prisoners of fate

prologue

The November night is drenching her with the leaking remnants of violence from the skies, bleeding colourless over her small frame.

Her smile leaves her nostrils flaring, cheeks pushed up in a wild fashion and petite hands dragging a shovel over the muddy field, drawing a line between the safe and the sane.

A rose hangs between her teeth. Its thorns pierce her grinning lips, the dazzling red of her blood becoming one with its fragrant petals.

She leaves a trail behind her, walking ahead with ambition in her doe eyes, possessed by a siren's call.

Skidding over his veranda, she sways with the shovel, dancing to Maniac, as if the shovel was the guy of her dreams and they were dancing in a palace ball.

TRING!!

When the beat drops, she presses the doorbell, swaying left and right. She leans in, head bobbing, to peak a glimpse through the hole though knowing she won't catch any. Regardless, she shoves a middle finger in perspective.

The song is gaining beats and so is her smile widening.

Radio static, base beats and a lock click.

The mahogany door opens and he comes into view. She smiles, eyebrows mushing together in awe.

"Middle finger in your ex's peep hole? That's so eighth grade, Chambers," he mocks a greeting, leaning in for a kiss.

She leans as well, wrapping her free hand around his waist and pressing his muscular chest against to hers. She breathes over his jaw, feeling his heart jack-hammering under her touch. He was warm, as always, when he embraced her in a kiss, pulling the thorny rose with his lips.

Pulling him closer by the collar, Edith whispers, "We all need to keep our whimsical child alive, shan't we, Stewart?"

With that, she kicks his balls.

Laughing as the song escalated and he fell to his knees. His drunken groans were mistaken for moans as She kisses her shovel prettily and bangs it on his nape.

Once.

Twice.

Thrice

Until his lanky white figure didn't wither anymore. Until his pathetic noises silenced the chattering flames of retribution within her. Until the warmth left his body and the reverse countdown to doom began ticking.

The flower had dropped from his lips like life through his feet. She had fun crushing them both.

"It was fun while it lasted," She breathes to herself, holding him by the collar, and drags his temporary corpse into the wild. There is a sentiment of haste in her steps now, a chaotic frenzy.

She needs to get rid of him before they find her.

She leaves the shovel at the edge of the house, resuming her walk under the pouring heavens. Her watch reads, '9 minutes remaining'.

The night sky is sheltered by clouds, engulfing all sight and perspective. And before the florescent number in her watch could read '8' she finds herself surrounded.