Post by Skittle on Jun 6, 2006 15:15:36 GMT -5
Black Humour is copyright to myself, and is written for a friend of mine.
Black Humour
"You're truly the weakest person I know, Nickulas. Out of all the people I have ever met, only you would be this idiotic; this weak. Yeah. You heard me. Weak."
The girl spat vehemently, writhing in an attempt to escape her tormentor's firm grip around her throat. She was attractive, although the red slap marks across her face limited her beauty somewhat, with long, feathered blonde curls and bright [but cold, oh so cold] blue eyes, tinged slightly with green. Those same eyes were blazing with the hatred and fury of her situation, her legs and arms constantly trying to land a hit upon her captor's body. Around her throat were curled two hands, strong but thin, keeping her pinned firmly against the wall. The hands were pale to the point of decomposure, stained purple in some places with the mere strain that was going into keeping the girl held. As one led away from the hands, scarred, bare arms led into the t-shirt sleeves of a band shirt. As one went further up the body, to the shoulders and head, the gender and looks of the captor were revealed. He was tall and thin; indeed, one would not have expected such power to come from one so emanciated. His face was plain, but had an odd intensity about it, and a look of distance, as though the boy did not care about anyone but himself. His eyes were also blue, but pale and washed out, rings of violet around each pupil. His hair was short but lank, a shade of dark brown that almost perfectly matched that of plain chocolate. The skin on and around his face was the same half-decomposed pale of his hands, two blotchy patches of purple appearing in his cheeks, his teeth bared in a snarl. At the girl's words, the boy let out a roar of frustration, pulling the girl towards him as though he intended to hug her, then shoving her back against the wall with shocking force. The girl bit her lip to stop herself from crying out and giving him the satisfaction of knowing he had hurt her. Crimson blood trickled down her chin, her bottom lip now split in two. However, she said nothing, merely giving the boy a 'you-know-I'm-right' look. The boy's own face smiled, if you could call it that. It looked more like a grimance - then again, the boy hadn't smiled in some time.
"Are you trying to make me kill you, Kristine?"
He asked, locking his pale [but intense] blue eyes onto Kristine's. There was silence for a moment as Kristine digested what he had said, her expression completely unreadable. Nickulas wasn't particularly surprised; he had never been able to read Kristine, not in all the time he had known her. It was one of the things that made him hate her - what gave her the right to be the special one, the one that could resist his mind games? What gave her the right to be more intelligent, more self-righteous and more proud than he? The silence seemed to drag on for an eternity, Nickulas finding himself fascinated in Kristine's face. She was so pretty, even when he hurt her.... the blood brought out her eyes... He thought of letting her go; no doubt she would bury this unpleasant memory along with everything else that happened to her. She had no one to turn to, bar Nickulas. She shut everyone else out, saying she had no need for friends, or to talk to anyone. She very, very rarely spoke to Nickulas as it was. He decided that he would wait for her to respond, then put her down and apologise. Beg her to forgive him. All that rubbish. Quite honestly, he regretted the whole thing now. Why had he wanted to hurt Kristine in the first place? Exactly. He had no just reason for being so violent towards her. He would just put her down, right no--...
Kristine broke the silence with the worst possible thing. She laughed at Nickulas.
Her laugh echoed around Nick's head, like the screaming of a thousand banshees, tearing the little sanity [not crazy, not crazy] he had left away from him. Kristine was laughing [laughing?] at him! LAUGHING! AT HIM! His eyes suddenly narrowed, his grip tightening impossibly [no, no, no]. Abruptly the laughter stopped - he saw the fear [fear? kristine isn't scared of anything] in Kristine's eyes. But not even her terror [no, no, where's your bravery?] could change Nick's mind now; even she knew that [scared, so scared]. Quietly, she began to plead [no! she never pleaded, never begged, never, never] with him. Her cries fell on deaf ears [it's not real, can't be real] - Nickulas could no more hear her then he could stop the onslaught of psychopathic [i'm NOT a psycho! no, no, no] messages that ran through his mind, every single one of them telling him to kill, to hurt, to break. So wrapped up in his hatred and anger was he that he didn't notice the tears [she never cried, never cried, never cried] that began to drip from her beautiful eyes [no, no, she never cried, never, never]. Blue was now creeping into her face [blue, her favourite colour], appearing like a ghastly eyeshadow around her eyes, and like a demented, smudged lipstick around her mouth. She tried to take a breath to scream, but no air passed into her lungs. Inside her head, however, Kristine screamed. And screamed. And screamed.
Nickulas' hands suddenly balled even tighter around her throat and she gagged, almost swallowing her own tongue in her desperation for air. His fists drew back, bringing her body with them like a ragdoll. For a split-second there was nothing; bright, white lights sparkled in her eyes and she felt almost at ease. Then she heard her own body give a tremendous crack as it hit the wall, her head snapping backwards, her neck breaking like a twig. Then Kristine thought no more.
Nick unballed his fists, watching impassively as Kristine's body dropped to the ground. For a moment, he merely stayed like that, just staring (although not really seeing) at Kristine's corpse, his mind trying to process what he had done. He blinked a bit, returning to his senses.
"K..Krist..Kristy..y.?"
The voice was little more then a whisper, Nick's eyes widening to an almost impossible extent, almost popping out of his skull. He stood there for a while longer, swaying slightly, locked into the shock of what he had done. He had killed.. His life's ambition had been realised... And yet... He had killed Kristine... The grief came upon poor Nick quickly and suddenly, roaring up and down his body, forcing him to his knees like a man possessed. He had destroyed the one thing in his life that he lived for, and he knew it. He barely noticed the howl of anguish that left his throat as he looked up to the night sky, sobbing freely over Kristy's corpse, the tears crashing around him in almost slow motion. Truly, the boy was insane. But with insanity, there is a certain degree of helplessness and, even knowing what he had done, it was hard to look at him with anything but pity right now.
An hour or so later, Nickulas stumbled to his feet, picking his way along the narrow walkways and backstreets. Moonlight now cast it's sullen glow over the dismal council estate, signifying that it was time for the local yobs and vandals to rise. However, as Nick made his way home, he did not see a single one. If he had been in his right state of mind, and not determinedly focused on what he was going to do, he would have found the lack of thugs extremely odd - maybe even a little foreboding. It's said that bullies are like animals - they can smell your fear. If this is true, then surely they can also tell when not to leave their houses; a sort of animal instinct instructs them to stay indoors, where it is safe, perhaps? But, regardless of the conclusion, there were no gangs around when Nickulas was stalking the streets that night.
But a certain someone else was around, and she was watching Nickulas all the time.
*
He was in his room now, after simply walking away from his mother's screams of how late he was. His hands were aching painfully, but it didn't matter to him. Nothing mattered to him anymore. He rumaged briefly in his underwear drawer, finally finding what he was looking for. He stared impassively at the silver glint in his hand, gripping the mahogany handle like it would dissolve if he let go of it. He studied the blade for a moment, staring from his wrist to the sharp edge and gulping. He wondered whether he would actually have the guts to do it...
"Well, sweetheart, if you had the guts to kill your best friend, I'd imagine you've got enough balls to kill yourself."
A mildly amused voice spoke from behind him. The dull click of a cigarette lighter reached his ears, and he froze, spellbound, not even daring to look. He heard the intruder take a long drag on the cigarette that they must have been holding... Wait, a cigarette? That wasn't right... Not right at all. But something - he didn't know what - compelled him to make a smartarse comment before he confirmed his suspicions of exactly who was behind him.
"Don't you know that smoking will--"
But he was interrupted by a harsh laugh from the person.
"Kill me? Well, sugar, I think you did a pretty good job on that one yourself."
She span his chair to face her, and Nick found himself looking into a very attractive face - one he knew very well. Kristine grinned at him briefly, before backing off slightly and taking another drag from her cigarette. Nickulas swiftly drained of colour, his mouth hanging slack and open. That... That... Wasn't possible...? What? Kristine caught him staring from the corner of her eye and took another cigarette out of thin air, placing it swiftly in his mouth and lighting it, smiling sweetly; innocently.
"You look like you need a smoke."
Nickulas coughed wildly, throwing the cigarette to the floor and stomping on it like it would explode in his mouth. Kristine wore an expression of false-shock, her hand covering her open mouth.
"Now now. You can refuse it, but there's no need to throw a strop about it."
Nick looked up at her, fear, anger and a little craziness in his eyes.
"What ARE you!?"
He screamed, backing as far as he could away from the 'dead' girl. She grinned all the more, although now it was a sadistic smile rather than an amused one.
"Your guardian angel."
Nick blinked twice and passed out.
*
Daylight streamed in from the cracks in the blinds, lighting the simplistic room a tad, but casting bizarre shadows upon everything. A bed lay in one corner, covered in neat, not-slept-in sheets, a bookshelf in the corner opposite. A desk sat next to the bed, several drawers lining the sides, and a wooden chair sat underneath, covered with the sprawling body of a lanky teenager. The teenager twitched, his eyelids moving rapidly as his dream finished. Tear stains ran down his grimy face, residue of the previous night. His plain-chocolate hair was tousled and sticking up in places, his back and body covered in icy sweat. As the dream completed, he bolted upright, his eyes snapping open and revealing their washed-out blue terror to the world in general. He practically fell over himself in his haste to get into bed, pulling the sheets over his head like it would make everything better. Beneath the sheets, the boy moaned, recalling last night's unpleasantries. He did not cry again; he was not awake enough to fully comprehend his situation.
Eventually, his exhausted, tormented mind shut itself down, and he fell asleep, entwined in the bedclothes. Luck was with him; it was Saturday, and his lay-in did not matter.
Kristine watched him, almost warily, sitting on the chair by his desk. She had decided to leave him, for now, until he was ready to understand why she had been sent to him. Hell, she needed to understand why she had been sent to him. An Atheist even in death, she was not prepared to give up her life-long beliefs just because she had joined the ranks of the living impaired. She prefered that term. It sounded less final. Delicate fingers ran through her golden locks, and she mumbled to herself, pulling her hair in front of her face. True, she had enjoyed scaring Nick last night... But she was regretting it now; even if he had killed her, he was still her best friend, and she didn't like to think that she had hurt him so badly.
Having not yet looked in the mirror, Kristine was not aware of the second reason she had shocked Nick. Her appearance had changed rather dramatically from the blonde-curled girl-next-door. Try demon-next-door, and you might be closer to your answer. Half of her hair had darkened to a rich, reddish auburn, the other half having gained a glittering effect, rather like gold. Above her head hovered half of a golden ring, fading into nothing as it crossed her hairline into the auburn side. From the auburn side of her head, a far more sinister side-effect had taken place; a cruelly curved, black and silver Devil's horn had risen from her scalp. For the moment, these were the only changes. However, unknown to her, she would soon come to realise the benefits of being 'locked in the balance'. Unknown to her, she would soon come to learn of the 'balance'. And, even more unknown to her, the mock-job she had made up last night was the truth. Kristine had become Nickulas' guardian angel.
The sheer, bitter irony.
Someone up there has a nasty sense of humour.
Black Humour
"You're truly the weakest person I know, Nickulas. Out of all the people I have ever met, only you would be this idiotic; this weak. Yeah. You heard me. Weak."
The girl spat vehemently, writhing in an attempt to escape her tormentor's firm grip around her throat. She was attractive, although the red slap marks across her face limited her beauty somewhat, with long, feathered blonde curls and bright [but cold, oh so cold] blue eyes, tinged slightly with green. Those same eyes were blazing with the hatred and fury of her situation, her legs and arms constantly trying to land a hit upon her captor's body. Around her throat were curled two hands, strong but thin, keeping her pinned firmly against the wall. The hands were pale to the point of decomposure, stained purple in some places with the mere strain that was going into keeping the girl held. As one led away from the hands, scarred, bare arms led into the t-shirt sleeves of a band shirt. As one went further up the body, to the shoulders and head, the gender and looks of the captor were revealed. He was tall and thin; indeed, one would not have expected such power to come from one so emanciated. His face was plain, but had an odd intensity about it, and a look of distance, as though the boy did not care about anyone but himself. His eyes were also blue, but pale and washed out, rings of violet around each pupil. His hair was short but lank, a shade of dark brown that almost perfectly matched that of plain chocolate. The skin on and around his face was the same half-decomposed pale of his hands, two blotchy patches of purple appearing in his cheeks, his teeth bared in a snarl. At the girl's words, the boy let out a roar of frustration, pulling the girl towards him as though he intended to hug her, then shoving her back against the wall with shocking force. The girl bit her lip to stop herself from crying out and giving him the satisfaction of knowing he had hurt her. Crimson blood trickled down her chin, her bottom lip now split in two. However, she said nothing, merely giving the boy a 'you-know-I'm-right' look. The boy's own face smiled, if you could call it that. It looked more like a grimance - then again, the boy hadn't smiled in some time.
"Are you trying to make me kill you, Kristine?"
He asked, locking his pale [but intense] blue eyes onto Kristine's. There was silence for a moment as Kristine digested what he had said, her expression completely unreadable. Nickulas wasn't particularly surprised; he had never been able to read Kristine, not in all the time he had known her. It was one of the things that made him hate her - what gave her the right to be the special one, the one that could resist his mind games? What gave her the right to be more intelligent, more self-righteous and more proud than he? The silence seemed to drag on for an eternity, Nickulas finding himself fascinated in Kristine's face. She was so pretty, even when he hurt her.... the blood brought out her eyes... He thought of letting her go; no doubt she would bury this unpleasant memory along with everything else that happened to her. She had no one to turn to, bar Nickulas. She shut everyone else out, saying she had no need for friends, or to talk to anyone. She very, very rarely spoke to Nickulas as it was. He decided that he would wait for her to respond, then put her down and apologise. Beg her to forgive him. All that rubbish. Quite honestly, he regretted the whole thing now. Why had he wanted to hurt Kristine in the first place? Exactly. He had no just reason for being so violent towards her. He would just put her down, right no--...
Kristine broke the silence with the worst possible thing. She laughed at Nickulas.
Her laugh echoed around Nick's head, like the screaming of a thousand banshees, tearing the little sanity [not crazy, not crazy] he had left away from him. Kristine was laughing [laughing?] at him! LAUGHING! AT HIM! His eyes suddenly narrowed, his grip tightening impossibly [no, no, no]. Abruptly the laughter stopped - he saw the fear [fear? kristine isn't scared of anything] in Kristine's eyes. But not even her terror [no, no, where's your bravery?] could change Nick's mind now; even she knew that [scared, so scared]. Quietly, she began to plead [no! she never pleaded, never begged, never, never] with him. Her cries fell on deaf ears [it's not real, can't be real] - Nickulas could no more hear her then he could stop the onslaught of psychopathic [i'm NOT a psycho! no, no, no] messages that ran through his mind, every single one of them telling him to kill, to hurt, to break. So wrapped up in his hatred and anger was he that he didn't notice the tears [she never cried, never cried, never cried] that began to drip from her beautiful eyes [no, no, she never cried, never, never]. Blue was now creeping into her face [blue, her favourite colour], appearing like a ghastly eyeshadow around her eyes, and like a demented, smudged lipstick around her mouth. She tried to take a breath to scream, but no air passed into her lungs. Inside her head, however, Kristine screamed. And screamed. And screamed.
Nickulas' hands suddenly balled even tighter around her throat and she gagged, almost swallowing her own tongue in her desperation for air. His fists drew back, bringing her body with them like a ragdoll. For a split-second there was nothing; bright, white lights sparkled in her eyes and she felt almost at ease. Then she heard her own body give a tremendous crack as it hit the wall, her head snapping backwards, her neck breaking like a twig. Then Kristine thought no more.
Nick unballed his fists, watching impassively as Kristine's body dropped to the ground. For a moment, he merely stayed like that, just staring (although not really seeing) at Kristine's corpse, his mind trying to process what he had done. He blinked a bit, returning to his senses.
"K..Krist..Kristy..y.?"
The voice was little more then a whisper, Nick's eyes widening to an almost impossible extent, almost popping out of his skull. He stood there for a while longer, swaying slightly, locked into the shock of what he had done. He had killed.. His life's ambition had been realised... And yet... He had killed Kristine... The grief came upon poor Nick quickly and suddenly, roaring up and down his body, forcing him to his knees like a man possessed. He had destroyed the one thing in his life that he lived for, and he knew it. He barely noticed the howl of anguish that left his throat as he looked up to the night sky, sobbing freely over Kristy's corpse, the tears crashing around him in almost slow motion. Truly, the boy was insane. But with insanity, there is a certain degree of helplessness and, even knowing what he had done, it was hard to look at him with anything but pity right now.
An hour or so later, Nickulas stumbled to his feet, picking his way along the narrow walkways and backstreets. Moonlight now cast it's sullen glow over the dismal council estate, signifying that it was time for the local yobs and vandals to rise. However, as Nick made his way home, he did not see a single one. If he had been in his right state of mind, and not determinedly focused on what he was going to do, he would have found the lack of thugs extremely odd - maybe even a little foreboding. It's said that bullies are like animals - they can smell your fear. If this is true, then surely they can also tell when not to leave their houses; a sort of animal instinct instructs them to stay indoors, where it is safe, perhaps? But, regardless of the conclusion, there were no gangs around when Nickulas was stalking the streets that night.
But a certain someone else was around, and she was watching Nickulas all the time.
*
He was in his room now, after simply walking away from his mother's screams of how late he was. His hands were aching painfully, but it didn't matter to him. Nothing mattered to him anymore. He rumaged briefly in his underwear drawer, finally finding what he was looking for. He stared impassively at the silver glint in his hand, gripping the mahogany handle like it would dissolve if he let go of it. He studied the blade for a moment, staring from his wrist to the sharp edge and gulping. He wondered whether he would actually have the guts to do it...
"Well, sweetheart, if you had the guts to kill your best friend, I'd imagine you've got enough balls to kill yourself."
A mildly amused voice spoke from behind him. The dull click of a cigarette lighter reached his ears, and he froze, spellbound, not even daring to look. He heard the intruder take a long drag on the cigarette that they must have been holding... Wait, a cigarette? That wasn't right... Not right at all. But something - he didn't know what - compelled him to make a smartarse comment before he confirmed his suspicions of exactly who was behind him.
"Don't you know that smoking will--"
But he was interrupted by a harsh laugh from the person.
"Kill me? Well, sugar, I think you did a pretty good job on that one yourself."
She span his chair to face her, and Nick found himself looking into a very attractive face - one he knew very well. Kristine grinned at him briefly, before backing off slightly and taking another drag from her cigarette. Nickulas swiftly drained of colour, his mouth hanging slack and open. That... That... Wasn't possible...? What? Kristine caught him staring from the corner of her eye and took another cigarette out of thin air, placing it swiftly in his mouth and lighting it, smiling sweetly; innocently.
"You look like you need a smoke."
Nickulas coughed wildly, throwing the cigarette to the floor and stomping on it like it would explode in his mouth. Kristine wore an expression of false-shock, her hand covering her open mouth.
"Now now. You can refuse it, but there's no need to throw a strop about it."
Nick looked up at her, fear, anger and a little craziness in his eyes.
"What ARE you!?"
He screamed, backing as far as he could away from the 'dead' girl. She grinned all the more, although now it was a sadistic smile rather than an amused one.
"Your guardian angel."
Nick blinked twice and passed out.
*
Daylight streamed in from the cracks in the blinds, lighting the simplistic room a tad, but casting bizarre shadows upon everything. A bed lay in one corner, covered in neat, not-slept-in sheets, a bookshelf in the corner opposite. A desk sat next to the bed, several drawers lining the sides, and a wooden chair sat underneath, covered with the sprawling body of a lanky teenager. The teenager twitched, his eyelids moving rapidly as his dream finished. Tear stains ran down his grimy face, residue of the previous night. His plain-chocolate hair was tousled and sticking up in places, his back and body covered in icy sweat. As the dream completed, he bolted upright, his eyes snapping open and revealing their washed-out blue terror to the world in general. He practically fell over himself in his haste to get into bed, pulling the sheets over his head like it would make everything better. Beneath the sheets, the boy moaned, recalling last night's unpleasantries. He did not cry again; he was not awake enough to fully comprehend his situation.
Eventually, his exhausted, tormented mind shut itself down, and he fell asleep, entwined in the bedclothes. Luck was with him; it was Saturday, and his lay-in did not matter.
Kristine watched him, almost warily, sitting on the chair by his desk. She had decided to leave him, for now, until he was ready to understand why she had been sent to him. Hell, she needed to understand why she had been sent to him. An Atheist even in death, she was not prepared to give up her life-long beliefs just because she had joined the ranks of the living impaired. She prefered that term. It sounded less final. Delicate fingers ran through her golden locks, and she mumbled to herself, pulling her hair in front of her face. True, she had enjoyed scaring Nick last night... But she was regretting it now; even if he had killed her, he was still her best friend, and she didn't like to think that she had hurt him so badly.
Having not yet looked in the mirror, Kristine was not aware of the second reason she had shocked Nick. Her appearance had changed rather dramatically from the blonde-curled girl-next-door. Try demon-next-door, and you might be closer to your answer. Half of her hair had darkened to a rich, reddish auburn, the other half having gained a glittering effect, rather like gold. Above her head hovered half of a golden ring, fading into nothing as it crossed her hairline into the auburn side. From the auburn side of her head, a far more sinister side-effect had taken place; a cruelly curved, black and silver Devil's horn had risen from her scalp. For the moment, these were the only changes. However, unknown to her, she would soon come to realise the benefits of being 'locked in the balance'. Unknown to her, she would soon come to learn of the 'balance'. And, even more unknown to her, the mock-job she had made up last night was the truth. Kristine had become Nickulas' guardian angel.
The sheer, bitter irony.
Someone up there has a nasty sense of humour.
