A female with a height of around 5'10" stepped out of a shadowy closet, her long hair resting easily on her comparably frail shoulders. A shade of red could be seen in the ensemble of hair as she quickly and quietly passed by the now closed closet door into the hallway. The new wooden floors made little noise under her size seven feet, she had taken extra precaution in wrapping them twice in thick black socks. She wore an equally dark long sleeved shirt, with a matching pair of pants that stretched down to her ankles, leaving human color disguised by material. She stood for a moment with her head cocked to the side, hoping to hear something. What? Something, something, something.
When satisfied, she literally slid in hopes of keeping secrecy from... Continuing on to a kitchen, well kept and looking cleansed from floor to counters. The popular dark gray marble counters reflected the little light coming in from a window displaying the night outside to the insider. The woman ran her gloved fingers across the smooth surface, and then looked out to the seen back yard with her brown eyes, watching quietly as the wind moved a few branches and surrounding leaves in slight effort to the left of the scene. Her eyes stared on, now glazed over with a far off expression as the internal mill worked hard to comprehend, or justify. Her eyes seemed to soften and then become rigid as her eyebrows wrinkled inwards and her face curved in disgust as she remembered a thing of importance. Her eyes did not stray from the view, straight and narrow, seeing nothing, but the memorable cloud of deep thought and self justification. Her naked lower lip trapped itself behind her model perfect white teeth in a worried biting manner and she broke her look, throwing her gaze at a coffee pot sitting next to a white microwave that had blinked momentarily for some purpose, she was sure, but of no matter to her. The woman gently placed her eyes once more on the nearly unchanged exterior of the window pane and then moved on around the middle piece counter. She stroked the pale light switch as she turned the corner into the hall once more and found herself walking impulsively toward the end of the hallway into the small living room of the apartment. She stood in the door way looking within the room and slowly scanning it for the introductory impression. A smile crept onto her face as she saw the similarity between the apartment holder's blue leather chair and her own at home. Stepping forward she left a temporary indention on the soft, light gray, traditionally lovable carpet. The T.V. remained hidden from view by a beautifully built and equally masterfully carved mahogany casing with useful DVD shelving space integrated into the set. The woman moved ahead and graced one of the couches with her presence as she stared at the closed off T.V. set moving her lips to a visual only seen by herself. Her lips quivered for a second, seizure like and then corrected themselves to the continuation of the unspoken narration. She continued this activity for minutes until the "GONG" of an ancestral clock resonated the time of two throughout and she slowly arose to the slight squeaking of the responsive springs. Her hand trembled slightly as she picked an apple from the platter on the small table between both couches. She could almost feel the naturally fluent texture through her hidden hand, a bite of spite would be so welcome and nourishing to her craving. Her craving. Why? Revenge, power, or brilliant onliness.
She restrained herself and took a few careful tentative seconds to place the fruit in exactness as she whispered "Back to the natural unnaturalness of your fruitful unity". She inspected her work and carefully waved her cascade of hair back behind her shoulder to rest once more. A thought skipped through her head, if she had taken the bite, should it have been a green apple, or a red one? She had thought she liked the look of the green one, but had had a red one earlier in the day and remembered it was "of a good taste". She contemplated this question a while further as she spotted a pleasant view to the neighboring playground through the living room window. Oh how she remembered her thankfully amazing childhood! Her father had been a f* and her mother a dog. How? Insanity, analogy, or simple idiocy.
The playground swings were still draining water drop by drop with the help of the supplied imbalance the wind brought. The dirty yellow glow of the street light shown on the extremities of the play area. She could barely see the slide through the night and instead watched the glittering of droplets of water as they refracted the illumination in random pattern. She had been outside a great portion of her own life and always appreciated the basic being of things, as they appeared to her. Where? Locally, nationally, or internationally.
The green or the red? She postulated upon it while eying the vegetation silently swaying from rare occasion until the next. In French the color red is rouge, and green is vert. Wasn't that something? Why would they choose green which starts with a "g" to start with a "v"? Then she remembered that the French language had existed before the English, and therefor should be looked at from the other angle. How odd! The woman smiled recognizing her mistake and re-established the truth for herself. I do like vert, it sounds so interesting she thought. "...I liked the red one..." she quietly told herself and nodded in self affirmation. Finally removing herself from the window she turned to back track down the hallway. She quietly slid down the slippery wood ever thinking about the romantic language of the French; the romantic language? I wonder why that really is, she continued to wonder continuing to edge closer to her destination, a door on the opposite wall from closet she had hid in. Passing the kitchen, she glanced at the time electronically illustrated on the oven, forty one past the double "GONG" she thought. She ran both of her hands along the sides of the walls running parallel to her while quickening her pace, making a ripple-like effect demonstrated by her hands and her protruded chest imitating the spear like front of a ship. She slowed soon after she had begun as she reached the intended target and steadied herself. She thought and said aloud one more time.. "the red one is the one I would have wanted, yes, yes", she flashed white teeth as she checked her garb from head to feet. She then cautiously opened the door and slunk inside the pitch-dark room, visualizing her surrounding quickly and efficiently. The shape of square posters were barely visibly plastered on the wall and a closed, shuttered window was in plain view directly across the door and right above a bed. A bed side table and complimentary lamp caught her eye due to the book lying on the stand. She did not utter a sound, but remarked to herself that she too knew how to read and loved the book "Alice in Wonderland". She read the title of the book and found it to be a book of Sigmund Freud, she had never heard of this "Sigmund Freud", and it did not look too appealing to her. She set her gaze a drift and found it glaring at the deep breathing bosom of a woman. After observing her quietly for a moment she said in a voice barely audible even in the presence of silence "My name is B*, my dog told me my name is b*, do you like it?", there was no response except for the repetitive breathe in, breathe out of the woman's slumbering mind and body. "I have been watching you for a few days now, because my dog told me I should be more like others." she said in an equally quiet tone as before. "I came here to ask you one question, I'm normally not this forward, I just had an urge to know tonight, I would very much like to know... Will that be a problem?" She leaned in a few inches closer. "You don't seem to want to talk. Am I supposed to guess?" She asked confusedly. "I like your hair, it's shorter than mine, is that something I should change do you think? It's okay, I don't mind if you say no, I'm trying to be like you, remember?" She whispered very softly. "I have such white skin, is it better if I lay in the sun like I've seen on T.V.?" She crinkled her brow in slight indecision. "If you don't want to tell me, that is okay, my F* told me once that if you want to get information out of someone or something, you have to sometimes force it out. I wasn't sure what he meant when I was little, but he showed me and now I understand. So you don't think I copy everything I see, I won't use his way of "forcing". I saw this in a movie, Pulp something, I don't remember the name of the movie, sorry." She smiled absolutely thrilled at her knowledge of movies and put one of her hands in her pocket, retrieving a pistol from within it's depths. "Now will you talk to me?" she asked a little agitatedly and then after the continuing of nothing, but breathing motion she continued after raising the pistol and removing the safety, "I could get in trouble for this, but I want my dog to like me, I really do and this will help, so please talk soon, I don't want to have to "force" you for too long". Still no acknowledgement from the brunette in the bed, fast asleep continuously unawares. "I didn't enjoy it either when father, I mean f*, did his way either, but you don't want to answ...". "Crack" a shot is fired stinging deep in the core of the woman, setting light to the whole room and her stunned, afraid face. Her silhouette stands, mortified until another resounding shot fills the ears and lights up the room again, this time her illuminated face is distant and flat featured, nothing seems to express emotion, no regret and no joy, simply nothingness. Another shot, and another, a barrage of gun fire filling the room with deafening noise. With each moral slap, and with each breaking of darkness, the aggressor's features twist and writhe from one emotion to the next. Her eyes widen, and widen, her mouth agape, her face contorted and hair in a mess as she throws her head back and forth wildly for no apparent reason and then, then it comes. It comes from the very depths of the human core, the mark of the uneducated, uncontrolled killer comes forth in the powerful sweep of understanding, of a definite intertwining of joy and sorrow, the cancellation of the two in the blast of neutrality as all and no emotions burst forth and only a smirk climbs up from the deep interior war onto her lips and bends them into an external sight of satisfied calmness. The intensity rattles her insides like an unconquerable beast held by a cage of wished bars; the gut wrenching down pour of mental emotion sinks her to her knees and she sobs uncontrollably amidst a slight splattering of blood on her being and her warm tears follow the most perfect path as they run downwards across her flushed cheeks and over her still smirking lips, right back into her open mouth.