Inside and Outside
By Polskavitch
The breeze lifted the thin curtain and it rippled, undulating in pale, soft movements, licking the window frame and wrapping itself around a tall vase that rested on the brightly moonlit sill. A pink tulip, bulbous with fleshy petals rose from the porcelain neck and cast a phallic, elongated shadow onto the floor and across the bed.
Scully froze under the blankets she lay wrapped in. Something made the tiny hairs on her neck prickle and rise and she involuntarily flexed her toes. She sensed the small tendons stretch and felt she could almost hear them creak in the silence of the room. Here, under her canopy of stiff, white cotton, the moonlight threw a soft glow onto her skin and she could just make out the flutter of a pulse on the surface of her naked belly. It was so quiet that the silence had a thrumming rhythm of it's own, the whoosh of blood through veins, the minuscule sound of fingernails lengthening, the deafening silence of the world travelling its never-ending track.
Scully took a deep breath. The air was crisp in the room, a faint odour of perfume floated to her nostrils and she imagined she could see each molecule, caught in the moonbeams like dust motes. A noise made her jump, a sensation like a sudden change in the air pressure surrounding her body, and she curled into a foetal position with the instinctive desire to protect her most vulnerable parts. Another shiver ran down her spine as she peered out from beneath the blanket. There was a bright sliver of light under the door. To her eyes, attuned now to the cold, grey moonlight, the rectangle of orange light burned like molten metal, as if somehow a river of fire would force it's way towards her through that small gap. For a second she imagined she could feel the heat of it upon her forehead and she gasped at such a vivid sensation.
The noise she made seemed to her so loud that it echoed around the walls and again she retreated entirely underneath the cotton blanket, the material an impenetrable shield against whatever was lurking out there, her mind raced. Why was the light on? Had she forgotten to turn it off earlier? What were those noises?
She began to shiver slightly again as another breeze sucked the curtain in and out, the tiny fluttering noise in time with her agitated heartbeat. A thousand thoughts crossed her mind, the feeling of danger heightened by the fact she was totally naked under the blankets, vulnerable, like a beetle, upturned, soft underbelly exposed, helpless. Outside the door there was a noise. It jarred her mind for a second and all rational thoughts were suddenly replaced by the primitive urge for flight. Her hands curled tightly, knotting up around handfuls of white cotton.
Scully knew that in the top drawer of the small bedside cabinet there was a loaded 8mm SigSauer handgun. She could almost smell the well oiled components and knew exactly how it would feel resting in her palm, from the tiny raised diamond pattern on the grip, to the smooth brushed steel finish of the muzzle. Yet, the distance from her hiding place to the cabinet suddenly seemed immense. She tried to move her right arm out from under the blanket but the pounding fear stopped her, her mind was heavy with the moulded weight of the gun but she remained frozen, a terrified animal pinned down by moonbeams.
When Scully moved again to look towards the door she was aware of movement, dark shadows shifting, wading through the light that spread in a hot orange pool around the base of the doorframe. She could hear footsteps now, carefully placed in the hallway outside. She could hear the boards bend under the weight of those footfalls, quiet cracks and dull thuds as whoever it was alternated between wood and the colourful rag-rugs that peppered the landing.
A loud noise, clinking glass, filtered through the thudding silence and it jarred her out of the foetal huddle she had been twisted into. Every muscle felt taught, from her thighs to her spine to every tiny sinew in her fingers and this heightened awareness gave her an exciting feeling of control over her situation. Again she could hear the footsteps padding through the house, slowly, deliberately, getting closer. No longer paralysed but relishing the adrenaline rush, Scully reached carefully into the drawer, feeling the hard edge of the barrel, the gentle, cool curve of the trigger, trying not to make a sound. Her movement knocked a tumbler of water on the top of the cabinet. The ripples infused by moonlight cast shimmering patterns across the wall opposite. For a second she felt like a jungle cat, crouched, ready, camouflaged amongst dappled sunlight.
Carefully she slid the clip from the gun, ran a finger over the top bullet, a sliver of ice, then primed it and flicked the safety catch.
The shadows were there again under the door, flicking back and forth, obscuring the light, and leaving after images across her vision. Scully's heart pounded in her ears, it felt as though all the veins in her temples were standing out, pulsating, her eyes bulging, every hair on her scalp prickling. She grasped the SigSauer tightly with both hands, finger hovering over the trigger guard. The cotton blanket slipped down as she pushed herself onto her knees and lay in a wilted bunch around her waist. She was naked from hips to shoulders but it didn't bother her. All her attention was focussed on the door at the foot of the bed and she stared down the gun barrel, through the gloom and the slicing moonbeams towards that burning ember of orange light.
The door creaked, the handle turned and then the whole room was flooded with light, moonbeams dissipated by an artificial sunrise. Momentarily blinded Scully focussed on the large silhouette standing there, she dug her knees into the mattress and gripped the gun even harder, a small smirk creeping into the corners of her lipstick smeared mouth.
Walter Skinner, in black silk boxer shorts, clutching an uncorked bottle of wine and two glasses stood at the foot of the bed. The now faded moonbeams highlighting the mat of curled hairs on his chest. He grinned at Scully and waved the bottle suggestively:
"Ooh Scully, you sexy little minx! You look fantastic like that. Shall we celebrate our first night as a couple with some bubbles?"
"Yeah…Let's do that" She smiled.
By Polskavitch
The breeze lifted the thin curtain and it rippled, undulating in pale, soft movements, licking the window frame and wrapping itself around a tall vase that rested on the brightly moonlit sill. A pink tulip, bulbous with fleshy petals rose from the porcelain neck and cast a phallic, elongated shadow onto the floor and across the bed.
Scully froze under the blankets she lay wrapped in. Something made the tiny hairs on her neck prickle and rise and she involuntarily flexed her toes. She sensed the small tendons stretch and felt she could almost hear them creak in the silence of the room. Here, under her canopy of stiff, white cotton, the moonlight threw a soft glow onto her skin and she could just make out the flutter of a pulse on the surface of her naked belly. It was so quiet that the silence had a thrumming rhythm of it's own, the whoosh of blood through veins, the minuscule sound of fingernails lengthening, the deafening silence of the world travelling its never-ending track.
Scully took a deep breath. The air was crisp in the room, a faint odour of perfume floated to her nostrils and she imagined she could see each molecule, caught in the moonbeams like dust motes. A noise made her jump, a sensation like a sudden change in the air pressure surrounding her body, and she curled into a foetal position with the instinctive desire to protect her most vulnerable parts. Another shiver ran down her spine as she peered out from beneath the blanket. There was a bright sliver of light under the door. To her eyes, attuned now to the cold, grey moonlight, the rectangle of orange light burned like molten metal, as if somehow a river of fire would force it's way towards her through that small gap. For a second she imagined she could feel the heat of it upon her forehead and she gasped at such a vivid sensation.
The noise she made seemed to her so loud that it echoed around the walls and again she retreated entirely underneath the cotton blanket, the material an impenetrable shield against whatever was lurking out there, her mind raced. Why was the light on? Had she forgotten to turn it off earlier? What were those noises?
She began to shiver slightly again as another breeze sucked the curtain in and out, the tiny fluttering noise in time with her agitated heartbeat. A thousand thoughts crossed her mind, the feeling of danger heightened by the fact she was totally naked under the blankets, vulnerable, like a beetle, upturned, soft underbelly exposed, helpless. Outside the door there was a noise. It jarred her mind for a second and all rational thoughts were suddenly replaced by the primitive urge for flight. Her hands curled tightly, knotting up around handfuls of white cotton.
Scully knew that in the top drawer of the small bedside cabinet there was a loaded 8mm SigSauer handgun. She could almost smell the well oiled components and knew exactly how it would feel resting in her palm, from the tiny raised diamond pattern on the grip, to the smooth brushed steel finish of the muzzle. Yet, the distance from her hiding place to the cabinet suddenly seemed immense. She tried to move her right arm out from under the blanket but the pounding fear stopped her, her mind was heavy with the moulded weight of the gun but she remained frozen, a terrified animal pinned down by moonbeams.
When Scully moved again to look towards the door she was aware of movement, dark shadows shifting, wading through the light that spread in a hot orange pool around the base of the doorframe. She could hear footsteps now, carefully placed in the hallway outside. She could hear the boards bend under the weight of those footfalls, quiet cracks and dull thuds as whoever it was alternated between wood and the colourful rag-rugs that peppered the landing.
A loud noise, clinking glass, filtered through the thudding silence and it jarred her out of the foetal huddle she had been twisted into. Every muscle felt taught, from her thighs to her spine to every tiny sinew in her fingers and this heightened awareness gave her an exciting feeling of control over her situation. Again she could hear the footsteps padding through the house, slowly, deliberately, getting closer. No longer paralysed but relishing the adrenaline rush, Scully reached carefully into the drawer, feeling the hard edge of the barrel, the gentle, cool curve of the trigger, trying not to make a sound. Her movement knocked a tumbler of water on the top of the cabinet. The ripples infused by moonlight cast shimmering patterns across the wall opposite. For a second she felt like a jungle cat, crouched, ready, camouflaged amongst dappled sunlight.
Carefully she slid the clip from the gun, ran a finger over the top bullet, a sliver of ice, then primed it and flicked the safety catch.
The shadows were there again under the door, flicking back and forth, obscuring the light, and leaving after images across her vision. Scully's heart pounded in her ears, it felt as though all the veins in her temples were standing out, pulsating, her eyes bulging, every hair on her scalp prickling. She grasped the SigSauer tightly with both hands, finger hovering over the trigger guard. The cotton blanket slipped down as she pushed herself onto her knees and lay in a wilted bunch around her waist. She was naked from hips to shoulders but it didn't bother her. All her attention was focussed on the door at the foot of the bed and she stared down the gun barrel, through the gloom and the slicing moonbeams towards that burning ember of orange light.
The door creaked, the handle turned and then the whole room was flooded with light, moonbeams dissipated by an artificial sunrise. Momentarily blinded Scully focussed on the large silhouette standing there, she dug her knees into the mattress and gripped the gun even harder, a small smirk creeping into the corners of her lipstick smeared mouth.
Walter Skinner, in black silk boxer shorts, clutching an uncorked bottle of wine and two glasses stood at the foot of the bed. The now faded moonbeams highlighting the mat of curled hairs on his chest. He grinned at Scully and waved the bottle suggestively:
"Ooh Scully, you sexy little minx! You look fantastic like that. Shall we celebrate our first night as a couple with some bubbles?"
"Yeah…Let's do that" She smiled.