My first (serious) attempt at freeform prose. I was inspired by Mia Michaels' contemporary dance piece from season 5 of "So You Think You Can Dance". It was danced by Kayla Radomski and Kupono Aweau. It was inhumanly beautiful, and I recommend you check it out.
Desperation burned through her tattered veins. She ran. Drops of sweat, mixed with tears and rain, danced down her porcelain face. She ran. Her heart slammed into her chest as if it was trying to punch a hole through her body and escape. She ran. Her hair a mess, her mascara running, her lungs burning, her legs buckling, her muscles aching..
He stood in her way. Arms crossed. Eyes locked. Lips curled.
Get that smirk off your face…
And yet she stood there and let him block her. Time flew. One, two, three; sixty-one; sixty-two, sixty-three. Three thousand, six hundred, and one. Three thousand, six hundred, and two. Three thousand, six hundred, and three. He spread his arms apart, holding his transfixing spellbinding hypnotizing gaze on her. She can decide:
This man, this monster, this demon had already killed her many times.
I come back for you every time your mourners clear out of this morgue you call a life.
You always let me do it. Why?
A life of failure. A life of fear. A life of sadness.
A desperate life. A cold life. A tortured life.
A life that was dark, empty, bleak, grim,
futile hopeless bitter harsh menacing
a life of loneliness.
She was in his arms, sobbing into his chest. She could sense the smile snake across his face as his fingers slithered through her soft hair and he inhaled, basking in her forever broken beauty. She didn't understand why his breath was the warmest thing she had ever felt, why his heart beat was the sweetest music she had ever heard, or why he tasted finer than the oldest wines in the world.
He held his little, trembling doll, his smile even wider than her eyes. His supple lips kissed her forehead as he caressed her brittle face.
You have chosen to prove time and time again that you belong to me.
But I - - -
No. Not anymore. This time, I'm not letting you run.
His hot breath was on her neck now. He held her tightly against his body, his hands resting on her soft, pale legs. She jumped out. No. She pulled to her left. No. She pushed to her right. No. She grabbed his forearms. No. He let her go; she ran forward; his hands suddenly gripped her hips. No. She threw out her arms and screamed, crying for help.
Why are you calling for help when I'm already here?
He pulled her back, throwing her behind him, though he made sure he would never really damage his lovely little doll. He gripped her arm tightly and pulled her up, making her stand.
With nowhere else to turn, she looked up to the sky.
She reached up. Maybe some divine and celestial arm would take hers and free her from this hell. Shaking, crying, trembling, sobbing.
A hand gripped her arm.
Sobbing, trembling, crying, and shaking, she closed her fragile, glassy eyes and tilted her head to the ground. She couldn't look at him. He didn't care. One last time, those arms wrapped around the little china doll tightly enough to break her completely. She melted into him and she shattered into countless pieces.
Ashes, ashes, they both fell down.