[Story number one, first little thing you get to see me put here. I don't even know what I was thinking when I wrote it, to be honest, but at least it's something, right? I really want to work on it more, too, so hopefully this'll motivate me. Feel free to leave comments and/or criticism. :) Thanks for reading!]
His fingers curled around the shard of glass as it glinted, reflecting the pale light from the necklace. Its glowing pendulum swang back and forth from her neck, casting a red glow upon her grey face.
The glass pieces, scattered around his knees like glitter and confetti, lay still and silent. He looked up, looking towards her teal eyes. His own, the whiteness blank and malevolent, brightened. He swung the shard towards her hair, ripping a lock of the red and black hair and beads. The pieces fell to the ground, slowly, almost like the ticking of a clock. Each round bead fell and bounced back, reverberating in its own time keeping. The hair floated down beside them, looking pale and lifeless. He went to swing again.
Her own hand, strong and lithe as it was, caught his mid motion. He yelled, an animal cry unlike any known, and crushed the glass in his hand. Bits of blood and sparkling chunks slid down his wrist and arm.
She reached down, crouching, still clutching his arm, and took her own piece. "I always prevail," she whispered, the words rolling off her tongue like silk. "Always." Flashing, the glass went in to his heart, his screams echoing around the dirty labratory, his scarlet lifeline bleeding out around them.
"Always." Her head tilted, as if she were calculating, and then it cocked back. She laughed. "Always!" She stood, leaving the man lying on the floor, screaming and crying and begging. How inhumane he had first seemed. And now, with pain, his humanity returned. He was weak like the rest of them.
Her walk sped up and stiffened as she entered the hallway, leaving behind the morbid sounds, and she stopped abruptly. "Always.." She turned to a wall, opening her hand to its fullest, pressing it to the cool metal surface. She turned to walk away, lifting her palm from the wall, and cast a glance behind.
Red, and glimmers of black, hung in a ghostly marking on the silver wall. A bloodied hand, adorned with ebony, pierced the dull grey.
She flipped her hood over her head, pulling the jacket's edges tighter around her. It didn't matter, nothing did. No one would find it. Her secret would die with him.
But a yearning clawed at her from within, a longing. She wanted to tell someone, wanted to have her secret known and understood.
Or was it, perhaps, that she wanted an excuse to kill? To feel the sanguine pleasures of death?
Whatever her reasoning, whatever the thoughts were that scrambled within her mind, the being didn't much care. Puzzling as it was, it would sort itself out. "In time," she muttered, "In time. In time. In time."
In time.