INERTIA
in-er-tia n. resistance or disinclination to motion, action, or change
we cant wake again // from this dream // it's not real, but it's ours // maybe tonight, // we'll be lost before the dawn // 'before the dawn' - evanescence
~*~
A single pinprick of light on a canvas of utter night.
"Trinity?"
"I'm here."
"What's happening?"
"I... I don't know."
A gentle rhythmic thud thud of the girl's skipping allowed Jamie Puir to garden with ease. Her hand reached out and pulled a tall flowering weed from the softened earth. The shovel for digging, then smooth hands filled in the fertilizer. Then, with more care than anything, Jamie set the daffodil bulb inside the hole she had made and smiled as she pushed dark healthy soil over it. Whether it was true or not, her grandmother had always said that daffodils were hope. Every spring someone would make sure daffodils showed their yellow faces and Jamie couldn't remember a time of misfortune when those flowers bloomed.
Silence came as the skipping ceased and Jaime looked over where the playing child should be. In the driveway was a prone figure with long blonde hair - her daughter. Jamie scrambled up and ran but she only got halfway before her mind blanked and she collapsed on the ground, dead.
The daffodil bulb fell from her hand and rolled along the ground until it stopped.
Nickolas Grafton hurried down the long brightly-lit hallway. He hated when taking a piss took him away from the market. Surely half the stocks he wanted were now in the greasy clutches of some old geezer who had no fucking clue about the stock market or anything it comprised of. Many did it just despite him. No one really liked geniuses and having graduated MIT three years before most people finished high school qualified Nickolas as such. Pausing before the door to go back onto the floor, Nickolas smoothed his hair back and shifted around in his jacket. His father's jacket because the man had died protecting his son and Nickolas wasn't pompous enough to neglect that detail.
He swung open the door and stepped out. But only absolute silence greeted him. The screens were blank and the ticker had nothing running over it. Confused, Nickolas looked down to see that the floor was littered with prostrate bodies. What the fu-
The thought didn't complete itself as Nickolas fell, jacket catching on the railing and tearing.
Her knees drawn up to her chest and clothed in something much more suitable for lounging around the extravagant house, a woman with long black hair sat with her chin in her hands. The screen in front of her was most indecipherable with its lines of green numbers and code. Every once in a while, her fingers would lightly clack over the keyboard, manicured tips providing no hindrance. Most often though, she would merely sit, teeth catching her bottom lip and eyebrows furrowing. She reached for her drink, some alcoholic beverage that she couldn't really taste but needed the familiarity to function, but nothing met her grasping hand. Glancing down, she saw that only a wet ring remained on the side table, glass gone.
"Musette!" It would send the maid running. The little brat had been slacking off in her duties and she had told him that hiring the French dipshit wouldn't be a good idea.
"She is... preoccupied, ma coeur." Rolling her eyes heavenward, she didn't even bother to turn around.
"With what? Your belino?"
"See for yourself."
She did and he stood leaning provocatively against the door, holding it open so she could see the dark curls of Musette lying on the floor, a shattered glass not far from her tiny pale hand. Eyes travelling back up, she saw the raised eyebrow and amused visage of the man who looked entirely too amused most of the time. Not bothering to give him the satisfaction of any emotion in her eyes, she turned back to the screen, pulling her knees back into place.
"It is starting already then?" She asked, knowing he was still there. The gentle swish though the air was his movements, his hands hovered over her shoulders.
"Starting? It is finished. Voulas-tu faire l'amour avec moi?" He was still keeping his distance, never touching her with his hands, but merely gliding them over her shoulders.
"I am busy," she said lightly, not allowing her lips to curve into a smile.
"Busy?" He spat the word, as though it burned his tongue to say such a vulgarity. "Busy with what? There is no one left!"
He was met with silence as she waited for him to calm down and try the seductive approach again. Anger was so easy, but if he got angry then she would, and that never ended up in any vangare for anybody. Except for the self-serving kind. A few moments passed and his hands ended up decisively on her shoulders, rubbing the muscle and his lips were against her neck. There. That was better.
Just as he was getting comfortable, one hand pressing against her stomach and the other creeping down her pants, mouth pressed firmly in a suck against her jaw, she spoke again, softly. "I did think it was different this time."
"What?" He mummered, not noticing her words but only that she had spoken. She fought to hide her smile.
"I did think the anomaly would succeed this time."
"Mon Dieu!" He cursed, spinning her around in the chair. Her face was calm as he grabbed her and pushed her against the nearest wall, eyes gone dark and normally immaculate hair in disarray around him. The picture amused her. The game registered in his thoughts and instead of shaking her, he pressed her into the wall and put his mouth near her ear. "The anomaly never wins, ma vie. You should know that by now."
Finally, she put her hands in his hair as he resumed kissing her neck. "Yes, but I did think he was different.
"He is a human. You should never expect anything of them."
"Mm-hmm." She closed her eyes. "You were too bold, mio amore, with that blonde."
"Then let me make it up to you Persephone."
"You may try." And she smiled.
"Trinity?"
"I'm here."
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be."
"I can't-"
The light vanished, engulfed in the black abyss.
in-er-tia n. resistance or disinclination to motion, action, or change
we cant wake again // from this dream // it's not real, but it's ours // maybe tonight, // we'll be lost before the dawn // 'before the dawn' - evanescence
~*~
A single pinprick of light on a canvas of utter night.
"Trinity?"
"I'm here."
"What's happening?"
"I... I don't know."
A gentle rhythmic thud thud of the girl's skipping allowed Jamie Puir to garden with ease. Her hand reached out and pulled a tall flowering weed from the softened earth. The shovel for digging, then smooth hands filled in the fertilizer. Then, with more care than anything, Jamie set the daffodil bulb inside the hole she had made and smiled as she pushed dark healthy soil over it. Whether it was true or not, her grandmother had always said that daffodils were hope. Every spring someone would make sure daffodils showed their yellow faces and Jamie couldn't remember a time of misfortune when those flowers bloomed.
Silence came as the skipping ceased and Jaime looked over where the playing child should be. In the driveway was a prone figure with long blonde hair - her daughter. Jamie scrambled up and ran but she only got halfway before her mind blanked and she collapsed on the ground, dead.
The daffodil bulb fell from her hand and rolled along the ground until it stopped.
Nickolas Grafton hurried down the long brightly-lit hallway. He hated when taking a piss took him away from the market. Surely half the stocks he wanted were now in the greasy clutches of some old geezer who had no fucking clue about the stock market or anything it comprised of. Many did it just despite him. No one really liked geniuses and having graduated MIT three years before most people finished high school qualified Nickolas as such. Pausing before the door to go back onto the floor, Nickolas smoothed his hair back and shifted around in his jacket. His father's jacket because the man had died protecting his son and Nickolas wasn't pompous enough to neglect that detail.
He swung open the door and stepped out. But only absolute silence greeted him. The screens were blank and the ticker had nothing running over it. Confused, Nickolas looked down to see that the floor was littered with prostrate bodies. What the fu-
The thought didn't complete itself as Nickolas fell, jacket catching on the railing and tearing.
Her knees drawn up to her chest and clothed in something much more suitable for lounging around the extravagant house, a woman with long black hair sat with her chin in her hands. The screen in front of her was most indecipherable with its lines of green numbers and code. Every once in a while, her fingers would lightly clack over the keyboard, manicured tips providing no hindrance. Most often though, she would merely sit, teeth catching her bottom lip and eyebrows furrowing. She reached for her drink, some alcoholic beverage that she couldn't really taste but needed the familiarity to function, but nothing met her grasping hand. Glancing down, she saw that only a wet ring remained on the side table, glass gone.
"Musette!" It would send the maid running. The little brat had been slacking off in her duties and she had told him that hiring the French dipshit wouldn't be a good idea.
"She is... preoccupied, ma coeur." Rolling her eyes heavenward, she didn't even bother to turn around.
"With what? Your belino?"
"See for yourself."
She did and he stood leaning provocatively against the door, holding it open so she could see the dark curls of Musette lying on the floor, a shattered glass not far from her tiny pale hand. Eyes travelling back up, she saw the raised eyebrow and amused visage of the man who looked entirely too amused most of the time. Not bothering to give him the satisfaction of any emotion in her eyes, she turned back to the screen, pulling her knees back into place.
"It is starting already then?" She asked, knowing he was still there. The gentle swish though the air was his movements, his hands hovered over her shoulders.
"Starting? It is finished. Voulas-tu faire l'amour avec moi?" He was still keeping his distance, never touching her with his hands, but merely gliding them over her shoulders.
"I am busy," she said lightly, not allowing her lips to curve into a smile.
"Busy?" He spat the word, as though it burned his tongue to say such a vulgarity. "Busy with what? There is no one left!"
He was met with silence as she waited for him to calm down and try the seductive approach again. Anger was so easy, but if he got angry then she would, and that never ended up in any vangare for anybody. Except for the self-serving kind. A few moments passed and his hands ended up decisively on her shoulders, rubbing the muscle and his lips were against her neck. There. That was better.
Just as he was getting comfortable, one hand pressing against her stomach and the other creeping down her pants, mouth pressed firmly in a suck against her jaw, she spoke again, softly. "I did think it was different this time."
"What?" He mummered, not noticing her words but only that she had spoken. She fought to hide her smile.
"I did think the anomaly would succeed this time."
"Mon Dieu!" He cursed, spinning her around in the chair. Her face was calm as he grabbed her and pushed her against the nearest wall, eyes gone dark and normally immaculate hair in disarray around him. The picture amused her. The game registered in his thoughts and instead of shaking her, he pressed her into the wall and put his mouth near her ear. "The anomaly never wins, ma vie. You should know that by now."
Finally, she put her hands in his hair as he resumed kissing her neck. "Yes, but I did think he was different.
"He is a human. You should never expect anything of them."
"Mm-hmm." She closed her eyes. "You were too bold, mio amore, with that blonde."
"Then let me make it up to you Persephone."
"You may try." And she smiled.
"Trinity?"
"I'm here."
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be."
"I can't-"
The light vanished, engulfed in the black abyss.