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31_days2007-08-01 11:50 pm
swollenfoot.livejournal.com) wrote in 31_days2007-08-01 11:50 pm
[August 1] [Original] Decay & Erosion
Title: Decay & Erosion
Day/Theme: August 1/Who knocks at my heart?
Series: Orignal - On My Way
Character/Pairing: Sai, An Che
Rating: PG
Word Count: 500
Day/Theme: August 1/Who knocks at my heart?
Series: Orignal - On My Way
Character/Pairing: Sai, An Che
Rating: PG
Word Count: 500
For one annoyingly, closely-hovering creature supposedly anchored to the living world by accidentally attaching to a fragment of her soul, the boy who introduced himself as Sai Sikatuna had been rare to sight these days. With the infrequency of his apparitions, one could almost believe that he was indeed a ghost. Evidence supporting this claim had been mounting the past month she’d been forced to endure his presence. It was disconcerting.
These days, he wasn’t constantly trailing her, making irritating commentary he seemed to think witty. She glimpsed him once or twice a day, usually when opening doors, usually still startling her enough to elicit a gasp or a strangled screech. He would be sprawled across a deserted hallway in school or hunched beside the entrance to the bathroom. Out of pride, she resisted telling him off; eventually, she realized he wasn’t, in fact, doing it on purpose.
He always missed her surprised expression, for one thing. She would stare at him (not without a certain amount of animosity) for a few seconds before he’d realize it. When he did, he would turn his face to her and break into that maddening, knowing grin. What the hell did he know? Nothing, as a matter of fact. He had not gained omniscience after death. He simply did it to infuriate people.
As it was, she couldn’t bring herself to kick his upturned, duplicitous visage. Maybe she was finally feeling sorry for him. After all, he couldn’t be wanting this anymore than she was. Wouldn’t any dead person want to move on to where ever it was dead people move on to? They wouldn’t want to linger in the fluster of living activities they were no longer entitled to. Not every murdered soul wanted to come back for vengeance, and Sai had never struck her as the vindictive type.
“You’re blocking the way,” she said to him one day.
He made a mocking bow.
“Move.”
“I’d happily oblige, Little Miss An Cherise Sepulcherero—spelled with a single ‘n’—if you point me to a better spot.”
“I thought you’ve more or less infiltrated the floorboards of my bedroom with your slimy hyphae.”
Sai paused, but as usual, his expression said nothing.
“And don’t call me that,’” she added irritably. “It’s An Che, or I’ll pour fungicide on you.”
“If you say so,” he drawled, as he lazily moved away from the refrigerator door. “If you weren’t such a nerd, I’d have thought you’re coming on to me.”
Being a non-violent person by nature, she resisted from rendering serious bodily harm on his animated cadaver. (Though she did wonder whether a second knifing would actually hurt him, being that he was, as proven by experience, tangible to her.) As it was, he was back to his annoying, obtrusive self, and no amount of regretting that one midge of unwilling compassion was going to shut him up.
“Wait. . .” he trotted after her, alarmed. “Don’t tell me you really are com–!”
“Oh, shut up, delusional corpse.”
- 2100 080107
These days, he wasn’t constantly trailing her, making irritating commentary he seemed to think witty. She glimpsed him once or twice a day, usually when opening doors, usually still startling her enough to elicit a gasp or a strangled screech. He would be sprawled across a deserted hallway in school or hunched beside the entrance to the bathroom. Out of pride, she resisted telling him off; eventually, she realized he wasn’t, in fact, doing it on purpose.
He always missed her surprised expression, for one thing. She would stare at him (not without a certain amount of animosity) for a few seconds before he’d realize it. When he did, he would turn his face to her and break into that maddening, knowing grin. What the hell did he know? Nothing, as a matter of fact. He had not gained omniscience after death. He simply did it to infuriate people.
As it was, she couldn’t bring herself to kick his upturned, duplicitous visage. Maybe she was finally feeling sorry for him. After all, he couldn’t be wanting this anymore than she was. Wouldn’t any dead person want to move on to where ever it was dead people move on to? They wouldn’t want to linger in the fluster of living activities they were no longer entitled to. Not every murdered soul wanted to come back for vengeance, and Sai had never struck her as the vindictive type.
“You’re blocking the way,” she said to him one day.
He made a mocking bow.
“Move.”
“I’d happily oblige, Little Miss An Cherise Sepulcherero—spelled with a single ‘n’—if you point me to a better spot.”
“I thought you’ve more or less infiltrated the floorboards of my bedroom with your slimy hyphae.”
Sai paused, but as usual, his expression said nothing.
“And don’t call me that,’” she added irritably. “It’s An Che, or I’ll pour fungicide on you.”
“If you say so,” he drawled, as he lazily moved away from the refrigerator door. “If you weren’t such a nerd, I’d have thought you’re coming on to me.”
Being a non-violent person by nature, she resisted from rendering serious bodily harm on his animated cadaver. (Though she did wonder whether a second knifing would actually hurt him, being that he was, as proven by experience, tangible to her.) As it was, he was back to his annoying, obtrusive self, and no amount of regretting that one midge of unwilling compassion was going to shut him up.
“Wait. . .” he trotted after her, alarmed. “Don’t tell me you really are com–!”
“Oh, shut up, delusional corpse.”
- 2100 080107