Chapter 11 - by Jouley

Slash and Beyonce

Someone broke. Snapped. Revealed something important, vital, something the rest of us were probably unaware they had known.

There is a flurry of active and I watch as secret police constantly dash up and down the glass corridors, weapons in their hands, orders being given.

The screams haven't stopped, I glance up from the matte of black hair, Beyonce having eventually fallen asleep against my chest. Looking across the room I see a large burly man dragging Hamster and Cheeky out of their cell.

My heart fills with dread for my friends. If the police think they know where the dreamer is, they no longer need to keep us alive.

It was foolish of me to pity them, for moments later our own cell door opens and three men enter, two sporting laser batons. What can I do but pull the girl I love closer into my arms and pray?

Soon Beyonce is ripped from my grasp, the poor girl still slumbers, too exhausted to know what's going on. Too sickly to possibly fight back. But I fight. And it only rewards me with a blow to the head.

As I slowly come to, I can sense the unfamiliar-ness of the room. We are no longer in a glass box, but in a dark white or metal lined room.

My head aches as my eyes try to focus, I can hear raspy breathing coming from opposite me, and slowly I open my eyes to see Beyonce standing there, her eyes hallow yet wide.

Around her neck is looped a strip of thick leather which is also looped over a bar four feet above Beyonce's head.

No.

God no.

Attached to the other end of the leather are the hands of an evil looking man. He notices my shifting and smiles. I hate him more than I've hated anyone in my entire life.

"Look, the dyke's awake. Now she can watch as we squeeze the life out of her poor little girl friend."

"No!" It's then that I realize I'm bound by my wrists into the wall behind me. "Don't hurt her! Please!"

"Oh, we're not going to hurt her.. We're just going to kill her.. It's you we want to hurt." A second man broke in, and I struggle thru the dim light to try and make out the new mans face. Once his features were clear, I began to whimper. It was the same Secret Police I had bitten in a rather sensitive place a few days ago.

Without giving me even another moment to beg, the first man yanks on the leather and I watch in horror as Beyonce is lifted two feet off the ground. By her neck.

"Don't do this, please! Oh my god! Please put her down!" I cry, lunging forward only to fall as the chains around my wrists catch and drag me to the ground.

The man only laughs and pulls the frantically struggling girl higher.

"Don't let her die please! Oh! I'll do anything PLEASE! Please! I'll let each of you fk me, just don't let her die!"

The man still holding the other end of the leather strap laughs, "What makes you think we weren't going to fk you anyway?"

Pulling at my binds with every last ounce of strength, I hear a bone snap and searing pain shoots through my wrist and arm. I don't care that I've just broken my hand, I would rip my arms from my sockets if it meant being able to reach Beyonce.. Being able to save her.

"NOOOoooooooooo!" I wail, trembling with hatred, fear and pain as I watch Beyonce's body stop struggling.. The momentum she had built up only causing her now limp body to swing back and forth gently. Her face.. Oh god, her face is blue.

Blue had always been Bey's favourite colour.. She said it made her look slim. Not that the girl needed to worry about her weight, having naturally been skinny. I remember all the times I used to tease her about her 'weight problem', and smiled faintly at the images of the girl standing with her hands on bony hips, protesting her obesity.

But all too suddenly the memories evaporate as reality sets in. The tears being to spill down my cheeks as I realize Beyonce isn't just blue. Beyonce is dead. She's dead. My lover is dead. They killed Beyonce. They killed her. They killed her.

"NOOOoooooo!" My body flies forward, the tiny girl in my arms falling to the floor in a heap at my disturbance. She looks at me with curious yet still sleepful eyes and I stare back at her. Disbelieving.

I watched Beyonce die.

Yet she's laying before me, alive.

Then it hits me.. It had only been a dream.