|The Gothic Ballerina (standard:science fiction, 975 words) [1/8] show all parts|
|Author: kissofthehungry||Updated: Aug 01 2005||Views/Reads: 1986/0||Part vote: 0.00 (0 votes)|
|In a time where the sun and moon can no longer be seen and evil preys upon the weak, one young woman, who has suffered despair dares to make a difference.|
The strange but all too familiar hues of the streetlights and neon signs cast their eerie glow over the sullen street. The light of the sun and moon had long been blocked by the clouds, she'd never even seen them only heard rumors of a bright world that once existed. Her boot heels echoed hollowly through the alleyway as she tried to avoid the glistening puddles of water. Echo, an orphan of the sins of the city, was a stunning beauty who looked more like a china doll. Yet the fragility of her beauty hid a strength of the soul that had conquered many of the trials thrown at her. Her hair was dark brown and curly, generally captured in a sloppy ponytail slash bun on the top of her head. Her skin was pale white, the skin of one who has never been touched by true sunlight, and her lips were a warm red. Yet it was her eyes that were the most haunting, a pale blue with dark blue rims. They were startling and gorgeous, giving her a wide-eyed innocence that was also a lie. The city was riddled with darkness and evil, preying on those that were too weak to fight back. Echo's parents had tried to stand up to one of the many crime lords but had only succeeded in being murdered. She would never forget the moment that she strolled in from finishing her shift at work. Immediately she had known something was wrong, for a thick, coppery smell had clung to the air and her heart had dropped into her stomach. Gingerly, she had called out her parents' names but to no avail. Then walked into their room, and the scream that had torn through her body had stuck in her throat, choking her life out of her. Her father's body was in the bed, so riddled with bullets that she could see more of his insides than out. Her mother was in their bathroom, her throat slit and twenty-seven knife wounds all over her body. Echo had been seventeen at the time. That was seven years ago, though it still haunted her. Looking back upon her parents' deaths, she felt her familiar companion, pain, twinge within her. Trying to push away her feelings, she paused next to a padlocked black door with paint peeling and graffiti obscenities plastering it's surface. That was when she knew she wasn't alone. Turning around, she put a hand inside her trench coat, preparing to pull it off, but nobody was there. However, she knew better and in a fluid movement, had her jacket off and her sword out of it's sheath upon her back. The silence that hung heavy was broken only by the plink of water splashing into the many puddles around her. She didn't move, listening for any sound, a scrape of a foot against pavement, material brushing skin. For a moment, she doubted herself then she heard the faintest sigh and spun to face the shadows behind her. Knowing his position had been betrayed, a man with long blonde hair and age lines etched deep into his face, leapt out, a short blade in one of his leathery hands. His black biker's vest and filthy torn jeans jingled with the many chains they bore. How he had moved silently, she didn't know, nor at the moment, did she care. “Is this really what you want?” she asked, her voice low and carrying no threat, baring no hint of the violence that boiled beneath her skin. Her grip upon the sword's handle was firm and sure, having slain many of his ilk before. The man eyed her hungrily and grinned, several of his teeth gold, “Pretty lady, I always know what I want. You can make this easy, or fun and easy.” Echo shifted her stance a bit, amused at his naivety. Her delicate form tricked so many and she knew her outfit did little to change that. She was in black mid calf boots with buckles and zippers galore, black and white striped tights, black shorts to her knees that hugged her closely to better maneuver in, and a black crop top t-shirt with a bleeding rose on her chest. However, the sword sheath that she wore so comfortably should have given some clue, but those that were cruel were not often smart. “You talk too much, old man. I don't care to hear you talk when you sound like all the other idiots out there,” she was prepared, her body ready to spring and her mind already going into her mode. The man grinned again and leapt at her, his blade hand held out towards her. It was a stupid move, and she easily dodged it, spinning around in a smooth dance move, bringing the blade around and catching him in the ribs. The blow took him off his feet and he landed face first in one of the many puddles, screaming hysterically and clutching his bleeding wound. Echo casually stood above him, her sword hanging at her side, resting but ready to be put back into action at any sign of further trouble. “What do you want?” he begged sobbing like a little child and she almost felt bad for him, almost but not quite. Gracefully, she bent beside him and whispered into his ear, “Light.” Then she wiped her sword clean of his blood on his jeans then rose and left him bleeding in the alley, knowing he wasn't going to rise from his resting spot and that nobody but him would care. On her way out, she picked up her trench coat, and slid everything back into it's proper place. His cries faded into the dark sounds of the city that seemed dead but under the surface, throbbed with an ever present and active life. Tweet
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