Every now and then, I'm going to post a short piece of fiction on here. I'll shoot for every week, but this may vary. Maybe it will be once a month, or every two weeks. Maybe twice a week if I'm feeling ambitious. We'll see how it goes. Anyway, here's the first one. I'm actually cheating a little because it's a piece I wrote a while back, but I still like it. Next one will be a fresh one. Hope you enjoy.
Unkindness
He told me he loved me. That's how he got me. Amazing how powerful that one little word is, "love" and sad how it can be --and often is-- used as a weapon.
I was a nerdy little college girl: mousy brown hair, brown eyes, thick glasses and not much to speak of in the way of a figure. My mother would try to console me by saying I had "a good personality". We all know what that's code for. Tell me how many guys are actually attracted to a woman on the basis of their personality. I'll wait.
...I thought as much.
Anyway, at the risk of sounding cliché, then he came into my life. Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome. Mr. Perfect. Mr. Right. He had these green eyes that were just to die for, and he was so kind, caring, intelligent, and most importantly, he was interested in me. Not any of the other girls on campus, me. Right then and there I should have figured something was wrong. You know how they always say that whenever something's too good to be true it probably is, right? I should have been at least a little bit suspicious, a little bit more wary...but I didn't want to be. I wanted this. I wanted somebody I could be happy with. I wanted somebody to want me. Hindsight may be 20/20, but I can't really blame myself.
I suppose I made an easy target. I didn't really have much in the way of friends, so I was often alone in a corner of the Student Commons reading a book or working on my laptop. I was always a little shy, and hardly ever was the type to start a conversation. No, actually, that's a lie. I was never the type to start a conversation. Ever. Giving presentations in class was always hell, what with thirty-something pairs of eyes boring into me and the professor telling me to speak up while I'm barely managing the little squeaky voice I'm speaking in. I always hated presentation days. But you'd think that if I couldn't speak in front of thirty people I could at least talk to one, right? Hahahaha, no. It was just as bad.
But there he was, this magnificent specimen of manhood. Like a god in the flesh, he'd descended from the heavens --or the stairs-- and sat himself down next to me. I just kept working, figuring that he was probably only taking a break for a few minutes and wasn't interested in a flyspeck like me at all. Why would he be? Then...then he spoke to me. It was only a simple "How are you?", but still. I managed a tiny response of "Good", and figured that would be it. Just polite small talk, and then he'd be on his way and forget I ever existed. Then he continued to talk to me. He didn't just go away. He actually seemed interested in me as a person, and the further it went on, the easier it became for me to speak. My usual anxiety when dealing with other people just melted away after a while, and I was terribly disappointed when I realized that my next class was in five minutes. I didn't want it to end. I figured he was some mythological creature, kind of like a unicorn, and if I left, he'd vanish in a poof of smoke never to be seen again.
But he asked for my number. Told me he'd like to see me again. You know very well that I gave it.
I don't remember what the day's lecture was in class. I wasn't paying very much attention, you see.
In the coming days, my new friend and I spent a lot of time together, chatting on the phone, through IMs, or in person. I was happy. Even in light of what he did to me, I have to admit he made me happy. It doesn't mean I want to admit it, especially as I know now it was all a sick game for him, but I'm not in the habit of lying. Maybe that's why I didn't kill him. Oh dear, I just gave part of the ending away, didn't I? Never you worry. There's still more.
In time, he asked me out. This was the first time anyone had asked me out ever, and I was half-convinced that this meant I'd really been in a coma all this time, and all this was probably a figment of my imagination, the delusions of an unconscious mind. Even if it was, there was no reason not to accept. Of course I said yes. I'll admit, I was a little worried that he might want to go farther than I was comfortable on the first date, but I really shouldn't have. He stayed within my limits, took me out for dinner and a movie, and didn't ask me to come back to his place. No, he took me back home, gave me a kiss, and told me he'd see me again tomorrow. I could have melted. Had I died right there, I would have died the happiest woman in the world.
We went on a lot of dates. Museums, a play once, more movies...he had money to throw away on me, I'll give him that. I had him meet my family, and my parents were happy that their little girl had finally found someone. Then, he closed the door of the trap. He said it. Those three little words. "I love you". Those three little words, and that was it. I would have walked into fire for him if he told me to. From that moment on he'd won, and he knew it. Those three little words had sealed my fate.
The day finally came when he asked me if I'd like to meet his family. They didn't live in this city, but rather in a quiet suburban area about a three hour's drive away. Of course I said yes. I said goodbye to my parents, told them I'd see them when I got home, and off we went. He'd remained as sweet and affectionate to me as ever as we drove out of the city and off into no-man's land. We'd been in the car about an hour and a half when he pulled over, and asked me to get out. There was something important he needed to show me. I obliged him, thinking it was a bit peculiar but not anything bad, right? Yes, it was clueless and stupid of me, but remember: I loved him, and I thought he felt the same way about me.
The thing he wanted to show me? A gun. A gun aimed directly at my head. I barely had time to process the danger, his smile, my imminent end. I didn't want to believe it. But in hindsight, I should have known.
Bang. Dead.
He left me there to rot, and eventually the ravens came. I'd never liked ravens. They always creeped me out, all big and black and always staring at you like they knew far more than they let on. As carrion birds are wont to do, they began to eat me. I don't know what happened or how, but my mind or soul or whatever you want to call it overwrote those of the birds. One moment nothing, the next I'm staring out of twelve pairs of eyes all focused on my dead body, in full 3D Gore-o-Vision. You never look good when you can see yourself from twelve different angles. More than that, I could taste myself in my mouth. Mouths. Beaks. I was effectively eating myself. I'm honestly surprised I didn't go stark raving mad right there.
The birds are many, but they're all me. They no longer have wills of their own. Each one is an extension of myself.
It took a while, but I found my way back home. Flying's a bit odd, and I was shaken by my ordeal and my new state, but I found my way back. And I found him, merrily going about his life like he'd never taken mine.
Do you know what a gathering of ravens is called? An unkindness. An unkindness of ravens. It never seemed appropriate until right then.
I descended upon him then like a goddess of vengeance. There's very little one frail, unarmed human can do against so many angry birds. I beat him with my wings, I screeched, I flapped, I ripped and tore. I pecked out his eyes, those perfect green eyes. My claws raked the skin of his face, his lips, his neck, anywhere I could find bare skin. I tore away his ears. I didn't kill him, I told you that. But I left him disfigured, hideous. He'd never be able to charm another girl ever again.
An unkindness for an unkindness.
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