all_unwritten: Prompt 242

lady_aduial (

lady_aduial) wrote in

all_unwritten,
@ 2008-05-02 10:14:00

Prompt 242
magic hour

(Post a new comment)

	folksinger 2008-05-02 04:23 pm UTC (link)
	the one time god did enough acid to allow nickelback to get a record deal (Reply to this)

earnestinberlin
2008-05-02 04:31 pm UTC (link)

I can't write but I have a song I want to share (its translated from Japanese):

HAUNTED HOUSE MAKES A SECRET
BY: LM.C

Haunted House　Make a Secret

My name is HORII[1]　　next to me is HARII[2]　　we're always making mischief together
One evening　　being led by the hand　　we fell in love at first sight with that girl who came
With blue eyes and milky white skin　　a red ribbon in her flowing chestnut hair
That smile was magical　　our chests grew tight

Without telling her dad, she snuck out of bed　　played around in her mother's dress
If she smiles, it's like a rainbow[3]　　it colors this old mansion brightly
Many things　　many people　　but she seems somewhat lonely
Always pretending to be innocent but her true face is lonely

But HARII　　we can't hold her with our transparent bodies[4]
The stars are so beautiful tonight　　I want to be with her a little longer

My name's HORII　　next to me is HARII　　there's one more person　　She's like a Lily
3am　　we get together in the same room　　tonight too, let's forget time and play
But we two who can't handle the morning[5]　　we can't be with her forever
So after all she'll be alone again today

But HARII　　we can't dry her tears with our cold hands[6]
So let's reveal our secret　　before the night becomes dawn

If the seasons turn　　when the girl becomes an adult, she won't be able to see us
So she'll completely forget everything　　The moon blurs outside the window[7]

But HARII　　we can't hold her with our transparent bodies
The stars are so beautiful tonight　　I want to be by her always

Keep the secret a secret

Translation by:

gazoku

It's a nice song. ^________^

(Reply to this)

tentadventure
2008-05-02 04:34 pm UTC (link)

They call it The Magic Hour in all the pubs, when everyone shows off their new skills. And it is, technically, magic. It's proper magical magic; not the clever card tricks you get at birthday parties and Bah Mitzvahs but real supernatural stuff. It's really quite exciting to see the sparks and hear the hooting.
You humans, you're missing out.

----

I don't really like it, but I missed writing about fairies all the time haha.

(Reply to this)(Thread)

	shima_sama 2008-05-02 11:00 pm UTC (link)
	There's something excellent about this. Well done! (Reply to this)(Parent)(Thread)

	tentadventure 2008-05-03 12:54 am UTC (link)
	Thank you! (Reply to this)(Parent)

holyfant
2008-05-02 04:35 pm UTC (link)

In the beginning, I could still count the hours. They glided like ghosts in the night past my shoulders, leaving nothing but quiet wind and the whisper of a life past (spent). One of the other prisoners - an old woman, bent, without eyes or maybe they had simply seen to much to still open - had given me a chalk board, I guess because she had felt how anxious, how fidgety I had been in the gloomy dark. I'm a writer. I need something to write and something to write it on; if I have nothing I feel like someone is pulling insistently at my nerves, pull pull pull until I can't stand it and my eyes roll back in my skull. I've done horrible things in that state. So, chalk board and a piece of chalk.

First I wrote:

I'M INNOCENT

and in the silence the capital letters shrieked and screamed and around me the people shivered. It was so true and yet it was true for everyone in this cell, which somehow made it untrue - or maybe not untrue, just not valuable.

So I crossed out I'M INNOCENT and wrote

MONSTERS IN THE DARK

but I soon regretted it, because writing things can make them real. A gift I had that had become a curse.

I quickly crossed out MONSTERS IN THE DARK and waited for the bubble of inspiration, the light that switched on in the deep places of my head. It didn't come.

So I sat and counted. The hours - I wasn't sure my pace was right to measure the seconds, but at every 60 seconds I put the chalk to the board. Every sixty minutes I crossed the chalk lines away. The other prisoners winced at the sound of the chalk on the board (every minute, every hour). Thinking of time made the passing of it real.

At a certain point I lost count. It was dark - I couldn't see the old woman anymore, the night had come up and swallowed us - and I lost count. The panic rose like a wave and I fought it, but I already felt the MONSTERS IN THE DARK creeping closer. I felt like screaming I'M INNOCENT please please please.

Instead, I closed my eyes, tried to comfort my racing mind with a darkness that was self-imposed.

Then: the door clanging open. The guards, their rough hands on my shoulder. The little Spanish I knew told me it was time. Someone was crying, someone else was rattling the bars in another cell. No por favor, the old woman was saying.

Death was waiting downstairs. The magic hour.

(Reply to this)(Thread)

	mardeen 2008-05-02 05:32 pm UTC (link)
	I like this. Much. (Reply to this)(Parent)(Thread)

	holyfant 2008-05-02 05:53 pm UTC (link)
	Thanks, I'm glad you do! (Reply to this)(Parent)

	bishigurl 2008-05-02 05:39 pm UTC (link)
	Wow. That's some seriously amazing writing. Your description is so vivid, and your words are well-chosen. Love it. (Reply to this)(Parent)(Thread)

	holyfant 2008-05-02 05:53 pm UTC (link)
	Thank you! I'm glad you enjoyed it. (Reply to this)(Parent)

	theoneontheleft 2008-05-02 07:16 pm UTC (link)
	I liked this a lot. (: (Reply to this)(Parent)(Thread)

	holyfant 2008-05-03 07:06 am UTC (link)
	I'm glad you did :) (Reply to this)(Parent)

	melissarose8585 2008-05-02 11:01 pm UTC (link)
	I have to agree with everyone else; this is just awesome. (Reply to this)(Parent)(Thread)

	holyfant 2008-05-03 07:06 am UTC (link)
	Yay! Thank you. (Reply to this)(Parent)

	shima_sama 2008-05-03 02:12 am UTC (link)
	Well, to echo everyone else, awesome. I really like the whole scene that is detailed out here, and the driven, imagination-stocked thoughts of the narrator. Well done! (Reply to this)(Parent)(Thread)

	holyfant 2008-05-03 07:07 am UTC (link)
	Thank you very much! (Reply to this)(Parent)

kick_back_80s
2008-05-02 04:39 pm UTC (link)

Most of my friends think that the hour after midnight on New Year's Eve was the magic hour, because you were celebrating the new year, full of new hopes, dreams, and promises. I had always preferred the hour before the ball dropped. It was the hour most embedded with anticipation-- when people were paying attention to what was going on around them, talking about the future, as opposed to just taking it for granted.

(Reply to this)(Thread)

	holyfant 2008-05-02 05:04 pm UTC (link)
	I like this, especially "as opposed to just taking it for granted". Nice take on the prompt. (Reply to this)(Parent)(Thread)

	kick_back_80s 2008-05-02 05:06 pm UTC (link)
	thanks :) (Reply to this)(Parent)

bishigurl
2008-05-02 05:45 pm UTC (link)

Three am. When the kids finally stopped rustling, the dog had found his spot and settled in, the cat was a comfortable, curled-up ball at her side. Lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, tracing patterns in the spackle that reminded her of faces she used to see every day. The only sounds were those of her breathing, steady rise and fall of her chest, ticking off tiny moments of time that fled into the past and were never recaptured. Her heartbeat, slow, reassuring, the thump in her ears that set the pace for her life.

This was magic. Feeling the world slip past you in minute increments while you held yourself still. She was almost convinced that if she was steady enough, silent enough, she would actually see it drifting past, hear the voices of the future stream through her and out of her and go to the places her breaths went when she was finished breathing them.

The cat shifted, stretched, caught claws in fabric and meowed pitifully to be released; she had to move, free her, pet her reassuringly and rearrange herself. The moment was broken; that magic hour would not come again tonight.

Perhaps tomorrow.

(Reply to this)(Thread)

	holyfant 2008-05-02 05:52 pm UTC (link)
	This really made me shiver, because as a child I had that a lot: lying in bed, feeling otherworldly, like I could feel the world spinning. It really was magic. (Reply to this)(Parent)(Thread)

	bishigurl 2008-05-02 06:13 pm UTC (link)
	Thank you <3 I got (and still sometimes get) this feeling...like I'm floating off the world when I just lie still. (Reply to this)(Parent)

fictionlives
2008-05-02 05:53 pm UTC (link)

Lisa and Mark had planned it out ahead of time; they would each get ready in the morning, he would go out and greet early arrivals, she would pretend to be anxious and unable to eat, and then when everyone else seemed busy enough not to notice, they would sneak off and meet up. See each other, touch each other, say I Love You a million times. The others could manage things on their own for a while, and her mom would rail about the groom not seeing the bride before the ceremony, but for one magic hour, after months of nerves and decisions and stress, they were going to simply celebrate being together.

(Reply to this)

Part 1

step6error
2008-05-02 06:28 pm UTC (link)

They sat at the table in the restaurant, talking about not much of anything, just killing time that needed to be used for better things. It was dark outside, and had been dark for some while, and would be dark for some while more.

One of the girls swirled the straw around inside the contents of her glass. "What if," she said, continuing the trend of questions that had passed the table, "you could do absolutely anything for one hour. What if it was this magic hour that didn't have limits, or rules, and you could do anything. What would you do?"

The boy across the table from her shifted in his seat. "What d'ya mean, anythin'?"

"Anything!" she said. "You could be in space, or travel to another country, or have the power to read a million books or something. But you have to do something, and you can't wish for more hours."

The other girl, sitting beside the boy, said smartly, "Well then in can't do technically anything, then, can it, if you can't be wishing for this or that."

"Technically, you need to be quiet until it's your turn," snipped the first girl. "It goes counter-clockwise, starting with me. So I think, I would be a bird for an hour, a falcon or an owl, and I'd fly and dive in the air, way up high through the clouds... wouldn't that be fun?"

A general murmur of agreement passed through the table.

The boy sitting across from her took his turn. "I'd be brill'nt. I'd come up with the ideas for all sorts of stuff, inventions and stuff like 'at, and I'd write down all my ideas and build 'em and patent 'em. And then everybody'll have my inventions all over the place, and I'll be famous and wealthy. That's the smart way to go about it."

"But you've only got one hour," said the girl next to him.

"Yeah, but she said I could do anythin'. Even read a million books. So if I can read a bloody million, why can't I make stuff up, eh?"

The girl nodded. "Yeah, I guess that's true. Hmm - I'd write a book. No, I'd write a trilogy. And it would be the greatest book series you ever read. It'd be like - like all the greats, smushed up together, with ice cream."

(Reply to this)(Thread)

Part 2

step6error
2008-05-02 06:31 pm UTC (link)

"Ice cream?"

"Yes, and don't interrupt my hour. It'd be a great book, with figurative ice cream. And people would be able to read it for years and years and years after I was dead. And they'd all love it and it would inspire lots of other writers and thinkers. That's what I'd do. What about you?"

Next to the girl who had first posed the question was a boy was not normally talkative, but liked these kinds of questions and often had good answers for them. When he didn't answer promptly in his turn, the others thought it odd.

"So? What would you do?" said the other boy, urging him to answer.

The boy sipped a bit of his drink, and tore off a small bit of the free biscuits that had been set on the table. As if toasting them, he raised his glass and the bread, and drank a bit and ate the piece. He checked his watch.

"One hour," he said. "One magic hour. What do you think magic is?"

"What?" was collective reply.

"Magic is that thing we're not supposed to do. We ponder about it, and we imagine what it'd be like, but we can't do it and if you tried to do it, well, you're either a nutter, or a devil, or something."

"What?" they asked again.

He leaned back in his chair. The ceiling was not that interesting, but he seemed fascinated by it. There was a strange look on his face, somewhere between ecstasy and sorrow.

"I'd talk to God," he said.

They didn't have a reply.

"I'd ask him what he thought about us. If the world is even worth it anymore. I'd want to know what it's like to be God. To have all these people who you made so you could love them, and none of them love you back, and the ones who say they do just use you as a crutch to be asses. They don't really care about you that much, and they scare off the ones who might really love you. And what would it be like if everybody always blamed you for the bad things, but never thanked you for the good things. And if you only got talked to because someone was whining about something or they wanted something, or they had to because of ritual, not because they really wanted to. I'd ask him if he felt alone, with six billion people all forgetting him. I'd ask him about heaven, and hell... and maybe for another hour. Just to have some small talk. Get to know the Guy. I reckon he'd oblige. He'd like some casual conversation, I think."

They still didn't know what to say. He stared at the ceiling, and the look on his face swayed back and forth, back and forth, between its emotional poles. He got up, fished out his wallet and paid his part of the bill, and walked out to his car, leaving them in silence.

"I wish I could get that hour," he said before he turned away.

The other boy told the story at the funeral four days later. It had been a dark night, and it had been dark for a while, and had been darker for a while still. It's hard to drive, sometimes, in the dark. Sometimes, mistakes get made.

Sometimes, intentionally.

The two of them sat around, talking about not much of anything, just killing time that could have been used for better things. It was bright outside, and had been bright for some while, and would be bright for some while more.

"They're having your funeral right now. But they're not talking about how you died."

"It wasn't so bad, dying. I mean, I got my wish and all."

"Yes, you did."

"How many hours has it been now?"

"104, rounded up."

"Really?"

"Really."

The boy smiled. "That's awesome. Thanks."

God laughed a bit. "Not a problem."

(Reply to this)(Parent)(Thread)

	Re: Part 2 holyfant 2008-05-02 06:55 pm UTC (link)
	That was gorgeous. (Reply to this)(Parent)

	Re: Part 2 theoneontheleft 2008-05-02 07:16 pm UTC (link)
	I enjoyed reading this. (Reply to this)(Parent)

	Re: Part 2 breaksinmusic 2008-05-02 07:28 pm UTC (link)
	Wow. That was amazing! So powerful and poignant. There aren't enough words to describe how moving this is. (Reply to this)(Parent)

	Re: Part 2 fairislandwhit 2008-05-02 08:30 pm UTC (link)
	Really great dialogue as always! (Reply to this)(Parent)

	Re: Part 2 melissarose8585 2008-05-02 11:06 pm UTC (link)
	Oh my. I don't even think I can describe what I thought after reading this. It was just perfect, in every way. I loved it. (Reply to this)(Parent)

	Re: Part 2 lady_lameo 2008-05-03 01:42 am UTC (link)
	That was absolutely phenomenal...the dialogue was incredibly believable, I really felt as though I was there at the table. Sent chills down my spine, especially since the boy's response reminded me so much of one of my best friends. I can't even express how much I loved this. (Reply to this)(Parent)

	Re: Part 2 step6error 2008-05-03 08:25 pm UTC (link)
	I'm glad so many people have liked it. :D Thanks!! (Reply to this)(Parent)

breaksinmusic
2008-05-02 07:24 pm UTC (link)

You see me in shades of gray.
I do not dwell in the colors that you know;
I am, in fact, caught in between
the tangled threads of your dreary rainbow.

I want to escape, but your black widow eyes
will not let me be, even in my sleep.
I am Andromeda, you are the accursed chain
upon the rock that binds me to the
wicked whims of the malignant monster
of the oh-so roguish sea.

My mother’s will lead me astray, so you say.
You are my punishment for the folly of her pride.
But I hold my mother dear, and I do not care
that in this magic hour, you have tainted
what tattered pieces remain of my faith.

My paladin will come, but not in the
form of an ordinary man.
I may be a damsel in need of rescue,
and you might possess the vicious teeth
and claws as a means to destroy me.
But I still have my foolish pride.

Your vain visage is nothing but the
most vindictive of venom.

You see me in shades of gray.
I do not dwell in the colors that you know.
Someday, my paladin will come.
I still have my foolish pride.

(Reply to this)

Round Midnight.

saretonin
2008-05-02 07:42 pm UTC (link)

Round midnight

The gulls chase the curve of the moon
around midnight
When the stars were spinning
Thought the ink of the sky
She waited for you.
The wind billowed in her dress,
Bleached under moonlight.
The orbs of her eyes
Swept over the swells of the sea.

She wanted you,
around midnight.
Beneath her toes,
Rocks rolled to sand
Behind her back,
Your hands clasped.

The turn of the tide
Lapped at your toes,
around midnight.
You had her.
In that magic hour,
The world ceased to turn.

(Reply to this)

Twilight

fairislandwhit
2008-05-02 08:09 pm UTC (link)

The magic hour when it is no longer day and not yet night. Twilight.

The moon rises and the sun sets both giving their greetings as they pass eachother. Their two lights merge together creating something dark but not gloomy. It's the magic hour. Just for that hour, time stands still and the magic can pass through you. It starts as a tingle in your toes and as if a million feathers had crept into your veins the magic moves through your body and out the ends of your hair. It leaves you a giggling heap watching as the horizon expands sucking in all the magic around. You stop laughing and stare in awe as the horizon just as quickly collapses in on itself. Don't blink yet. Watch as the horizon glows faintly sated with its meal. Smile at having caught this time. This hour. The hour.

The magic hour when it is no longer day and not yet night. Twilight.

(Reply to this)

	Magic hour. tracys_dream 2008-05-02 08:59 pm UTC (link)
	60 minutes of pure golden sweet success. (Reply to this)

PG-13

shaynnaloves
2008-05-02 09:08 pm UTC (link)

It was difficult for me raising a child who was hearing. I had to make a real effort to speak and sign everything, so that she would be fluent in both ways of communication.

Evan often "complained" that he missed the quiet of the house before Honor was born. I told him it was his fault he couldn't keep it in his pants. And that night, after sitting and watching the sun go down with my husband and both of my children, explaining to them the magic of the changing sky, he proved it yet again.

I loved my kids more than life itself, but when it was just Evan and me, in the dark, in the silence, that was the real magic. With no need for words or worries, we would show each other how much we were in love, still after all the years, and I would fall asleep in his arms.

Then the morning would come and the kids would wake me up and life began again. "Let's go make breakfast," I spoke and signed, herding the kids back downstairs and becoming mother again. But Evan's wink reminded me that I was lover as well, and always would be.

(Reply to this)

Grandmother

lady_aduial
2008-05-02 09:30 pm UTC (link)

"This is the magic hour," she told me, leaning over the candle with her lighter. The wick gave a dry hiss and caught, illuminating us in the circle of it's light.

I could still hear the steady lap of the waves on the beach but everything else was lost to the darkness around us. Grandmother leaned back on her heals and the flowing white dress she wore slid back over her thin veined ankles. Her hair was loose around her shoulders in grey curls. She looked like a white phantom with blue eyes and a kind mouth softened with wrinkles.

I sat cross legged in the sand, feeling it cool under me. It held me like a mother, cupped around me in a solid embrace. Grandmother was leaning forward again and sprinkled something over the candle. The little blaze danced and the light flickered as the musky smell of sage took to the air. The sea breeze caught it and mingled it with the smell of salt and ocean spray. My arms prickled in the breeze and I tucked my own white dress tight around my legs.

Grandmother hovered over the candle, breathing the sage in deeply. She opened her eyes and her iris's were dark and dancing in the flickering light. "This," she told me, her voice barely above a whisper. "Is the witching hour."

(Reply to this)(Thread)

	Re: Grandmother holyfant 2008-05-03 07:33 am UTC (link)
	Lovely. (Reply to this)(Parent)

melissarose8585
2008-05-02 11:15 pm UTC (link)

He looked at the man behind the desk, studying the creasing lines in the old, time-worn forehead that seemed to call out to his sympathy. This man had been through so much, had seen more than any of them, but he still waivered in his decision.

And he couldn't blame him. Part of Robert wanted to just scream out that it didn't have to be this way or you don't have to make that choice. But he knew it was useless... because the choice had to be made. Time had to go on, no matter how it happened.

"Do it. Tomorrow."

Robert nodded his head, feeling the sudden perspiration on his neck slide down his body like the shadow of remorse that was enveloping him. No training in his life had everr lessened the way this felt, and he loathed leaving the office now, suspending the magical hour of before.

"Yes, sir."

He saluted his commander, that wilting man behind the loomin desk, and made his way to the gilded door. Stepping through that entry meant there was no turning back, and he'd have to do his job.

"Goodbye, sir."

His commander just looked at him, dark eyes brooding and drooping at the contemplation that this man who had served him would cease to be after tomorrow. Was this really worth it?

They would never know. Robert stepped out the door, marching himself through the elegant rooms into the war-torn world outside the bunker. Chaos ruled around him, but he stopped for one moment, relishing in the before.

Because after tomorrow, none of it would exist.

(Reply to this)

shima_sama
2008-05-03 02:17 am UTC (link)

Reclining on the rubber excercise ball she plucked out a few notes on his toy mandolin, feeling the blood rush to her head. He tried to ignore his heartbeat as it raced, his mind taking forever memory photos of her exposed, lithe abdomen. She shut her eyes and he listened to her melody-less tune.

Ridding himself of his mental repose, he returned to hovering the cursor over different potential pieces of entertainment on his computer. He wanted a way to interrupt their uncomfortable silence. Except there was no silence. There was the pounding of his heart, the melody of his mandolin, and the unforgettable squeak as she readjusted herself on the exercise ball (that had, now that he thought about it, never been used for exercise).

As he thought of it further he also knew the sound rushing to her ears, the flood of blood pumping as her vision started to swirl.

Then, in one smooth motion she came tumbling off the ball onto her knees, holding the mandolin tightly to her chest. She let her fingers dance over the untuned, untouched strings before she blew her bangs out of her eyes.

"Do you like me?"

This was it, he thought, letting his hand fall from the mouse. The magic hour.

(Reply to this)

Magic?

winged_books
2008-05-03 02:45 am UTC (link)

It was on her sixth birthday that Peggy received her magic wand.

It was long with a gold star at the tip, it's wooden handle decorated with white and silver ribbons. She twirled it around in her hands, the ribbons dancing in the air.

As she spun her wand round and round, magic sparked from its tip, the air around her turning gold.

Magic seeped into her hair, face, arms, and legs, her body coated in shimmering dust. Her ears grew pointed like an elves, and her shoes curled at their tips.

She waved her wand around, magic springing to life, the white walls around her filling with thick green vines and tiny purple flowers.

The vines parted as she walked closer, a doorway appearing. Peggy held her breath until every vine had draped itself around the door, her shaky legs moving toward the opening.

She gripped her wand tighter as she came to the door, the magic around her swelling. It was so bright on the other side of the door. So warm...

Peggy inched closer, wondering if her mommy would be able to find her later if she left; would her mommy be sad if she went?

Holding onto her wand, Peggy mumbled a sorry to her mommy and thrust one of her arms through the doorway, then a foot, then her head. Peggy walked in further until almost her whole body vanished behind the door, a small pair of wings sprouting from her back.

(Reply to this)

	my_pretty_death 2008-05-03 03:55 am UTC (link)
	is whenever our lips meet and our hands clench. (Reply to this)

noz_jz
2008-05-03 07:37 am UTC (link)

Sometime ago, when I used to be young. Not young in age but young. I used to have this dream, A really quick glimpse of happiness and colors, music and life. And then the ball dropped, an explosion, deafening. The bright light, blinding. The cloud, mushrooming.

And than awake, I became. Sometime during the night, between midnight and morning. No time made, but time kept. that Magic Hour.

(Reply to this)

sunemai
2008-05-03 02:18 pm UTC (link)

He glanced at the clock at the church tower. 6.46 pm. It was too early. Chris wouldn't be home yet, since it was still day. He always came against the night. It was their little joke.

He couldn't remember who had started it. It sounded like something he would have quipped after which Chris would have wanted to one up him by doing exactly like that. He would have noticed it and had that warm feeling in his chest again. Chris would have known it and continued the new habit. The man was nice like that.

He closed the door and went to sleep on the couch. Chris was away, there wouldn't be any food in the fridge.

20:04. Time's slow and probably takes pleasure in being so, he muttered after seeing the time in digital clock in the digi box. The small red numbers looked angry. He was sleepy enough to think they had a rabies.

He blinked and yawned. The digital numbers claimed it was only 21:15. It couldn't be. Chris likely wouldn't even have boarded the plane yet. Frustrated, he threw a pillow to the tv. It fell harmlessly to the floor.

He hated the days Chris was coming. The whole house seemed to be alive, vibrating with anxiousness. He swore the house sang whenever Chris returned and turned the key in the lock. Chris just chuckled and told him he had been alone too long. And when he left the room and then tiptoed back he could see Chris glancing at the walls worriedly, biting his lower lip.

10 pm. He grinned. It was almost time. A couple of hours more and then... Chris would turn his key in the lock and the house would sing and he could finally finally eat. He nearly danced around the living room. Chris would come soon!

At 11 o'clock he could already smell the food Chris would be carrying. Despite the time of day, the man always managed to find a shop where he could buy them something to eat. Last time it had been steak and potatoes, Chris had cooked. Now he had a feeling it was going to be French fries and chicken. Maybe dessert, too. Ice cream? I felt like eating some ice cream.

Fifteen minutes later a key turned in the lock. He sprang to his feet and rushed to stand nonchalantly at the kitchen table. Fitting a semibored expression on his face, he prepared to look as if he had just gotten up after checking what was in the tv in the newspaper.

Then he realized that although the door was opening the house was dead silent. No singing. He felt dread tickling his heart.

Who was coming?

He looked at the blue eyes that found his quickly and the almost invicible red rims around them made his heart clench.

”Jonathan, have you seen the news? Chris' plane crashed.”

”Why?” he asked, numbly. The house was crying around him like there was no tomorrow. He could have told it that there would be no tomorrow for either of them.

”An explosion in the plane,” Ivan answered quietly. Jonathan nodded. They had finally gotten Chris.

He was on his own now.

”Who knows?” he whispered, not being able to produce any louder sound.

”You, me and whoever was paid to off him. You have time to run, Midnight,” Ivan calculated. ”Did Chris leave you anything? Money, credit cards, passports? Anything at all?”

”Something,” he answered curtly. Ivan had been Chris' ally, not his. He wasn't stupid enough to trust anyone than Chris. ”What happens to the house? Can I stay here? They wanted him, not me.”

”This house is in my name.”

”Good?” Jonathan ventured.

”Very. I expect to have it in excellent condition in two days' time so that I can rent it out again,” Ivan replied. Jonathan didn't care whether he was joking or not. He had been Chris' ally, not his.

He was on his own now.

(Reply to this)

erosu
2008-05-07 02:10 am UTC (link)

His life was built on pretense and insufficient evidence. Everything else was written off as frivolity, particularly interpersonal affection.

...which is why he was very confused as to the reason he was lying in bed, the sides of his face wet with his own tears, as his lover kissed his cheek, his neck, his shoulder, assuring him that she loved him no matter what kind of person he was. He'd told her his secret; he'd felt he owed that to her, at least, but he hadn't expected this, this–

Emotion. Sadness. Regret. Heartbreak. All the unpleasant feelings he'd kept locked away because they hurt so much. He couldn't help it this time. He hadn't expected her to accept him as he was, to love him in spite of knowing, to make him reconsider what he had come here to do. He wrapped his arms around her waist and clung desperately as she whispered, "It's all right, it's all right," not truly knowing what was wrong.

He decided she was right, if only for a while. Until he left this place, it would be all right for him to feel this way. So he kissed her, and he held her, and for one magic hour, he loved her.

But when the clock struck twelve, the magic came to an end. The knelling of the grandfather clock in the hall drew him back to his purpose. He pressed his mouth to her ear, breathing in the scent of her hair, and he whispered, "I have to go."

She hesitated, then, "okay," she said. "I love you."

He lifted his hands to caress her face. As much as it broke his heart, he was too far gone now. There was no saving him, from himself or from anyone else. "I'm sorry," he told her. "Good bye."

Then, with a sharp jerk, he twisted her neck. Each strident, deafening crack struck him as deeply as thunder, so that he was shaking when she collapsed on top of him, her cherry lips at his throat, and her body still warm from their love.

The evidence he'd leave this time would be more than sufficient.

(Reply to this)

	filmnoir6 2008-05-20 07:28 pm UTC (link)
	at the magic hour, she may tell him her desires-- but then she may not. (Reply to this)

Username:		Create an Account Forgot your login? Login w/ OpenID
Password:
	Remember Me
	English • Español • Deutsch • Русский…