Re: Weekly writers challenge
Posted by:
Sulare (IP Logged)
Date: February 17, 2011 07:10PM
Here's for the death scene. This is actually something I wrote a bit over a year, ago, spawned from something in math class, and a an old backstory scene I had once written. It was supposed to be a redo of the same scene in a different way, but it didn't turn out like that. I really like it, so I figured I'd post it for the challenge. I'll still try and whip something up for the dislike challenge, though.
No one even noticed the pencil in my jean pockets as I sauntered down the street. Why would they? A high school-aged kid—even one who looked like me—carrying a sharpened pencil in their pocket wasn’t a big deal. Lots of people did it, especially if they didn’t want to carry around a pencil case.
I wasn’t in school, though. In fact, I doubted I’d ever be returning to school. Not after tonight. Things like this wouldn’t just go away. If things just went away this wouldn’t be necessary… too bad, too; I like that boy.
Letting myself in the front door—it was never locked—I padded quietly down the hallway and into his room. He was peeking through his curtain, probably waiting for my arrival—he was a bit creepy, and I really did like that in a person. Too bad it was my job to off the kid. It would have been so much easier for everyone if he just joined up and was done with it. Oh well, no point wondering about it now.
I walked quietly across the carpeted floor and he didn’t turn, though I was sure he knew I was their. The door on his room constantly creaked, and whenever I bugged him about it he would say it was so no one could enter his room without him knowing (at least, when he was in it). Walking up behind him, I loop my right arm around his waist from the back, and tip-toe to kiss the side of his neck. Despite his thin frame I can feel the tautness of the muscles in his stomach, and I knew how strong he was. Oh yes, I knew quite well.
A small grin played at my lips as I continued to kiss the left side of his neck, nipping teasingly at the soft skin there. My mother always told my not to play with my food before I ate it; heh, guess I never learned that lesson.
He leaned into me slightly, perfectly content with my ministrations. That was the one slightly sad thing about this whole situation. He was a couple years older than me, and had been without parents and taking care oh himself since as long as he can remember—at least that’s what he tells me, and I believe him—and he trusts no one. That’s the big thing; he doesn’t trust anyone, except me and now I’m breaking that trust at the basest level. I’m taking all he has left in this world; his life.
I slip the pencil out of my pocket with my free left hand, flipping it around so its point in downward in my clenched fist. I can feel his pulse under my lips as it speeds up, though I know not out of fear. No, he’s not expecting this. I’m good at acting… he doesn’t think anything’s wrong yet.
Shifting my body slightly, I make it seem like it’s only a momentary thing when I remove my lips from his neck. However, instead of returning them a moment later—which I’m ever so tempted to do—I raise the pencil in a smooth motion, and jam it with as much force as I can muster into the side of his neck, right where there’s the space between muscles for his jugular to go through.
I rip out the pencil in almost the same motion, and catch his body as it collapses against mine. I know that he’s unconscious already, and would have known even if it weren’t for his dead weight. With the angle he was at, blood flowed backwards over his shoulder, soaking quickly through both our shirts as I lower him to the ground. There’s a constant flow of blood out of the wound, and an odd gush every time his heart pumps. I did some research before I set into this mission. With an injury like the pencil-size hole in his jugular he’ll have bled out within minutes. Even as I rise to my feet to watch the blood soak into the pale carpet I think it’s probably too late to save him even if I wanted to—and oh lord, did I want to save him right now. Why did I have to do this? Most of the colour was gone from his face, and I could see the rise and fall of his chest was quick and shallow.
I had never realized how much blood was in the human body before now. You hear the figure, but really, what’s four to six litres look like when it’s pooling out on the ground? I think it’s something you have to see to truly understand. I watch the scarlet pool grow larger around him, and fathom at how much of the blood I’m not seeing, the blood that soaked into the carpet.
His breathing isn’t smooth anymore. He’s gasping trying to get enough oxygen to his body, his breath coming in gurgling gulps. I know he’s almost done, and I continue to watch, tears forming in my eyes. I know I told myself I did this to protect him. But is this really protecting him? Surely I could have come up with another way. We could have run… left this town and went somewhere else, somewhere where no one knows us and we could start over. There’s no chance for that now, though. His lips are blue as he takes a last rattling breath and then is still, blood still coming at a steady pace from the wound, though not so quickly as before.
Picking up the bloody pencil from the floor I shove it in my pocket, wondering if it’d attract more attention now. A bloody pencil carried by a teenage girl covered in blood? Yeah, probably would. Or it might not, in this neighbourhood.
Turning, I walk out of the door, closing it on its creaky hinges for the last time.
