[fic] Seven Devils
Title: "Seven Devils"
Characters: Dylan, her parents, others and Hiroto Sato ( - used without permission, but with love.)
Notes: Five scenarios of DEATH. Erm. Yeah. :(
Word Count: 827.
Prompt: A Meme on Plurk: “Dylan and Five Ways She Didn't Die" from Charley.
Evelyn stares for a long time. Nothing can tear her eyes away from the battered figure slumped on the floor, not even the man panting heavily in clumsy heap in the corner of the room. His panicked swearing is lost to her, there’s just the body, the pearly white blood and the shredded feathers that fill the room.
Enclosed in her tiny fist, one of her mother’s wing feathers than was knocked under the bed. She crushed it, she didn’t mean to, but she did. She clung so hard because she didn’t know what else to do.
The man’s still there, but she doesn’t think.
Tears in her eyes, she reaches out with one trembling hand, “Mom?”
Two bodies were found by the neighbours that next morning.
--
“Evelyn, please eat something,”
There’s an awkward silence. The thirteen year old glares down at her untouched Christmas dinner, she refuses to eat. Her father wanted a nice, proper Christmas. He said he’d really try this time after the constant failures and being constantly carted off to her grandparents every year. Evelyn didn’t think he tried hard enough.
“No,”
“Excuse me?” her father looked up, brow furrowing.
“I s-said ‘no’!”
She started up violently, throwing the plate. It shattered as it hit the wall. Panting, she drew herself up to full height; all gangly limbs and awkward curves, flooded with hormones and hatred.
“Evie, I’m trying. I really am.”
“You sh-shoulda tried harder. Y-you shoulda have t-tried a long time ag-go! You shoulda been a-r-round more!” she shouted at him, “I w-wish you’d d-died and not M-mmm-om!”
The more she stuttered and stammered, the angrier she got. But she couldn’t stop it though, as much as she wanted to. Her father said nothing, just stared at her wide eyed for a moment.
“I h-hate you, d-drop d-d-dead!”
Running out the room, she tore out the front door and into the raging snow storm. She ran till she couldn’t anymore and it was only when she stopped that she quickly succumbed to the weather.
--
The rain won’t give up, she has to walk home. Her father’s out of town again, not that she’d take a lift off him anyway. The dark settles in quickly for an October afternoon and Evelyn’s left alone in a small bus shelter, waiting for some kind of calm in the storm before she can move on.
Drenched to the bone, she looks in her bag for the cigarette a friend gave her. She doesn’t really have any friends, but having one is better than none at all. Pulling out a box of matches, she scrunches up her face as she tries to light it. It takes seven matches, each one dropped at her feet and silently smouldering.
Taking a drag, just as she was shown, she coughs and chokes on the smoke.
She really doesn’t like it, but she keeps trying anyway. It’ll pass the time.
A car pulls up; someone leans out and smirks at her.
“Hey, pretty girl. You want a lift home?”
She knows better than talk to strangers, she’s had the whole talk in school. Getting in the car is a big no-no too, but sometimes she looks at her life and decides that she just doesn’t care anymore.
Dropping the cigarette and crushing it with her shoe, she gets in.
--
Making your first kill isn’t easy, depending on whom you are. Some archangels are bred and trained from day one to kill; others get their Calling a little unexpectedly. For someone like Dylan, it’s the latter. Taking a life is a serious business; it’s a big strain on a person to commit an act you’ve only ever dreamed of before.
The reality of what you’ve done can sometimes be too much to bear.
She’s scared, she’s very much alone. She thought killing someone would free her, but it only makes her feel worse. She feels like she’s done the wrong thing; like she has no right. Now, she doesn’t know what to do.
Well, there is one thing. It’s a choice that’s always there.
She’s thought about it for a long time, and now she’s sure she knows the answer.
It’s off the edge and onto the concrete, waiting patiently for her some fifty storeys below.
--
Sometimes she can’t help but misjudge how powerful demons are. Her ego gets too big and she’s determined to kill, she forgets about biting off more than she can chew. The fight with the Rakshasa started over a sabre-toothed tiger that the Rift spat out.
Once that was dead, they turned, knives and blades at the ready, on one another.
Dylan should have just walked away; she doesn’t know anything about the Sato family.
It was the biggest mistake of her life.
Feeling the blade hit her stomach is one of the last things she remembers, then the stomach acid, pain.
And then nothing at all.
Characters: Dylan, her parents, others and Hiroto Sato ( - used without permission, but with love.)
Notes: Five scenarios of DEATH. Erm. Yeah. :(
Word Count: 827.
Prompt: A Meme on Plurk: “Dylan and Five Ways She Didn't Die" from Charley.
Evelyn stares for a long time. Nothing can tear her eyes away from the battered figure slumped on the floor, not even the man panting heavily in clumsy heap in the corner of the room. His panicked swearing is lost to her, there’s just the body, the pearly white blood and the shredded feathers that fill the room.
Enclosed in her tiny fist, one of her mother’s wing feathers than was knocked under the bed. She crushed it, she didn’t mean to, but she did. She clung so hard because she didn’t know what else to do.
The man’s still there, but she doesn’t think.
Tears in her eyes, she reaches out with one trembling hand, “Mom?”
Two bodies were found by the neighbours that next morning.
--
“Evelyn, please eat something,”
There’s an awkward silence. The thirteen year old glares down at her untouched Christmas dinner, she refuses to eat. Her father wanted a nice, proper Christmas. He said he’d really try this time after the constant failures and being constantly carted off to her grandparents every year. Evelyn didn’t think he tried hard enough.
“No,”
“Excuse me?” her father looked up, brow furrowing.
“I s-said ‘no’!”
She started up violently, throwing the plate. It shattered as it hit the wall. Panting, she drew herself up to full height; all gangly limbs and awkward curves, flooded with hormones and hatred.
“Evie, I’m trying. I really am.”
“You sh-shoulda tried harder. Y-you shoulda have t-tried a long time ag-go! You shoulda been a-r-round more!” she shouted at him, “I w-wish you’d d-died and not M-mmm-om!”
The more she stuttered and stammered, the angrier she got. But she couldn’t stop it though, as much as she wanted to. Her father said nothing, just stared at her wide eyed for a moment.
“I h-hate you, d-drop d-d-dead!”
Running out the room, she tore out the front door and into the raging snow storm. She ran till she couldn’t anymore and it was only when she stopped that she quickly succumbed to the weather.
--
The rain won’t give up, she has to walk home. Her father’s out of town again, not that she’d take a lift off him anyway. The dark settles in quickly for an October afternoon and Evelyn’s left alone in a small bus shelter, waiting for some kind of calm in the storm before she can move on.
Drenched to the bone, she looks in her bag for the cigarette a friend gave her. She doesn’t really have any friends, but having one is better than none at all. Pulling out a box of matches, she scrunches up her face as she tries to light it. It takes seven matches, each one dropped at her feet and silently smouldering.
Taking a drag, just as she was shown, she coughs and chokes on the smoke.
She really doesn’t like it, but she keeps trying anyway. It’ll pass the time.
A car pulls up; someone leans out and smirks at her.
“Hey, pretty girl. You want a lift home?”
She knows better than talk to strangers, she’s had the whole talk in school. Getting in the car is a big no-no too, but sometimes she looks at her life and decides that she just doesn’t care anymore.
Dropping the cigarette and crushing it with her shoe, she gets in.
--
Making your first kill isn’t easy, depending on whom you are. Some archangels are bred and trained from day one to kill; others get their Calling a little unexpectedly. For someone like Dylan, it’s the latter. Taking a life is a serious business; it’s a big strain on a person to commit an act you’ve only ever dreamed of before.
The reality of what you’ve done can sometimes be too much to bear.
She’s scared, she’s very much alone. She thought killing someone would free her, but it only makes her feel worse. She feels like she’s done the wrong thing; like she has no right. Now, she doesn’t know what to do.
Well, there is one thing. It’s a choice that’s always there.
She’s thought about it for a long time, and now she’s sure she knows the answer.
It’s off the edge and onto the concrete, waiting patiently for her some fifty storeys below.
--
Sometimes she can’t help but misjudge how powerful demons are. Her ego gets too big and she’s determined to kill, she forgets about biting off more than she can chew. The fight with the Rakshasa started over a sabre-toothed tiger that the Rift spat out.
Once that was dead, they turned, knives and blades at the ready, on one another.
Dylan should have just walked away; she doesn’t know anything about the Sato family.
It was the biggest mistake of her life.
Feeling the blade hit her stomach is one of the last things she remembers, then the stomach acid, pain.
And then nothing at all.