseen eyes watch, undaunted by the black. Undefined by any but the seething rage. Vapor congeals, puffing plumes of mist from dry lips. Frost crackles, snaking its fingers up and down. Claiming, reaching, grasping for all. It's sensed, though unseen. Muscles tighten as green continues to flicker, scanning, tensing, preparing. In the space of a second, the air flickers, drawn. Instantly thrown, bulls-eying the mark. An angry hiss following the burn of finely ground rock, sputtering vestiges. Howling in anguish. Gone, before the last lamented note breaks over ears. Into the bleak of night and the stability of space. The air shimmers, ripples, tears in its pursuit.
I can't.
It isn't over. It is expected. Here's where innocence warped becomes vengeance. Here's how it twists and contorts into malice; where wide eyes and soft smiles are belied by clenched fists and white hot rage. Here's where bones and bridges burn. Words on the wind, burning, accusing, aching, so, so, cold, so, so freezing. "Traitor."
It's shattered and completely humorless, the expression that cracks lips. The snarl of a creature less than himself, with each gleaming canine visible and bared. Every bit the monster and none of the man. "I know."
SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN
If any of you are possessed by the insane desire to know what the heck was actually going on there, I might be willing to share a little bit, but as I still intend to write the story that spawned this scene, I probably won't go too far in depth with it. But I won't paint any speculation needlessly. I've been toiling over this for so long you'll have to excuse any errors.