Post by ellolovliii on May 25, 2009 12:08:24 GMT -5
She knew she could see into the future ever since she was five years old.
The first thing she had ever seen was the death of her oldest brother. The truck honked as loud and as clear when the final inches between her and her brother had been met; the piercing scream in her mind matched her own as she cried out, covering her ears, squinting her eyes at the image that wouldn't go away. After the blood dripped into Paul's blank eyes, there was blackness, and all she could do was cry, not knowing what else to do, her five year old self terrified at both the vision and what had just happened that was unexplainable.
When Paul died two years later, she had met it with a sort of shot innocence. She simply balled her fists and looked into his funeral with teary eyes and a bit lip.
----
On that very day, she knew she was going to see into her own death. And she knew it wouldn't be pretty.
-----
"d@mnit, where are they?!"
She screamed as she had that very day, only her hands were strapped down with crude leather as yet another shot of fire faster than a bullet coursed through her spine and into her head, where it tingled like a million needles jamming into her pores. Her eyes squinted so hard her muscles spazzed.
"Where are they you stupid b!tch?!?" She was whipped again in the same spot, the warm oozed dripping down her back like craft glue, dripping over other slashes like dips in a mountainside. Her cold sweat mingled with the stuff, creating a lukewarm, thin membrane sliding down into her now-ruby underwear.
Through her closed eyes, tears forced their way through and ran down her cheeks, not tears of sadness, but tears of pain. She knew what was coming, she could barely remember through her mind-bending situation, but she had a general idea. He would snap her middle finger--
Crack. "Talk." She gritted her teeth as her tormentor twisted her finger two different directions, forcing the scream building inside her throat back down. That was finger number three. She chocked down a gasp as well as the pain shot up her arm and into her head, mingling with the whip's sensation, making her head light on fire. Her hair was matted with blood at the tips, her beautiful but greasy brown hair, and was slapping againt her bare shoulders as she struggled.
"There are no more!" She half spat half sobbed, pulling up on her wrist straps, not really trying to get out more than trying to deal with the shooting adrenaline shooting through her veins. Who was so cruel? Who had such a cold heart? But they wanted her to spill. And she wouldn't. Too many lives would be destroyed. Her own life wasn't important, "It's j-just me."
This was where the vision always stopped. She was in the clueless zone now. She could die at any time. And she had no idea when.
"Liar!" He slapped her hard and fast while the gla$$-adorned whip handled her back. She screamed again. She couldn't even think. It was too much, "Where are the others?"
"There...t-there are n-n-none," she sobbed into the ground. Her instincts were screaming at her. But she had to hold on. She has to. For all those out there that were as scared as her when they first discovered what they were. For all of them. They deserves a life. A life better than this.
Just tell him. Do it or you'll die.
"When is the attack?"
"THERE IS NO ATTACK!" It flew out of her mouth before she could stop it.
And that was it. Everything stopped. She looked at her tormentor with wide eyes, her forehead splattered with rogue blood, her mouth slightly open. That was it.
sh!t.
The man, shadows over his face at all times, smiled through the guise, "Thank you, dearie...," he chuckled. He finally had what he needed, and she had given it to him. He placed his hand on his chin, grabbing something from his back pocket. With that, he pushed a dagger into her stomach.
She screamed. She fell forward, unable to move, starting to cough up blood; she felt as if she were on fire, but sweet fire it was. It drew her in.... It was so warm. She couldn't escape it; It was too welcoming. It engulfed her. She relaxed,
And it was over.
--
The water lit on fire. He couldn't breathe, and was able to breathe at the same time. There was something in the blaze. Blank eyes. Purple eyes. A family heirloom. On fire they melted, the flames rippling into her corneas, her eyelashes burning up.
'...Kimmi...?'
"Kimmi!"
Tage woke up to both the pains of his infected slashes and the sound in a piercing scream, the most pure thing he had ever heard in his entire life. The nightmare faded into the cramp concrete room's mold-staned walls. He immediately squinted and inwardly yelled as he moved; his entire body was covered with either a gash or a burn, and two of his fingers were broken. He had to made a makeshift splint out of two pieces of the sink porcelin and toilet paper, oh what a luxury.
Kimmi...where was Kimmi? He sat up on his cinderblock bed, clutching the sides to pull himself up. He was so weak. So skinny. They fend them almost dog food in this horrid place. If dogs would eat it. But he guessed they were lucky they were fed at all.
His stomach rumbled as he fell back into the bed. He was on the brink of dying. It has been months. Why didn't they just kill him already?
Kimmi was the one keeping him alive. They were a team; a team that was revived and revived yet again with never ending love for each other and what they do. Without the other within a hug's or thought's reach, they were hopeless and defenseness. They fed off of each other. Except, for Tage, there wasn't much to feed off of. He had given up. He was just a doll with a dead battery. But he would never talk. He would have some dignity no matter how low his survival meter was.
He squinted his eyes at the image still in his head. He was here because we could breathe underwater. That would be where the water came from. But the fire...and Kimmi's eyes....what if...--
The side door that blended into the wall smashed open as if someone kicked it, A voice boomed through the cell, big and commanding, a giant shadow looming on the cement floor, a step sending chills through Tage's visible spine. "Where are they?!?"
He was so used to this. He wasn't phased, "There are none, I f*cking to--"
They dropped something on the floor--something red and sticky. A boney rag doll of a person, a mop of hair on top of a turning-white stick, with bright red undergarments and covered with slashes like ground meat.
Her face was down, but Tage stared. He just stared, his eyes the size of his fists, Kimmi....
"Kimmi..."
The man kicked the blood-wet rag out of the way with his black army boot and slapped Tage with the whip, a piecing yell hitting the air as the new wound mingled with the other infected ones. It dug into his flesh until he felt it slide centimeters away from his spine.
The guard's breath smelled rank as he pulled Tage up by the shirt to his face There was a pulsing vain next to his eye, and his teeth were grotesque and rotten, "Talk, or you'll meet the same fate," he growled in his smoker's-voice.
Tage met his blood-shot gaze. They had already taken his life away through her. She was everything. Now, she was nothing. And so was he.
"Do your worst."
The man's grip tightened. For a second Tage thought the anger on the man's face would melt it into nothing. Suddenly, he was thrown to the ground, and felt the millions of gla$$ stards soothe into his back.
But he felt at peace, as it he was being lifted out of his body and flying around the room. He was in the cloud. On a cloud. Finally out of pain. Free.
Free.
--
And the room smelled of death as Tage and Kimmi watched two bodies fly into the giant furnace.
The first thing she had ever seen was the death of her oldest brother. The truck honked as loud and as clear when the final inches between her and her brother had been met; the piercing scream in her mind matched her own as she cried out, covering her ears, squinting her eyes at the image that wouldn't go away. After the blood dripped into Paul's blank eyes, there was blackness, and all she could do was cry, not knowing what else to do, her five year old self terrified at both the vision and what had just happened that was unexplainable.
When Paul died two years later, she had met it with a sort of shot innocence. She simply balled her fists and looked into his funeral with teary eyes and a bit lip.
----
On that very day, she knew she was going to see into her own death. And she knew it wouldn't be pretty.
-----
"d@mnit, where are they?!"
She screamed as she had that very day, only her hands were strapped down with crude leather as yet another shot of fire faster than a bullet coursed through her spine and into her head, where it tingled like a million needles jamming into her pores. Her eyes squinted so hard her muscles spazzed.
"Where are they you stupid b!tch?!?" She was whipped again in the same spot, the warm oozed dripping down her back like craft glue, dripping over other slashes like dips in a mountainside. Her cold sweat mingled with the stuff, creating a lukewarm, thin membrane sliding down into her now-ruby underwear.
Through her closed eyes, tears forced their way through and ran down her cheeks, not tears of sadness, but tears of pain. She knew what was coming, she could barely remember through her mind-bending situation, but she had a general idea. He would snap her middle finger--
Crack. "Talk." She gritted her teeth as her tormentor twisted her finger two different directions, forcing the scream building inside her throat back down. That was finger number three. She chocked down a gasp as well as the pain shot up her arm and into her head, mingling with the whip's sensation, making her head light on fire. Her hair was matted with blood at the tips, her beautiful but greasy brown hair, and was slapping againt her bare shoulders as she struggled.
"There are no more!" She half spat half sobbed, pulling up on her wrist straps, not really trying to get out more than trying to deal with the shooting adrenaline shooting through her veins. Who was so cruel? Who had such a cold heart? But they wanted her to spill. And she wouldn't. Too many lives would be destroyed. Her own life wasn't important, "It's j-just me."
This was where the vision always stopped. She was in the clueless zone now. She could die at any time. And she had no idea when.
"Liar!" He slapped her hard and fast while the gla$$-adorned whip handled her back. She screamed again. She couldn't even think. It was too much, "Where are the others?"
"There...t-there are n-n-none," she sobbed into the ground. Her instincts were screaming at her. But she had to hold on. She has to. For all those out there that were as scared as her when they first discovered what they were. For all of them. They deserves a life. A life better than this.
Just tell him. Do it or you'll die.
"When is the attack?"
"THERE IS NO ATTACK!" It flew out of her mouth before she could stop it.
And that was it. Everything stopped. She looked at her tormentor with wide eyes, her forehead splattered with rogue blood, her mouth slightly open. That was it.
sh!t.
The man, shadows over his face at all times, smiled through the guise, "Thank you, dearie...," he chuckled. He finally had what he needed, and she had given it to him. He placed his hand on his chin, grabbing something from his back pocket. With that, he pushed a dagger into her stomach.
She screamed. She fell forward, unable to move, starting to cough up blood; she felt as if she were on fire, but sweet fire it was. It drew her in.... It was so warm. She couldn't escape it; It was too welcoming. It engulfed her. She relaxed,
And it was over.
--
The water lit on fire. He couldn't breathe, and was able to breathe at the same time. There was something in the blaze. Blank eyes. Purple eyes. A family heirloom. On fire they melted, the flames rippling into her corneas, her eyelashes burning up.
'...Kimmi...?'
"Kimmi!"
Tage woke up to both the pains of his infected slashes and the sound in a piercing scream, the most pure thing he had ever heard in his entire life. The nightmare faded into the cramp concrete room's mold-staned walls. He immediately squinted and inwardly yelled as he moved; his entire body was covered with either a gash or a burn, and two of his fingers were broken. He had to made a makeshift splint out of two pieces of the sink porcelin and toilet paper, oh what a luxury.
Kimmi...where was Kimmi? He sat up on his cinderblock bed, clutching the sides to pull himself up. He was so weak. So skinny. They fend them almost dog food in this horrid place. If dogs would eat it. But he guessed they were lucky they were fed at all.
His stomach rumbled as he fell back into the bed. He was on the brink of dying. It has been months. Why didn't they just kill him already?
Kimmi was the one keeping him alive. They were a team; a team that was revived and revived yet again with never ending love for each other and what they do. Without the other within a hug's or thought's reach, they were hopeless and defenseness. They fed off of each other. Except, for Tage, there wasn't much to feed off of. He had given up. He was just a doll with a dead battery. But he would never talk. He would have some dignity no matter how low his survival meter was.
He squinted his eyes at the image still in his head. He was here because we could breathe underwater. That would be where the water came from. But the fire...and Kimmi's eyes....what if...--
The side door that blended into the wall smashed open as if someone kicked it, A voice boomed through the cell, big and commanding, a giant shadow looming on the cement floor, a step sending chills through Tage's visible spine. "Where are they?!?"
He was so used to this. He wasn't phased, "There are none, I f*cking to--"
They dropped something on the floor--something red and sticky. A boney rag doll of a person, a mop of hair on top of a turning-white stick, with bright red undergarments and covered with slashes like ground meat.
Her face was down, but Tage stared. He just stared, his eyes the size of his fists, Kimmi....
"Kimmi..."
The man kicked the blood-wet rag out of the way with his black army boot and slapped Tage with the whip, a piecing yell hitting the air as the new wound mingled with the other infected ones. It dug into his flesh until he felt it slide centimeters away from his spine.
The guard's breath smelled rank as he pulled Tage up by the shirt to his face There was a pulsing vain next to his eye, and his teeth were grotesque and rotten, "Talk, or you'll meet the same fate," he growled in his smoker's-voice.
Tage met his blood-shot gaze. They had already taken his life away through her. She was everything. Now, she was nothing. And so was he.
"Do your worst."
The man's grip tightened. For a second Tage thought the anger on the man's face would melt it into nothing. Suddenly, he was thrown to the ground, and felt the millions of gla$$ stards soothe into his back.
But he felt at peace, as it he was being lifted out of his body and flying around the room. He was in the cloud. On a cloud. Finally out of pain. Free.
Free.
--
And the room smelled of death as Tage and Kimmi watched two bodies fly into the giant furnace.