mennybeads (mennybeads) wrote,
mennybeads
mennybeads

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So I don't update a lot. Sue me for not having an interesting life. I could post some drabbles, huh?
Anywhoo. Em. Economy test tomorrow. Have to get a 6.9. Pray for me.

There is a distinct possibility Bowie is pregnant. But the possibility is larger this time, since whe was gone for a day and 2 nights and wasn't mewling anymore. Here's hoping. Who wants kitties? We're only keeping one, I believe.
Well, here you go.

The bold word is the word that inspired this story.

Well. That was weird. He blinked a few times and flexed his hands.
‘Lilian?’
‘I don’t want to be alone anymore, Cain, please, believe me, I don’t want to be alone..’
‘Lilian, why’re you here?’
‘Y-you’re supposed to ask me what’s wrong, dumbass.’ She swatted at him weakly.
Cain blinked. ‘Er. What’s wrong?’
‘Never mind, you wouldn’t understand.’
He frowned at this. ‘Try me.’
‘I don’t want to be alone anymore! George left me, a-and why can’t I just keep people?’
‘You’re right. I know nothing of being alone.’ He pursed his lips and turned around, leaving a sobbing, and stunned, woman standing in his living room.

Am too lazy to check if I posted this one before. Anyway.

‘Szooo…d’you believe in God?’
Cain looked up rom where he was lying at the bottom of a bottle and looked at his friend.
‘Wuzzat fer kinda question, Drague?’
Drague shrugged. ‘Jus’ curious, ‘spose.’
‘’m to drunk t’think ‘bout things like that.’
Drague giggled and tossed him another bottle of cheap beer. ‘I do.’
‘Do what?’
‘Believe in God. I do.’ He looked a lot a lot more coherent as he held his bottle tightly.
‘Really? I wouldn’t know why.’
Drague shrugged again. ‘It’s just something I feel is true, ‘s all. C’mon, drink up, ‘m not nearly drunk enough I start saying things like that.’
Cain smiled wanly, but even after all the liquor, he couldn’t seem to forget about the question.

I do not write drunk people well, I am afraid. Might have to do something with never having seen drunk people before. Perhaps.

He couldn’t deny it anymore when he saw the house. His psych stood behind him and winced in sympathy. He made the mistake of putting a hand on Cain’s shoulder and got roughly pushed away.
‘Skia…’ He walked in and touched the walls. He bit his lip to keep from crying. Not in front of his bastard psych. As soon as he got out of the mental ward, he decided, he was going to a) drink himself to half-death, and when that didn’t work out to forget his own name, which he knew it wouldn’t, b) re-visit this house. So he could cry.
He would’ve done fine just denying everything. He didn’t need confrontation.

Cain was getting educated. He always thought education was about numbers, and adding them to each other, and cramming, but apparently it was all about The Ten Best Ways To Kill A Man.
His young mind reformed easily, and he was a fast learner. Everyone was going to be so pleased with him. He couldn’t wait to get home and tell Skia what he had learnt. He was going to be so proud.
He hadn’t known Skia or very long, but he really liked him. He was always really nice to him, and he gave him sweets when he felt bad, and when he wanted to cry, Skia hugged him and somehow, it made everything okay.
He was going to make Skia proud someday, he vowed. And he’d never ever disappoint him.

He really was gone this time. He was sure of it. He felt confused as he felt, really felt, the bullet go through his heart and come out on the other side.
He’d never wanted to die like this. No, actually, he hadn’t wanted to die at all. He was a bloody demon, he was, he was immortal. And still, there’s something about a bullet in one’s heart that makes one doubt immortality.
He couldn’t hear anything anymore, either. There were black spots in front of his eyes, and he didn’t seem to be able to do much of anything anymore, and all he could think was, ‘well, you really set me up here, God.’
Which was strange, since he had never particularly been one about God, so why start now, when he was dying?
And then he was gone.

That was Skia, by the by. Just to be sure.

He still had hope, then. How cute that had been. Staring at the white walls of the loonie bin, hoping, knowing in his very own way, that Skia would just walk in and tell him, ‘come on, it’s been jolly good time, hasn’t it, ha ha, we had you there, hadn’t we,’ and then taking him home and everything’d be okay again. They’d go kill some people, they’d have the most amazing sex they’d ever had, because he’d been in a madhouse for a few months, and then things’d go back to the way they had been.
How sweet, hope, he thought, as he flicked the burning match onto the house and walked away.


He never could stand those illusions magicians created, he thought as he bounced a particularly nasty attack and put up a shield around the girl he was supposed to be protecting. The little cunt thought she was helpful and wanted to come along. Well, it was all he could do to keep her protected, right? He’d get his money, anyway.
Illusions.
Like he hadn’t had a proper education. Ponces, those magicians, the whole lot of them.
Illusion this, he thought, as he ran his sword through the magician.

Aw, that one reminds me of my mother. She always says 'I'll -insert word you said here- you!' Word to my momma!

‘The just always prevail, evil beings!’
Cain sighed. Not only was he alone, so he was a singular evil, but he was getting so tired of this man. The annoying thing was, he could disappear and be on the other side of town a minute later. Well, he couldn’t do that much longer, Cain thought. He could clearly see that the man was getting exhausted.
But his talking.
Oh, see, there he went again.
Where was he? Oh.
Right behind him. With something particularly nasty. Where’d he gotten that? Good thing he wasn’t a demon.
He growled something, turned around and blasted the magic he was up to into the mans face. Man, was he lucky that worked.
He masked his wounds, walked away, and muttered, ‘does this make me one of the just, then?’

Huh. Well, I've about 7 pages more of this, so you needn't worry. Or you need, if you don't like them! Har har, I crack me up.
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