Title: Fearless

Rating: M for Language, Violence, Grotesquerie, and General Trippiness

Summary: A girl suffers trauma to her temporal lobe. The result: no fear. ~ Uh, I guess you don't have to squint for romance anymore. 1000 words per drabble.

Disclaimer & Important Notes: Don't own Freddy; don't own the rhymes. You know the drill.

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Frustration

(Night 60)

"Godfuckindammit!"

The scream brought him before the feel of her did, surprisingly enough. When he melted out of the shadows by her side, she was staring up at the pipes vacantly, chewing her lip. He recognized the expression: not one of alarm or distress, but one that signified she was deeply involved in some purely intellectual question. There was no sign of the girl who had screamed so shrilly, so fiercely.

He buried his hand in her belly, driving the blades inward and squeezing, lifting her clear off her feet.

"What the fuck?" he hissed, his flexing his fingers inside her.

She met his eyes and gripped his wrist with one hand. "Down now, please?" she said mildly, and he grudgingly lowered her. The blades left her abdomen with a wet plopping sound. "Sorry," she apologized. "I didn't mean to scare you."

He burst out laughing, loud and vicious. "Scare me?" he mocked. "You're just loud as fuck. I didn't want you scaring away the wildlife."

"And by wildlife, you mean children," she said dryly, readjusting her shirt. "I'm going to have rips in this when I wake up, you know."

He grinned nastily. "I can rip it more if you want," he offered silkily.

"Kind of you," she murmured, sounding distracted, and he growled.

"What the fuck was your problem, anyway?"

"Freddy," she simpered. "I didn't know you cared."

"Don't push it, bitch," he snapped, "or you'll have more to worry about than a torn shirt."

She shrugged. "I was just trying to get angry," she said lightly. "I didn't mean to bring it with me here. I was just trying—" She broke off, and then looked away. "I know there are things-people-that I should be angry about." Her gaze darkened. "Very angry. But…" She shook her head. "Something inside me feels like a moth under a glass," she said quietly.

A wise old owl lived in an oak
The more he saw the less he spoke
The less he spoke the more he heard.
Why can't we all be like that wise old bird?

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This drabble is dedicated to Elf-warrior-13 for the prompt, "Frustration."

It is 315 words long, and was kind of tricky (I'm not sure I was successful). From the beginning, I wanted to display Ash's inability to express (or even feel) anger, that it all only boiled back to a vague sense of frustration. It was difficult, and would have been easy (as I thought a few times) to drabble about Freddy's frustration with her. But I've done that enough, I think, and Ash's inability to feel anger or fear is actually a kind of important plot and character aspect. There's also a hint of things to come in this (just a vague hint, mind you...there's a target for her "anger," after all), because though I am playing fast and loose with these prompts, I do know the general direction I want these drabbles to head in. That is, there will be some sort of "conclusion" to the tale.

In the meantime, thanks again for the challenge, Elf-warrior-13! I thrive on 'em. :)

Another special thanks to fantasmeqrt, who sent me the link to a website full of nursery rhymes, so we could continue to enjoy a little dessert of irony after the feast. Thanks for supporting the cause!

Also: please don't kill me. I know I promised there would be a double-post today, but I felt like I needed to insert another drabble between "Fleeting" and the "Frigid/Fire" doubleteamer that's coming up. Soon, I promise!