DEADLY DENIAL
Shelley Martins sat at her dining table, twiddling her thumbs subconsciously. There was nothing better for her to do.
Out of sheer boredom, she focused on her cold mug of coffee, and concentrated hard. It started to steam again. She smiled wanly.
Usually, using her tricks, as she called them, made her happy, to some extent. After all, what was so great about being a freak?
You're not a freak, she told herself sternly inside her head, and stared out of her grimy eleventh floor window, seeing a solitary pigeon flutter past clumsily.
She sighed heavily, and looked to the door, and then stared at her wall clock. It was a quarter to four.
He had been missing for nearly two days now. Where the hell was he? She was getting impatient, and more than a little worried.
Gerald Elliot was her best friend, and she had trusted him with any secret she had ever had. He was the same with her. Anything that was bothering them could just be brought out in the open for two friends to share.
So it had always been, and still was. Or so she thought. Was there something he wasn't telling her lately?
When they had both learned they were equally strange and unique, their bond had grown stronger, and due to the fiery aspect of their 'tricks' and talents, Shelley felt that this occurrence had made their bond stronger.
"So where is he?" she mumbled impatiently. Her brow furrowed in puzzlement, and she drummed her fingers on the tabletop.
Just then, she heard the rattle of keys in the lock to their apartment.
She stood from her chair, and stared anxiously at the door, which soon flew open rather wildly.
Standing on the threshold was a rather irritated looking, and rather jumpy, Gerald Elliot. His black hair was a mess, styled into spikes all over his skull. His green eyes stared at the opened door blankly, sending a slight chill down Shelley's spine.
What was wrong with him?
He was probably just unwell.
"Gerald? Where have you been?" she asked, moving from behind the table, and in front of her long-life friend.
His eyes snapped in her direction then, making her start quietly. It was the fierce look that he gave her that made her jump, and she frowned.
"What's wrong? You look-"
"I'm fine," he interrupted, something he had never made a habit of.
She frowned deeper, and sat down again, watching as he shut the door a little too violently, and crossed to the couch, sitting down heavily and running strong hands through his hair.
Shelley watched for about five minutes, seeing a different array of emotions scatter over the young face. From anger to intrigue, he showed it all as he glanced around at various objects.
"Gerald?" she said again.
There it was again. That look.
His eyes bore through into the very core of her being, and she shuddered. He had never scared her before. Never.
"What's wrong?" she asked in a small voice, finally convinced that Gerald was not himself.
After being missing for two days, and then returning without an explanation, Shelley was more than a little concerned. Especially since he was acting just a tiny bit. scary.
"Nothing's wrong, goddamn!" he exclaimed, shooting out of the chair. He was breathing heavily, and his eyes were crazy. "Why has there always got to be something wrong when I'm around you? Everybody's ill, or upset, apart from you." He paused, the atmosphere in the room taking a more sinister edge. "Ever wonder why everyone's always so miserable around you, Shelley, huh?"
His words tore into her like knives, and she hung her head sadly, hiding the tears that welled. Why was he being so cruel?
"Maybe," he began, laughing maniacally for a moment, "it's because you're such a negative person to be around. You have this whole pessimistic air about you, Shelley, and it sucks people in. I only stuck around because I felt sorry for you all these years!" His voice was harsh, grinding and hard to bear all of a sudden.
Shelley sobbed quietly. Never, in her nineteen years of knowing him, had she seen him act so offensive towards her, or anyone for that matter.
"Oh, quit crying you big baby. You're always so upset over the smallest things. The truth finally hits you, and 'Wah, it's the end of the world'." He walked over, slamming his palms on the table, yelling, "Wake up! It's not all sunshine and daisies, princess! Look at yourself. You're pathetic. and a waste of my time."
She looked up with a start when she heard the crackling, and she gasped in shock when she saw the ball of flames burst into life in his palm, dancing like a gleeful child.
He grinned sadistically, and launched the ball towards her.
She felt it catch on her clothes and hair, scolding her skin immediately. She screamed in agony, and waved her arms to try desperately to put out the hot flames.
She heard Gerald laugh, and she screamed for him to help her.
He did not.
Instead, he turned his back on her, and walked away, shutting the door calmly behind him.
Helpless to stop the flames, Shelley collapsed to the floor, burning.
Before anyone had even heard the smoke alarm, Shelley Martins had been dead for a while, and taken all of her belongings with her in a horrific blaze.
Shelley Martins sat at her dining table, twiddling her thumbs subconsciously. There was nothing better for her to do.
Out of sheer boredom, she focused on her cold mug of coffee, and concentrated hard. It started to steam again. She smiled wanly.
Usually, using her tricks, as she called them, made her happy, to some extent. After all, what was so great about being a freak?
You're not a freak, she told herself sternly inside her head, and stared out of her grimy eleventh floor window, seeing a solitary pigeon flutter past clumsily.
She sighed heavily, and looked to the door, and then stared at her wall clock. It was a quarter to four.
He had been missing for nearly two days now. Where the hell was he? She was getting impatient, and more than a little worried.
Gerald Elliot was her best friend, and she had trusted him with any secret she had ever had. He was the same with her. Anything that was bothering them could just be brought out in the open for two friends to share.
So it had always been, and still was. Or so she thought. Was there something he wasn't telling her lately?
When they had both learned they were equally strange and unique, their bond had grown stronger, and due to the fiery aspect of their 'tricks' and talents, Shelley felt that this occurrence had made their bond stronger.
"So where is he?" she mumbled impatiently. Her brow furrowed in puzzlement, and she drummed her fingers on the tabletop.
Just then, she heard the rattle of keys in the lock to their apartment.
She stood from her chair, and stared anxiously at the door, which soon flew open rather wildly.
Standing on the threshold was a rather irritated looking, and rather jumpy, Gerald Elliot. His black hair was a mess, styled into spikes all over his skull. His green eyes stared at the opened door blankly, sending a slight chill down Shelley's spine.
What was wrong with him?
He was probably just unwell.
"Gerald? Where have you been?" she asked, moving from behind the table, and in front of her long-life friend.
His eyes snapped in her direction then, making her start quietly. It was the fierce look that he gave her that made her jump, and she frowned.
"What's wrong? You look-"
"I'm fine," he interrupted, something he had never made a habit of.
She frowned deeper, and sat down again, watching as he shut the door a little too violently, and crossed to the couch, sitting down heavily and running strong hands through his hair.
Shelley watched for about five minutes, seeing a different array of emotions scatter over the young face. From anger to intrigue, he showed it all as he glanced around at various objects.
"Gerald?" she said again.
There it was again. That look.
His eyes bore through into the very core of her being, and she shuddered. He had never scared her before. Never.
"What's wrong?" she asked in a small voice, finally convinced that Gerald was not himself.
After being missing for two days, and then returning without an explanation, Shelley was more than a little concerned. Especially since he was acting just a tiny bit. scary.
"Nothing's wrong, goddamn!" he exclaimed, shooting out of the chair. He was breathing heavily, and his eyes were crazy. "Why has there always got to be something wrong when I'm around you? Everybody's ill, or upset, apart from you." He paused, the atmosphere in the room taking a more sinister edge. "Ever wonder why everyone's always so miserable around you, Shelley, huh?"
His words tore into her like knives, and she hung her head sadly, hiding the tears that welled. Why was he being so cruel?
"Maybe," he began, laughing maniacally for a moment, "it's because you're such a negative person to be around. You have this whole pessimistic air about you, Shelley, and it sucks people in. I only stuck around because I felt sorry for you all these years!" His voice was harsh, grinding and hard to bear all of a sudden.
Shelley sobbed quietly. Never, in her nineteen years of knowing him, had she seen him act so offensive towards her, or anyone for that matter.
"Oh, quit crying you big baby. You're always so upset over the smallest things. The truth finally hits you, and 'Wah, it's the end of the world'." He walked over, slamming his palms on the table, yelling, "Wake up! It's not all sunshine and daisies, princess! Look at yourself. You're pathetic. and a waste of my time."
She looked up with a start when she heard the crackling, and she gasped in shock when she saw the ball of flames burst into life in his palm, dancing like a gleeful child.
He grinned sadistically, and launched the ball towards her.
She felt it catch on her clothes and hair, scolding her skin immediately. She screamed in agony, and waved her arms to try desperately to put out the hot flames.
She heard Gerald laugh, and she screamed for him to help her.
He did not.
Instead, he turned his back on her, and walked away, shutting the door calmly behind him.
Helpless to stop the flames, Shelley collapsed to the floor, burning.
Before anyone had even heard the smoke alarm, Shelley Martins had been dead for a while, and taken all of her belongings with her in a horrific blaze.