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Since I liked it so much, I decided to give it another writing example.
"W-W-Who are you?!"
A transparent hand gently glided over the air, as she smiled. The actioned sent several bone chilling, yet slightly calming shivers down his spine, and lingered in his fingertips. The pale, pale green of her face conveyed a sweet intention, but behind that was a deep, deep, almost drowning anger, and anguish, buried beneath all the clean, smooth complexion.
"My name is Taylor. I assume you're Steve, correct?"
He shrunk back when she tries to float a little closer. This couldn't be happening. He was seeing things, and she's one of them. It must be one of those terrorists he killed years before, or something like that, he tries to convince himself. But she just smiled again, and floated back a bit. He nods when she was back far enough.
"And no, you're not seeing things. I am a real, not breathing, not living, ghost. I prefer spirit, by the way."
Steve tried to not make a face, but his facial muscles were betraying him big time. "O-O-Okay..."
She smiles, and replies, "Don't be so scared. If you're scared of little ol' me, why are you the captain of an elite squad of people, whom have seen worse than just a netherworldy object?"
Steve straightens a bit, trying to be strong. He succeeds.
"Why are you here..."
"Taylor."
"Right. Taylor."
Humming, she grins. "For more reasons than one actually." She pats his head softly, being careful not to touch the center of his spirit. "Which one shall I tell you about?"
"The one which tells me why the hell you're here."
She shakes her head. "Kids these days. No manners."
"Uh, hello?" He points to himself. "I'm twenty-seven years old. A bit off the mark."
Taylor rolls her eyes. "I'm twice your age, boy, so respect your elders, and let me speak." He throws her a sneer, but she goes on. "I'm here because I want to prevent something from happening."
Scoffing this time, Stevie grabs his water bottle, and sits on one of the back stage stools. "Oh yeah? What? Wanna stop a wooden plank from falling on me?"
"No," her eyes suddenly dulled, and deepened in color. "I'm here to stop time-"
Stevie nearly spits out all the water he had just drunk. He then proceeds to laugh boisteriously, and hard. "Really?" He throws his arm down in laughter. "Stop time? Oh, God, and for a second there, I thought you were serious!"
"I am." Taylor deadpanned.
Steve looks at her, and shakes his head. "Even I know no one can stop time. It's a well-known fact. Even if you stop it, it'll find a way to happen."
"You fool, I'm not here to stop time itself," she continued, "I'm here to stop it from repeating itself."
"Repeating itself?" He questioned.
"Yes, repeating itself. I'm here to stop time from going in an eternal loop."
"...what are you trying to stop?"
Taylor's still heart secretly died a little more as she softly whispered, "...a massacre."
"A what?" He cupped his ear.
"I'm trying to stop a massacre from happening in this very theatre."
"A masscare? In a theatre?" Steve paused before laughing again. "What type of idiot would attack a theatre? Really? Kind of stupid."
Her eyes glowed a bloody red. "Don't you DARE say that. You call yourself an agent of the FBI? When you don't even know the story of this place?"
"What's so special about it?" Just an ordinary theatre trying to reopen its doors after 25 years of being closed. Why would an FBI agent need to know about it?
Taylor huffed. Guess our deaths aren't that big of an impact nowadays. "You really want to know?"
"Uh, sure."
She wasn't quite sure if she should tell him with that kind of answer. It could burden his actions from here on out. But she acted to keep it in, and said, "Because this is the place where over 300 lives were taken."
Stevie stopped moving, and stared at the figure. "300?" She nodded.
"The death of 300 people were all in this very theatre," she looked at the seats, and her eyes bled a bit. They were everywhere. The bodies. The blood. She glanced up at one of the walls, and she slumped in despair. The wall was painted over, but under neath, Taylor knew. Before renovations, there was a huge splatter of blood from when a young man was torn from his wife, and thrown across the room, only to be shot dead center of the forehead, and the wall. She remembered his body dragging slowly down the wall, only staying in one spot because of all the blood. She also recalled his wife screaming, screaming, screaming, screaming, screaming, until she was silenced by a knife to her throat, and-
"Taylor?"
"...?"
"Why wasn it reported?"
Taylor's eyebrows shot up, but quickly settled. "It was. It took people years to get over the losses, and this place shut down." She sighed. "The mass murders were put together, and was officially called the Final Act."
The Final Act. Something clicked in his mind. "I see..." Steve began remembering the story a few agents had told him a while back. The story was gruesome, and he knew half of the bodies still didn't have identification, even though the people who cared about them were all getting older. The only reason why he bothered listening was because of the team labeled, "TCTCJ."
They weren apparently the best of everyone and thing in just everything.
Taylor smiled again. "Oh yes. You will see." Her eyes darkened once more. "You will definitely see."
OWARI
 Ukeire · Wed May 27, 2009 @ 12:17am · 0 Comments |
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