Drip

That is all that they could hear — the 2 of them. It was only ever the two of them really. There were more, but as time and life happens, dynamics and priorities change, at the pace of a lightning strike. Then there were 2.

As much as you could read so much more on their drama daily, the moment they killed was the moment any part of them became interesting. He announced, louder than anything heard before “WHAT DID I DO?” to her opening gambit “You” while pointing with something held in her hand. He could not quite make out what it was at first from where he was crouching.

The Lady and the Boy — not named by age, but demeanour.

The Lady, as can be presumed, often times lead the two through life. Previous love interests, and interests is all they were, an action was never taken between either of them.

…drip…

The Boy more often than not lead with his ego before anything else. Only sometime, far after the fact did he think through the situation with some form of logic. And whenever you watch him when he initially pursues whatever mindless thought he has, it is intriguing; to watch a mind so set on a belief they will literally not hear what anyone else says. It is infectious.

Drip…drip, is all they heard before they slid through the open back door. Sounded like someone was finishing on the dishes before bed.

Crouching next to a cabinet, looking for whatever was inside. It didn’t matter. The two had already broken in: everything is worth looking into at this point.

The Boy trying to use the drip of the sink as a form of echo location to detect pets and the such.

Immediately the lady disappeared, so soon after they entered through the conservatory he did not see where she went to. So, acting as always — on instinct — he locked his gaze on a cabinet standing in the living room, and plodded onward.

DRIP…that one startled her for some reason. She was on her way upstairs and yet sounded as if it was hanging behind her head. A light was on, barely seen through slits between the door and its frame. Hiding what was behind. Where do I even start? What would be too much to take? These thoughts running through her head as she contemplated on the landing. What is he up to? She walks further in to the centre of the flooring, equidistant between the 3 doors she has been presented with. Not really wanting to go into any of them, but being pulled toward the one with the light on.

Now outside the lit door, she picks up a knife, or at least a knife in appearance…

SLIT…ouch.

She misjudged the shape and cuts her hand with what can be defined as a knife, made out of stained glass on a more caring glance. A valuable.

The door opens in front of her, a figure only a fraction taller than her stumbles out, it does not clock her but it is too late. She has already violently flinched and sliced toward the figure. The figure flies away into the door and covers itsself.

“Please no. Please. Please leave.” The male tone whispers. He remains at the same volume. Not even attempting to look at her as she backs her way downstairs. “I don’t want to die.” She couldn’t tell how severely she had connected with the side of his face and neck, but she knew it must have been bad for them to remain on the floor the entire time as she bundled her way down.

The boy could hear something similar to a sack of potatoes dropping upstairs as he tried to inspect the contents of the drawers.

GASP

The Boy heard this and immediately span round and dropped to the floor. There was no light to hide from, but he felt it helped.

On all fours — delicately and quietly — he scampered to the nearest cover.

Not only did his hand perfectly rest in a puddle of a cold liquid that had spent some time soaking into the carpet, but the Boy could make out the knee of someone sat in the armchair he was hiding himself behind.

Without any thought, he crawled around to see the situation. An alcoholic. Thank god. Means they’ll be disabled until he leaves at least.

“What’s that?”

Pardon?

“You ‘round to (incoherency)”

“You round for the bloody pipes or what!?”

Stuck in a twisted dilemma, he only came up so he was crouching, now next to the drunk — still confident he was safe in her presence. The Boy reassures the drunk “It’s alright. You get back to your rest, I’ll be out quickly.” He rest his hand on her head, massaging her gently.

He feels a resistance from the Drunk getting stronger as his hand stays there. The Boy slides his hand down to the drunks’ nose and mouth. “I said I’ll be out soon enough. Don’t worry about anything, just sit here.” They are fighting. The boy has rounded the corner and — still crouched — putting a decent amount of weight into holding the Drunk down. Soft murmurs slip through his hand as the Drunk swings her hand up, but her fight dissipates like a sandcastle made of dry sand.

“You” the Lady announces with a gravely, trembling tone…drip. The boy turns around to see something resembling a horror film silhouette pointing toward him. “WHAT DID I DO?” Instantly she drops her hand, pauses and glances upstairs, then darts for him.

He now releases his hand from the Drunk — it was resting on her chin, holding her head up. The boy felt this might have been a way to keep her breathing.

The Lady “Get up.” Awaiting his eyeline, she swaps the hand the blade is held in and covers the wound with her shirt. The Boy “What did you do?” He tries to tend to her hand. She recoils and quickly looks at the Drunk — as much as she can in the lack of light, Then goes, to the opposite side they entered from, toward the front door.

FLICK

The light drowns the room in clarity, the Boy and the Lady squint harder than Eastwood. The Lady examines the room. The Boy scuttling toward the conservatory door.

In this moment the Lady turns the light off again, the Boy forgets where the next object is and tackles it brutally. Breaking something in the process. He gets outside.

The Lady, carefully finds her way out the way she entered. Shutting the door entirely as she does.

She grabs the Boy by the arm, very tightly. He can feel his bicep separating from the rest of his body. He only looks and hopes she hasn’t actually been possessed.

She raises the blade. He acknowledges the reward for their adventure. He negotiates his arm back. She stares into him: What happened?

I don’t know, leaving is best.

He tugs at her arm, wanting with everything to only be leaving. Although they have been walking away for 5 minutes at least, that question still lingers and they both know, without even a sound being made since they escaped their grandparents home.

The End.