*Part Two is where it's at. I guess. It gets Tim Burton weird, but that is just me. This is kind of what happened in my dream. Not everything, some parts were added, since I don't dream about getting... Hell, I'll just let you read. Enjoy!*
**As with the first part, there is a bit of swearing. It's all in good fun, yeah? If you're averse to that, sucks for you. Don't read it. If you aren't, read on, good sir!**
***Addendum - by "bit of swearing" I mean "gratuitous amounts of swearing". You've been warned.***
I cower against the wall, shivering and frozen in place as Bruce approaches me, disturbing just as many couples as I did.
"Help me!" I squeak, finding my voice and legs. I begin to stumble farther down the hall. Bruce picks up speed. I flat-out run. I don't give a fuck if I'm disturbing people. I'm shrieking like a wild banshee, pushing people, begging for help. No one seems to notice. It's like I don't exist to them.
I get to a small room and I can feel Bruce behind me as I squeeze in and slam the door. I try with all of my might to hold the door shut, but it's me versus the school's star tackle. I've never had much upper body strength, and this distinct lack of muscle mass is catching up with me. I'm sobbing now, apologizing and begging as he yanks on the door from the outside. Finally he wrenches the door open and shoves me inside.
"Bruce, no, I'm sorry-" I manage to say before he wraps a huge hand around my face. I can't breathe. I can't breathe. I wriggle like a worm on a hook, then I can feel my brain fuzzing over.
"You little punk ass bitch. You fucking broke my fucking nose. Why can't you just fucking put out like the rest of the fucking bitches in this school? Do you know how many chicks would kill for me to fuck them? So fucking many! So why are you squirming, bitch, huh? Stop moving!" He removes his hand only to hit me across the face. I take a deep shuddering breath, tears streaming now. I curl into the fetal position, sobbing.
"Bitch, stay still!" He yanks my legs out, thrusting a knee between them.
"HELP ME!" I shout. He hits me again. I shut up, crying in pain.
"You're so lucky... lucky, lucky, lucky..." Bruce mutters to himself.
I hear the zipper.
I feel myself drift up, out of my body, out of this situation, out of life. I'm barely breathing. I lie still as the grave. I'm about to become a statistic.
A heaviness descends over me.
The heaviness disappears.
I plunge back into present time. Bruce is unconscious on the floor next to me, his belt open and zipper undone. I look up in shock. A form in standing over me, with a hand held out. I take it.
"Um, your, um, your dress," the form stammers. It sounds like a guy. But I could be wrong; my head isn't working. I take a deep breath and down at my dress. The entire front is ripped open, my bra exposed. I try to patch it up, but it just isn't working. A fresh wave of tears works its way through, and I start sniffling.
"This would happen to me. This fucking dress is cursed." I moan through my tears. What is wrong with me? I almost got raped and all I can think about it my dress?!
"Well, it isn't cursed," says my savior. "But you've got a heck of a nasty locator spell on you."
"Wh-what? What the fuck are you talking about? I mean, thanks and all for saving me, but talk some fucking sense!" I wave my arms around as I talk, like there's a bug around my head.
"You. I'm talking about you, and the locator spell on you." My savior steps closer, and I can make out a hazy face. Yup, definitely a guy. "It isn't bush league stuff. Someone, or something, seriously powerful put that spell on you. They wanted some evil shit - I mean crap. Sorry, presence of a lady, my bad." The last part seems to be said to himself. I gaze at him with incredulity as he blushes up a storm. I say fuck, he doesn't bat an eyelash; he says shit and it's the crime of the century. We stand there staring at each other, him blushing and me in shock. Then the situation hits us both again and he stammers.
"Crap, some seriously evil crap. Someone wanted it to find you." he finishes lamely, scuffing a boot against the floor. Bruce groans between us.
"Shi - Crap!" Mystery Boy grabs my hand and yanks me back, positioning me against the wall, out of sight.
"Don't move, don't make a noise. Don't even blink, if you can help it. It'll all be over really soon. Don't move." He breathes out urgently. His breath smells like strawberry gum.
I hear Bruce moan, then stand up.
"How's your head, ugly?" I can see Mystery Boy, but only Bruce's foot. Mystery Boy extracts a little baggy of white powder. He slowly circles Bruce, sprinkling the white stuff on the floor.
"Head...hurts...head..." Bruce moans, and then I hear this horrible squelching noise. Something is thrown towards me. I move my head microscopically. It looks like a mask. I lean forward. It isn't a mask, it's a face... Bruce's face. It's like it was just pulled off. I turn my head towards Bruce and Mystery Boy in horror, peeking around the cabinet I'm hiding behind.
Bruce's head whips toward me, his eyes glowing in the dim light, a malicious green. I can't really see what happened to his face, after he fucking tore it off and threw it away like garbage. I lean forward more, trying to get a better look. Bruce's face is reptilian, with slanted eyes like a snakes and no nose to speak of. I get an inexplicable image of Voldemort from Harry Potter in my head. I'm going off the deep end.
If this is what Bruce really looks like, then at least his tongue waggling makes more sense, although now it is significantly more repulsive.
Bruce, or whatever this thing is since it isn't Bruce, tries to walk towards me, its arms outstretched. The circle on the floor glows bright white, and Bruce can't seem to get out, which I am totally okay with. He snarls, a hideous mix of a growl and a hiss.
"WHAT DID I SAY?!" Mystery Boy shouts at me, Bruce clawing frantically at the invisible walls around him.
"I'm sorry!" I shout back, leaning back into the wall, holding my breath.
"Oh, Christ, it doesn't matter anymore! He's reverted anyway. It's not like you hiding is going to stop him from sensing you!" He punctuates this by throwing white powder in Bruce-thing's face. It/he howls in pain, clawing at where the powder touched him.
"What on God's green earth are you throwing at him?" I ask, creeping out of my hiding place.
"It's table salt." He says, as if I'm an idiot for not knowing. Jesus, here I was thinking it was cocaine or something. He throws another pinch at Bruce-thing. Bruce-thing yowls.
"Why is it hurting him like that? It's just salt. And what the hell happened to Bruce's face?! Is that why the salt is hurting him? Dude?!" Mystery Boy continues hucking salt at Bruce-thing. The salt making him cringe, and he's on the floor, huddled.
"Well, Bruce isn't exactly what you think he is." Another pinch of salt. Another howl.
"What is he then?" I ask, creeping forward. Bruce-thing's head whips towards me, and he hisses at me, baring his teeth. His tongue waggles about in his mouth, forked and snakelike.
"Bruce, or what you know as Bruce, is actually a demon. He ain't a smart one, either. His kind are called Ski'reil demons. They are nasty, but dumb as posts, the lot of them. They have to have someone telling them what to do, or they just go do really stupid crap. I knew one so dumb it ate its own brother because it didn't know what to do with itself. Now, here's what's going to happen. I'm going to dispatch this thing, and then I'm going to take you home. Any questions?" Every sentence is punctuated by a violent throw of salt.
"Um, yeah. Who the hell are you?" I take another step closer, and I stumble over a large pack on the floor. It upends and a jumble of weapons spills out.
"I go by different names, depending." He throws the last of the salt at Bruce, who is now blistered and clawing at his scaly skin, curled into fetal position on the floor.
"Well, give me one. I deserve that."
Mystery Boy appraises me for a moment, then leans down and picks up a sword. He adjusts his grip on the hilt with a twirl, then crosses the salt barrier. Bruce leaps to his feet, lunging at him, claws outstretched. I gasp, and Bruce turns mid-lunge, changing direction to leap at me. This gives Mystery Boy the upper hand. He spins, neatly beheading Bruce as he jumps towards me. Bruce, sans head, crumples to the floor. His head rolls towards me, the reptilian eyes open and glassy.
Mystery Boy places the point of his sword on the floor, then leans nonchalantly against it. I gape.
"I guess you do deserve a name. I'm Ronnie St. Edmunds. You're welcome for saving your life."
I nod blankly, confused. I can hear liquid dripping somewhere in the room. I gaze around until I find Bruce. Bruce's neck is leaking an oily black fluid all over the floor. Bruce is...was a giant lizard demon in disguise who tried to rape me. Bruce's dead eyes in his dead head look up at me, unseeing.
Everything hits me.
I can't take it.
I pitch forward and puke.
Well, whaddaya think? I know, I know. It isn't what some of you were expecting. But that is who I am. Completely unexpected. And very very weird.
There's more, so give me a shout out if you survived the hurricane and/or enjoyed what I wrote and I will post more.
Congratulations on surviving Irene! If you didn't, my condolences, and also how the fuck are you reading this?!
Anyway, school for me starts on Tuesday, so I might become reclusive for a teeny-tiny bit. I have this issue of not having read my summer reading, so that needs to be resolved. Also, I technically lost my computer privileges since I accidentally stayed up until 3 in the morning a few nights ago.
Oh, and to explain my last Parting Joke. A sandwich walks into a bar and the bartender says we don't serve food. A sandwich is food. GEDDIT???
What happened to the cat after she swallowed a ball of yarn?
She had a litter of mittens!
Anyfloozle, love and kisses,