Pzzat to the Deucey
Snowflakes; such a gentile creation. Each piece of frost floats down with a new face to show the world each time, and with that new face, comes with it the old weakness and susceptibleness to the world. And, as if the world were the same from beginning to this present time, so did the flakes continue their tradition of blanketing the earth with a frosty mask. Yet this year, the mask was hard and cold enough to even guard against the warmest heart of hearts.
At least, that's how things seemed to Alia as she trudged down the streets of the lighted night. The evening was glittered not with stars, but rather the blinking neon lights of commerce and the flashy signs of the new generation. Even now did they try to sell what wears that could be bought to those foolish enough to buy. However, in these late hours, the lights soon began to fade, being blotted out by the cold existence of darkness, either of the earth, or of the heart.
Darkness, by nature, has a tendency to spread to whatever it touches, thereby engulfing all. Such dangerous hands of ice ought not to hold the warmth of hearts, and may all precautions go towards keeping one's heart away from this pain. But destiny deems that hearts fall into darkness. That is the way of things, even for the warmest heart. Such is the nature of existence.
Alia herself, though being of usual high spirits and unyielding determination, could feel the heat of her passions slipping away and become overtaken by the ebbing hands of torment. To herself did she mutter strange streams of obscenities, as well as strings of curses and damnations, all in the general direction of the only person whose blue exterior could match the blues of her soul.
"How could he be so cold…?" She whispered. "So trite…?" She mumbled louder this time, but still it would remain unintelligible to whoever was crazy as her to be out so late, especially this night. "So… so self absorbed?! Doesn't he understand anything?" For what must have been the third time that night, the spotter's usual calm shell was broken. The blonde's boots seemed to stomp harder with each step she dared to step on the cold winter's night, packing the snow down like a steam roller. She had continued this brooding spell ever since she had ran from the base earlier that night, which admittedly, wasn't her best idea. Instead of blaming her rash actions on herself though, she rather placed the blame on the shoulders of X, whose frigid exterior could put out even the hottest blaze. Perhaps it was the alcohol which deemed her the supreme commander of allied forces, but she truly felt betrayed by his inability to see what stood right before him.
"It doesn't matter," She seemed to whisper to herself again, reasoning with her abstract mind. "It's just that his typical, chauvinistic, totally male actions are worse than ever!" Alia emphasized the last few adjectives, puffing out a cloud of hot air with each word. A few moments of silence went on after this, until she stopped herself and released a turgid scream of inner agony, which was the only thing holding her back from ripping her own golden locks from her head.
"Oi, oi! Spazzing like that'll only result in ruining that perfect face of yours, babe," Came the snotty, casual voice of a very nosy person. "Or, maybe it'll be me?"
Alia turned in the direction the voice came from, ready and able to bite back with the ill-tempered retort of a feral woman; the most dangerous kind of creature. However, this was not be, as what seemed to be the large hand her all-too-friendly company slamming into her cranium. The blow was mighty, and it sent her crashing to the ground. By luck, her fall was cushioned by the fluffy culmination of snow, but by luck again, she found herself trapped in the white layers, unable to move according to the words of the mad shouts of protest coming from within her mind.
Like a spider settling on its prey, so did the attacker as he straddled Alia, using his weight to his advantage over her. Then, seeing as how he held the upper hand in this situation, he began to taunt her, saying "See, babe? You're doing it again!"
Hot tears of confused emotions began to seep into the snow, melting it. Tracing the river of pain back to its source would lead to Alia, as she cried out in the pain and bewildered effects of the moment. She lost control of her body, and was only able to scream in protests as her artificial body was in the first stages of rape. Where was he? Where was her knight now in the time of her deepest need?
(I don't feel like writing anymore, so there ya go, short chapter. Ha.)