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Chapter or Story 
Chapter or Story
Disclaimer: Not mine blah blah blah no infringement intended.
This is a new story I'm writing, but don't worry, I won't neglect Echoes.
I got inspired watching My Fair Lady of all things, which is amusing cause it's such a nice, lighthearted film whereas this.... isn't:)
Title may or may not be temporary, rated R for violence, feedback please.
The Nature of Things
part 1
by Melody
13th Jan 2000
10:39 pm.
A heart-beat was the loudest noise in the room, echoed by shallow breathing. One heart-beat but two bodies, generally not the healthiest thing in the world. Jarod wondered if it were possible to share the one heart-beat, if both he and Miss Parker could live off the breath he drew. Miss Parker... he wished. This broken and bloody form beside him was not Miss Parker. Her torn dress. Her blank eyes. No, this was not Miss Parker.
He would call her Morticia, he thought to himself, and chuckled, vaguely aware that pain, blood loss and hunger was causing reason to leave him. Mort would be her nickname, he told himself, the French word for death, it would suit her waxy, porcelain skin and long tresses, black with blood. His hazy mind briefly entertained the idea of manipulating her stiff limbs, making her dance like a puppet. A garish, yet fascinating vision. But impossible, what with his broken legs.
Jarod began to sob.
*****
Two weeks before,
Blue Cove, Delaware.
31st Dec 1999
8:26 pm.
Broken branches tugged at his skin, tearing through his clothes as he ran, his breath rasping out of his chest as he ran from unseen forces. But this was nothing, he could deal with physical pain and fear. That wasn't what worried him, what made his feet to thump on the ground haphazardly, what caused his mind to spin. No, those things, although in the past they had seemed like such terrible things, they paled in comparison to what he ran from now.
His wild dash through the forest surrounding the Centre was from what he knew was chasing him. Although he heard no shouts, no footsteps, saw no flashlight beams, no glint of light on metal guns, he knew he was being followed. It was the nature of things at the Centre. Hunt and destroy. Except this one was better at it than most.
He stumbled, a branch cracking overhead distracting him, and he ploughed down into the dirt in front of him. It was here. He raised himself into a low crouch, hands positioned in front of his body defensively, knees bent and ready to spring, lightly resting on the balls of his feet, an automatic defence mode through time. Licking his dry lips he stared into the darkness around him, up into the treetops, listening to the night-birds call, feeling the sweat trickle down his back.
Silence and serenity, a tempting illusion. He turned slowly, searching the inky blackness for a sign of his hunter, peering through the fog that was rolling in, wrapping him in it's slinky dampness. If he could just make it out of the forest, he thought, if he could just find help, a phone booth, anything or anyone with which to pass the message along, it would reach the right people eventually. The terrible truth would be known.
Hearing the slightest noise he whirled, too late to stop the attack that left him screaming. His body sliding to the ground as he let out one last groan of pain, Broots realised he had failed.
-----
P.S. I know.... I'm horrible... I killed Broots... please don't flame me...*g*.
Melody
This is a new story I'm writing, but don't worry, I won't neglect Echoes.
I got inspired watching My Fair Lady of all things, which is amusing cause it's such a nice, lighthearted film whereas this.... isn't:)
Title may or may not be temporary, rated R for violence, feedback please.
part 1
by Melody
13th Jan 2000
10:39 pm.
A heart-beat was the loudest noise in the room, echoed by shallow breathing. One heart-beat but two bodies, generally not the healthiest thing in the world. Jarod wondered if it were possible to share the one heart-beat, if both he and Miss Parker could live off the breath he drew. Miss Parker... he wished. This broken and bloody form beside him was not Miss Parker. Her torn dress. Her blank eyes. No, this was not Miss Parker.
He would call her Morticia, he thought to himself, and chuckled, vaguely aware that pain, blood loss and hunger was causing reason to leave him. Mort would be her nickname, he told himself, the French word for death, it would suit her waxy, porcelain skin and long tresses, black with blood. His hazy mind briefly entertained the idea of manipulating her stiff limbs, making her dance like a puppet. A garish, yet fascinating vision. But impossible, what with his broken legs.
Jarod began to sob.
*****
Two weeks before,
Blue Cove, Delaware.
31st Dec 1999
8:26 pm.
Broken branches tugged at his skin, tearing through his clothes as he ran, his breath rasping out of his chest as he ran from unseen forces. But this was nothing, he could deal with physical pain and fear. That wasn't what worried him, what made his feet to thump on the ground haphazardly, what caused his mind to spin. No, those things, although in the past they had seemed like such terrible things, they paled in comparison to what he ran from now.
His wild dash through the forest surrounding the Centre was from what he knew was chasing him. Although he heard no shouts, no footsteps, saw no flashlight beams, no glint of light on metal guns, he knew he was being followed. It was the nature of things at the Centre. Hunt and destroy. Except this one was better at it than most.
He stumbled, a branch cracking overhead distracting him, and he ploughed down into the dirt in front of him. It was here. He raised himself into a low crouch, hands positioned in front of his body defensively, knees bent and ready to spring, lightly resting on the balls of his feet, an automatic defence mode through time. Licking his dry lips he stared into the darkness around him, up into the treetops, listening to the night-birds call, feeling the sweat trickle down his back.
Silence and serenity, a tempting illusion. He turned slowly, searching the inky blackness for a sign of his hunter, peering through the fog that was rolling in, wrapping him in it's slinky dampness. If he could just make it out of the forest, he thought, if he could just find help, a phone booth, anything or anyone with which to pass the message along, it would reach the right people eventually. The terrible truth would be known.
Hearing the slightest noise he whirled, too late to stop the attack that left him screaming. His body sliding to the ground as he let out one last groan of pain, Broots realised he had failed.
-----
P.S. I know.... I'm horrible... I killed Broots... please don't flame me...*g*.
Melody
