Taking a break from writing to do more...writing?

So it's been a while since I last posted. I've been getting caught up in life, work and the process of jotting down a new story. And while I'm stuck on chapter 8, a bit of flash fiction took a trip across my stalled-out mind. Maybe this'll help me out of the rut....enjoy!

 

 

     The sounds of fighting made him want to scream. A high-pitched hum filled his ears, setting his teeth on edge as he pulled himself along the floor. His useless legs trailed blood, the wounds in them sharp and bright. Digging his elbows and forearms into the tiles, every pull forced a half-bitten off scream from his lips.

     Somewhere safe, he thought. Need somewhere safe right the hell now.

     Gasping and sweating, he dragged himself into an empty room. He shoved the door shut, too drained to bother locking it. Hell, he couldn't reach the lock anyway from his pathetic position on the floor. His arms shook, his body sang with exhaustion as he propped himself into a sitting position against the far wall. A hospital bed hid him from view...unless you followed the twin tracks of blood smearing across the floor.

     Sucking in air, he looked down at his ravaged legs. Tears slid down his cheeks. God, they hurt.

     Then the door creaked open.

He closed his eyes.

     When he opened them, she stood at his feet, staring down at him with those impossible golden eyes.

     "Why do you keep running from me?" she asked.

Instead of answering, he pulled the gun from his jeans. She cocked her head at him, a dimple appearing as she smiled.

     "You know you're going to need more than the one bullet you have left to stop me."

     "I know," he replied, his voice shaking.

Then he jammed the gun in his mouth.

     She was suddenly on her knees beside him, one hand wrapped around his, bending his finger off the trigger. He fought weakly, whimpering as the gun was pulled from his blood-slippery hands.

     "Don't do this," he gasped. "Please don't..."

Her eyes wandered over his face. Her hand reached down to one of the wounds in his leg. The muscles twitched and he swallowed back a scream as she scraped a nail inside. He tried to twist away but she curled her other hand around the back of his neck. Pulling him close, he could only watch as she sucked the blood from her finger.

He pushed at her. "Don't..."

     "I would never hurt you," she said quietly. "Don't you know that by now?"

He wanted to shake his head but her fingers tightened on his neck. One side of her mouth quirked up in a parody of a smile.

     "Well," she said, reconsidering. "Except just this once."

He had no breath left to scream with.

 



 



She knew him...

He jerked her head back. The knife was steady, sharp against the thin flesh of her throat. He lowered his face to hers.
     "You don't know me," he snarled quietly.
She blinked up at him, trying to ignore the ache in her neck muscles. When she swallowed, it was an audible sound and one side of his mouth curled up.
     "I do," came her reply.
     "No. You don't."
She craned her neck to look him in the eye. The movement sliced her throat but she didn't flinch. Blood swelled, beading like gemstones before starting a lazy journey down her neck. Only then did a crack of uncertainty flutter across his face.
     "Eyes like sea glass," she whispered.
He paled.
     "And a smile so rarely used." She licked her lips. "But when it showed, it was like standing in the sun."
     The hand in her hair loosened.
     "I do know you," she murmured.
His breath shook.
     "You're the man who stole my brother's heart."

A Heart for Valentine's Day

She always nagged him.

No matter what he did, it was never high enough, low enough, far enough, deep enough, you don't love me enough.

Well, he had something right here to prove her wrong.

It was messy, sure. Stains probably won't come out of the carpet and he was certain that would be something else for her to bitch about.
But when she saw what he had for her...she would finally understand. She could finally get it, get him. She would finally believe him when he told her he loved her more than life itself.

Of course, he'd have to get the hole fixed. He didn't want to die of infection, for God's sakes.

He smiled at the jar in his hands. The blood smears couldn't be helped but still.

She was going to love it.