Exercise: Reach For It

Another exercise I found at The Periwinkle Pen.
This one is based on the Machine of Death, where people can get a slip of paper that tells them how they will die. What's on the paper is not always literal though, which doesn't solve questions about death, really.

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[Reach For It]

Stampede.

Lukas squinted at the small slip of paper in his hand. Eight simple letters that foresaw his death. He told himself that looking at the paper in the safety of his own home would eliminate the spook factor, but his home gave him little comfort.

"What does it say?" Red asked, jumping up and down and trying to snatch the slip away.

Lukas held the paper above his own head and sneered, his eyes narrowed and stare genuine despite his his quickly beating heart. "Only if you can reach it from my hand, short stuff."

"Not fair!"

Lukas chuckled, but then slowly stopped and frowned as Red began pointing and laughing. The paper with the single word dangled in front of Lukas' face, black fingernails dully shining from the ceiling light.

"You really should be careful when I'm around," a girl smiled, lightly yellowed teeth greeting him. "I may not be as tall as you, but I'm sneakier than your dead cat instincts can handle."

Rolling his eyes, Lukas tried to grab back the slip. "Now that is what I call unfair, Maroon."

Maroon shrugged, pulling away the paper. "I don't see how it's unfair. You told Red and I that you would show us what that silly Machine would say about your so-called 'future death.' As your friends, Red and I are allowed to be curious. God knows you'd want to see my foreseen death."

"And mine," chimed Red.

"Don't make me wrestle you for it," Lukas said, smiling more and more to himself. Wrestling did not sound so bad in the least, a nice distraction. He eyed Maroon up and down--

"Stampede."

Maroon's eyebrows rose as her gaze switched from the paper to Lukas. She flicked the paper back at the cranberry-haired man and flipped her towering red Mohawk. Red blinked at Lukas, who quickly snatched the paper with a slightly pink face, as his sister said, "Well, what do you make of that?"

"Nothing."

"You're kidding."

"Not really," Lukas said, itching his shoulder and stuffing the piece of paper in his back pocket. Unconsciously he rolled his shoulder and realized how lucky he was to have hair covering his forehead sweat. "We don't even know if this freaky voo-doo is even legitimate. They say the Machine never fails, but you know propaganda. They could claim so just to get our money."

"I heard otherwise from some guy," Red said, throwing himself at Lukas' recently-made bed and rolling on his back, letting his head hang upside down. "He said that some other guy he knew got a prediction that read 'gunshot.' His friend swore he'd stay in the house to avoid any conflict with guns. Five days later, he was watching a movie, a man shot a gun, BAM. Had a heart attack. The gunshot caused the man to have a heart attack! It's not totally bogus!"

"So they're cryptic," said Maroon, now looking at Lukas. "So maybe this is a symbolic stampede."

Lukas stretched his back and arms. "My first thought was a human stampede."

When the Grupp siblings just stared, Lukas pressed his lips together, halting any chance of nervous lip-quivers. "Is that so wrong of me?" he mock pouted.

"Only famous people get trampled by people," Maroon shot mockingly right back at the man.

Lukas shook his head and smiled, a new thought coming to his head--and said though eased his beating heart. His eyes shone. "You see, my dear Maroon, I will become famous. The girls will love me so much that they will be moved and rush to me in the wild passion of obsession. And that's how I want to die. Plus, once I die, people will become so depressed, their mangled emotions will drive them to kill themselves just to join me in death."

One of Maroon's eyes twitched and her lips tightened. "Are you really supporting mass suicide?"

"If it's in my name, then yes."

"You're horrible."

"Horribly beautiful."

"Lame," Red called, now laying on his stomach with arms dangling over the edge.

"What I find lame," Lukas said, picking his words tastefully, with a smug smirk across his mug, "is how you two didn't get your own little prediction from the Machine."

Red smiled and fixed a shining gaze at Lukas. If Red's thick black eyebrows were ten times thinner, and if all his facial piercing disappeared, he would look like an  middle school child looking up at a teacher. "I don't need a piece of paper to drive me deeper into insanity. I've got the psychosis for that."

"And I really don't care how I die," Maroon said. "And after your little remark, I don't think I care how you die either." She pushed past Lukas and out the door, offering a small backwards glance.

"Ouch," Lukas said, rubbing his chest. "That hurt. Talk about an emotional blow."

When Lukas turned to Red, the short man only stared at him with clouded eyes. From the looks of it, Red stared not at Lukas or the wall behind him or even into space, as cliches go. Tilting his head, Lukas said, "What's with that trippy look on your face, Red?"

Red offered a light smile. "I think I know what kind of stampede will cause your death."

"Oh really? What do you say it is?"

"Only if you can reach it from within my mind, tall stuff."

The Second

To the ones that have been living in my head,
to the ones that changed my life,
to the ones that helped me through a hard time,
to the ones that led me to improvements,
to the ones that make me feel giddy when thinking about them,
I love you. Happy Second Anniversary, my idea babies. <3

---

[The Second]

"Oh my gosh, I can't even begin--"

"You can say, 'thank you so much, I love you.'" Abel said, smiling.

Mark's face continued beaming at the little box in his hand. He bit his bottom lip with his mouth curved upwards, and then he looked directly at Abel. "'Thank you so much, I love you.'"

With a satisfied chuckle, Abel kissed Mark gently on the lips and scooted closer. Mark leaned into him and looked again at his gift. After some thought, he said, "You do know we're the past the stage where we have to impress each other. It's been that way for over a year now."

"I know," Abel said, his smile slightly flattened. "I just wanted to get you something special this year. Something that will last long."

"I know, I know. I'm still not used to it. And, hey, memories last a long time."

"Until you develop Alzheimer's."

"Okay, let's stop being negative," Mark said, kissing Abel's cheek. Abel tried to turn his face away, but Mark grabbed his cheek and turned him around. Mark's eyes lost their giddy shine, and he straightened his face. "Really, I'm very glad for this. For these two years. For these struggles. All that you've done, really." After a pause, he added, "When you're sweet, you're very sweet."

Closing his eyes, Abel brushed away Mark's hand and wrapped his arm around his boyfriend's shoulder. "To that, I'll say my thanks for you. Thanks for dealing with the rocky beginning. Thanks for dealing with the obvious problems with being with me. Thanks for putting up with my personal demons and stupid shit like that." His voice dwindled down to silence.

A train horn whistled, and the chuggs of the engine and wheels slowly gained audacity. Mark sighed happily and looked again at the box in his hand. He set the box down on his knee and reached into the box. "That's what being in love is about, isn't it?"

In his hand, he tightly clutched the skull ring with the words "Through struggles and strife, I love you."

Poem: Tell a Secret

I wrote this poem in December 2010 for my school's literary magazine.
Theme was "secrets."
The entry was declined, so I'm posting it here instead.

Even though my school didn't like the poem, I'm proud of it. I'm not the biggest fan of poems, and the first draft of said poem sucked. The excellent feedback I received on The Periwinkle Pen led me to this current version! A secret is in the poem, naturally, though my intentions were probably not so clear, nonetheless, here it is.

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[Tell a Secret]

I place a hand on your shoulder and feel you tense.
Your eyes look away to a wall to focus on one sense.
I lower my mouth close to your ears and commence—
You gulp down as your body starts to shake: intense.

I pause for a moment and hope you feel as I do.
Your breaths come in faster, preparing for my spiel.
I let out a cold exhale that chills your neck through,
Your react as if death creeps on you with a cool touch.

I grin against you as my mouth moves with low mumbles.
You hear my hushed voice slither to your brain and shiver.
I speak those words both feared and desired by all.
You suck in all the words, holding them in limbo.

I let my hand drop once all words played their parts.
You turn and face me, and your eyes begin to widen.
I stare you down as my smile starts to deepen.
Your eyes nervous, you laugh strongly then soften.

Exercise: Quicksand

This is just a strange story all in itself. I'm not sure what to say about it.
The exercise: write a story about a dream, describing the familiar as if it were unfamiliar.
Exercise taken from The Periwinkle Pen.

Fun fact: the story alludes to a song. Honestly, the song helped me finish writing it from heavy doubt. & the song does not belong to me, obviously, and full rights belong to the owner(s).

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[Quicksand]

Not even in the midst of December was the weather cold. Chilly floated into St. Louis and repelled the long-lasting warmth somewhere in November; I don't remember exactly when the change occurred. But all that matters is that the weather didn't keep people confined indoors and that I could walk outside without wearing a ridiculous fluffy coat that made my body appear thicker than it already was.

I felt my lips curl into a smile as I walked up a plain sidewalk, staring ahead at the upper end of a large pavilion. In my vision I saw two buildings connected by an over passing roof that blocked off rain, hail, and snow. To my left, long stretches of trimmed green grass were fenced into rectangles by dark green chain fences. To my right were plain bricks of yet another building with a few trees scattered every few feet (to be earth-friendly, to make the place look better, to quench the thirst of parched environmental activists who wouldn't shut up). Neither of the sides were much of an attraction unless sports teams practiced in the fields, but even then, I didn't care. Sports wasn't my thing, and not because I was chubby either. I could play ultimate Frisbee longer that the next guy and keep trucking even from sweat and fatigue. The scenery wasn't the source of my smile.

The sidewalk cut at a right angle near the overhanging roof, jutting off into a different direction. I sharply turned with the sidewalk and met people who were sitting on steps outside of doors. The majority of them were males, all of them wearing faded blue jeans with holes and tears in them. Graphics tees with assorted bands promoted by Hot Topic covered their chests, and above the tees were jackets. One male in particular stuck out to me, one wearing a gray over his long locks of curled gold hair that rivaled Goldilocks’. He waved at me, and I nodded in reply.

Only one person was standing up, and she stood across from the group against a separate door with no steps. She glanced at me with her freckled face and smiled, her teeth peeking through her lips. As I reached her, she wrapped an arm around my shoulder and pulled me closer. "Hello," she said, her voice like a preteen boy's voice hitting puberty.

The crowd of the guys smirked and chuckled. "You look like boyfriend and girlfriend," one of them called out.

"Whatever," the girl dismissed as her voice hit a rough undertone, waving the remark away with her hand. My face warmed as she rubbed my shoulder. I wanted to glare at the speaker, to bite back, to show discontent. But the girl stayed calm and collected, so I blended with her atmosphere--to keep her from embarrassment--

A hot breath hit my ear as I heard the rubbing-sandpaper voice whisper, "Wait here a bit, I left something in my locker." Before I could reply a simple "okay," she retreated into the doors behind her.

I was left with a bunch of rowdy boys she hung with, most or all of them most likely stoners (hinting to one who wore a beanie with hemp leaves on it).

One perk of physical flawless is the inability to keep people's attention for long. The boys turned to one another and chatted among themselves, their interest flipping instantly like a light switch: on to off. The beads of sweat, ready to develop, halted and shut down. The responsibility for entertaining them wasn't on my shoulders.

The curly-haired boy heaved himself to his feet and walked to a dull brown-painted pole, the same color as the buildings' doors. He leaned an arm against the pole and kept his feet inches from the pole, an attempt at a "cool" pose as far as I could tell. He motioned with his head to join, using the same movement people used as a substitute for "'sup." Joining him, I wrapped an arm around the pole, my arm distanced from his, our faces closer than first anticipated.

"So."

"So."

Our heads slightly nodded back and forth. I continued to let my head metronome forward and back to invisible music as the boy looked behind him, quickly surveying the area and the other guys. When his eyes locked with mine again, the corners of his lips twitched upward, and after another second, restriction crumbled, letting the smirk reveal itself. "So how far have you two gone?"

The slight static sounds of the other guys diminished like a candle out of wax. The boy didn't speak loudly, but somehow, he caught everyone else's attention.

I shrugged and said, "Not too far, I guess."

"Have you thought about sex?"

A choked chuckle tumbled from my mouth, and my hand flew up to cover it. One of the boy's eyebrows arched upward, his eyes unmoving. His growing grin deceived his nonchalant cover up. Clearing my head, I tried to recompose myself, brushing my hair to one side. "If only I knew how to properly screw a chick."

The boy's body began to shake with the background sound of a low rumbling laughter drumming into sound waves. He laughed, ducking his head to hide his yellowing teeth fully exposed, and he beat his arm against the pole. He turned to the crowd and shouted, "Did you hear? She doesn't know how to screw a chick!" Immediately the crowd of boys exploded into laughter like a live audience crowd waiting for the "applause" card.

My lips caved inward, hiding them, and felt my cheeks burning. Laughing faces stayed constant, mocking and pointing, knee-slapping and beating at their legs, falling to the ground and shaking their heads.

Wiping an invisible tear from his eye, the boy's laughter swindled to pants and sighs. "That is hilarious. What a laugh!"

Before I could utter anything, the girl returned, arm around my shoulder again. She glanced over at the boys catching their breath and then turned to me, smiling. "Shall we go?"

I nodded and smiled in return. We walked toward the building opposite of the crowd, and the girl dropped her hand, allowed some space in between us, and then took hold of my hand. I pushed the door open for the both of us, and once the door closed behind us, locking out the howling laughter of the boys, the warmer air brushed past our faces.

We walked into the building smiling, but after a second’s look, the smiles dropped to frowns.

People bustled throughout the hallway, packed tight and walking in opposite directions. The girl and I exchanged looks before gaping on. The day was late, and never have people still inhabited the hallway during such an hour. Clubs and activities caused no such commotion nor have they dug deep into the day. In other words, there was no apparent reason why—if it was possible—every student who attended school still loitered about.

The girl next to me muttered under her breath and squeezed my hand. Without explanation she dragged me into the crowd as I tried to keep balance in my boots. People made way for the girl like the seas parting for Moses with only a glance behind their shoulders while pressing the crowd into the walls. We turned into another hallway known as the senior hallway, one with less people. I expected the girl to stop since the particular hallway was her favorite, but instead, she continued her pathway throughout the hallways. On one entire side were windows that revealed the beautiful courtyard laden with walkways and big bushes. On the other were large red lockers hiding a door to a library in their midst.

Questioning could have helped me, but I decided to just go with the flow. As long as we could do what was planned, it didn't matter. Like Machiavelli wrote, the end justified the means. But the masses of students still flocked in the hallways sealed my mouth shut for the moment.

The main hallway of the school also burst to the seams with students. I couldn't help gaping as the girl continued to lead me. "You've got to be kidding me," I murmured, but the girl either couldn't hear over the people's buzzing chatter or could care less about a pointless comment.

We elbowed people out of the way disregarding the polite manners in order to reach the cafeteria, which was—you guessed it!—filled to the max by people. Bright and dark colors of clothes and skin and bags and backpacks hid the dusty blues of the cafeteria. Now the people surrounding us glared and shouted at us as we pushed on, creating a pathway of compressed teenagers.

With a great effort we finally made it through the cafeteria and into the school's kitchen. The area, devoid of people, was occupied by rows of ovens, stoves, fryers, microwaves, storage shelves, the general supplies expected in kitchens—except for a white silo, taller than humans (and standing on stilts) but still fitting in the room that stood against a wall to the side. No odors hung in the air, and no staff members were in sight. The kitchen was abandoned, wrapped in solitude, and we ripped away the paper and hid from the world.

The girl eyed the short white silo, her eyes resting on the silver ladder up the side. I looked at it as well with little interest, but my eyes widened when the girl jumped onto the latter. As she began climbing I asked in a harsh whisper, "What the hell are you doing?"

"There shouldn't be anything inside this thing, which means this can allow us some privacy."

I bit my bottom lip, just watching the girl continue climbing higher until she dropped down over the edge. She then swore and shouted, "Christ, what is this stuff?"

A gasp escaped me, and I threw myself at the ladder, scrambling up the silo. My heart skipped a few beats, still tumbling around from the previous fantasy of privacy and now from what could have gone wrong; what was in the silo that caused the girl to curse so?

I peered over the edge to see the girl, arms raised above her shoulders, face twisted into a scowl, soaking in white-yellow liquid that appeared to have lumpy materials in it. Cringing, I said, "That looks like some sort of soup or chowder."

"Yeah, I think so too. Come in."

I stared. "Seriously?"

"Yeah. Close your eyes if you must."

If the girl could endure standing in food—and, I thought, the school better not try to sell the concoction the next day at lunch—I supposed I also could. After all, we were alone in the kitchen. No one could tease us for standing in some nice, warm soup.

So I sucked in some breath and heaved my legs over the edge, letting them dangle for a moment. They were suddenly jerked down, pulling the rest of my body with it, and I squealed in surprise as the white-yellow liquid smothered me. When I felt my feet hit a surface, by body untouched from the waist-up, I heard the girl's boyish laugh ring and echo in the silo. If I was not aware of who was in the silo with me, I would have assumed that a twelve year old boy jumped in with me.

She took my arm and led me to a rounded edge of the silo, and once her back made contact with the wall, she wrapped both arms around my body. I returned the gesture with a smile on my face. Mentally I sighed with relief, but the stress soon returned. I could swear that something from within the soup grabbed at my legs, slowly edging me down. Yet the girl did not move one bit.

A fear hit me: what if I would be pulled down and lost forever, never to see the girl again? Never to see my loved ones, the school, the millions of people roaming the halls, or never to taste soup? Did the pulling mean that my time was limited? My body shook, and in my mind, I thought of a farewell.

"I cannot believe how lucky I am."

The girl looked at me with a curious stare, and her thin lips parted as she said, "What do you mean by that?"

The sensation of my feet being dragged down shot through my legs stronger than ever. I tightened my grip around the girl, sucking in a breath. She pressed me closer, her hands hardening against my back—to my surprise, it felt like a comfort—and our eyes met. Releasing all the breath from before, my voice quivered as I said, "There are many reasons why I am lucky. Months ago, the helpless notion of my lonely future gripped me. I felt undesirable, horrendous, all the bad adjective that you could think of. On top of that, I thought that my parents would disown me if they knew about my secret crush. What my friends would think of my secret crush. What everyone else would think about my secret crush. But now here I am, standing with said secret crush, happier than I can put into words, even if we are standing in food. For this reason I hope you're as happy as I am."

"I am happy," she started, "very happy. Don't ever doubt that—ever. If I was unhappy, we wouldn't be together anymore. Drink some confidence juice, stop being scared of what people think of us, and let us keep having fun with smiles on our faces."

I tried not to laugh. The girl was never good at pep talks despite her hearing it constantly from playing sports, but nonetheless, my heart began to feel lighter. With our eyes still locked, I smiled. "I guess I'm just nervous. I wasn't sure where this relationship would lead me—us."

Then I thought of something.

"You’re right," I said, taking her hand and straightened my back. The pulls on my feet stopped, and then the soup's sinking reversed, leaving me standing normally, eye level with the girl. Once the sensation completely left, I grabbed the girl's other hand and stepped back, pulling the girl away from the curved wall and to the middle of the silo. For a moment, we leaned forward and let our foreheads touch, drowning out the soup's smell, replaced with the girl's cologne.

Then the girl broke eye contact, her eyes fleeting to the direction of the kitchen's door;  thumps of shoe against ground leaked through the door's edges. I released one hand and reached for the top edge of the silo. The girl smiled, like she knew what I was about to do, and proud of it.

We stepped out of the silo, the soup dripping off our ruined clothes, and walked out of the door and along with the others.

Musinspiration: Serpent Eyes

Another piece that serves as a test for music inspired drabbles.

This particular piece is about a character of mine who struggles with his feelings for his best friends. His best friends are dating men who are (to put it nicely) less than desirable when it comes to personality. His friends constantly go to him for consolation, which he gives them, but inside, he screams his true feelings: dump those guys and be with me. Random fact: the character is afraid of snakes.

Song inspiration: "Red Rose Suicide" by Malice in Wonderland
As a reminder, this song does not belong to me, and full rights belong to the owner(s).

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[Daydreams]

All alone. Again.

What a shame such a beautiful day was being wasted away by the simple act of sitting and sighing over a matter that only affected one person in the world compared to the billions of humans on the planet. In other words, thought Gil, insignificant.

Gil exhaled and leaned back only to hit his head on a tree. He winced and readjusted his displaced glasses. Clearly through the glasses Gil watched the tiny yellow and white flowers waver in the wind, and with a slight movement of the eyes, frowned at the delightfully blue sky with clouds peeking out. He could have sworn the clouds were not there a minute ago.

Gil flipped open his phone again and stared at the wallpaper of which displayed three smiling people, the one in the middle Gil automatically recognized as himself. A boy and a girl leaned in close to his face, rosy cheeks nearly touching, with their eyes shining at the camera. Gil could still remember that day: it was a regular day at the mall involving shopping and tasty pizza in the food court. As of late the mall expeditions dwindled down, so far, that the trio only went to the mall twice a month (if luck allowed it) rather than the usual twice a week.

The lack of an envelope icon at the top of the cell phone screen reinforced the recent lack of communication.

He closed the phone and shoved it in his jeans pocket and glanced up toward the sky again. Fluffy gray dominated the crisp blue, beat down into submission and pushed behind the curtains. A drip of moisture splattered onto his glasses--and Gil flinched--obscuring the image of the flowers waving to and fro. He slid his glasses off his nose and wiped the lenses furiously with his shirt.

What frustrated Gil more than anything about his growing loneliness was that he knew with absolute certainty that his friends chose to spend their time with horrible people instead of him. Day in and day out he would be the ear of the complaints "he scares me" and "he hurt my feelings" and "can I stay at your place tonight?" All because his friends stuck around with guys who were never aware when they hurt another person.

Gil could only think, "Why not me?"

He blinked out of his reverie, and he spotted two slim figures approaching over the horizon, one taller than the other by at least a few inches. Squinting, Gil realized that the figures were coming directly toward him! He scrambled to his feet, the palm of his hand scratching against the tree's bark. Without a doubt splinters would be lodged in his palm.

The wind whipped harder as the clouds took complete control of the sky, the sky now a dark gray color. Little leaves swirled throughout the sky, and Gil's shirt ruffled and cooled his stomach. Gil crossed his exposed arms hoping to warm them up to no avail, and prepared to look a cold fool in front of the newcomers.

They came close enough that Gil could distinctly see their identities, speak of the devils. The shorter of the two had dark skin dressed in shabby clothes while the other had lighter skin and wore a dressy suit. Closer inspection noted that the two men’s eyes seemed strange—

And then they stood not an arm’s length away from Gil, both glowering down at him with their brown eyes, a black line slashed through the center of the iris. Their lips curled into a smile and their mouths opened wide. “Nobody is thinking about you today!”

“Just shut up!”

Gil’s scream pierced throughout the sky. The illusions of the boyfriends hissed and evaporated into the sky, the clouds still claiming the day and sealing the deal by releasing more droplets of rain. Panting, Gil leaned back against the tree and clutched his chest. His heart always raced in the presence of reptiles, and snakes were the absolute worst.

As light as the breeze the sound of footsteps coming from behind pulsed into his ears. Gil’s eyes widened, his heart beating faster, but he tried to calm down. He recognized the pairs of footsteps. One pair thumped loudly like boots while the other dragged across the ground. Lowering his arm and taking a breath, Gil peeked out from behind the tree.

In the distance walked two people, one short and stout girl and the other an average and slim boy. Though their faces didn’t smile nor did their cheeks burn red, Gil longed to run to them, to wrap an arm around each of their shoulders and pull them close. For traditional friendship’s sake. He longed to breathe in the girl’s perfume and the boy’s shampoo, longed to feel the girl’s smooth lips brush his cheek and the boy’s fingers intertwine his own, longed to brush the girl’s wavy hair and listen to the boy’s voice.

Gil took a small step and immediately returned to hiding behind the tree. Deeper, slimier voices spoke, spoke behind the footsteps. Heart beating faster, Gil sighed out loud, confident that the hisses would drown out the sound, just like how the serpent’s presence drowned out his own. Drowned out his thoughts. Drowned out his feelings. Drowned out his little existence.

All alone. Again.

Musinspiration: Strawberry Killer

I'm testing out an idea for short drabble-esque material following a simple guideline:
Write about a character in a short drabble to a song.

Not to be confused with blatantly following the chosen song's lyrics, this is to be inspired by a song, whether the lyrics, sound, or mood specifically inspire the story. The story doesn't even have to be recognizable when put side by side to the song. Music can do wonders for the imagination, and this is a test of how well music inspires a person. For myself, I know it works well, but that's because I love music. Fellow music lovers could use this as well.

I'm planning to offer writing short drabbles for people using this theme.
As long as character information and a song is given, this is doable.

This specific one is for myself using a character concept I've mulled for over a month now. I just now completed it after a small spurt of energy that may or may not have diminished near the end. For some twisted reason I love this character even though she's basically fucked up, politely speaking. Still materializing a backstory for her.

Song inspiration: "My Next Sin" by Hex Rx (warning for language and theme)
As a reminder, this song does not belong to me, and full rights belong to the owner(s).

---

[Strawberry Killer]

Brown eyes spotted the hiker wandering aimlessly among the thick, abundant trees. Hidden behind a particularly large tree trunk, the eyes continued to stare down the man who could not be any older than twenty three; his wimpy facial hair was pathetic at best. Beads of sweat dotted his red face, some beads threateningly close to his agape mouth. The watching eyes zoomed in to the heated drops on the slightly acne infected face, and the watcher licked her lips.

The man called out suddenly, crying out a name, his shrill voice sending birds shooting out of the trees. He dragged his legs through the shrubbery, the pack on his back weighing him down. The watcher's eyes flickered over to the pack and imagined the stores of food and bottled up water, luxuries she went without for at least two weeks now. Small mammals held their juices and flavor, but the chemical enriched rubbish as of late seduced her, steadily rising on her crave list.

The decision had been set since the man first appeared. But watching was always fun.

The watcher hefted herself up from her kneeling position without stumbling over her weight and grabbed on to the stem of a large strawberry. Although the strawberry was about as tall as the watcher (and wider by a few inches) the watcher felt no strain from pulling it along with her. She ran, weaving through the trees while doing so, and occasionally glanced back to spot the hiker. Through the trees she could see him continue to stumble around, still calling out, this time several different names being spoken.

Once the man could no longer be seen, the watcher stopped running. Her beastly black ears twitched as she predicted the man's trail in her mind. At the big red X the watcher thrust the strawberry partially into the ground, just enough to keep it steady. Before departing the watcher ran a finger across the succulent strawberry's surface, shining with the speckles of studding seeds. Luster still remained even though edibility rotted away long ago.

The sounds of the man's footsteps grew louder, and the watcher ducked behind a tree correctly positioned behind the fruit and away from the view of oncoming people. Again the brown eyes watched the man, but this time, the man's sweaty face was lit up by a smile and the surrounding air brightened with cries of incredulous relief. The man knelt by the huge strawberry and cupped his palms gently around the fruit, one hand on each side. His tongue slid out of his mouth and--

--the man yelped in terror as his body was yanked away from the heavenly strawberry. While his torso and lower back were warmed by an arm pressing his body against fat, he felt a cold blade against his neck, and, fighting his instinct to gulp down his fear, he whimpered and tensed his body. A mass of heated breath landed against his ear as he heard a grunt against his ear.

The watcher grabbed the man's ear with her teeth and yanked backwards, eliciting another sharp cry. She pulled his pack off his back and tossed it aside and then pushed the hiker down to the ground. The man landed with a thud and rolled over to his back, and when he saw his creeper's face, his eyes widened. He couldn't decide what to gape at: the beast ears, the red-to-black hair, the ugly scar slashed down her right eye, or her strangely reddened cheeks, mismatched with the grim expression on her face.

With no time to decide the man shrieked as the watcher straddled his lap, sending pressure throughout his torso and loins. All breath escaped him as his breaths came in shallower. His arms laid dumb to his sides, and for a moment, all that existed for the hiker was pain and the sensation of being trapped.

That was when he felt his pants being yanked at. In seconds neither were covered from the torso down, and the watcher hovered dangerously close. Dread flooded the hiker. And then at the moment of penetration all the dread washed away with a swift movement of the knife.

The Strawberry Killer bathed herself in blood again.