Killing Ghosts
Jun. 17th, 2009 05:03 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
black_hatTitle: Killing Ghosts
Word Count: 1, 365
Rating: PG-13
Prompt: Make it up to me, help me kill my father.
warning: unbetaed
Elle felt very few things for people. In fact, the number of people she did care about past having a little fun and conversation were fewer than those few things.
For the longest time, her father was the sun in her world. Play on words ignored, when he didn’t look at her and when he was disappointed, she was lost. It was like being in a dark room searching blindly for the door, bumping into sharp metal objects (called emotions) and falling.
Elle could never open that door. Only he could. After all these years, she could never predict when he’d open that door either. With other people, she was the one in charge, lighting up their (sometimes brief) lives.
Her father was different. He was a real.
She could hardly think of anything but gaining back his approval, to do it right this time.
Like she could hardly think now. In the hallway, her heart pounded in her chest as she shocked her fingers lightly. She was a little sparky, a little out of control. It had been a painful week, but now, she was better.
Really.
Elle disliked the cold and small feeling of waiting, disliked the wall she had memorized when she came to wait in this very spot. She’d wait forever even with her calves burning due to her high-heels.
“Well, come in.”
Her heart leapt, and she hurried to obey. Her father sat behind his desk, looking over the top of his glasses. He looked shiny in the sunlight. It must be the baldness. So she decided to comment.
“Hello Daddy,” she said, holding her arms behind her, the portrait of a lady. “You look shiny.”
“And you look like a cardboard cut-out. Next time, wear the standard uniform. I expect you to set an example.”
“I just thought I’d spice it up. Dress for success."
“No, you thought you’d get singular attention without working for it. Don’t do it again.”
She froze a bit but smiled through it. That hurt. She hated that. Maybe it was a positive. Sure, maybe the other agents would feel badly. They couldn’t handle the sight of her.
“I have an assignment for you. This is very important. I trust my girl can handle it.”
“Bagged and tagged. All you have to say is paper or plastic,” she agreed before he slid the assignment over to the edge of the desk.
There was his picture. Oh he had changed. She didn’t know where her Gabriel was, but it was as if that glint of murder in his eyes had crawled out and buried him alive. She felt one of those metal objections of emotions, intrusive things, and she swallowed hard.
“Oh…for termination.”
“Is there a problem? You’re usually much more…enthusiastic.”
"Can’t we just keep him?”
Help him.
“Seems like he’s the one keeping you from doing your job. I want this done within the week.”
“And if I…don’t.”
“Someone else will. I know you’re the best, and like I said, you’re setting a standard. This will get you all the attention you need. This one is special after all. I don’t want people thinking my girl can’t do what is necessary.”
Her heart is in her throat. “But that's the thing, I don’t think it’s necessary. He could be useful to us, Daddy.”
"Useful," her father muttered, like it was a dirty word.
This was a show, to prove a point. To punish her.
“Elle,” her father said, warningly. “Don’t make me take away your benefits. You’ve been making so much progress.”
“From what?” she demanded. “I’ve done everything you’ve told me to do! Always!”
“But not to perfection. This isn’t grade school; you don’t get an A for effort.”
“I wouldn’t know.”
“Unfortunately, for you, that is easily applicable to any area of experience. I know. So do as you’re told, and we’ll forget this conversation ever happened.”
“No, I won’t kill him.”
“Well, at the very least, when they bring him in, I hope you can assist with the burning of his body. And if he’s still ticking…”
What happened next was unforeseen. Her pulse had been racing, and underneath that, her sparks. It just happened, sometimes, she got stressed out. The image of Gabriel burnt and blackened and dead was more real than where she was at the moment. She could smell the old familiar burning fat scent but underneath that his scent, him.
The world was entirely unreal, too bright for this kind of thing. The walls, too stark. It was so unreal except for that narrow tunnel where her father was, and she imagined him having a lighter-
She shocked him.
The streams of hot blue hissed from her fingers, singing out all the inner turmoil she had been feeling for years. Once it was out, she couldn’t stop. It racked her body, and she was on a metal table, strapped to it, holding his hand-
She closed her eyes and screamed as she heard his body roll back in the chair-
Elle remembered what her mother looked like. She could still see her mother, anytime she wanted, because she hadn’t changed a bit in years. Gold tends to keep well.
Black and gold, it was the same. Locked away from her.
And it was never enough, not matter what she gave. He took it like it was nothing, like her only feelings meant nothing.
Elle fell to the floor, onto her knees. She breathed hard and felt the ghost of the current in the air. It felt full. There was that smell too. She closed her eyes and one tear fell and burnt there from her small vibrations of sparks.
She had killed her father.
“I thought you said you weren’t going to kill me.”
Elle didn’t open her eyes. She wasn’t going to be all weepy. “Okay, okay, but I just killed you a little…”
She heard his footsteps draw nearer and she peeked a little. Hmm, this time she had burnt all Gabriel’s clothes off. Finally. He made her head spin for a different reason than anger and bloodlust (want), and she didn’t trust herself to get up on weak knees.
“Feel better?”
Elle didn’t know what to say, and so she let her hair hide her face. She felt him sit next to her, and he put a cautious hand on her shoulders.
“You know, there’s this proverb. To be a better man, you first have to kill your father.”
“Uh there’s one small way I might not fit that proverb. Or several ways.”
“Oh I’m…aware,” Gabriel said, doing wonderful things to that word with his mouth. “It holds more truth if it just says we all have to kill our parents.”
“Does everyone else take it so literally?”
“Well, we’re not everyone else, are we?”
They shared everything. She got to meet her past, and he got to share the killing. It was only fair. It was her father. Hers to kill, technically, because she had loved him. No one else who didn't, a stranger to her daddy--should have had the right. (Tough love, what he had always told her, and there was no love tougher. Her daddy had deserved better.)
At least Gabriel had had the decency to acknowledge that factoid.
Elle turned to him, smirking, and meeting his eyes. She was a little taken back by his concerned expression. She didn’t know what was making her feel better, then. But not many men would shape-shift into your father to let you cook their brains…
Well. It was the thought that counts. Who else gets to kill ghosts in this old, abandoned place? Again and again and again. As much as she needed to get all that stress out.
She let him help her to her feet, and she wrapped his arms around her, pressing up against him. His smile was bright, dangerous. There was the risk of looking at him too long, but she’d take that risk. Warm and touchable, bright and clear. It was the good and the brutal part that made it honest.
“No, we aren’t.”
“How about we test all the ways we’re different…”
And the similarities, she thought as she kissed him deeply, roughly, honestly, still feeling the heat on his lips from her shocks. There would be plenty of time for that as well.
Word Count: 1, 365
Rating: PG-13
Prompt: Make it up to me, help me kill my father.
warning: unbetaed
Elle felt very few things for people. In fact, the number of people she did care about past having a little fun and conversation were fewer than those few things.
For the longest time, her father was the sun in her world. Play on words ignored, when he didn’t look at her and when he was disappointed, she was lost. It was like being in a dark room searching blindly for the door, bumping into sharp metal objects (called emotions) and falling.
Elle could never open that door. Only he could. After all these years, she could never predict when he’d open that door either. With other people, she was the one in charge, lighting up their (sometimes brief) lives.
Her father was different. He was a real.
She could hardly think of anything but gaining back his approval, to do it right this time.
Like she could hardly think now. In the hallway, her heart pounded in her chest as she shocked her fingers lightly. She was a little sparky, a little out of control. It had been a painful week, but now, she was better.
Really.
Elle disliked the cold and small feeling of waiting, disliked the wall she had memorized when she came to wait in this very spot. She’d wait forever even with her calves burning due to her high-heels.
“Well, come in.”
Her heart leapt, and she hurried to obey. Her father sat behind his desk, looking over the top of his glasses. He looked shiny in the sunlight. It must be the baldness. So she decided to comment.
“Hello Daddy,” she said, holding her arms behind her, the portrait of a lady. “You look shiny.”
“And you look like a cardboard cut-out. Next time, wear the standard uniform. I expect you to set an example.”
“I just thought I’d spice it up. Dress for success."
“No, you thought you’d get singular attention without working for it. Don’t do it again.”
She froze a bit but smiled through it. That hurt. She hated that. Maybe it was a positive. Sure, maybe the other agents would feel badly. They couldn’t handle the sight of her.
“I have an assignment for you. This is very important. I trust my girl can handle it.”
“Bagged and tagged. All you have to say is paper or plastic,” she agreed before he slid the assignment over to the edge of the desk.
There was his picture. Oh he had changed. She didn’t know where her Gabriel was, but it was as if that glint of murder in his eyes had crawled out and buried him alive. She felt one of those metal objections of emotions, intrusive things, and she swallowed hard.
“Oh…for termination.”
“Is there a problem? You’re usually much more…enthusiastic.”
"Can’t we just keep him?”
Help him.
“Seems like he’s the one keeping you from doing your job. I want this done within the week.”
“And if I…don’t.”
“Someone else will. I know you’re the best, and like I said, you’re setting a standard. This will get you all the attention you need. This one is special after all. I don’t want people thinking my girl can’t do what is necessary.”
Her heart is in her throat. “But that's the thing, I don’t think it’s necessary. He could be useful to us, Daddy.”
"Useful," her father muttered, like it was a dirty word.
This was a show, to prove a point. To punish her.
“Elle,” her father said, warningly. “Don’t make me take away your benefits. You’ve been making so much progress.”
“From what?” she demanded. “I’ve done everything you’ve told me to do! Always!”
“But not to perfection. This isn’t grade school; you don’t get an A for effort.”
“I wouldn’t know.”
“Unfortunately, for you, that is easily applicable to any area of experience. I know. So do as you’re told, and we’ll forget this conversation ever happened.”
“No, I won’t kill him.”
“Well, at the very least, when they bring him in, I hope you can assist with the burning of his body. And if he’s still ticking…”
What happened next was unforeseen. Her pulse had been racing, and underneath that, her sparks. It just happened, sometimes, she got stressed out. The image of Gabriel burnt and blackened and dead was more real than where she was at the moment. She could smell the old familiar burning fat scent but underneath that his scent, him.
The world was entirely unreal, too bright for this kind of thing. The walls, too stark. It was so unreal except for that narrow tunnel where her father was, and she imagined him having a lighter-
She shocked him.
The streams of hot blue hissed from her fingers, singing out all the inner turmoil she had been feeling for years. Once it was out, she couldn’t stop. It racked her body, and she was on a metal table, strapped to it, holding his hand-
She closed her eyes and screamed as she heard his body roll back in the chair-
Elle remembered what her mother looked like. She could still see her mother, anytime she wanted, because she hadn’t changed a bit in years. Gold tends to keep well.
Black and gold, it was the same. Locked away from her.
And it was never enough, not matter what she gave. He took it like it was nothing, like her only feelings meant nothing.
Elle fell to the floor, onto her knees. She breathed hard and felt the ghost of the current in the air. It felt full. There was that smell too. She closed her eyes and one tear fell and burnt there from her small vibrations of sparks.
She had killed her father.
“I thought you said you weren’t going to kill me.”
Elle didn’t open her eyes. She wasn’t going to be all weepy. “Okay, okay, but I just killed you a little…”
She heard his footsteps draw nearer and she peeked a little. Hmm, this time she had burnt all Gabriel’s clothes off. Finally. He made her head spin for a different reason than anger and bloodlust (want), and she didn’t trust herself to get up on weak knees.
“Feel better?”
Elle didn’t know what to say, and so she let her hair hide her face. She felt him sit next to her, and he put a cautious hand on her shoulders.
“You know, there’s this proverb. To be a better man, you first have to kill your father.”
“Uh there’s one small way I might not fit that proverb. Or several ways.”
“Oh I’m…aware,” Gabriel said, doing wonderful things to that word with his mouth. “It holds more truth if it just says we all have to kill our parents.”
“Does everyone else take it so literally?”
“Well, we’re not everyone else, are we?”
They shared everything. She got to meet her past, and he got to share the killing. It was only fair. It was her father. Hers to kill, technically, because she had loved him. No one else who didn't, a stranger to her daddy--should have had the right. (Tough love, what he had always told her, and there was no love tougher. Her daddy had deserved better.)
At least Gabriel had had the decency to acknowledge that factoid.
Elle turned to him, smirking, and meeting his eyes. She was a little taken back by his concerned expression. She didn’t know what was making her feel better, then. But not many men would shape-shift into your father to let you cook their brains…
Well. It was the thought that counts. Who else gets to kill ghosts in this old, abandoned place? Again and again and again. As much as she needed to get all that stress out.
She let him help her to her feet, and she wrapped his arms around her, pressing up against him. His smile was bright, dangerous. There was the risk of looking at him too long, but she’d take that risk. Warm and touchable, bright and clear. It was the good and the brutal part that made it honest.
“No, we aren’t.”
“How about we test all the ways we’re different…”
And the similarities, she thought as she kissed him deeply, roughly, honestly, still feeling the heat on his lips from her shocks. There would be plenty of time for that as well.
