Inhuman Relations #2
Before your tear-filled gaze, a figure materialises out of the air itself, taking the shape of a finely muscled man. He has no clothing except for a line of shiny, gold armbands, which traverse the length of his forearms, and a thick, matching chain around his neck, set with a fierce ruby the size of a child's tightly clenched fist. His skin is a pure, serene blue, as if composed of pure turquoise --- it has the dark touches and snowy veins of such --- which convinces you that it is not a man who stands so coolly a few metres away to bear witness to your offence. He looks down upon you, his handsome face contorted into an overbearing sneer.
"Such a tragedy," the...thing says in a low, mocking tone, catlike, aquamarine eyes glimmering. "Your own brother...now what will happen to you, Cain? Will you run away like so many before you? Will you spend the rest of your life behind bars, chained for something so easily avoided? Oh, such a tragedy."
"Get away from here!" You scream, lunging for your forgotten bow and waving it wildly over your head, behaving in a way that suggests that you think you can frighten this creature away like a wild animal, though you are not thinking at all. "This is private property! You saw nothing here --- get away!"
"Get away?" It responds calmly, staring blankly into the distance. "No, I don't think I will. Or, if I do 'get away', you're coming with me."
"Coming with --- I'm not going with you!" You shout in a stronger tone, levelling your bow in warning with another arrow fitted to the trembling string. "Think I won't shoot you too? I've done it once, shouldn't be too hard to do it again... Get away from here, spirit. Did you come to take him? You can't have him! I just want my brother back! I want to be with him again! Get away, just get away!"
Your shaking fingers can contain the tightly strung bow for no longer and the arrow flies forth, striking into the centre of the man-like being, who smiles knowingly, showing no pain from the sharp tool protruding like a grotesque adornment in the centre of his chest. He extends his palm towards you and beckons with a crooked finger that you cannot acknowledge, as you are stumbling back in shock that he is still standing. Is he dead? Dying? A ghost? Have you killed again? Dizziness washes over you and the world spins sickening, a whirling circle of sky, grass, sun and painted targets blending into one another until your cheek presses against the bloodstained grass and your mind is enveloped in darkness.
Written by Amethyst Mare on 08 June 2012
