102920057:57A.M.

No sleep for dreaming actions and feelings...

He felt her ribs give way under the force of the blow. Her lungs emptied into his face in a rush. She smelled like honey. So sweet. She staggered back holding her side. Everything went numb but that was ok. She liked numb. The lack of feeling helped her focus, although the blow had caused her to drop the knife. He was wild-eyed now, his back pressed against the wall, knuckles white gripping the shaft of wood. His breath heaved in his chest, and he hoped against hope that the horror was over. Men and their folly. He, like others before him, had not learned to finish everything he began. Completely. He swung the makeshift club he found half-buried in the trash on the floor of the basement and connected with her leg, right below the waist. Every nerve in his body screamed for him to run. Run now. She fell first to one knee, then to the other and pitched forward landing with a thud. Her black hair covered her face like a shroud and the rise and fall of her chest first slowed then stilled. He dropped his wooden saviour and bolted for the door. He made to step over her prone body when pain shot through his leg. She sheathed the knife, hilt-deep, into his thigh. He looked down at her in confused wonder. She rolled over and smiled, a smug, self-satisfied smile. Her eyes shone in the near darkness. She savagely yanked the blade out and plunged it anew into his other leg. He buckled under his own weight and fell helplessly beside her. She stabbed him again ferociously and the soft skin of his belly split wide. She levered herself up with the knife, her left side still numb from his earlier blows. But her right side was fine and she used her knife arm to drag towards him. Inch by inch she pulled herself closer until she reached his head. He tried to breathe calmly through the riot of pain in his lower body. His eyes glazed over slowly. He knew that hope had fled. He was going to die tonight and it was all his fault. She looked at him kindly and parted her bruised lips to speak.

"Didn't I tell you? Didn't I tell you not to fuck with me?" She laughed. He took a breath. She still smelled like honey. It was the last thought he had as she brought the knife tip to rest at the back of his neck, the hilt at the front and the blade buried deep in his throat.


And you guys wonder why I'm usually cranky?