Snippet #16388

Dahlia crouched low beneath the thorny ferns that surrounded the abandoned warehouse she had come to call home. She scanned the area meticulously once, twice… then a third time for good measure before darting quickly to the hole in the wall that granted her entrance to her temporary safe haven. She wriggled her way in, then paused to listen for any sign that someone was there. Upon detecting no one, she finally allowed herself a breath.

She made her way through the dusky darkness, past lifeless machines whose shameful rust was hidden by thick layers of cloaking dust. Gears remained unturned, with no electricity to animate them into usefulness. This warehouse spoke of obsoleteness and death, but it was also her safety from a murderous world of guns that, unfortunately, had the life these machines had lost unknown years ago.

She flexed her fingers, trying to rid herself of the lingering stiffness. She hated the after effects of a killing, the physical symptoms and the stabbing guilt. This time was particularly abundant in the latter. This hadn’t been a policeman out to kill her. This had been someone who had wanted to help her…

She had been at a park, sitting on a bench and admiring the sunset. She had watched the people pass by— some smiling, some not, but none of them targets of government assassination— and tried to suppress the bitter feeling of envy. They could go home, eat a meal… while she had to run and starve. One boy in particular had stood out to her. He was tall and attractive, maybe a senior in high school, with his arms around a gorgeous girl who seemed to adore him. He was dressed like one who spent large amounts of money trying to look like he had none. She stared at him, wondering what part of the rough, gritty lifestyle appealed to him. She was living it, and she hardly enjoyed it.

“Hey, girl,” he called out, looking right at her. She felt her heart freeze in terror. “What do you think you’re looking at?” he called again, louder. His girl was glaring at her venomously, and Dahlia’s heart began to pound.

“I-I’m sorry,” she called softly, staring at the ground. “I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“Keep your eyes to yourself,” the beautiful girl snapped. The boy glared as Dahlia then led his girl away, unaware of the chain reaction he had started inside of Dahlia.

Her pupils dilated as her breathing sped up, and before she knew it her lips were numb. Trembling gently, her finger searched her pockets for the paper bag she kept with her in case of a panic attack. The people around her were filtering away with the light, fear in their hearts of the demons that the media warned them of. She held the bag up in front of her face, feeling her chest constrict with panic when she discovered a tear in it. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t cry out for help… and even if she could, all of the people who could help her were disappearing…

“Ma’am, are you alright?” a male voice asked her, and she turned sharply to see a middle-aged man with kind eyes watching her with concern. “You’re hyperventilating. Here, I’ll call for ambulance!”

Hospitals will ask questions, the sneering voice inside of her head whispered. They’ll find out… they’ll kill you… You don’t want to die, do you? Kill him.

It began in her chest, the tightening feeling of her skin hardening into wood, and spread out from there. There were small bursts of pain as her joints disconnected and reset themselves into their demonic form. Eventually the last of her warmth faded from her body as she was encompassed in lifeless animation, her mind trapped inside of her head and forced to watch the horrors her body would commit through glass eyes.

Her body lifted off the ground, hanging from her wrists, and she could hear the noises of disbelief from the man whose warm, wet heartbeat called to her master like music. Her strings were pulled forward and she flew at the man, tearing him apart with nails by the will of her master. Mixed with the man’s screams was the sneering voice telling her what a good girl she was.

Dahlia was broken out of her memory but the unmistakable sound of her companion trying to wiggle his way into the haven they shared. “Laban?” she called out softly.