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Little Miss Aki

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Member Since: Jul, 2006

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Object Marking in Japanese: A Self-study Programmed Lesson
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A Brief Horror Story
By Little Miss Aki
Monday, October 09, 2006

Rated "PG13" by the Author.

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A brief horror story



Shower time is depicted in movies as being the most vulnerable…the beautiful blond woman with a scream that can break even the thickest of bullet proof glass usually naked in a steaming splish splash of water…the bad guy walking into the door, knife raised, her back to him giving the movie-goer a profile view of a tit.
Not so with we few of strong character and even more invulnerable will.
Perhaps not as skinny as Jessica Alba, my curves not so coveted, my hair disheveled in ebony locks that cover a back riddled with scars resembling those of the Count of Monte Cristo. Eyes shut to soap, body craving the heat of the water because the apartment was at 60 degrees and it's 32 degrees outside. Yes, not exactly a movie-goers cup of tea, but perhaps just as terrible a realization…for the bad guy who attacked me was hardly…well, how do we say…corporeal.
Rinsing away the soap that would threaten to bleed and blister my eyes, I heard a clittering sound, the sound of drywall being cracked. I opened one eye, seeing a line of black being drawn in the ceiling as the drywall split along some unknown seam.
Did I think to myself, perhaps this is a sign that a demon approaches me? Or some other thought of phenomenal proportion? No…the first thoughts through my brain were God Damn, I'm going to have to pay for that! Because my logic kicked in to fast for my spirit to begin fabrication and considered the possibility that the hot steam of my shower had split the cold dry wall.
Sighing in resolution, I turned back to lather conditioner into my hair to release it from its knotted cleanliness. Then I saw something else, perhaps not saw as much as smelled…the scent of death…
Death has a very distinct smell, the odor of decay and perfume of helplessness as Atropos cuts the tread of mortality putting an end to life. This scent was as overpowering as the stench that greets you at the doorway of a poorly-managed old folks home. The pungency froze my senses in semi-gag as my eyes gaped at the crack which began to bleed red droplets of blood onto my white tiled floor, counter, and silver shower curtain.
Again my thoughts were not of evil. Dear God, someone upstairs has killed themselves in their bathtub! Another logical whim of a mind trying to keep the soul from panicking.
It was then that images were put in my mind to thwart its logic. When I say put in my mind, I mean projected there for none of this was real of course. The images I saw of darkness, of shadows, of forms moving through the wall like it was a sheet of plastic 6 mil sheeting…all were lies, for I could reach out to touch the moving figure and find the wall flat. In shutting my eyes the world spun around three times really fast, came up and kicked me in the chest. Screaming voices seemed to bellow into my ears at 3 centimeters away from their source…in fact, the voices were my own voice shrieking not in fear…but for lack of anything better to do. It confirmed I still had a voice.
I remember shutting my mouth, thinking that this is the part of the movie where the flesh eating eel shoots out of the toilet into my gullet and eats my tranchea while I'm still breathing. The lights had exploded, the glass shards had shot through the air into the walls, the world was shaking like a wild horse trying to throw me from its back. My water and blood slicked hands clung to my shower curtain, begging for it to keep me close to the ground.
Cold hands then, not so much unreal as just frosty, pulled at my thighs, at my cellulite ridden buttocks, at the curve of my abs, at my hair, and at the neck. My hands were losing their battle to grip the shower curtain, the screams had resumed, accompanied it seemed by some impish laughter. In the moment that I let loose the shower curtain I felt no fear, only humiliation…I was naked, wet, alone, and being tormented by something or someone who had no right to do such evil to me.
My head struck the side of my bath tub and I felt a burning heat as I was swept into the stream of the shower head once more. My hip struck the metal faucet, and I felt a bar of soap slip out from underneath my fumbling fingers.
That soap saved me. It saved my soul in ways no Angel might've had they been nearer. It was tangible, it was real, that meant that this attack was real, that I could fight it…if I could just get on my feet I could fight it.
The icy grips that dug into my legs, my thighs, my chest and neck, and tore ruthlessly at my hair, all seemed to recoil abruptly as I let out a rebel yell and struck out with a fist. My knuckled connected with the wall, now covered in blood, and pain shot up my arm. That pain spoke to me, it said Yes, the pain is real, this is real, you can fight…
Then all of a sudden the movie Dune flashed through my vision, temporarily banishing all the thoughts of what was striking at me blindly in this bathroom…
Fear is the Mind Killer…and then, for the briefest of moments, so brief that if I personally hadn't done it, I would never have known it had happened…I smiled.
The smile was stopped by some great block of steel and ice that struck across my face from an invisible weapon and its invisible wielder. Blood sprayed out of my mouth in a coppery mucus that kept me conscious in its disgust.
"Sweet God give me strength!" My voice was a screech, and for a moment I thought perhaps the Harpies had flown at mach 5 to my bathroom to assist in my torment. But then the lights were on, the blood gone, my boyd aching, and the blood from my mouth coursing down a gash in my chest that matched my own blood-caked fingernails.
For a moment I gawked, I marveled, I stared, I prayed…I glanced for signs of what had occurred and saw no cracked drywall, no bloodied wall, no cold hands…
And then, grabbing my cellphone in a bloody hand, I dialed 9-1-1…having ripped myself in my fury to get away from my attackers.
The voice that answered was the impish chuckle…I hung up before they asked any questions, and with a toss, sent the phone into the still steaming shower. It vibrated violently as it died.
Fine, I thought….I'll walk.


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Reviewed by Robert Montesino 10/11/2006
Throughly entertaining & enjoyable read! Thanks for sharing! Your wit complements your prose quite nicely.

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