50 Word Story
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She looks down upon him and smiles, before looking back up at her. “Will they be happy?” She nods her head in reply, before holding out her hand. “Concern yourself with these no more, this part of your journey is over and I have many wonderful things to show you.”
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“And that, as they say in the movies, is that!” she says with a broad smile across her face. “This ain’t a fucking movie Stacy, and I ain’t gonna follow some soulless script, written by a nobody. This is real life, and in real life everyone dies, even the hero!”
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The sharpness of words not said digs themselves inside his skull, and as he turns sharply he stops for the first time since he started this walk, or is it finished it, he and stares towards the sea of eyes that stare back. “T-There’s so many of them,” he whispers.
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The images criss-cross across his eyes and he feels his legs begin to give way. He lunges forward with a cry, throwing all his weight behind what he perceives as his final maneuver. He lands awkwardly, but away from the pulsating lights that have up until now left him comatose.
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“The ball was not as enjoyable as I had hoped, there were too many memories lost within the walls of the old hall, memories that took control of my senses,” she says through tear filled eyes. “Memories? What sort of memories do you have from there?” “They weren’t my memories.”
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The light explodes, leaving the room in total darkness. Lloyd stand silently still while his heart beats erratically in his chest. Soon the seconds tick over into minutes, and he still dare not move, then he hears the jingling of sleigh bells once more, and lets out a stuttered sigh.
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He stares at the knifes blade, and twists it slowly in the air before him, then starts to whistle softly as he looks up at them. “There’s nothing more satisfying, than holding a heavy blade that’s covered in someone else’s blood.” He says with a broad grin upon his face.
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He stares wearily into his mirrored reflection, staring past his own image and into the image behind him, between each repeated reflection that is thrown back at him, as the mirror before him reflects the mirror behind, and so on and on again, until finally she stares back at him.
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The jar hits the ground with a volatile explosion, sending shards of glass and strawberry jam across the floor in all directions. He looks up at the others and smiles wryly and holds out his hand.“Pay up,” he says proudly.“Seriously?”“What, you think I was joking?” he sneers.
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“There is no simplistic answer, there is only my answer,” he says with a wide-eyed smile.“Your answer does nothing for me, so why should it resolve all those before us?” he says as he gestures towards the others as they stand silently watching.“For my fist shall heed so!”
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He stares into her hate filled eyes and spits venomously towards her. “You shall not have what is not yours. You shall only have the leftovers, and nothing more!”The sneer that creeps across her lips cuts through the air more than her words ever could, separating flesh from bone.
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“A defining moment, you called it. A twisted defining moment. Yet the moment wasn’t defining, was it?” he says as he looks across the room towards her. “But, I died. Wasn’t that defining enough?” “Death doesn’t define anything, it is but a stepping stone, a misguided glance, an endless nothing.”
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He looks down at his hands as they fade away, and then looks over to Catherine. The smile that is on her lips holds a sadness in them that he cannot understand, tilting his head to the side he frowns and furrows his brow. “Sweet Catherine, why do you cry?”
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“In the end we all have to make a choice, and sometimes a sacrifice. This is one of those moments, this is your moment.” he says as he gleefully wets his lips with his overripe tongue. “Tell me, what is it you choose to be, a martyr or a nobody?”
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The blade glistens in the moonlight, the blood glowing a brilliant golden. He smiles at her with a half disguised glance and buts down on his bottom lip as he turns to face their mother. “Come on whelp, you don’t have the stones to take me down!” she cackles loudly.
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“So, you don’t agree with my methods?” Caliban says with a grin upon his lips. “I thought they were tried and true, and I can assure you after a century or more than has been no complaints from the audience,” he adds, flicking his tongue across his red ripe lips.
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“The kids say the darnedest things, don’t they?” he says with a toothy smile. Carol smiles nervously as she presses herself up against the wall, and slides past him quickly. “W-W-What?” he stammers, as he twists and turns, shifting not only his stance, but every fiber of his very being.
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In fevered desperation he shoves fingers down his throat, hoping to somehow vomit the parasite from within him, but he only finds bile and blood his reward. With one last almighty cry he punches himself in his own chest over and over again, like a drummer obtaining the perfect beat.
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His teeth fly through the air performing remarkable pirouettes before hitting the floor seconds before he does. Blood seeps quickly from his mouth, as he lies unresponsive on the ground for far longer than he dared wish. He stares at the three teeth that lie on the floorboards before him.
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Angelo takes a tentative step forward, only to meet its gaze with his own. “Nice doggy,” he says nervously as he holds his hands in the air. “I’ve been called many things over the years, but this is the first time someone had referred to me as a nice doggy!”