Title: Hell on Earth
Author: Meagan-bird
Rating: PG-13
Summary: AU (alternate universe). Say that Frank Redbear died before he could push the Harvester forward. Well, what then? Press on, children, press on! I need lots of reviews to make sure I'm doing this right.
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the fic you see before you and the citizens of St. Cecilia. Can't sue me, I'm makin' no money! HAH! COTC and whatnot belong to Stephen King and all those people.
The auditorium was dark.
Gabe limped in, rubbing her tailbone sorely, and headed up one of the empty aisles. The auditorium was lined neatly with cushioned movie-theater style seats, most of which had been bright red before being singed black around the edges. She had loved the theater, and -- even while looking at the sad, wilted building that took the place of the proud auditorium -- she supposed she still did.
She trudged her way up the stairs and stumbled a little on the last step. Gabe cursed as she did so, her sore rear end flaring with pain once again; she always tripped on that step, always, every day at the beginning of drama class. Without fail. By the second semester, the teacher and students had waited patiently for her to climb up the stairs and trip, almost as if expecting class couldn't proceed without it happening. One time, Gabe had disappointed them all by swinging up the side of the stage and landing neatly on her feet. Upon realizing she missed the little tradition, she continued to take the stairs and amuse everyone else to no end. Like the sight of the majestic red curtain all blackened and weary-looking, the familiar trip made tears threaten at the back of her eyes. But she still resolved not to cry -- the look on Micah's face was too smug to give him that satisfaction. She wouldn't cry. Straightening herself on that step, Gabe finished her climb up the stairs and silently crossed to center stage.
Micah slipped into the auditorium quietly, not even bothering to close the door behind him. The theater was dark, and that was to his advantage; his black clothing would help him stay well out of sight. He squinted slightly, trying to figure out what on earth the girl was doing; she was standing in the middle of the stage, just standing there, her face tipped up towards the ceiling. Slowly, she took a deep breath and relaxed her arms at her sides. Micah could barely see her lips moving, as though she were reciting something to some invisible audience. His brows met in a small frown.
What on earth was she doing?
Gabe went through every part of the scene she remembered; they had done "Taming of the Shrew" very recently, so why was she having so much trouble remembering her lines?
"Not so much jade bear you if me you mean," she mouthed, and cursed quietly. "Dammit. That's not right. Or is it?" Gabe made a soft hissing noise through her teeth and collected herself. "Stop. I can do this." She paused, closed her eyes, and started over from the beginning.
Micah slunk slowly towards the stage, weaving in and out of the burnt theater seats. He never took his eyes off the girl; she was still mouthing silently, occasionally pausing to whisper angrily to herself. There was something oddly entrancing about the strange ritual. She was bathed in pale blue moonlight from the large-paned windows, her hair sending silvery glints into the air. Her stance was so relaxed and fluid he knew she wasn't aware of his presence; Micah found the silence and swift, fluent movement of her lips strangely attractive before he could even stop himself.
"Stop it," he hissed, his voice audible only to his own ears. "Stop that right now, it's -- it's blasphemy! A sacrilege! It's..." He trailed off, still staring at her intently. No matter how blasphemous it was, he couldn't take his eyes off her.
Gabe stopped mid-sentence, somewhere in the process of explaining a woman's tongue to Petruchio, and let her eyes drift open. It was useless. Didn't matter how long or how flawlessly she performed this scene -- nothing would ever be how it was. Even if someone did come to save them from the psychotic teens, nothing would ever bring the adults back. Every adult she had known and been friends with was gone, and along with them everything she had known to be normal. Suddenly choked with tears, Gabe began to leave the stage, but slowly stopped and turned back to face the invisible audience. The drama teacher had always told them to announce their name after reading a piece. She opened her mouth and said in a tremulous voice,
"My name is Gabe Sterling. Thank you." Gabe straightened a little and walked off stage right, being sure to keep her steps even and confident. She left the square of pale blue moonlight that shone on the stage and strode past the big red curtain, but that was as far as she made it. For nearly three weeks, she had managed not to cry; she had kept herself together and showed a calm (if somewhat mournful) face to the children who had mercilessly killed a good portion of her hometown. But now, the simple action of walking offstage brought on the pent-up tears with full force. Gabe turned towards the wall and leaned her arms against it, pressing her forehead against the black-painted stone, and let herself cry.
Micah slunk slowly up the stairs and crept towards her, being careful to avoid the patch of moonlight hitting center stage. What was she doing now? Gabe was leaning against the wall with her back to him, her shoulders trembling slightly. His brows knit together involuntarily. As he had read once when he was little, things were getting curiouser and curiouser. Micah stepped cautiously closer, cleared his throat, and finally made his presence known.
"I believe I gave you orders," he said coolly. "You were to go back to the houses and --" He stopped mid-sentence as she whirled, her fluid relaxation quickly becoming tense again; Gabe's face was surprised, but more importantly, streaked with tears. And once again, Micah felt that involuntary twinge of sympathy.
"What do you want now?" she asked at last.
Damn it, Gabe cursed silently. What the hell is he planning?
"I --" Micah cleared his throat, then tried again, and it made her frown to hear him sound uncertain. "I don't want anything. It's just -- you're supposed to be in the houses." He emphasized the last few words with a weak gesture towards the window. She followed his hand, then looked back at his face. There was something... different. It was then she realized her own face was soaking wet with tears; Gabe lifted her arm and wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand.
"I needed some time to myself, all right?" she snapped. "I'll get back to the goddamn house on my own. I don't need you walking me home." There was a short pause before Micah took in a breath through his teeth, and quite suddenly the something different was gone.
"I thought perhaps you needed me to lead you there," he hissed, obviously out of patience. "When someone isn't bright enough to follow my simple rules, I fear they might have trouble getting to the houses themselves and need a little hand-holding."
"And what on earth or in hell made you think I wanted to hold your hand?" Gabe responded coldly. His brows met in a glare, and in one swift movement he moved in, pinning her roughly against the wall. The surprise of the sudden move stole her breath; she let out a small gasp as the back of her head struck the stone wall sharply, and for a brief moment stars flashed into her vision. Then Micah's face was all she could see, a menacing view of dark brows and an angry mouth.
"You don't seem to understand," he whispered, his voice deathly serious, "what happened when I came here. Everything that once was is gone now. Gone. And I am in charge. I am the Word, and the Giver of his Way, and you will do well to remember it." Gabe set her jaw stubbornly and tilted her chin up at him.
"Fuck... you."
Something black in its hatred had seized his insides, twisting them into painful knots. Micah glared into her tear-streaked face and took a slow breath in. He could smell no fear. There was no fear on the girl, and that made him furious. He had the word of He Who Walks Behind The Rows behind him, he had a horde of obedient children, he had power and charm and strength and she... wasn't... afraid.
"You are a very stupid girl," he whispered. Gabe just leaned her face closer to his.
"Bite me," she responded just as quietly. Micah's lips trembled with rage.
"He Who Walks Behind The Rows --" he began, and pressed his mouth hard against hers.
Gabe's body jerked back against the wall as their lips met roughly. For a moment, she could scarcely think; it had been so sudden and unexpected that her mind froze in surprise. How dare he! she thought furiously, curling her hands into fists at her sides. How dare... And then her body betrayed her. Gabe slowly melted into the kiss, her fists unclenching and her lips moving carefully with his. She hesitantly lifted her hands to touch his thick black hair, forgetting for one beautiful moment everything that was wrong in her world.
There were two shocks that came with the kiss: the first being a nearly deafening scream of anguish from the voices in his head, and the second being how soft her lips were. Micah unconciously pushed away the shouts of distress and focused wholly on the second (and distinctly more pleasant) shock. He hadn't seen the kiss coming any better then she had, and Micah was sure he was the more startled of the two. It had happened so quickly; one minute, he wanted her dead on a cross in the cornfields, and the next he had to know if her lips were as soft as they looked.
They were.
For some reason, the fingers sliding tentatively into his hair were the last straw for the voices in his head; they joined in a collective howl of rage, and Micah jerked away as though burned by fire. Gabe was left against the wall, looking both shocked and dazed. Her hands remained in the air.
"Micah," she whispered breathlessly. Micah licked his lips, his face a few inches from hers. He took in a slow breath, opened his mouth to speak --
then turned and fled from the theater.
Author: Meagan-bird
Rating: PG-13
Summary: AU (alternate universe). Say that Frank Redbear died before he could push the Harvester forward. Well, what then? Press on, children, press on! I need lots of reviews to make sure I'm doing this right.
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the fic you see before you and the citizens of St. Cecilia. Can't sue me, I'm makin' no money! HAH! COTC and whatnot belong to Stephen King and all those people.
The auditorium was dark.
Gabe limped in, rubbing her tailbone sorely, and headed up one of the empty aisles. The auditorium was lined neatly with cushioned movie-theater style seats, most of which had been bright red before being singed black around the edges. She had loved the theater, and -- even while looking at the sad, wilted building that took the place of the proud auditorium -- she supposed she still did.
She trudged her way up the stairs and stumbled a little on the last step. Gabe cursed as she did so, her sore rear end flaring with pain once again; she always tripped on that step, always, every day at the beginning of drama class. Without fail. By the second semester, the teacher and students had waited patiently for her to climb up the stairs and trip, almost as if expecting class couldn't proceed without it happening. One time, Gabe had disappointed them all by swinging up the side of the stage and landing neatly on her feet. Upon realizing she missed the little tradition, she continued to take the stairs and amuse everyone else to no end. Like the sight of the majestic red curtain all blackened and weary-looking, the familiar trip made tears threaten at the back of her eyes. But she still resolved not to cry -- the look on Micah's face was too smug to give him that satisfaction. She wouldn't cry. Straightening herself on that step, Gabe finished her climb up the stairs and silently crossed to center stage.
Micah slipped into the auditorium quietly, not even bothering to close the door behind him. The theater was dark, and that was to his advantage; his black clothing would help him stay well out of sight. He squinted slightly, trying to figure out what on earth the girl was doing; she was standing in the middle of the stage, just standing there, her face tipped up towards the ceiling. Slowly, she took a deep breath and relaxed her arms at her sides. Micah could barely see her lips moving, as though she were reciting something to some invisible audience. His brows met in a small frown.
What on earth was she doing?
Gabe went through every part of the scene she remembered; they had done "Taming of the Shrew" very recently, so why was she having so much trouble remembering her lines?
"Not so much jade bear you if me you mean," she mouthed, and cursed quietly. "Dammit. That's not right. Or is it?" Gabe made a soft hissing noise through her teeth and collected herself. "Stop. I can do this." She paused, closed her eyes, and started over from the beginning.
Micah slunk slowly towards the stage, weaving in and out of the burnt theater seats. He never took his eyes off the girl; she was still mouthing silently, occasionally pausing to whisper angrily to herself. There was something oddly entrancing about the strange ritual. She was bathed in pale blue moonlight from the large-paned windows, her hair sending silvery glints into the air. Her stance was so relaxed and fluid he knew she wasn't aware of his presence; Micah found the silence and swift, fluent movement of her lips strangely attractive before he could even stop himself.
"Stop it," he hissed, his voice audible only to his own ears. "Stop that right now, it's -- it's blasphemy! A sacrilege! It's..." He trailed off, still staring at her intently. No matter how blasphemous it was, he couldn't take his eyes off her.
Gabe stopped mid-sentence, somewhere in the process of explaining a woman's tongue to Petruchio, and let her eyes drift open. It was useless. Didn't matter how long or how flawlessly she performed this scene -- nothing would ever be how it was. Even if someone did come to save them from the psychotic teens, nothing would ever bring the adults back. Every adult she had known and been friends with was gone, and along with them everything she had known to be normal. Suddenly choked with tears, Gabe began to leave the stage, but slowly stopped and turned back to face the invisible audience. The drama teacher had always told them to announce their name after reading a piece. She opened her mouth and said in a tremulous voice,
"My name is Gabe Sterling. Thank you." Gabe straightened a little and walked off stage right, being sure to keep her steps even and confident. She left the square of pale blue moonlight that shone on the stage and strode past the big red curtain, but that was as far as she made it. For nearly three weeks, she had managed not to cry; she had kept herself together and showed a calm (if somewhat mournful) face to the children who had mercilessly killed a good portion of her hometown. But now, the simple action of walking offstage brought on the pent-up tears with full force. Gabe turned towards the wall and leaned her arms against it, pressing her forehead against the black-painted stone, and let herself cry.
Micah slunk slowly up the stairs and crept towards her, being careful to avoid the patch of moonlight hitting center stage. What was she doing now? Gabe was leaning against the wall with her back to him, her shoulders trembling slightly. His brows knit together involuntarily. As he had read once when he was little, things were getting curiouser and curiouser. Micah stepped cautiously closer, cleared his throat, and finally made his presence known.
"I believe I gave you orders," he said coolly. "You were to go back to the houses and --" He stopped mid-sentence as she whirled, her fluid relaxation quickly becoming tense again; Gabe's face was surprised, but more importantly, streaked with tears. And once again, Micah felt that involuntary twinge of sympathy.
"What do you want now?" she asked at last.
Damn it, Gabe cursed silently. What the hell is he planning?
"I --" Micah cleared his throat, then tried again, and it made her frown to hear him sound uncertain. "I don't want anything. It's just -- you're supposed to be in the houses." He emphasized the last few words with a weak gesture towards the window. She followed his hand, then looked back at his face. There was something... different. It was then she realized her own face was soaking wet with tears; Gabe lifted her arm and wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand.
"I needed some time to myself, all right?" she snapped. "I'll get back to the goddamn house on my own. I don't need you walking me home." There was a short pause before Micah took in a breath through his teeth, and quite suddenly the something different was gone.
"I thought perhaps you needed me to lead you there," he hissed, obviously out of patience. "When someone isn't bright enough to follow my simple rules, I fear they might have trouble getting to the houses themselves and need a little hand-holding."
"And what on earth or in hell made you think I wanted to hold your hand?" Gabe responded coldly. His brows met in a glare, and in one swift movement he moved in, pinning her roughly against the wall. The surprise of the sudden move stole her breath; she let out a small gasp as the back of her head struck the stone wall sharply, and for a brief moment stars flashed into her vision. Then Micah's face was all she could see, a menacing view of dark brows and an angry mouth.
"You don't seem to understand," he whispered, his voice deathly serious, "what happened when I came here. Everything that once was is gone now. Gone. And I am in charge. I am the Word, and the Giver of his Way, and you will do well to remember it." Gabe set her jaw stubbornly and tilted her chin up at him.
"Fuck... you."
Something black in its hatred had seized his insides, twisting them into painful knots. Micah glared into her tear-streaked face and took a slow breath in. He could smell no fear. There was no fear on the girl, and that made him furious. He had the word of He Who Walks Behind The Rows behind him, he had a horde of obedient children, he had power and charm and strength and she... wasn't... afraid.
"You are a very stupid girl," he whispered. Gabe just leaned her face closer to his.
"Bite me," she responded just as quietly. Micah's lips trembled with rage.
"He Who Walks Behind The Rows --" he began, and pressed his mouth hard against hers.
Gabe's body jerked back against the wall as their lips met roughly. For a moment, she could scarcely think; it had been so sudden and unexpected that her mind froze in surprise. How dare he! she thought furiously, curling her hands into fists at her sides. How dare... And then her body betrayed her. Gabe slowly melted into the kiss, her fists unclenching and her lips moving carefully with his. She hesitantly lifted her hands to touch his thick black hair, forgetting for one beautiful moment everything that was wrong in her world.
There were two shocks that came with the kiss: the first being a nearly deafening scream of anguish from the voices in his head, and the second being how soft her lips were. Micah unconciously pushed away the shouts of distress and focused wholly on the second (and distinctly more pleasant) shock. He hadn't seen the kiss coming any better then she had, and Micah was sure he was the more startled of the two. It had happened so quickly; one minute, he wanted her dead on a cross in the cornfields, and the next he had to know if her lips were as soft as they looked.
They were.
For some reason, the fingers sliding tentatively into his hair were the last straw for the voices in his head; they joined in a collective howl of rage, and Micah jerked away as though burned by fire. Gabe was left against the wall, looking both shocked and dazed. Her hands remained in the air.
"Micah," she whispered breathlessly. Micah licked his lips, his face a few inches from hers. He took in a slow breath, opened his mouth to speak --
then turned and fled from the theater.