Marcus paced in front of the television. A man was holding up some undesirable product, telling everyone who was up at 1:00 in the morning that they could not live without that piece of junk. Hardly aware of anything but the pounding in his chest, the ticking his watch, and an eerie silence of the telephone, he didn't pay much attention to this man. All he cared about was where Maybelle was, where she could be, where she should be. His mind turned in circles just as his feet danced across the carpet, light streaks on the tan floor.
With a sigh he sat down in one of the wooden dining chairs, and attacked his closed eyes with rubbing fingers. There was a pulsing in his head and he had a strong feeling that the pressure would open his skull and everything would fall onto the floor, leaving him in a deadly peace. Suddenly Marcus heard the front door open, and rushed into the entry hall. In the middle of the tiled floor and eclectic furniture stood Maybelle gazing almost blindly at him, almost as if she were waiting to wake up from some sort of dream. A smile played on her face, but her peasant skirt was torn to her thigh and her shirt seemed disheveled. Something wet plastered her blonde bangs to her forehead, like she had been dunked into a pool of stickiness. Everything about her presence seemed surreal and alien.
Slurred words formed on her mouth and she said, "Why hello Marc, want to see my secret?" A giggle squirmed out of her throat and she stumbled closer to him, almost falling but he caught her arm and held her upright.
"You're drunk." He said it as a statement but there was a mix of shock in his voice. "Bella, what happened to you?"
She looked up at him, eyes glinting with rage and passion. It was a very different look than the drunken glaze that had covered them before. "I don't know any Bella's, or any Maybelle's either." Then she got giddy again, her smile reflecting her obvious high. "Come on Marcus, don't you want to see my secret?" He thought she tried to bat her eyes at him but only managed to blink rapidly as if she had some sort of tick.
"All right, all right darling." He couldn't think of any other name to call her by, and thought it was best just to play her game. At first she just looked at him with that gleam, as if waiting for some signal that she could show him. But nothing could have prepared him for what she did next.
Liquidly she pulled her shirt up slowly, moving her arms as if she didn't have a drop of alcohol in her blood. Had he not known she were intoxicated he would have simply thought she were made. At first she stood in front of him, shirtless and gazing into his shocked eyes. After what seemed to be an eternity she turned around to face the still open door. Out of the corner of his eye Marcus could see his cat slip out into the starlit sky, most likely gone forever. Yet what received most of his attention was the explicit image swirling on Maybelle's back. All he could do was stare.
Sloppy lines spread from the middle of her back towards her open arms, ending right after her shoulder blades. The lines almost met in the middle, but were disconnected at her spine, seeming impossibly broken and whole all at once. The drawing lacked color and originality, but the shapes were mesmerizing, like a story untold was written across her stained back. This piece of artwork lacked any talent whatsoever, but had held a life in it, as if the ink breathed with shattered lungs. Awed Marcus reached out and touched her back, it was sweaty and she flinched, but his fingers brushed slowly at the curves. She was a dead angel, tattooed wings bleeding on her back.
A soft sigh of what seemed content escaped Maybelle's lips. She faced Marcus again and stepped towards him, wrapping her warm arms around his neck and pressing her bare chest against his clothed one. She whispered quietly, tickling his ear, "I brought you back your angel Marc. An angel with real angel wings just for you. Not so broken anymore, am I?" She sighed again and dug her face deeper into her neck. Then she spoke so softly he barely heard her next words, "I am the sky now. I can fly away now. I am Sky…" With that she went limp and Marcus almost didn't catch her.
There was an odd feeling of defeat as he stood there, with this half-naked girl in his arms. He saw the door, opened and allowing the breeze to blow against his face whistling a sad noise through the tree. The stars were absent that night, but a bright crescent moon glowed above the street, a menacing smile to all those who looked into the sky. His blood became ice despite the summer heat, as he realized that his Bella was dead forever, just as his cat had left, she would never return. All that remained was a broken piece of the sky, pulsing between his fingertips and breathing drunken dreams into his shirt.
This isn't actually a one-shot. It is a part of a story I have in my head and really want to write. I'm just seeing what everyone thinks about this part and if they want to read more. Read and review please! Constructive critisism welcome!