I originally was thinking of not posting this, but ehhhh, sure, why the heck not? It's here in the writing LJ:
http://deliciouscereal.livejournal.com/But I will post it here tooooo, if you don't feel like link-clicking or whatever.
EDIT: Also, realized that some of my stuff seemed to have gone missing from this thread, so went about fixing that.
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Quick speed-writing flow of consciousness thing. I've had the idea for a while but never did anything with it. But I needed to kinda shake my writing-center loose, cause I have English writing to do and I was feeling rusty in my brain. So I just did this, no re-reading, no inner critic, just typetypetype whatever came up.
I'm still debating whether or not I should do more with it, like continue it and go back and tune it up. I dunno. *Shrug* Whatchu guys think? Any C&C?
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He came in soaked, leaving a trail of water down the stairs. The heavy wooden door slammed behind him. He was soaked, but didn't bother to change. He simple threw on his white coat and a fresh pair of latex gloves, all just for the sake of sanitation. He was in a hurry. The parts wouldn't last at this rate. Smuggling things like this took time. There was no time. So he dove into his work immediately, the massive pile of bones and muscle and skin. The organs came out of the jars now. The lantern light glinted off the scalpel. Beads of blood ran down the needle and thread. The work must be finished tonight. His whole life depended on this. She was his life, and without her, how could he go on? His mad experimentations had taken her from him, but now he'd do it all one last time to bring her back.
Hours into the night he worked, and this was only the first phase. Science could only go so far. Now the old tomes came out, the dusty scrolls, the putrid ingredients best not named. This was the forbidden magic. If he had listened in the first place, why, they would be at the opera. They had planned it for this week. He only liked it because of the joy it brought her, the light it brought to her face. Now that face was discarded, decomposed beyond saving. He was never skilled in the arts of the dead. He had made many mistakes.
He drew the circle with the chalk, then drew the symbols with the viles of her blood he'd managed to save. The candles were set in place, the bat's liver was set to the north and the butterfly wings to the south. Then the incantations began, which took even longer than the surgery. It was almost dawn before he had finally finished. At the last word, he struck a match and set a small bowl of herbs aflame. The smoke rose from it in unnatural forms, warping and weaving through the air, finally wrapping around the still form on the bloodied table. The body shook, jolted, and finally rolled off the table. The form let out a shuddering moan, curling in on itself. He ran to her, kneeled down on the cold stones, held his shaking hands out to her. It didn't bother him so much that the face that looked back at him was a young man from the next village who had perished from food poisoning. It was the only fresh body he could find. He only hoped she wouldn't mind either. He imagined her embracing him, thanking him for bringing her back from the underworld. Then they would go far away to the countryside and live together in peace, as they had always talked of.
But the eyes he saw were frightened and wild, like a feral cat backed into a corner. A threaded hand lashed out at him, until she saw it, and then came the screaming. It was unlike anything he had heard before. He had heard the wail of a banshee before, back in an old crypt during his exploring days, and even this didn't compare to that sound.
She stood suddenly, stumbling back into the table and knocking it over, and along with it the small table of instruments. They clattered loudly to the ground and seemed to frighten her even more. He watched her stomp and wobble awkwardly around, and felt a bit of satisfaction deep down at the fact that the body was holding together perfectly. And he felt bad for this, because he knew he should feel worse for what he'd done. He approached her, and she moved away from him. Again and again. Running into things, pulling things off shelves. At this rate his entire lab would be destroyed.
"Victoria…" He had cornered her at last, when she finally stopped in front of the old full-length mirror at the right end of the room. She was staring wide-eyed at her new body. Well, not exactly new. Used, but in good condition. A slim, slightly muscular young man, pale skin splotched with blood and stitch marks. The short blonde hair was almost white, also tangled with blood. She turned the bright amber eyes to him at the sound of her name and spoke in a voice that is hard to describe, as it is not often that one hears the formerly dead speak. It was harsh and frightened, wild, lost, so close but a million miles away.
"Kill me!"