{Story} Dependence
She hated the sight of strawberries - once they had excited her, thrilled her, made her quiver in anticipation of watching him do whatever she wanted. That red, juicy flesh, punctuated by ellipsoidal seeds, represented the height of power. You see, they never chose the other option, ever, anyway. The question itself was a mere formality, a building up to the inevitable.
They’d picked it idly one day - his a strawberry, hers lace. From these simple objects, they would seek variety in their game. And variety there was - he raised an eyebrow, skeptical that she would be able to fold an origami crane out of a 2 centimetre square of lace. And she clapped her hands, cheering him on as he stuffed the last two of ten strawberries into his mouth, a recollection that never failed to make them laugh.
It would start off by him finding an article of lace in the house, or her one related to strawberries. Often, they’d be planted by the opposite party, in a hard-to-reach area. The game began with the find, often not disclosed until an opportune moment, when the three words would be uttered and the other would be struck speechless, rendered powerless until the task was deemed complete. Neither would give in to the other and reject the dare, because it meant losing. It was a game, but somewhere along the line it had turned into their life.
The game was never restricted to these two themes, however much they enjoyed revisiting it. In a number of settings, fantasies of every type were acted out, blurring the lines between play and reality, until the two of them were all that existed, and the rest of the world faded to nothing. They didn’t need others, really. Just them. Strawberry and lace. Unlikely, but so right together, participating in the most ancient competition between the genders.
She had found the tub of strawberry yoghurt in the fridge that night - while she was looking around for a spoon, he had came into the kitchen to say he needed to get back to work. It was an old argument of theirs - she always felt he put his work above her, and was deeply concerned that he was away for longer periods nowadays, even sleeping at his office. Exasperated, she exploded, “I dare you to stay at your office and never come back!”
He opened his mouth to reply, to placate her, perhaps, or to utter a retort. But he paused, as he realised she was holding something in her left hand. Smiling a little sadly, for she cut an absurd figure looking so angry yet waving a small tub of strawberry yoghurt around, he turned and exited the house.
She could not know that he meant to get his work done as soon as possible. Nor could she know that he stepped over the threshold of the house for the final time, fingering the leaf embroidered in intricate lace in his pocket. Perhaps most importantly, she could never hear the shriek of tyres upon the road as he swerved, nor could she see the brilliant, horrific sight of flames engulfing the two cars, rocking them with the impact. For he had gone too far away, when he had always been just close by.
But now, they were a reminder. A horrible reminder of what she had done - this imitation of a life that she had thrown herself into. For without him, she was nothing. Her friends, her work had all faded away into a pale red haze. She spent her days searching the house, finding every article related to that damnable berry she could, and, holding it in her hand, daring him, daring him to come back.
She didn’t want to win any more - if only he would call her, at least that would mean he was safe. It was dreadful not knowing. She had wrapped layers of lace around the receiver of the phone, the once-silver filigree design on them faded by the handling she subjected them to, waiting for his call.
Her steps slow, leaden, she entered the kitchen. As she sat down, she stared at the carton of strawberry yoghurt on the table. Never opened, never eaten. She turned it slowly over, and, reading the note at the bottom, she weeps.
“Truth or Dare? ;)”
A/N: For Shubei, who played in my Join the Concepts. She asked for something encompassing “truth or dare”, “strawberries” and “lace”, with additional pointers - “not racy, not morbid” (I hope she doesn’t mind that there’s death here…not sure whether that quantifies as morbid. But it was either life or death, and I tend towards the latter more.). Sb was actually quite worried about the racy part, hehe. My original idea was truth or dare among immortals, who use humans as pawns in their game. Rather, the original original was to find the roots of this particular game, but I hit blocks researching. So that fell through, though I admit, this isn’t particularly plausible either -- in fact, I'm rather disappointed by it.
They’d picked it idly one day - his a strawberry, hers lace. From these simple objects, they would seek variety in their game. And variety there was - he raised an eyebrow, skeptical that she would be able to fold an origami crane out of a 2 centimetre square of lace. And she clapped her hands, cheering him on as he stuffed the last two of ten strawberries into his mouth, a recollection that never failed to make them laugh.
It would start off by him finding an article of lace in the house, or her one related to strawberries. Often, they’d be planted by the opposite party, in a hard-to-reach area. The game began with the find, often not disclosed until an opportune moment, when the three words would be uttered and the other would be struck speechless, rendered powerless until the task was deemed complete. Neither would give in to the other and reject the dare, because it meant losing. It was a game, but somewhere along the line it had turned into their life.
The game was never restricted to these two themes, however much they enjoyed revisiting it. In a number of settings, fantasies of every type were acted out, blurring the lines between play and reality, until the two of them were all that existed, and the rest of the world faded to nothing. They didn’t need others, really. Just them. Strawberry and lace. Unlikely, but so right together, participating in the most ancient competition between the genders.
She had found the tub of strawberry yoghurt in the fridge that night - while she was looking around for a spoon, he had came into the kitchen to say he needed to get back to work. It was an old argument of theirs - she always felt he put his work above her, and was deeply concerned that he was away for longer periods nowadays, even sleeping at his office. Exasperated, she exploded, “I dare you to stay at your office and never come back!”
He opened his mouth to reply, to placate her, perhaps, or to utter a retort. But he paused, as he realised she was holding something in her left hand. Smiling a little sadly, for she cut an absurd figure looking so angry yet waving a small tub of strawberry yoghurt around, he turned and exited the house.
She could not know that he meant to get his work done as soon as possible. Nor could she know that he stepped over the threshold of the house for the final time, fingering the leaf embroidered in intricate lace in his pocket. Perhaps most importantly, she could never hear the shriek of tyres upon the road as he swerved, nor could she see the brilliant, horrific sight of flames engulfing the two cars, rocking them with the impact. For he had gone too far away, when he had always been just close by.
But now, they were a reminder. A horrible reminder of what she had done - this imitation of a life that she had thrown herself into. For without him, she was nothing. Her friends, her work had all faded away into a pale red haze. She spent her days searching the house, finding every article related to that damnable berry she could, and, holding it in her hand, daring him, daring him to come back.
She didn’t want to win any more - if only he would call her, at least that would mean he was safe. It was dreadful not knowing. She had wrapped layers of lace around the receiver of the phone, the once-silver filigree design on them faded by the handling she subjected them to, waiting for his call.
Her steps slow, leaden, she entered the kitchen. As she sat down, she stared at the carton of strawberry yoghurt on the table. Never opened, never eaten. She turned it slowly over, and, reading the note at the bottom, she weeps.
“Truth or Dare? ;)”
A/N: For Shubei, who played in my Join the Concepts. She asked for something encompassing “truth or dare”, “strawberries” and “lace”, with additional pointers - “not racy, not morbid” (I hope she doesn’t mind that there’s death here…not sure whether that quantifies as morbid. But it was either life or death, and I tend towards the latter more.). Sb was actually quite worried about the racy part, hehe. My original idea was truth or dare among immortals, who use humans as pawns in their game. Rather, the original original was to find the roots of this particular game, but I hit blocks researching. So that fell through, though I admit, this isn’t particularly plausible either -- in fact, I'm rather disappointed by it.