Chapter 9: Equestrian Abdication
AN: This is based loose upon a real experience of my friend Kendall. Her story is a sad one, but true without regard, though secondly the half is not quite true. We must respect such sadness. I pay respects thus, as she has indeed helped with editations. Love you girl!
Bella Black turned the bacon over onto its backside. Its loose fat lay splayed smoothly upon the face of the plate. Said alabaster disk sat upon the table in the dark room. A mirror stood upon the wall ominously, and very many dark corners were held within the confines of the room.
A single light floated in the middle of the room, shining down its revealing light upon the table. The tables legs stood on the floor. The surface of the table and the ground paralleled. Bella poked the bacon.
The man's detached face of James K. Vogt refrained that "I am the good cop, though you had best keep on your toes, Bella Black."
"You can't scare me," Bella Black elucidated. "I have an ever-burning fire. I'm not extinguishing it for your likes."
"Do not make this much difficult than it could have been. We can help each other, you and I, together." James K. Vogt's mouth flapped loosely. His voice echoed about the chamber. The window refracted its contents unabashedly.
"Your face cannot frighten me," her eyes scanned over him. The lights reflected within his eyes which shined ambiguously. His lips separated and slowly pulled apart, and within them his teeth surfaced. He contained cheekbones within his skin and an unbelievable chin hung on the bottom of his head.
"Fine," quote he, "that you say that. I guess we'll just have to let you go. I will be back soon with many empty signature spaces."
His rumpus was the last portion of James K. Vogt who left the pool of light. All else was lost to thought. Bella sat quietly, her delicate, sensitive hands folded upon the table in her forefront. The fingers were placed together, one after the other. The first finger going from outside to inside was the left pinky, followed by the right pinky. Bella Black's eyes perambulated across the surface of her hands and the gaze was withering. Her knowledge knew which was coming.
It was a round face which slinked out from the gloom, following a nose, then thin pencil-drawn eyebrows. Huge asian eyes glared statically out from the gloom. The face was disembodied from the dark. Giant hair flowed in rivulets from her hair pores. The hair remained black, and blended thus with its darkness surrounding. The skin was pasted white upon the features. It was just like that one scene in The Grudge where the grudge face came flying out of a closet when Karen opened the door in order to escape from the grudge who spazzed down the stairs.
The gaping face hole that was her mouth opened, and words came out. They said raspishly, "Where is your beau?"
"I'll never tell," and Bella spilled back from the table to escape the facial influence.
The face bobbed like a lantern around the corner of the lamplight. It consternated as it struggled to approximate Bella's position without jeopardizing its mystery. Bella stumbled in the dark screaming.
"Who the hell are you?" Bella exclaimed.
"My name is Sophia Loren. Many years ago, I was internationally sex-symbolic," the face claimed, its nose wavering in the lamplight. "Plastic surgery deconstructed my structure and now I have the inability to inspire lust. I had to take this day job to connect my ends."
"Leave me alone!" Bella expelled, her face aghast. "This tragedy of your features is too much for me to bear out!"
"I will stare you down to the gates of hell, and when you are driven to madness and only able to gibber, I will get the information. Where is your boyfriend?" the face hovered inconsistently.
"I do not know! Cease this! I cannot stomach your face!" Bella insisted.
"Did you not summon the demon whose talons bore off the the stud's limp frame?"
"No! Never!"
"Perhaps I can assist in your escape." The voice still held the allure of sexuality, and its contrast with the face was tragic. Lost, thought Bella Black, forever. Youth dies young; perhaps I made the wrong choice. Is it better to spark and fade with Jacob, whose flesh holds such heat and passion? Or to live forever with Edward, like a Grecian urn to which an ode be sung, never to change or fade, but never to live?
While lost in reverie, Sophia Loren's mug had left the scene. A few minutes faded past. Suddenly light flooded the room as the window exploded outward. A horse flew in to the room, Sophia's loose skin hanging over its sides. "Approach my horse," said Sophia Loren, "and we shall leave with haste! I cannot bear to hold you here longer, knowing what I now know. We leave, and if I shall die in the struggle it will be a heroic death whose song shall be sung in legend!"
To be continued...
