Gilman Black (gilmanblack) wrote in horror_story, @ 2013-03-12 08:47:00 |
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Entry tags: | complete, cycle002, gilman |
Who: Gilman and Dahlia’s corpse.
What: Gilman is having a one sided conversation with a corpse.
Where: Gilman’s trailer.
When: January 6th, early morning.
Rating: Gilman is talking to a corpse. C for Creepy? C for Corpse Conversation?
He was a murderer. There was no getting around that. He’d always had a slimy profession, always indulged in his darker urges, but now the act of peeping in on people without them knowing seemed like child’s play. It was child’s play. The album had forced him to take the inevitable next step. He’d struggled and protested along the way, but now that he’d done it, he realized just how foolish, how childish he’d been. It felt like the first time he’d had sex: underwhelming and affirming all at once. Murdering someone wasn’t as big a deal as he’d thought, and now that he’d done it, he knew he could do it. He knew that it didn’t take much. That it didn’t have to be some cinematic event. It was just something that happened. Something that a lot of people did. Something that he could do.
Gilman ran his fingers along the edges of his photograph.
“I could’ve gone to art school,” he said, turning to look at Dahlia. His breath was visible in the air – he’d turned his heater off – and he was appropriately bundled up. Dahlia was propped up on his couch, sightless eyes staring off, “I could have. My stepfather had beat me down too much, though. Said that shit was for ‘fags’. Can you believe it? I took it to heart. I wanted him to approve of me, some pathetic alcoholic. And he was better than my real dad. That asshole couldn’t even stick around.”
Gilman sighed and tilted his head, and his brows drew together sharply at whatever he imagined was being said.
“Oh fuck off,” he snarled, slamming the album shut, “I bet you were daddy’s little fucking princess. You never had to cower in your room and hope he was too drunk to remember you were alive. You never tried writing your real dad letters, begging him to come back and save you from your stepfather.”
He shook his head slowly and got to his feet, waiting for Dahlia to stop speaking. He pointed an accusing finger at her.
“I’m not making fucking excuses!” he snapped, “I did what I had to. You don’t know what it’s like, to have a responsibility! I had to. And I did it. What sort of responsibility did you ever have? Making sure your hair was done? That your legs were waxed? Please.”
Gilman sat down again and pulled his gloves on. Much as he enjoyed touching the album, his fingers were getting numb.
“I might go see Belli again,” he mused, shooting Dahlia an angry look, “See if he has anything that helps against mouthy whores who are supposed to be dead.”
Dahlia continued to remain dead silent and still, despite the animated conversation.
“I don’t know who’s next,” he admitted, “I’ll have to go look—no! Not her. I won’t kill her. She’s an actual fucking person, not some broken blow-up doll like you. Maybe I’ll kill your meddling fucking friend for cockblocking me New Years Eve. Yeah, I didn’t think you’d like that idea. You don’t call the shots. You’re dead.”
Gilman grabbed his things and stormed out of the trailer, taking a deep breath of cold air once he was out. She was getting shrill. It had just been muttering at first, but now she just kept talking and it was getting on his nerves. Maybe Belli would have a solution. Seemed reasonable. Gilman was almost exhausted for cash now, but he would happily do a trade. The first one had been easy.
He grinned, amused by a private joke. Maybe he’d tell Dahlia when he got home. That would be sure to set her off.