challenge 206.
Nov. 5th, 2009 08:30 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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kh_drabbleChallenge [206]: Storm
Title: Skin-Deep and the Tempest
Wordcount: 227
Notes: References to drug use. Quote in the middle is Tyler Durden's.
---
Beauty is only skin-deep, and yet, so are other things.
Her human appearance, too, is only skin-deep. Cut her open, she'll dare you, and there will be nothing but a tempest. Pure electricity, lightning and thunder, vicious winds. All she is, all she wants to be, is the storm, because it's the only thing that really exists.
Just cut her open and see.
She doesn't think it would hurt. No, no. She's past pain, past sorrow, past joy. She's past it all and breaking her heart was the best thing she's ever done.
It's only after we've lost everything that we're free to do anything.
She remembers it well, too -- nights spent unconscious on the bathroom floor; the needles, oh, the needles, waking up with them hanging from her forearms, blue from the tourniquet.
She remembers drugs and bruises and cuts and the streets of a grimy city with no name and she's fine with never going back there. Ever. She remembers everything but something inside her wishes she was like Roxas and didn't. And why would anyone want to be like Roxas?
She remembers the night where everything goes to hell. She smiles, a little, but she's not happy. Nothing can't be anything, after all, and that includes pleased.
fire
storm
tempest
plague
locusts
BLACK.
It's all prophesized, isn't it? The tempest will arrive, boiling and dancing and ready to kill.
Larxene will rise in its wake.
Title: Skin-Deep and the Tempest
Wordcount: 227
Notes: References to drug use. Quote in the middle is Tyler Durden's.
---
Beauty is only skin-deep, and yet, so are other things.
Her human appearance, too, is only skin-deep. Cut her open, she'll dare you, and there will be nothing but a tempest. Pure electricity, lightning and thunder, vicious winds. All she is, all she wants to be, is the storm, because it's the only thing that really exists.
Just cut her open and see.
She doesn't think it would hurt. No, no. She's past pain, past sorrow, past joy. She's past it all and breaking her heart was the best thing she's ever done.
It's only after we've lost everything that we're free to do anything.
She remembers it well, too -- nights spent unconscious on the bathroom floor; the needles, oh, the needles, waking up with them hanging from her forearms, blue from the tourniquet.
She remembers drugs and bruises and cuts and the streets of a grimy city with no name and she's fine with never going back there. Ever. She remembers everything but something inside her wishes she was like Roxas and didn't. And why would anyone want to be like Roxas?
She remembers the night where everything goes to hell. She smiles, a little, but she's not happy. Nothing can't be anything, after all, and that includes pleased.
fire
storm
tempest
plague
locusts
BLACK.
It's all prophesized, isn't it? The tempest will arrive, boiling and dancing and ready to kill.
Larxene will rise in its wake.
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