Scene Two


"Now kiss me before the world ends."

Trowa Barton glared at the image of himself in the TV and searched for the remote under the covers. The corny music was already playing when he finally pressed the off button and blessed silence filled the trailer. How he hated his movies. Sure, they made him rich and famous but also made him ashamed of himself. And now here he was, in Little Town in the middle of nowhere filming another macho movie with corny lines and endless action sequences.

Today had been a bad day. The make-up artist never showed up and the shoot had to be delayed for hours. Hours of wasted time.

He closed his eyes and leaned comfortably on his pillow. There was one thing that always bettered his mood. His hand moved under the hem of his boxers and he let out a short moan. Yes, this was good. He tried to picture someone in his mind but he could never settle on a face. Flashes of skin, arms around him, hands stroking him, chests pressed together, moist mouths, closer, closer…

"Want help with that, baby?"

Trowa's eyes snapped open and a scream chocked in his throat. There was a woman before him, not exactly a woman but the remains of one. Her shoulder was cut, open enough to expose bone, yellow puss coming out of the wound instead of blood. Her wrist was turned the wrong way and her anklebone was sticking out, piercing the flesh. Her skin looked a pale green but her eyes, those were the worst, glazed and dead but fixed on him with want and desire.

"Looks like you lost your mojo, honey, but don't worry. I'll help you get it back."

The thing was moving towards him, walking in the broken ankle as if nothing, stretching her arms to touch Trowa. He jumped out of bed, his boxers almost falling off.

"Come," said the thing. "I'll make it all better."

There was a gun in the dresser. Trowa took it and pointed it at the thing and then the desire in the woman's eyes turned to anger and that was infinitely worse.

She attacked. Trowa fired.

There was a deafening sound.

"Not nice, honey."

She was still standing. The left part of her face slightly singed but that was all the damage the gun had done… the prop gun.

Without a thought Trowa pushed her away and ran for the door, wearing nothing but his boxers and gripping the useless prop gun tightly in his hand. He didn't dare look back.