"Things will never be the same again."
Gneiss Underwood never thought that he could have a shot of a normal life.
Growing up in an environment where everything defied sanity, guns and loneliness were his normal companions, if not danger and Death h...
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"In a land of blind people, a one-eyed woman could be queen."
Number Thirteen
Cecilia stroked her sister's gravestone with one of her pale fingers. Her broken nails were grubby as usual; she had another bouquet of wild flowers on her lap, fresh from the meadow. She was sitting comfortably on the dirty floor, dried petals of the earlier blossoms and dirt surrounding her. Her cheek was pressed on the cold elevated stone, one corner of her lip turned up in a small smile. She was singing a tuneless lullaby, her bright wide eyes staring at the empty space in front of her.
"Ophee, wake up," she cooed pleasantly, mischievously, lovingly. "Wake up, wake up and let's punish your husband, dear sister."
She laughed, another crimson tear falling from her eye. It stained her already filthy clothes. "Did you know? You did, didn't you? Was that the reason why you decided to sleep? He's so selfish, isn't he? He wanted them near. He brought the rain. He broke the glass. What a naughty, stubborn boy."
Her gaze clouded for a moment, seeing another vision of the future. She hugged herself as if her body might crumble; more tears of blood dripped off her chin. Her eyes rolled and her lips twitched. For a moment, she stilled. When the images disappeared, her whole body sagged like a rag doll.
"Wake up, Ophee," she cried softly, her face turning from innocent delight to that of grief. "Wake up, or else he's gonna destroy us all."
**
Faye heard the sirens from afar.
Was there a criminal on the loose, or was it the fire apartment this time? She idly wondered, letting the cool evening breeze caress her heavily-coated face. The fake lashes felt heavy on her eyelids, making them appear droopy. Her cheeks were ice cold, her nose red, but she refused to return to the warmth downstairs. She had a mission to finish.
"Hey, want another round honey?" slurred the drunken man leaning against the veranda overlooking the Statue of Liberty. His white tuxedo was stained with droplets of cognac and champagne and something else, the decorative yellow rose wilting on his breast pocket.
Faye spoke in a husky, Southern accent drawl. "Sure, pretty boy. Whatever makes you happy."
She allowed him to touch her newly dyed blonde hair as he staggered to kiss her, but slapped his other hand away. He was too intoxicated to even notice. She quickly averted her face from him and handed him another glass of expensive wine, the fourth bottle he had since he met her.
"So," she purred in a practiced voice, "you were saying something about your CEO?"
The man choked as he tried to guffaw, squinting to see her face. "Director Tyron? That fat'so? He's nothing but a piece of... you know, barely attended the weekly meetings, always out of the country." He hiccupped as he downed the glass. "Got lotsa lotsa woman pawing 'round him. Bastard."
