Lyn Thorne-Alder (aldersprig) wrote,
Lyn Thorne-Alder
aldersprig

Outcast - for the Giraffe Call

For [profile] ysabetwordmith's prompt

Commenters: 0



Lilah’s murderer was sleeping far too soundly.

She glared at him, laying there in his bed in his happy little condo, dreaming happy dreams and not feeling one whit of remorse for her death, one bit of guilt for her blood on his hands. What did he know about how life really was? She’d worked so hard to get to where she wanted to be, to be who she wanted to be, and then this jerk and his friends had ruined it all in the bar parking lot – and all because the stupid jerk’s stupid friend’s stupid girlfriend had recognized her – from when Lilah was Aaron, no less.

She stomped her foot in frustrated disgust. “Freak,” he’d sneered, as if he had any idea what it was like to be different, perfect blond-haired life and his perfect cleft-chin job and rich-mom teeth. Like he’d ever had anything to hide.

She’d gone through his drawers – through them, literally; she couldn’t touch anything anymore – and found not the slightest dirty secret, nothing but four bibles, three knives, and some rather boring science magazines. He looked so normal, right down to his tighty-whities. So perfectly, absurdly normal. How would he feel if everything about him fit wrong? If he had secrets he had to hide?

She glared down at him. “Die, you miserable smug fucker,” she hissed. He turned over in his sleep, moaning, the first sign of uneasiness she’d seen from him. “Die,” she hissed again, and he moaned, clutching his pillow. “Die, die, die.”

This was fun, but it seemed like she could do more. She sat down on the edge of his bed, and began whispering to him.

It took a month of strange nights for her work to bear fruit, a month of the asshole making more and more surreptitious shopping trips, hiding things in his sock drawer and, finally, adding a pair of tied-dyed boxers to his underwear drawer. It took nights of him donning a “costume” and sneaking into underground meetings, nights of her telling him stories while he slept, a long month where she whispered her dead throat hoarse.

The look on his friends’ face when they caught him buying 20-sided dice was just about as priceless as the beating they gave him for being a nerd.

It was almost better, Lilah pondered, that they hadn’t killed him.


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Tags: giraffecall, giraffecall: result, verse: misc: urban
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