Author: BabyPop Massacre PM
Drabble The people and their predators say thanks for the memories.Rated: Fiction T - English - Tragedy - Words: 896 - Reviews: 3 - Published: 08-20-07 - Status: Complete - id: 2405329
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A/N: I just decided to randomly post this story for no particular reason. A Drabble I guess is what I can call it.
She couldn't breath.
The last thing she saw was the face of the expelled. He was a "fallen angel" with eyes like the charred forests of Hell. She felt his hand upon her face clouding her vision before an onslaught of air bubbles and crystalline water submerged her body. Her hands were beating frantically against the current however every ounce of her energy was wasted as the liquid sky pulled her deeper and deeper into its mouth. The strength of a restricting hand against her throat wasn't aiding her efforts. The sheer desire of surviving was driving her insane and although her drive was strong, her body was not.
Her heartbeat started to dawdle and the smooth black ripples of her hair danced and collected into her face blocking her from witnessing the last moments of her life. When the woman's movements ceased, her undertaker removed his hand from her thoart.He sat on the edge of her porcelain bathtub with crossed legs and a rather sophisticated expression on his boyish face.
His skin was pale, relatively alabaster, which made a beautiful contrast with his black outfit. Though it was hidden, pain and heartbreak bit at his self-conscious. He leaned down once more to release the warm bathwater and allow it to drain off the woman's lifeless corpse.
He tilted his head to the side pulling the few strands of hair out of her mouth and face. She looked as peaceful as he hoped she would with lips flushed and moist. He ran his fingertips across her mouth where his own lips had been many times before.
Once upon a time, they were friends who became lovers under the blanket of a starry night sky. Unlike her, he had kept his love a secret fearing nothing in particular yet wanting no interferences.
Sadly, in a strange mix of horrid events, his work crossed with his leisure and now he was alone with a dead body, a broken heart, and a memory.
His fingers entwined with the woman's hair as he lifted her head so that his lips could meet hers. They were still disturbingly warm and this made him guilty. He opened his eyes parting from the kiss allowing water to trickle out of her mouth and examined her once more.
Transfixed by his sinful deed, the light-haired man seemed oblivious to the second presence entering the Victorian bathroom.
Dressed in dark colors from head to toe, a young male leaned against the doorway adjusting his matching leather gloves that sparkled with moisture.
"Shall we take our leave?" He spoke with an accent under styled dark red hair.
He sounded quite peaceful having already taken notice of the blaring sirens of city authority alerting him in the distance thanks to an open window.
The redhead observed his partner's change in character as he rose from the bathtub snatching a thin string of silver that gently embraced his victim's neck and shoved the item into his pocket.
"You're disrupting the crime scene."
"Since when has that become a risk."
The red-haired man watched his fellow undertaker leave the bathroom before following suit feeling far too humored to argue.
The rest of the night ran smoothly with two phantom heartbeats pulsating as police sirens broke through the chilling air.
In mere seconds, the authorities, followed by news vans raced onto the scene.Here, resided the home of the nation's greatest vocal talent. Known as an icon by some but a goddess by most.
She went simply by the name of Ariel, an untouchable songbird who had left this world far too soon.
…Or at least…that's what her admirers, the press, believed.
Her undertaker, along with his comrade, stood under a large oak tree on the other side of the street. As more rescuers began to arrive, spectators came out of hiding dressed in their wealth and vanity.
They wore faces of horror and sadness as the corpse of their beloved idol was gently carried out of the shadowy house.
Hysterics cling to the air and questions followed suit.
Nearly the entire street was flooded with jabber and weeps and fright…
So much that it stirred the killers who stood out in the crowd yet remained strangely unseen.
The foreign executioner placed two gloved fingers over his smirking lips as another body was removed from the house.
The gasps of the onlookers amused him.
He glanced out of the corner of his eye to notice his "partner in crime" wasn't laughing and controlled himself with a soft smile.
"This doesn't tickle you."
"But what you did was so…remarkable." He spoke in wicked whispers. "These people are terrified. How sad it must be to lose an object of happiness. There's so much despair in the atmosphere you would think a God just died, hm?"
His silent comrade stared at the concrete beneath his feet. "Perhaps."
The night went on and soon the news of an idol's death hit at a nationwide scale…
Society believed they had lost a star but only one man believed he had lost an angel.