Whoa! Almost went the whole month of March without an update. Sorry, sorry. Will try to post more often :o)
Accept this drabble as my apology. It takes place shortly after Kallie decides to start playing superhero. 361 words.
Title: Take a Bite of My Bad Girl Meat
You've done this before. But only once.
Let him follow you. He's been haunting the park all night, and the sharp tics of his neck remind you of a large bird-of-prey, the kind you've only seen on television, curved talons and widespread wings against the purple sky, giant eyes fixed on a perfect angle of decent. Then a pause, and the bird swoops down.
Let him swoop down upon you.
Block after block. Pass a 24/7 convenience store, fluorescent lights like pinpricks in the dark. You can't risk turning your head to see if he's still behind you, but the light casts his shadow ahead of him, and that's all you need.
Turn down an alleyway. There's a Dumpster nearby, rotting. Duck behind it. Blood pounds in your brain, and there's a lightness, a fluttering in your gut. A cockroach scuttles away from you.
His shadow fills the alleyway. Control your breathing. Wait until he steps into view. His polished shoes glisten.
Now. Do it now. Launch yourself at him, crash into him, smash him into the concrete wall. Your hand finds his neck and squeezes.
He looks down at you, eyes wide but blank and black. He shows you his teeth. Too many for his mouth, too sharp. His ripping and tearing teeth. His real teeth.
Don't be scared.
No. Not with your tendons like steel cables, your granite muscles. You are carved from stone, as solid as the Earth itself.
Yank him forward and slam his head back. He sags, and you let him topple onto a pile of garbage bags. Reach down, flip him over, and lift him off his feet. He's conscious, and you hold him there until he understands. You will be watching. You will show him no salvation if you see him again.
He closes his eyes. His lips move as if he were praying. He understands.
Drop him. Leave him there, among the wet cigarette butts and gnawing rats. The rush of adrenaline beats in your heart and electricity prickles your skin. You wish he had put up more of a fight. Maybe the next one will. Or maybe the next.
You can wait.