Non-challenge drabble
Jul. 13th, 2008 11:52 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
kaiyabeck.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
kh_drabbleChallenge: [144] Pursuit
Title: Phantasmagoria
Word Count: 636
Notes: It's probably odd that I'm using my own challenge as inspiration, but this idea refused to leave me alone. (Can you guys tell that I love writing about old, obscure Disney cartoons? ‘Cause I do.)
Title: Phantasmagoria
Word Count: 636
Notes: It's probably odd that I'm using my own challenge as inspiration, but this idea refused to leave me alone. (Can you guys tell that I love writing about old, obscure Disney cartoons? ‘Cause I do.)
He had thought the tension from the first few minutes was the worst thing he’d ever experienced. He was wrong.
The wind tore the breath from his throat as he goaded his horse to run faster, faster. Though the animal was already galloping as fast as its old legs could carry it, he could still hear the nightmarish hooves behind him, growing ever closer. The man’s heart jumped; pounded fiercely somewhere near his Adam’s apple as he rode on. His throat tightened as he once again heard his pursuer’s triumphant cackle, and all that he could think of was that the stories were real-- they were real and they were happening to him. His nerves driven to fever pitch, he set his gaze on the road ahead of him... and felt relief settle over him like a cloak on a cold night. The bridge was in sight, and if the stories really were true, the rickety old thing would be his escape from certain death.
He told himself he was imagining the black steed’s hot breath upon his neck; told himself that the various nighttime animals weren't chanting his name like some sort of demonic ritual. Finally, miraculously, his ears picked up the most beautiful sound he had ever heard in that terrifying moment-- the sound of his horse’s hooves drumming on a wooden surface. There was a brief, disconcerting moment of darkness, and then the familiar light of the moon shone down upon them. They had made it across-- they were safe. His mind reeling with his close call, he tossed one furtive glance backward. Just one.
The sound of loud, malevolent laughter filled the air, and the last thing that went through his mind was that, in only one respect, the stories had been incorrect.
“Report, Number Six.”
“Uneventful as always, sir. There may be some potential for this world, but it is too early to be sure. I would have investigated further, but I was... distracted.”
“How so?”
“I was unfortunate enough to cross paths with one of the denizens as he was making a nightly ride home. It was difficult to tell if he’d spotted me. I had no choice but to give chase.”
“I am curious as to how you chose that particular form to carry out your objective.”
“I overheard some of the locals conversing about it. There is a certain mythos about this character-- apparently he is the ghost of a decapitated soldier who roams the night searching for his head.” Zexion offered one of his rare smirks, indicating that he had better things to do than take stock in such wives’ tales.
“And the pumpkin?”
“Jack-o’-lanterns have long been archetypes of fear and superstition. I was unfamiliar with what would unnerve this individual, and so I decided to go with the basics, as it were.” He shrugged. “It is rather unfortunate that his heart wasn’t quite strong enough to be of any use, but I suppose we will always have some use for more Dusks.”
“Very well. You’re dismissed, but do try to be more careful next time.”
“As you wish, Superior.”
Zexion would have many victims in his non-lifetime. They would cry, scream, and even beg to be spared, and he would relish each sampling of their fear. But nothing would ever come close to the wild pursuit of that lanky scarecrow of a man, the silent terror that flowed from him like a blood trail even as he struggled to escape his inevitable fate, or even the second of utter futility in the man’s eyes before the light-- both the jack-o’-lantern’s and his own-- was snuffed out.
Zexion’s body had been false during the chase-- a combination of the villagers’ tales and his own imagination.
His laughter, however, was another story entirely.
The wind tore the breath from his throat as he goaded his horse to run faster, faster. Though the animal was already galloping as fast as its old legs could carry it, he could still hear the nightmarish hooves behind him, growing ever closer. The man’s heart jumped; pounded fiercely somewhere near his Adam’s apple as he rode on. His throat tightened as he once again heard his pursuer’s triumphant cackle, and all that he could think of was that the stories were real-- they were real and they were happening to him. His nerves driven to fever pitch, he set his gaze on the road ahead of him... and felt relief settle over him like a cloak on a cold night. The bridge was in sight, and if the stories really were true, the rickety old thing would be his escape from certain death.
He told himself he was imagining the black steed’s hot breath upon his neck; told himself that the various nighttime animals weren't chanting his name like some sort of demonic ritual. Finally, miraculously, his ears picked up the most beautiful sound he had ever heard in that terrifying moment-- the sound of his horse’s hooves drumming on a wooden surface. There was a brief, disconcerting moment of darkness, and then the familiar light of the moon shone down upon them. They had made it across-- they were safe. His mind reeling with his close call, he tossed one furtive glance backward. Just one.
The sound of loud, malevolent laughter filled the air, and the last thing that went through his mind was that, in only one respect, the stories had been incorrect.
“Report, Number Six.”
“Uneventful as always, sir. There may be some potential for this world, but it is too early to be sure. I would have investigated further, but I was... distracted.”
“How so?”
“I was unfortunate enough to cross paths with one of the denizens as he was making a nightly ride home. It was difficult to tell if he’d spotted me. I had no choice but to give chase.”
“I am curious as to how you chose that particular form to carry out your objective.”
“I overheard some of the locals conversing about it. There is a certain mythos about this character-- apparently he is the ghost of a decapitated soldier who roams the night searching for his head.” Zexion offered one of his rare smirks, indicating that he had better things to do than take stock in such wives’ tales.
“And the pumpkin?”
“Jack-o’-lanterns have long been archetypes of fear and superstition. I was unfamiliar with what would unnerve this individual, and so I decided to go with the basics, as it were.” He shrugged. “It is rather unfortunate that his heart wasn’t quite strong enough to be of any use, but I suppose we will always have some use for more Dusks.”
“Very well. You’re dismissed, but do try to be more careful next time.”
“As you wish, Superior.”
Zexion would have many victims in his non-lifetime. They would cry, scream, and even beg to be spared, and he would relish each sampling of their fear. But nothing would ever come close to the wild pursuit of that lanky scarecrow of a man, the silent terror that flowed from him like a blood trail even as he struggled to escape his inevitable fate, or even the second of utter futility in the man’s eyes before the light-- both the jack-o’-lantern’s and his own-- was snuffed out.
Zexion’s body had been false during the chase-- a combination of the villagers’ tales and his own imagination.
His laughter, however, was another story entirely.
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no subject
Date: 2008-07-14 05:25 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-07-14 04:41 pm (UTC)Glad you liked it! It was my first time writing Zexion, so I wasn't sure if I'd gotten his personality exactly right.
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Date: 2008-07-14 05:39 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-07-14 06:33 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-07-15 01:01 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-07-14 11:26 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-07-15 01:02 am (UTC)I love Sleepy Hollow, too. Heck, I wanna live there someday.