Random Writing Challenge 003

Just one quick command, a slight tug from the warm soft hands cradling my grip. The hand is steady, but I can feel their heart beat, ba-bump,pulsing through the cold metal, making my insides quiver. The hand releases me slightly, completely releasing the trigger for a moment before clutching me with twice as much strength. The index finger taps, then pulls away, taps, then pulls away, taps, then pulls away. Squeeze it already, pull the trigger, fire the weapon! But no one hears the cries of a gun, because we don’t enjoy the kill, we don’t feel the passion, the fear, the strength of the wielder.

Small electric currents course from my cold casing through the hand and up the arm. I will not be toyed with. Pull the trigger I try to tell the nerves, the easiest system to travel through. Pull the trigger I whisper to the brain, pull, pull, pull. The arm drops meekly I must be too heavy. This one is losing resolve, they always lose resolve. The interference their silly consciences send to the brain is always stronger than my desire, always louder than my messages.

At least one of my messages must have gotten through, because in one swift motion I am raised, aimed, fired, and dropped. The floor vibrates as the hand drops me. Fool! They will find your finger prints, they will trap me forever in a hot plastic bag, come back! The hand has already left though, so the brain doesn’t hear me. The warm sticky blood of the victim slides all around me seeping into the cracks between my gears, slicking over my cold metal grip and dying it red. The blood mingles with the oil in my gears and the very things I eagerly instill in my victim crawl into me. Cold tingly pulses race through my metals, shaking me like the hand with a faulty resolve. Fear, it feels like being electrocuted, it feels slimy and cold, it feels like the midnight winter breeze. Desperation, it creates a strange pressure within me, crushing me without moving any of my gears. The rest is the cold sticky silence that seeps into me, and threatens to pave the way for rust to creep into me. The silence seeps further and further into me as the wait drags on. Maybe I won’t end up in a hot plastic bag, but if I have no more hosts the wait is just as bad. The weight of the silence is something I have never heard the name of, maybe this is what the conscience tries to stop the brain from feeling. The heavy silence that weighs down on the dead, maybe it follows the host. Death the silence whispers as an ice cold wind drifts through the room, rustling shriveled white lilies in the middle of August in Arizona.

Red Laces

She smiled and rode the wind with an outstretched arm while gazing obliviously at a cloud ridden sky. It amazed her really, that the sky could go from plain blank blue to this fantastical canvas full of various shades textures and colours, created by tricky lighting. 

 

He tried to recreate it. That last glimpse of sky he’d seen before the darkness. How could this happen on such a beautiful day? How could the sky seem so happy, so full of life today? Today on the day he would die.

 

She glanced down casually at the black air jordans strewn near the curb. ‘Weird’ she thought, shrugging at what was presumably just another bit of weird litter. Not like there was a lack of that at this curb.

 

He squeezed his eyes shut, hoping someone would see those shoes and know. They would know and save him. That’s what he kept telling himself even though he knew it was a lie. But this lie was all he had.

With a frightfully active imagination she couldn’t help but run the scenarios in her head, related to those shoes, by the third time she passed them. After going through the explanations and responses in detail, she decided to be selfish. Lifting her gaze, the decision was made, and both fates were sealed. One string was severed, and another untangled.