N/A: After a massive writer's block and a week full of activity – last friday was my bithday and I'm planning a party to celebrate with my friends; plus next week the classes begin at the University, so I'm getting ready – I return to with the first chapter of what I hope will be many more, but not too many. (I have an idea of what will become of this, but when you write it down, not everything goes according to plan).
But, on with the chapter!. I hope it's to your liking. Reviews, comments and constuctive critisism are always welcome!
Like always, I own nothing. All belongs to Sondheim and Burton.
Chapter I: Pretty DaisiesA silver flash crossed his face as he and his razor approached the neck of the stranger.
Remember, Ben. Always use long even strokes...
Expressionless, his eyes followed the blade, as it went up and down the jaw. From time to time he cleaned off the foam and continued.
A gentle hand plus a steady pulse equals a happy costumer!
He passed an ice cold hand through the shaved cheeks.
... be careful not to miss a spot...
Without saying a word, he scanned the face of the man before him.
Patience, dear boy. Timing is everything.
It was the only advise he rememberd his former self recieving that it was actually worth listening to.
He gave one last look.
Perfect.
And then that was it.
Red everywhere, heavy breathing through clentched teeth, sticky hands...
Another wonderful job.
"Not a single nick"
Of course not!. Apart from the sliced throat, the man was in no condition to complain.
"He certainly is not". He thought while he watched how the corpse now descended to the abrassive Hell of Mrs. Lovett's basement.
Funny how a fact that use to fill Benjamin Baker with professional pride, was now an excuse for Sweeney Todd's acid humour to revel in the situation.
The closest chave you will ever know! Once cheerfully said by Ben Barker's happy costumers, who would never shave at home anymore!.
Now was sneered by one Sweeney Todd, very close to one's ear, to costumers who would never shave... again.
He lowered the bloody hands to his side, and let himself fall on the chair, now empty, hot from the heat of the previous sitter. And sighed.
He looked around him, silently. If he concentrated, he could see the memories of the old days emerge from the walls, the floor, the windows, now full of dirt and drips of blood.
He would see a ghost-like Lucy, dressed in vivid colours, greeting politely, with a bright smile. His fingers tickled, as he felt the sudden urge to carress her beautiful face.
She would smile and offer them a cup of tea. Or maybe she would remain sitted in a corner singing softly a lullaby to the little Johanna that was half asleep in her crib. He was sure that he could hear her daughter's soft breathing, as slumber took over her.
He would see a younger version of himself, smiling, with a glint of happiness in his eyes – those eyes full of life, without bags under them. The ghost of Benjamin would invite his costumer to sit confortably and to relax. He was always in the mood for a chat, no matter how trivial.
He would laugh whole heartedly, and between skilled strokes, he would flash a smile to his wife and daughter, and perhaps a wink.
After the costumer was gone, the money on the box next to the razors, and Johanna asleep, Lucy would clean his husband's workplace, while he washed his hands on the vanity by the crib.
She would join him and he would hug her, rejoicing in the pleasure of just holding her, both looking down at their sleeping baby. He would smile, feeling complete, and think that life was a wonder.
"A bloody wonder". His alter ego thought bitterly, now seeing how the ghosts of the Barker family disolved before his very eyes, leaving the room empty and him alone once more.
He stood up, not able to stay still anymore, and went to the counter, where his tools remained, the blade now crissom, not once loosing its elegance.
He motioned to clean them up, but then something else than silver caught his attention.
It was a white daisy that rested by his morning tea, that had remained untouched.
Instead of a razor, he was now holding a daisy. It was so unlike the room. It didn't match with the broken windows, the filthy floors, let alone his own rough hands.
He felt the softness of the petals, as he played with them with his fingers. Why had he done that, it was something that he couldn't express with words. At the sight of the white flower he felt the tickle at his fingertips, the urge of carressing them, as he had felt it before with Lucy's creamy cheek.
He couldn't remember by now if daisies were indeed her favourite flowers. But if not, they should have. So much alike... Both white, pue, so simple, and yet they had a sweetness that captured everyone's eye immediatly. One could not go past a daisy without staring, hoping that the moment to blink never come.
Much like what young Ben had felt that sunny morning that pretty Lucy opened her bedroom window, as her voice danced through the air, in a captivating melody, taking over his senses. He just stared freezed on the spot, suddenly forgetting how to breathe.
His hand left the flower. White petals were now red. He frowned at this.
And remembered, his jaw tensing angrily, that thing that were once pure, never remain such in this world. A cruel world in which he played a part.
Vengeance.
Yes, that was what occupied his mind, all that mattered, night and day, wasn't it? Oh, yes, to hear the subtle cut of the blade against the flesh, to see the blood flowing through the wooden floor, to see the light of a lifetime of hipocricy leaving their eyes!
... Oh, yes... The daisy dripped blood, as well as his memories, long gone, now dripped the rubbies of his own crimes.
"Don't you think some flowers, pretty daisies, might relieve the gloom?"
He remembered the look of Benjamin Barker's face, while looking at his wife and daughter.
He looked up at the mirror in front of which he now standed. He saw himself though a broken glass, lips parted, with a defeated look on his eyes.
And realized just how much everything had changed.
More that Ben Barker's naive little brain could have ever imagined.
Ben Barker.
Benjamin.
Benjamin Barker...
"That man is dead."
A man layed in the floor – a dusty floor -, covered in blood, holding a daisy to his heart.
And wept.