::mercuryblue_22@hotmail.com::
-------------
It seems that you're not satisfied
There's too much on your mind
So you leave and I can't believe
All the bullshit that I find
Life is overwhelming
Heaving is the head that wears the crown.
I'd love to be the one to dissapoint you
When I don't fall down.
You're no good for me.
Thank God it's over.
You make believe
That nothing is wrong until you're crying.
You make believe
That life is so long until you're dying
"Re-arranged"
Limp Bizkit
-------------
The Crow: Sacred Flame
Part Three
By Mercury Blue
-------------
Raye opened the door to her bedroom quietly, trying not to wake the
man who lay sleeping in her grandfather's bed. She expected the room
to be empty, changed, but it wasn't. With a smile she thought to
herself she'd like to thank whoever kept it the way she'd left it.
Walking to her vanity, she sat down and picked up the glass tiger Chad
had given her for their last Christmas together.
::"Raye, I want you to have this. I know it's not much, but it's
from me all the way. I didn't use any of my parents money on this."
Chad offering the gift with trembling fingers, a look of hope in his
green eyes. Raye opening it, smiling at him reassuringly, letting
him know that no matter what it was, she'd still love him. Holding
the small figure in her hand as it shone from the Christmas lights
he'd insisted they hang up. Kissing him in thanks. "I'll keep it
forever, Chad."::
She replaced the figure, a sad smile on her face, and opened one of
the drawers next to her. Pictures. Her and Chad, her and her
grandfather. Serena, Lita, Mina. Amy. Raye missed Amy most of all.
Those sad, doey eyes, that sensitive mien; Raye wondered idly how
she'd taken her demise, and then shook her head, forcing the thought
from her mind. She hadn't come back to rekindle old friendships.
She'd come back for Vengeance.
Placing the pictures back in the drawer, her hand grazed a familiar
object, and she pulled it out.
White make-up. And not regular make-up, either. It was the make-up
she used when she performed traditional ceremonies, the make-up she
saved for special occasions. An idea formed in her mind; a face.
Raye saw in her mind's eye Chad's face as he had died- tears, streaming
over his cheeks. Blood, trailing down the corners of his mouth,
black as oil in the darkness; it was all she could think of when she
thought of her revenge. Reaching back into the drawer, she pulled out
the black make-up and brush she used to outline her eyes. It was all
there, all she'd need.
Glaring at her reflection in the mirror, Raye unscrewed the top from
the white make-up, and reached into the jar, grabbing a handful of
the goo to smear on her face. It went on easily, despite its age, and
soon her face was as white as a ghost's.
~Is that what I am,~ she thought. ~A ghost?~ Well, if she was, she
was a damn real-looking one.
She snatched up the brush, and dipped in the black paint, tracing each
eye. Slowly, deliberately, she drew lines extending vertically over
them, onto her brow and cheekbones. Good, so far. Now her mouth.
Outlining it, filling in her lips. Extending the lines a little
farther out in a grim smile. Oooh. Pretty spooky. Raye almost
laughed. These boys were going to shit their pants.
Clothing. She needed clothing. This white dress of hers wouldn't
work. Stripping her closet, she found only a pair of tight black
pants to wear, and so she headed to Chad's room, equally pleased to
find that untouched as well.
"Perfect," she whispered to herself, pulling out a fitted black nylon
top, and combat boots. His stage clothes. On the back of his door,
a black trenchcoat, reminiscent of his western days. Quietly, she
pulled on the ensemble, surprised to find the shirt and boots fit her
perfectly. The jacket was a little long, but it reminded her of Chad,
so she decided to keep it.
Now, she thought, she was ready.
* * *
Loud rock and roll music shook the walls, and cigar smoke filled the
air as Pockets leaned over the pool table, sinking the eight ball to
claim his win. "That's why they call me 'Pockets'," he said smugly,
collecting the handful of bills his opponent reluctantly handed him.
"Any other takers?" A tall black man with a scar across one eye
stepped forward, a thin sheen of sweat making him glisten in the
fluorescent lighting.
"I'll play you," he said, his voice deep and imposing.
Pockets nodded in the man's direction. "Who's that?" he asked Moose,
who hovered next to him. Moose moved closer to him, reeking of booze
and smoke. "That'd be Digger, best damn pool player this side of
Tokyo." Pockets spat on the floor in disgust.
"Ain't no one better at this game than me," he sneered, his dark eyes
glistening with contempt. Digger, hearing this, chuckled to himself.
"Then I'm sure you won't mind raising the stakes a bit," he muttered,
holding up a thick wad of bills. Pockets couldn't help but notice the
heavy gold rings that adorned the big man's fingers. "Five thousand
dollars," he said. "Take it or leave it."
Pockets counted the money in his pocket casually, trying not to let
on how intimidated he was by the challenge. There was a lot there
from his winnings of that night, but not quite enough. "I've only got
forty-five hundred," he said, placing the cash on the table. Digger
shook his head slowly. "Five thou, or nothing," he insisted. Pockets
glared at him. Finally, he pulled a gorgeous pearl necklace out of
his pocket, and tossed it on the table. "I took this tonight, at our
latest raid. It's worth five hundred easy." Digger picked up the
necklace and examined it, tossing it back at Pockets.
"You're on."
* * *
Rage in the cage
And piss upon the stage
There's only one sure way
To bring the giant down
Defunct the strings
Of cemetary things
With one flat foot
On the devil's wing
Crawl on me
Sink into me
Die for me
Living Dead Girl
"Living Dead Girl"
Rob Zombie
Lights flashed by in incoherent pulses as she ran, not caring,
through the streets of nighttime Tokyo. Long hair flowed behind her
in ribbons of black, teased by the merciless wind. Above her, the
two birds were on the wing, cawing and crying as they sped through
the air, leading Raye to where she would find the first of the four
men who had sent her to her death. She shivered with anticipation,
eagerly awaiting the moment she would take her revenge. [This way]
one told her, twirling on massive black wings in the even blacker
sky. [There he is.] Below them, she ran in earth-bound flight towards
her goal.
She'd ran like this before, she remembered, when she was on the tail
of a monster, a youma. Fast, focused, driven. But now was different.
Now, she was tireless, leaping easily of over obstacles with inhuman
strength and grace. She knew she wasn't a ghost- there was heat and
blood- and weight to her resurrected body. She could feel the impact
of her feet hitting the sidewalk and hear the sound of her own heart
in her ears. But she felt no pain, no inevitable tugging at her
sides as she grew tired of running; the rain didn't chill her at all.
She followed the two crows she had cared for in life, linked to them
in ways she'd never expected. The night spread before her in a
never-ending blanket. She was invincible.
Raye shot around the corner like an unleashed arrow, unaware of her
surroundings, knowing only the insatiable lust for blood she felt.
[You are the warrior,] the crows told her, [Tonight is your night.]
They flew, they flew, and Raye followed. Finally, after how long,
Raye didn't know, Phobos dipped into the lamplit alley to Raye's
right, it's eyes fixated on the destined target. [There he is.]
She saw him. Through the crows' eyes, she saw him, and she felt her
purpose gather itself. After a year, after her loss, after death,
she saw the one who had held her arms as the events had transpired
that night. The one who had laughed mercilessly as Chad fell dead at
her feet. The black-haired one with the bad skin.
Pockets strode angrily down the alley, muttering to himself. He had
lost the pool game. "Goddam, mother-fucking, sodomizing *bastard*,"
he swore. His eyes were on the ground. He didn't see her, but he
awaited her. He simply didn't know it yet.
Slowly, quietly, she crept into the shadows. She didn't want him to
see her yet. The element of surprise was still hers, and she wanted
to use it to her full advantage. The bastard kept walking, swearing
under his breath, and she began to laugh, a maniacal, wild, ghostly
laugh from deep in her chest. Pockets stiffened as the laughter
echoed through the alley-way, unable to see the source of it.
Finally, Raye moved out of shadows, and he relaxed at the sight of her
slender figure which approached him in the rain. It was only a woman,
he thought to himself. Maybe he would have some fun with her.
"Hey, baby, what the fuck are you doing in a place like this?" he
sneered, grinning lecherously. "Hey, what's with the make-up, babe?
You look like a fuckin' dead whore." Pockets didn't flinch as she
advanced towards him, taunting her. "Oh, so you want to play?"
Pockets drew out a gun, and pointed it at her, "Come on." Raye
crescent-kicked the gun out of his hand, sending it skidding into a
nearby mud-puddle. Eyes blazing, she charged at him, her hands
clenched into tight fists as she threw him into a nearby wall with a
sound of pure animal fury. Pockets fell to the ground.
"Eat shit, and die," she hissed, jerking him to his feet. Pockets
fought back, sending a crushing blow to her skull, but all she did
was shake it off, and punch the larger man in the face. Fiery
exaltation filled her, and she leered at him angrily, striking him
with furious blows. Pockets bounced from the brick walls as she
toyed with him, striking punishing backhand blows that left him
reeling, but still fighting. "You murderous cock-sucker!" Raye
yelled, throwing him to the ground. Pockets scrambled, and backed
into the opposite wall, his eyes focused on the woman before him.
Hands fumbled as he searched around him, and he laughed as he picked
up the gun he'd dropped, pointing at Raye's chest. "Die, bitch!"
He screamed, pulling the safety. Quickly, he fired five rounds into
her breast. Blood pooled around the wounds, and shock filled Raye's
features as she realized what had happened. She almost fell, then
gradually, it dawned on her that she felt no pain. Pockets laughed
triumphantly as he stared at the wounds he'd inflicted, when suddenly,
slowly, they started to close. Blood disappeared, and soon, so did
the wounds, leaving nothing behind to tell she'd even been shot, save
for the holes the bullets had made in her clothing.
"You ruined my shirt," she said, pissed off. Pockets just froze in
fear, scrambling to his feet.
"What the fuck are you?" her gasped, terrified. Raye felt elated,
powerful. Immortal. With the moves of a cat, she pounced on him,
immobilizing him with pitiless hands. "You murdering son of a
bitch," she gasped, her voice harsh from their fighting. Pockets'
eyes darted from side to side in fear. Nothing he did had seemed to
hurt this woman, and he was shaken from her strength, and brutality.
Raye drew her hand around his throat, her eyes serious and
penetrating.
"What the fuck are you talking about, bitch? Who the fuck *are*
you; I don't even know you." Pockets shook, a thin sheen of sweat
covering his repulsive face.
"Once upon a time, there was a girl," Raye started, her voice sing-
song, childish. "When she grew up, she wanted nothing more than to
be head priestess, maybe a singer, or a model, and a good wife,".
She laughed, bitterly. "It seemed she was achieving those goals-
she'd fallen in love, she was getting better at her *miko* skills.
Everything was falling in place for the girl."
"You're out of your mind!" Pockets screamed, his face a mask of
terror. Raye tilted her head at him. "Shut up!" she barked, her
grip tightening on his throat. "I'm not finished yet! One day, the
girl walked into her sitting room at the sounds of yelling. She
watched the two people she loved more than anything, killed in front
of her! Her arms were held as she was attacked. As she was killed."
A dry sob escaped her, and she mentally slapped herself for letting
emotion get the best of her. "Do you remember that, Pockets?
Because you were there, a year ago." Pockets fought for air, eyes
wide as he stared at her.
"No- no that's impossible!" Pockets shook under her firm hold, his
eyes never leaving her face. "You're dead! We killed you!".
::Firm hands on her arms as she writhed in pain against the gun.
Grandpa, falling dead at her feet. Chad in a pool of blood.
Obscene, cruel laughter. Hands, hands.... they wouldn't let her
scream.::.
"The cat came back," Raye hissed, and Pockets darted forward,
knocking her back. She hadn't expected him, in his fear, to be so
bold. She wouldn't make the mistake again. As he scrambled
backwards, Pockets threw anything he could reach at her, in a pathetic
attempt to protect himself from her small but imposing frame.
"Get away," he cried. He wasn't so tough anymore. "Go!"
Raye continued, pressing forward towards her adversary, stooping to
pick up a rusted piece of wire that lay twisted at her feet. She
tugged at the wire, and advanced steadily, until he was backed against
a wall again.
"You have a chance for redemption," Raye said softly, coiling and
uncoiling the wire she held in her hands. "At the count of three,
you'll tell me where your buddies are, do you understand?" Pockets
shook, terrified, but determined not to reveal the secrets as to
where the rest of his crew stashed themselves.
"One." No reply. She moved closer, still playing with the wire.
"Two." Closer still, and his brow twinkled with sweat, and rain.
Her eyes were level with his, boring into him. There was no room for
pity in this game. A silence. "Three!" Quick, snakelike, she
wrapped the wire around his throat.
"Duke's! They hang out at Duke's!" Pockets cracked, tears in his
eyes. "Please, don't kill me!" Raye looked at him in mock pity for
a moment, then bared her teeth in a devilish snarl, tightening the
wire, and looping one end through the grating of the above fire
escape. She pulled it tight. Pockets dangled from his neck,
frantically gasping for air, clawing at his throat, begging for
release.
"I went past three," she whispered. "I'm sorry."
With the agility of a tiger, she leapt onto the fire escape, and then
onto the roof. She was gone.
For several moments, all that could be heard were the sounds of a
lowlife dying.
-------------
Hmmm... getting a little intense, ne? That's okay. Comments,
questions, flames, as always go to mercuryblue_22@hotmail.com
Ja,
Mercury Blue
-------------
It seems that you're not satisfied
There's too much on your mind
So you leave and I can't believe
All the bullshit that I find
Life is overwhelming
Heaving is the head that wears the crown.
I'd love to be the one to dissapoint you
When I don't fall down.
You're no good for me.
Thank God it's over.
You make believe
That nothing is wrong until you're crying.
You make believe
That life is so long until you're dying
"Re-arranged"
Limp Bizkit
-------------
The Crow: Sacred Flame
Part Three
By Mercury Blue
-------------
Raye opened the door to her bedroom quietly, trying not to wake the
man who lay sleeping in her grandfather's bed. She expected the room
to be empty, changed, but it wasn't. With a smile she thought to
herself she'd like to thank whoever kept it the way she'd left it.
Walking to her vanity, she sat down and picked up the glass tiger Chad
had given her for their last Christmas together.
::"Raye, I want you to have this. I know it's not much, but it's
from me all the way. I didn't use any of my parents money on this."
Chad offering the gift with trembling fingers, a look of hope in his
green eyes. Raye opening it, smiling at him reassuringly, letting
him know that no matter what it was, she'd still love him. Holding
the small figure in her hand as it shone from the Christmas lights
he'd insisted they hang up. Kissing him in thanks. "I'll keep it
forever, Chad."::
She replaced the figure, a sad smile on her face, and opened one of
the drawers next to her. Pictures. Her and Chad, her and her
grandfather. Serena, Lita, Mina. Amy. Raye missed Amy most of all.
Those sad, doey eyes, that sensitive mien; Raye wondered idly how
she'd taken her demise, and then shook her head, forcing the thought
from her mind. She hadn't come back to rekindle old friendships.
She'd come back for Vengeance.
Placing the pictures back in the drawer, her hand grazed a familiar
object, and she pulled it out.
White make-up. And not regular make-up, either. It was the make-up
she used when she performed traditional ceremonies, the make-up she
saved for special occasions. An idea formed in her mind; a face.
Raye saw in her mind's eye Chad's face as he had died- tears, streaming
over his cheeks. Blood, trailing down the corners of his mouth,
black as oil in the darkness; it was all she could think of when she
thought of her revenge. Reaching back into the drawer, she pulled out
the black make-up and brush she used to outline her eyes. It was all
there, all she'd need.
Glaring at her reflection in the mirror, Raye unscrewed the top from
the white make-up, and reached into the jar, grabbing a handful of
the goo to smear on her face. It went on easily, despite its age, and
soon her face was as white as a ghost's.
~Is that what I am,~ she thought. ~A ghost?~ Well, if she was, she
was a damn real-looking one.
She snatched up the brush, and dipped in the black paint, tracing each
eye. Slowly, deliberately, she drew lines extending vertically over
them, onto her brow and cheekbones. Good, so far. Now her mouth.
Outlining it, filling in her lips. Extending the lines a little
farther out in a grim smile. Oooh. Pretty spooky. Raye almost
laughed. These boys were going to shit their pants.
Clothing. She needed clothing. This white dress of hers wouldn't
work. Stripping her closet, she found only a pair of tight black
pants to wear, and so she headed to Chad's room, equally pleased to
find that untouched as well.
"Perfect," she whispered to herself, pulling out a fitted black nylon
top, and combat boots. His stage clothes. On the back of his door,
a black trenchcoat, reminiscent of his western days. Quietly, she
pulled on the ensemble, surprised to find the shirt and boots fit her
perfectly. The jacket was a little long, but it reminded her of Chad,
so she decided to keep it.
Now, she thought, she was ready.
* * *
Loud rock and roll music shook the walls, and cigar smoke filled the
air as Pockets leaned over the pool table, sinking the eight ball to
claim his win. "That's why they call me 'Pockets'," he said smugly,
collecting the handful of bills his opponent reluctantly handed him.
"Any other takers?" A tall black man with a scar across one eye
stepped forward, a thin sheen of sweat making him glisten in the
fluorescent lighting.
"I'll play you," he said, his voice deep and imposing.
Pockets nodded in the man's direction. "Who's that?" he asked Moose,
who hovered next to him. Moose moved closer to him, reeking of booze
and smoke. "That'd be Digger, best damn pool player this side of
Tokyo." Pockets spat on the floor in disgust.
"Ain't no one better at this game than me," he sneered, his dark eyes
glistening with contempt. Digger, hearing this, chuckled to himself.
"Then I'm sure you won't mind raising the stakes a bit," he muttered,
holding up a thick wad of bills. Pockets couldn't help but notice the
heavy gold rings that adorned the big man's fingers. "Five thousand
dollars," he said. "Take it or leave it."
Pockets counted the money in his pocket casually, trying not to let
on how intimidated he was by the challenge. There was a lot there
from his winnings of that night, but not quite enough. "I've only got
forty-five hundred," he said, placing the cash on the table. Digger
shook his head slowly. "Five thou, or nothing," he insisted. Pockets
glared at him. Finally, he pulled a gorgeous pearl necklace out of
his pocket, and tossed it on the table. "I took this tonight, at our
latest raid. It's worth five hundred easy." Digger picked up the
necklace and examined it, tossing it back at Pockets.
"You're on."
* * *
Rage in the cage
And piss upon the stage
There's only one sure way
To bring the giant down
Defunct the strings
Of cemetary things
With one flat foot
On the devil's wing
Crawl on me
Sink into me
Die for me
Living Dead Girl
"Living Dead Girl"
Rob Zombie
Lights flashed by in incoherent pulses as she ran, not caring,
through the streets of nighttime Tokyo. Long hair flowed behind her
in ribbons of black, teased by the merciless wind. Above her, the
two birds were on the wing, cawing and crying as they sped through
the air, leading Raye to where she would find the first of the four
men who had sent her to her death. She shivered with anticipation,
eagerly awaiting the moment she would take her revenge. [This way]
one told her, twirling on massive black wings in the even blacker
sky. [There he is.] Below them, she ran in earth-bound flight towards
her goal.
She'd ran like this before, she remembered, when she was on the tail
of a monster, a youma. Fast, focused, driven. But now was different.
Now, she was tireless, leaping easily of over obstacles with inhuman
strength and grace. She knew she wasn't a ghost- there was heat and
blood- and weight to her resurrected body. She could feel the impact
of her feet hitting the sidewalk and hear the sound of her own heart
in her ears. But she felt no pain, no inevitable tugging at her
sides as she grew tired of running; the rain didn't chill her at all.
She followed the two crows she had cared for in life, linked to them
in ways she'd never expected. The night spread before her in a
never-ending blanket. She was invincible.
Raye shot around the corner like an unleashed arrow, unaware of her
surroundings, knowing only the insatiable lust for blood she felt.
[You are the warrior,] the crows told her, [Tonight is your night.]
They flew, they flew, and Raye followed. Finally, after how long,
Raye didn't know, Phobos dipped into the lamplit alley to Raye's
right, it's eyes fixated on the destined target. [There he is.]
She saw him. Through the crows' eyes, she saw him, and she felt her
purpose gather itself. After a year, after her loss, after death,
she saw the one who had held her arms as the events had transpired
that night. The one who had laughed mercilessly as Chad fell dead at
her feet. The black-haired one with the bad skin.
Pockets strode angrily down the alley, muttering to himself. He had
lost the pool game. "Goddam, mother-fucking, sodomizing *bastard*,"
he swore. His eyes were on the ground. He didn't see her, but he
awaited her. He simply didn't know it yet.
Slowly, quietly, she crept into the shadows. She didn't want him to
see her yet. The element of surprise was still hers, and she wanted
to use it to her full advantage. The bastard kept walking, swearing
under his breath, and she began to laugh, a maniacal, wild, ghostly
laugh from deep in her chest. Pockets stiffened as the laughter
echoed through the alley-way, unable to see the source of it.
Finally, Raye moved out of shadows, and he relaxed at the sight of her
slender figure which approached him in the rain. It was only a woman,
he thought to himself. Maybe he would have some fun with her.
"Hey, baby, what the fuck are you doing in a place like this?" he
sneered, grinning lecherously. "Hey, what's with the make-up, babe?
You look like a fuckin' dead whore." Pockets didn't flinch as she
advanced towards him, taunting her. "Oh, so you want to play?"
Pockets drew out a gun, and pointed it at her, "Come on." Raye
crescent-kicked the gun out of his hand, sending it skidding into a
nearby mud-puddle. Eyes blazing, she charged at him, her hands
clenched into tight fists as she threw him into a nearby wall with a
sound of pure animal fury. Pockets fell to the ground.
"Eat shit, and die," she hissed, jerking him to his feet. Pockets
fought back, sending a crushing blow to her skull, but all she did
was shake it off, and punch the larger man in the face. Fiery
exaltation filled her, and she leered at him angrily, striking him
with furious blows. Pockets bounced from the brick walls as she
toyed with him, striking punishing backhand blows that left him
reeling, but still fighting. "You murderous cock-sucker!" Raye
yelled, throwing him to the ground. Pockets scrambled, and backed
into the opposite wall, his eyes focused on the woman before him.
Hands fumbled as he searched around him, and he laughed as he picked
up the gun he'd dropped, pointing at Raye's chest. "Die, bitch!"
He screamed, pulling the safety. Quickly, he fired five rounds into
her breast. Blood pooled around the wounds, and shock filled Raye's
features as she realized what had happened. She almost fell, then
gradually, it dawned on her that she felt no pain. Pockets laughed
triumphantly as he stared at the wounds he'd inflicted, when suddenly,
slowly, they started to close. Blood disappeared, and soon, so did
the wounds, leaving nothing behind to tell she'd even been shot, save
for the holes the bullets had made in her clothing.
"You ruined my shirt," she said, pissed off. Pockets just froze in
fear, scrambling to his feet.
"What the fuck are you?" her gasped, terrified. Raye felt elated,
powerful. Immortal. With the moves of a cat, she pounced on him,
immobilizing him with pitiless hands. "You murdering son of a
bitch," she gasped, her voice harsh from their fighting. Pockets'
eyes darted from side to side in fear. Nothing he did had seemed to
hurt this woman, and he was shaken from her strength, and brutality.
Raye drew her hand around his throat, her eyes serious and
penetrating.
"What the fuck are you talking about, bitch? Who the fuck *are*
you; I don't even know you." Pockets shook, a thin sheen of sweat
covering his repulsive face.
"Once upon a time, there was a girl," Raye started, her voice sing-
song, childish. "When she grew up, she wanted nothing more than to
be head priestess, maybe a singer, or a model, and a good wife,".
She laughed, bitterly. "It seemed she was achieving those goals-
she'd fallen in love, she was getting better at her *miko* skills.
Everything was falling in place for the girl."
"You're out of your mind!" Pockets screamed, his face a mask of
terror. Raye tilted her head at him. "Shut up!" she barked, her
grip tightening on his throat. "I'm not finished yet! One day, the
girl walked into her sitting room at the sounds of yelling. She
watched the two people she loved more than anything, killed in front
of her! Her arms were held as she was attacked. As she was killed."
A dry sob escaped her, and she mentally slapped herself for letting
emotion get the best of her. "Do you remember that, Pockets?
Because you were there, a year ago." Pockets fought for air, eyes
wide as he stared at her.
"No- no that's impossible!" Pockets shook under her firm hold, his
eyes never leaving her face. "You're dead! We killed you!".
::Firm hands on her arms as she writhed in pain against the gun.
Grandpa, falling dead at her feet. Chad in a pool of blood.
Obscene, cruel laughter. Hands, hands.... they wouldn't let her
scream.::.
"The cat came back," Raye hissed, and Pockets darted forward,
knocking her back. She hadn't expected him, in his fear, to be so
bold. She wouldn't make the mistake again. As he scrambled
backwards, Pockets threw anything he could reach at her, in a pathetic
attempt to protect himself from her small but imposing frame.
"Get away," he cried. He wasn't so tough anymore. "Go!"
Raye continued, pressing forward towards her adversary, stooping to
pick up a rusted piece of wire that lay twisted at her feet. She
tugged at the wire, and advanced steadily, until he was backed against
a wall again.
"You have a chance for redemption," Raye said softly, coiling and
uncoiling the wire she held in her hands. "At the count of three,
you'll tell me where your buddies are, do you understand?" Pockets
shook, terrified, but determined not to reveal the secrets as to
where the rest of his crew stashed themselves.
"One." No reply. She moved closer, still playing with the wire.
"Two." Closer still, and his brow twinkled with sweat, and rain.
Her eyes were level with his, boring into him. There was no room for
pity in this game. A silence. "Three!" Quick, snakelike, she
wrapped the wire around his throat.
"Duke's! They hang out at Duke's!" Pockets cracked, tears in his
eyes. "Please, don't kill me!" Raye looked at him in mock pity for
a moment, then bared her teeth in a devilish snarl, tightening the
wire, and looping one end through the grating of the above fire
escape. She pulled it tight. Pockets dangled from his neck,
frantically gasping for air, clawing at his throat, begging for
release.
"I went past three," she whispered. "I'm sorry."
With the agility of a tiger, she leapt onto the fire escape, and then
onto the roof. She was gone.
For several moments, all that could be heard were the sounds of a
lowlife dying.
-------------
Hmmm... getting a little intense, ne? That's okay. Comments,
questions, flames, as always go to mercuryblue_22@hotmail.com
Ja,
Mercury Blue