Monday, November 4, 2013

Short and Bitter

I know, I know, this is insanely overdue. I make no excuses; to say I’ve been busy with life is like saying the citrus grove is busy with fruit.
            Shemo: Less talky, more story.
            Malina: Someone wake me up when something interesting happens.
            Donut: I’m here, wake her up.
            That’s what he said?
            Donut: Aren’t you supposed to writing, sir?
            Shemo: I’m pretty sure he is.
            Aethon: Counting you two…only two people care.
            Ara: That’s mean. I’m sure Ray cares.
            Salem: So two and a half?
            Ara: Silly Sally, being rude to the awesome author is never wise.
            Aethon: Suck up. It must be her turn.
            Donut: Bowchick…eh, I got nothing.
            I’m killing someone this post; just thought I’d share that with the class.
            Cricket: Chirp.

            “What the- ugh?” Ara’s pale features pinched in disgust at the sight of the cricket corpse stuck to the bottom of her recently immaculate boot. The carapace oozed a thick colorless liquid as she kicked the gravel path in vain hopes of removing the story’s first casualty.

            Save some for your kindred, killer.

            The short soul spun on a stained hell, eyes darting for the source of the strange voice that seemed to radiate from everywhere. All around her soulless abominations continued to gather, oblivious to Rani’s voiceover antics.

            “How the hell are you doing that?” The whisper came out harsh and loud to her ears, but she didn’t know which direction to speak in to be heard by Rani without freckled ears eavesdropping.

            Thought-speak is a narrator perk of this saga. I can hear anything said or thought as long as it’s directed to me.

            “Well that’s a fun plot device.” Mouthed Ara, glancing around and feeling only slightly less foolish than having actually spoken out loud. “Does it come with some magical easy button that stops the crimson carpet brigade from thinking I’m a crazy person?”

            Did you really just use the terms ‘easy button’ and ‘crimson carpet’ in the same sentence? If you’re trying to taunt Salem; the others can’t hear us. He’s busy trying to provoke me anyway.

            “Oh ha, the easy button is underneath the crimson carpet, that’s so funny and mature. If you dare come back with a tiled remark, I will go Liam Nelson on your ass.” She was officially getting weird looks from the amassing redheads. This was so a fucking bad idea. Redhead Day, she immensely regretted bringing the event to Rani’s attention. “Why did I have to come and not you?”

            You’d be surprised how often women ask-

            “Rai! Focus, you’re the one bogging us down now. It’s not funny when I’m in the mild of a picnic that serves only carrot tops.”

            Fine. It’s because it’s Redhead Day, not Redbeard day.

            “Bastard. We need to sit down and have a long talk when this is over. I –“

            Don’t say it.

            “I miss you, dammit.”

            No you don’t. You’ve been too busy to even think about me.

            “Well I would miss you if I had time to. And I do think about you, every time I think about Ninja Turtles.”

            OH SHIT! Get - Something was wrong, it sounded like Churs had been caught by surprise.

            “Rani?! What’s going on? Rani?” Ara didn’t care that she was practically yelling and gaining the soul starved stares of the mob of rangas. Her distress for Rani was deterred when she noticed a disturbing fact. There was no shortage of cutlery, but no sign of food.

            We’re fine, had a close call but we’re fine. I lost contact with Salem, check it out when you’re through there.
            “Uhm, Rai, we have a problem. It’s a fucking trap.” Fight or flight, there was only one smart option. With so many gathered against her, all visibly armed and closing in rapidly, her only chance was to get the hell out of there. If she had her powers she could’ve made short work of them, but she wasn’t going to play Irish roulette while swimming in a sea of red.

            Bail. We’ll meet you at Sal’s place.

            Aerie didn’t even waste the breath to dignify that with a response, she was already putting boots to ground. She was no stranger to running and quickly put distance between herself and the ginger horde, so she thought.

            “Oh shit.” Echoed the woman, unconcerned about the scuff damage to her boots as she skidded to a halt. There was nowhere further to run, the ground before ended in a suddenly cliff. If the fall wasn’t enough to kill her, which it definitely was, the visible shoals jutting from the frothing ocean would be enough to do the trick ten times over.

            She was trapped.

            "Well this just can't any worse." Resigning to her fate to completely destroy the boots and outfit, which was very stylish despite the narrator's lazy refusal to describe it, Ara flourished a knife from her thigh sheath and sent the blade sinking deep into the eye socket of the scarlet fever victim leading the crimson charge.

           "You have got to be kidding me." Moaned the now very distressed damsel as the struck foe continued looming closer, squirming maggots dripping from the wound and a foul smell of putrid flesh and rotting organs assaulting her senses as the glamour disguising the lumbering legion vanished. The event was not Redhead Day, as she thought she was investigating, but Reddead Day.