tigertiger (![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} tigertiger) wrote in ![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/community.gif){kind=small} wished,@ 2010-10-11 21:25:00 |
 |
|||
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
When: Monday Night
Where: His Flat
What: Stephen dreams and what he sees isn't very pretty. [Prophecy]
Rating: pg-13
Open/Closed: Closed/Complete
Gold, someone flips a coin. Heads you win, tails you loose. Gold, his father snatches the glinting galleon out of the air and laughs. Says,
"Stephen, this is out of your hands. Out of mine. You can't always predict what'll happen."
And wide eyed, like a doe...
There is a small creature staring right through him, eyes dark and wide. It looks scared, it looks like it might... might at any moment..
His father flips the galleon. Gold glints in the sun and Stephen shields his eyes for a moment. He says, heads, heads, heads. Fifth time in the row he is right. The galleon clatters to the ground, clinks against the brick...
Red brick burns so hot he can smell the heat, smell the flames, can feel them on his cheeks. Black symbols char scars into the building and he reaches out to touch them, as if to read them by his fingers, like braille.
"Again," says his father and the galleon goes flying. Tails, tails, tails, no wait, heads.
Sixth time and he's wrong. So wrong it makes his head ache, makes his eyes sting. His father laughs, says, "Bloody hell son.."
The creature hangs by it's hind legs, split open and spilling red on everything. It's like ink, so messy, so messy. He reaches a hand up and fingertips catch two drops that burn like he's touching fire again. Then it's not the creature, and it's not dead. Just a girl, head hanging and arms strung up. She's been baptized in blood and her gold hair glimmers with the stuff thick in her curls.
His father points a wand at him, splits a nasty grin and says,
"Predict this. Avada..."
When Stephen wakes up he spills words out of his mouth, spills them into the darkness.
"Doe. Blood. Gold. Bricks and bricks and burning and.."
He can't finish. He spends an hour throwing up in the bathroom and every time he closes his eyes he sees flashes of the prophecy. A girl, with dirty golden hair dripping with blood. A doe ready to be slaughtered. A brick wall with symbols, old so old he doesn't recognize them as even ancient runes, burnt hot and charred black.
Stephen slowly stands and with a hand wiping across his mouth he stalks out of the bathroom toward his desk, to his journal.