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denniechan
denniechan
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Welcome to my Live Journal page! Unlike my other stuff, this is much more random with writing, graphics, and personal stuff. This awesome layout was taken from Butterfly Box, but the header was created by me.

October 2013
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Untitled - 000 - Near the End


For the ones who insipired this and have no clue (yet)
Thank you for merely existing

 

Near the end

 

 

The bitter cold made all of the wounds numb and the fresh, pure snow mingled with the blood running down her face. Her long, heavy breaths came out like puffs of steam from a train and she ignored the fact that it hurt to merely breathe. Instead of dwelling on the various injuries she now sported and the throbbing each one induced, her consciousness was centered on the man standing before her, on the fact that her hand itched for her weapon, which was buried in the snow.

Oh yeah…and then there was the gun that was aimed at her head. That was a very bitter pill to swallow, too.

Actually, the gun hadn’t done a damn thing to her so she couldn’t be too angry with it; it was the tall, dark-haired asshole with his finger on its trigger that made her a bit irked. Hey—guns don’t kill people, fuckhead—people with guns kill people!

I should have known better than to put my trust in anyone, she mused angrily. But there was no use in trying to wallow in hindsight now. She didn’t have much time left—she could feel it—and there was little point in kicking herself, especially since everything she had done, every choice she had made since the moment they had met led to this moment. She was as much an agent in her own downfall as he was. Maybe there was a nice circle of Hell for a woman like her. It would certainly be warmer than this shit.

“Any last words?” he asked, voice slightly husky. It made her think of more peaceful times, of warmer times. She banished that right of her head. It would only make her want to kick his ass more than she already did. If such was possible.

She fought the urge to tremble against the cold and clung to the last vestiges of insolence she possessed. “You’re mistaken if you think I’m going to beg.”

A side of his mouth twitched. A sliver of mirth. “Just like you to be a smart ass to the end. I knew you wouldn’t beg, darlin’. You never did in bed.”

She nearly snorted with derision at the private reference. “Classy of you to bring that up right now when you’ve got a fucking gun pointed at my head.”

“If you had been smarter you would have seen this coming.”

It was her turn to smile, a little. “Oh…my dear…you have no idea…”

She could tell that threw him off-balance, just a bit. The guy who could see through everyone, see through everything, had been thrown by that comment. Uh huh—what was that, fool? It gave her a grim pleasure. All she had in this dismal predicament in which she had gotten herself.

“There is no way in hell,” he said aloud as if he was starting to realize something. The truth perhaps. “No way in fucking hell.”

“You’re a tool, I’m a tool, we’re all tools,” she told him. “It makes for some very convenient disposal when we turn on each other, according to some.”

“Who do you mean?” She silently stared at him. He flicked the firearm at her menacingly and raised his voice. “Dammit, Nee, who? Tell me!”

Her dark gaze remained even. “Why don’t you shoot me and find out?”

He struggled several moments with this as snow fell lightly around them. The numbness became its own pain, and heat and adrenaline fled her half-prone form. She could see the moment when he decided to pull the trigger before it happened.

A part of her, the romantic and nonsensical part of her, imagined at that last instant his face, light eyes intensified by desire, looming over her. A memory.

Close your eyes. Hold on tight, darlin’.

She welcomed the black when it came.




Current Mood: contemplativecontemplative
Current Music: "Throw it on Me" by Timbaland featuring the Hives