[Fic: and I've wrapped your arms in barbed wire]
sunday_reveries: "We used to wonder where war lived, what it was that made it so vile. And now we realize that we know where it lives, that it is inside ourselves."
-Albert Camus
"You're a horrible person."
The laugh is deep, guttural, settling somewhere between her throat and her lower abdomen. She knows she's horrible. It's one of her best personality traits, her ability to do horrible, horrible things to people without feeling utterly guilty. Without feeling any guilt, actually, enjoying the pain and fear mingled with blood and sweat. That laugh, the knowing 'ha-ha' is replaced with the maniacal giggle that rises in her throat as she begins to put pressure behind the scalpel she holds in her hand, carving a line in her victim's chest. The screams begin again, and her giggles die off into the biggest grin possible as she focuses on her work, her tongue slipping between her teeth as she carves her name into the angel's chest, dabbing at the white blood that bubbles up until she can see the grayish flesh below. The 'i' in Suki's name has a heart for a tittle, a heart she carves over the angel's own heart, just so it looks nice with a flourish of irony. She pauses and leans back to admire her handiwork. "There," she says, looking up at the angel while she lays a finger over the wound, "that looks lovely."
The screams hae stopped by now, and her victim is reduced to short, shallow breaths. "You," he spits, "are disgusting."
Suki just grins at him and clambers onto her stainless steel torture table, straddling her victim and bringing the scalpel up to his cheek. "You are not creative." She holds his jaw in place while she begins to carve a pretty swirly pattern into the soft flesh of his face.
"You," he manages to spit before she begins her work, "are evil."
She smiles at him again. "Comes with the territory, buddy. This isn't even my best work. Wait until I get to your liver."
Muse: Suzuki Suki
Word count: 274 words.
-Albert Camus
"You're a horrible person."
The laugh is deep, guttural, settling somewhere between her throat and her lower abdomen. She knows she's horrible. It's one of her best personality traits, her ability to do horrible, horrible things to people without feeling utterly guilty. Without feeling any guilt, actually, enjoying the pain and fear mingled with blood and sweat. That laugh, the knowing 'ha-ha' is replaced with the maniacal giggle that rises in her throat as she begins to put pressure behind the scalpel she holds in her hand, carving a line in her victim's chest. The screams begin again, and her giggles die off into the biggest grin possible as she focuses on her work, her tongue slipping between her teeth as she carves her name into the angel's chest, dabbing at the white blood that bubbles up until she can see the grayish flesh below. The 'i' in Suki's name has a heart for a tittle, a heart she carves over the angel's own heart, just so it looks nice with a flourish of irony. She pauses and leans back to admire her handiwork. "There," she says, looking up at the angel while she lays a finger over the wound, "that looks lovely."
The screams hae stopped by now, and her victim is reduced to short, shallow breaths. "You," he spits, "are disgusting."
Suki just grins at him and clambers onto her stainless steel torture table, straddling her victim and bringing the scalpel up to his cheek. "You are not creative." She holds his jaw in place while she begins to carve a pretty swirly pattern into the soft flesh of his face.
"You," he manages to spit before she begins her work, "are evil."
She smiles at him again. "Comes with the territory, buddy. This isn't even my best work. Wait until I get to your liver."
Muse: Suzuki Suki
Word count: 274 words.