Scrap 2

Sometimes I have conversations with my characters. I am not afraid to admit it because I am sure a few of your sit them down when they're being difficult or when the words just aren't coming easy. (Or sometimes when you lose focus and forget what the hell you're trying to do.)

Anyway, the last of my little posts before I start serious updates again. So Michael as a character is very difficult for me to pin down myself. But there were three pieces that came out of nowhere.

Once again, don't put too much weight on them. And I'm leaving them unedited. So they're all technically in second draft form. Without pics. Continue on if you're curious.




He remembered that first day in the house. She'd tried to take the smaller room-- the one slightly disconnected to the the house by an open walkway, sticking out from the house. The small octagonal room.

"I should get this one." He'd said. "I can see if anyone approaches." A reason she couldn't argue with.

He'd told her to take the one with the green furniture. It had mirrors. Matching furniture. Probably had been a girl's room once. He told her so.

"But this one has the balcony."

"It looks over the garden," he'd said.

She'd haltingly stepped over to the balcony to look down at the plot of land where the weeded garden grew.

"But shouldn't you have this one?"

"I won't be here very often."

The last room had two beds, twin sized. She'd looked at them sadly. He hadn't been able to imagine what she'd been thinking about. Did they remind her of the people who had been here before? Of the children who'd once slept in these beds? Maybe it was some memory of her own she'd never shared with him.

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"Don't say a word," Gina thinks as she runs her tongue along his upper lip. "Don't react. He could be watching you."

His lips are too firm, unyeilding. No Name wouldn't notice, but Gina would without his having to touch her mind. The barbs tossed at Edith are mostly for his benefit, but she has no way to know that. She sits in the old chair awkwardly trying to take up as little space as possible in the large old chair. Somewhere in the room there was an absense, a black hole he couldn't sense. It was there with them in the room, that much he knew, but the room itself was full of darkness. Edith was the bright spot in the room, slowly growing fuzzy.

Gina lapped at his upper lip while remembering dirty things. His hand on her hip tightened. He needed to concentrate. She was becoming fuzzy, fading as she got up, one last look at him and she left.

He pulled away then, though they stayed close. He had to focus. She was disappearing.

Then she was gone. Completely gone. The absense of her is silence. It strikes him hard the absense of her mind buzzing near by. It was like music, a revalation that comes now in its absense. He never read her thoughts, but they leaked out like music softly playing constantly.

In the silence, there is one note still playing far away. A note in the background still playing, her note.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She opens herself to him, completely vulnerable, completely at his mercy. Softly, the fingertips from her hands run along his torso, feeling the muscles under his skin as he positions himself. Her breath is shallow, frightened nervous. Still. The same as she was their first time when she didn’t know what to expect.

He could never hurt her. There isn’t a question about it. He had considered it; he had almost thought he could manage it when she was only a mind he connected to-- a thought in the dark without a body or a face. A stupid child who shared everything she had with him out of loneliness and a dream of being a good person. He’d been sure that to get to those who’d hurt him, he’d be able to destroy her slowly, torture those who’d hurt him.

Then he’d seen her, her eyes wide in shock and fear. She’d done nothing to him. She was a good person who hadn’t realized that it was possible someone could hate as much as he did. She had no clue, no insights into the thoughts of those around her.

He couldn’t harm her. Couldn’t even conceive of it. She isn’t at his mercy; he's at hers. With each touch, each kiss he begs her forgiveness, Hopes that it isn’t fear that brings them together. But he won’t change, and he can only ask for her forgiveness.