11-17-2015, 09:12 PM
The bandit was going to die.
She had felt the chill hand of death, and she remembered its caress more clearly than any other. The fever that carved at her bones. The tremors that rushed over her spine. The dull ache that pounded over her entire body, accentuated by the sharp twangs of agony that drove into her, like railroad spikes left in the desert heat.
Her vision warped and bent like air over the dunes, and once again she felt hateful eye of the sun upon her. Blood pounded in her ears and her fingers wandered to the ragged hole that had been torn in her chest. “You have forgotten the face of your father,” she heard him say, Roland’s rough voice distorted by her delirium. She heard the timpani of her heart gently dull in its pounding, the rhythm slowing more and more until the darkness devoured her.
It was still in the inky blackness that surrounded her. Still and calm. There was no pain here, no need to snatch at the hopeless strands of survival. Her struggles drifted from memory, her scars fading into the shadows. She was stripped of her agony until there was nothing left. Here, it was peaceful.
She hated it.
Fresh rage billowed up from her gut, surging through her, willing her fragile body to move. She urged her numb fingers, demanded action of her stiffening limbs. She defied that stillness which she so wholly despised and opened her eyes once again.
The bandit was going to die. But not yet.
“Let go?” she croaked, her quivering hand sliding into the dirt, grasping at the very earth itself. She shook as she rolled to the side and even as she felt his bolter being leveled at her, she heaved herself up to her knees. “I don’t think I can,” she confessed, watching the soil slide between her fingers.
She laughed gently to herself, ignoring the man that would like be her executioner. “You’re made, by a Prime, or a God, or plain old birth.” The dirt ran out of her palm, and the last pebble tumbled to the ground. “Then you die. Maybe of old age, maybe a bullet to the brain, maybe cause some weirdo with a fetish for venereal diseases bashes your skull in.”
Shaking her head, she winced and staggered to her feet. “One day, the sun will fall from its string. The sky will shatter. The wind will blow away the last grain of sand. Everything ends. Everything dies. Even Primes.” She grinned to herself, even as the admittance fell from her lips, “Even me.”
Her sweaty palms curled into fists, and her bleary brown eyes met his. “Even you.”
The bolter cracked, the wood of a nearby stand splintering into hundreds of shards down the street. The warrior stepped wide as the pistol made a broad arc to chase her. She pounced forward as another round flew wide, slamming into the purulent gladiator at the waist. The two crashed into the ground with the clamor of their mingling armor. With the groan of bending steel, she ripped herself free and postured up, then smashed back down upon him with a heavy elbow to the chin.
“You think that they need to be saved from pain?” she balked, winding back up or another hit, “Life is pain.” She fist hammered down into the spongy, overripe tissue beneath. The heretic fumbled to regain a dominant position, his swollen fingers wrapping around wrist. Her steel crushed into his, prying it away. Ripping her own shirt away, she exposed her etched flesh beneath. Beyond all reason, she pushed his fingers into the wind scarification. “Do you feel that?” she growled, the sound of his bones breaking crackling as she slid it over her ribs, “Those are my scars. I earned every one of them.”
The marine slid his slimy hand away, pushing on her face. “We’re born, we die!” she screamed between his fingers.
As her strength faltered, allowing him to press his pistol into her cheek but before he could pull the trigger, she snarled and turned her face, bared her teeth, and snapped down harshly on his index finger. The bolter fired in her ear, joyously deafening her to the sound of the joint snapping clean through.
She spit out the wormy extremity, blackened blood rolling down her chin as she stared into the corpulent corpse-god. “Everything in-between is suffering.
“Without it, you’re just another dead man.”
She had felt the chill hand of death, and she remembered its caress more clearly than any other. The fever that carved at her bones. The tremors that rushed over her spine. The dull ache that pounded over her entire body, accentuated by the sharp twangs of agony that drove into her, like railroad spikes left in the desert heat.
Her vision warped and bent like air over the dunes, and once again she felt hateful eye of the sun upon her. Blood pounded in her ears and her fingers wandered to the ragged hole that had been torn in her chest. “You have forgotten the face of your father,” she heard him say, Roland’s rough voice distorted by her delirium. She heard the timpani of her heart gently dull in its pounding, the rhythm slowing more and more until the darkness devoured her.
It was still in the inky blackness that surrounded her. Still and calm. There was no pain here, no need to snatch at the hopeless strands of survival. Her struggles drifted from memory, her scars fading into the shadows. She was stripped of her agony until there was nothing left. Here, it was peaceful.
She hated it.
Fresh rage billowed up from her gut, surging through her, willing her fragile body to move. She urged her numb fingers, demanded action of her stiffening limbs. She defied that stillness which she so wholly despised and opened her eyes once again.
The bandit was going to die. But not yet.
“Let go?” she croaked, her quivering hand sliding into the dirt, grasping at the very earth itself. She shook as she rolled to the side and even as she felt his bolter being leveled at her, she heaved herself up to her knees. “I don’t think I can,” she confessed, watching the soil slide between her fingers.
She laughed gently to herself, ignoring the man that would like be her executioner. “You’re made, by a Prime, or a God, or plain old birth.” The dirt ran out of her palm, and the last pebble tumbled to the ground. “Then you die. Maybe of old age, maybe a bullet to the brain, maybe cause some weirdo with a fetish for venereal diseases bashes your skull in.”
Shaking her head, she winced and staggered to her feet. “One day, the sun will fall from its string. The sky will shatter. The wind will blow away the last grain of sand. Everything ends. Everything dies. Even Primes.” She grinned to herself, even as the admittance fell from her lips, “Even me.”
Her sweaty palms curled into fists, and her bleary brown eyes met his. “Even you.”
The bolter cracked, the wood of a nearby stand splintering into hundreds of shards down the street. The warrior stepped wide as the pistol made a broad arc to chase her. She pounced forward as another round flew wide, slamming into the purulent gladiator at the waist. The two crashed into the ground with the clamor of their mingling armor. With the groan of bending steel, she ripped herself free and postured up, then smashed back down upon him with a heavy elbow to the chin.
“You think that they need to be saved from pain?” she balked, winding back up or another hit, “Life is pain.” She fist hammered down into the spongy, overripe tissue beneath. The heretic fumbled to regain a dominant position, his swollen fingers wrapping around wrist. Her steel crushed into his, prying it away. Ripping her own shirt away, she exposed her etched flesh beneath. Beyond all reason, she pushed his fingers into the wind scarification. “Do you feel that?” she growled, the sound of his bones breaking crackling as she slid it over her ribs, “Those are my scars. I earned every one of them.”
The marine slid his slimy hand away, pushing on her face. “We’re born, we die!” she screamed between his fingers.
As her strength faltered, allowing him to press his pistol into her cheek but before he could pull the trigger, she snarled and turned her face, bared her teeth, and snapped down harshly on his index finger. The bolter fired in her ear, joyously deafening her to the sound of the joint snapping clean through.
She spit out the wormy extremity, blackened blood rolling down her chin as she stared into the corpulent corpse-god. “Everything in-between is suffering.
“Without it, you’re just another dead man.”
Quote:749 words