Fear? Fear. Fear is a luxury I could afford once. Something I revelled in. Like surprise. But I lost my ability to feel fear, long ago.
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The figure, trailing drips of blood strode up the escalators. He didn't seem to move like a human. People gasped when they saw him, and backed against the edges of the escalator as far as they could go.
A tourist tentavily said "Dude, are you alright?", but the figure strode past him, unheeding.
As he vaulted the barriers in a raven flurry of tattered clothes the guard dropped the ticket he'd been holding and ran after the figure.
"Sir!.." Said the guard in an exasperated voice as he put a hand on the figure's shoulder. His shock as he found his hand slick with blood was nothing to his shock when the figure whipped round and lashed out.
The guard groaned and blinked. He was against the wall with a worried crowd surrounding him. The... creature he'd been persuing was long gone.
Emerging from the subway the incredibly harsh light of the low, bright, winter sun found an eye that had been hidden below ground for years. The eye didn't even blink. All around the figure the low light shone the streets of london into a haze of magnificence to which the eye simply didn't respond. Large elegant clouds above, painted blue, gold and pink failed to arouse it's attention.
It was fixed on a phone-booth.
A few paces. An inhuman finger typed in the number one-zero-zero.
"Operator, how can I help?"
"reverse charges call seven-nine-eight-six-one-two-five-five." Replied a noise from a broken throat.
"I'm sorry, can you repeat that."
"reverse charges call seven-nine-eight-six-one-two-five-five." The figure tried again.
"And who should I say is calling, sir?"
"Someone she met at a tube station."
"Okay, Sir. I'm putting you through, now."
He was to meet her on London Bridge the following day. London Bridge was a short walk away. He waited there for the whole night. A lone sillhouette against the moon.
-------------
The woman had mousey blonde hair cropped neatly to an ordinary, femenine length. She was wearing neat femenine clothes, neat femenine shoes. But for all her ordinariness, there was something about her that created a space around her wherever she walked. And it was her face. The feature were femenine and neat. Perhaps once beatiful, until a livid scar had sullied them. But it was not her features that made her a thing to be avoided. It was the look in her eyes, the expression on her face.
She was haunted. She'd experienced things a human simply shouldn't experience. And they'd scarred her through and through. She reached London Bridge and walked along it, knowing well that he'd find her. And for the first time in a long time. He'd be surprised.
She felt a shadow at her shoulder, and dropped the flower that she'd been carrying as the token of her identity.
And she turned.
--------------
------------------
The figure, trailing drips of blood strode up the escalators. He didn't seem to move like a human. People gasped when they saw him, and backed against the edges of the escalator as far as they could go.
A tourist tentavily said "Dude, are you alright?", but the figure strode past him, unheeding.
As he vaulted the barriers in a raven flurry of tattered clothes the guard dropped the ticket he'd been holding and ran after the figure.
"Sir!.." Said the guard in an exasperated voice as he put a hand on the figure's shoulder. His shock as he found his hand slick with blood was nothing to his shock when the figure whipped round and lashed out.
The guard groaned and blinked. He was against the wall with a worried crowd surrounding him. The... creature he'd been persuing was long gone.
Emerging from the subway the incredibly harsh light of the low, bright, winter sun found an eye that had been hidden below ground for years. The eye didn't even blink. All around the figure the low light shone the streets of london into a haze of magnificence to which the eye simply didn't respond. Large elegant clouds above, painted blue, gold and pink failed to arouse it's attention.
It was fixed on a phone-booth.
A few paces. An inhuman finger typed in the number one-zero-zero.
"Operator, how can I help?"
"reverse charges call seven-nine-eight-six-one-two-five-five." Replied a noise from a broken throat.
"I'm sorry, can you repeat that."
"reverse charges call seven-nine-eight-six-one-two-five-five." The figure tried again.
"And who should I say is calling, sir?"
"Someone she met at a tube station."
"Okay, Sir. I'm putting you through, now."
He was to meet her on London Bridge the following day. London Bridge was a short walk away. He waited there for the whole night. A lone sillhouette against the moon.
-------------
The woman had mousey blonde hair cropped neatly to an ordinary, femenine length. She was wearing neat femenine clothes, neat femenine shoes. But for all her ordinariness, there was something about her that created a space around her wherever she walked. And it was her face. The feature were femenine and neat. Perhaps once beatiful, until a livid scar had sullied them. But it was not her features that made her a thing to be avoided. It was the look in her eyes, the expression on her face.
She was haunted. She'd experienced things a human simply shouldn't experience. And they'd scarred her through and through. She reached London Bridge and walked along it, knowing well that he'd find her. And for the first time in a long time. He'd be surprised.
She felt a shadow at her shoulder, and dropped the flower that she'd been carrying as the token of her identity.
And she turned.
--------------
