Hey, guys. Man, I'm bad at updating. How long's it been, two months? Cheers, you guys, for continuing to read despite my terrible tendency to not update.
I enjoyed writing these, and you'll probably understand why as you keep reading.
Oh, crud, Guest reviewer replies. I knew I was forgetting something:
Guest (Sep 5): I had to resist the very strong urge of just getting one of them involved in a car crash suddenly. But the theme was 'All light/casual', so I couldn't kill them. Funny you should mention that though.
Titanic
She thinks she might be crying (her face certainly seems wet) but she's not sure because right now she can't feel much of anything except for a small hand clenched into hers. It's her sister's, and it's ice-cold.
Oh, God.
She can't breathe.
She can't think.
She's stuck in this hell, and all she can do is heave for breath, as saltwater bleeds from her eyes, and blood drips from the titanic hole in her heart.
Earplugs
She remembers these things. He had used them, a couple months ago, when he had made a snowman out of mud and put these damn little pink things in as eyes.
She had, of course, never used them again after.
Well, even if they weren't crusted with mud, she'll never use them again, 'cause she doesn't need to. He's bloody dead, and she collapses into the bed that was once so warm and is now cold like ice, too big, and listens... to the intense silence of her two-people apartment.
Legend
She may not have been a proper fairytale character, heck she still aged, but to him she was nothing short of a legend. She may not have had a king to serve under, or a magic wand she found in a lake, but when Puck looks at the polished casket and fights back tears, he realises that she was his fairytale.
She was the one who took him in, and gave him food, and gave him love, and taught him that mothers didn't have to be the women who conceived you.
I love you, he whispers.
He lets himself cry.
Fiery colours
Her eyes burn at him, like smouldering coals, and under the haze of red that clouds his vision he can see hate boiling within her.
Dotted on her arms are the sooty-black-burns of bruises, and beading on her snarling lips is a bright splash of blood.
He knows he doesn't look much better. His breath is ragged in his lungs. His chest throbs with pain.
"I hate you," she hisses at him.
Even to him, his laugh is condescending. It's his kingly laugh, the laugh he once used to humiliate peasants. "And I you."
Sabrina roars, and they're fighting again.
Beauty
"And how would you describe her?"
The man smiles. "She... She was beautiful."
"Continue."
"That's it."
An eyebrow raises. "That's it? Nothing more?"
"That's it. She was... beautiful, so beautiful... You have no idea." He looks out the window, towards the river which he had thrown his ring in. "In every sense of the word, in every aspect, she was beautiful." He pulls out a hip flask and swigs deeply from it.
"I'm sorry, sir, we don't allow alcohol in here."
"Huh? Oh, this isn't alcohol."
"What is it?"
The man's smile flickers. "It's coffee."
Do you guys get the last one? I was a bit sketchy over it, like whether you guys would get it or not, but I figured 'What the heck I can just explain it if no one does.' Just leave a review if you don't get it, and I'll PM you.