Balance

As she glares at him, the world seems to darken, as if a thick mist has settled over her careworn eyes.
         Her vision shifts and she is outside of herself, looking at her look at him.  She is grinning; it’s not a pleasant look.  The room blurs for a second and when it clears she can see herself on top of him; a dark-skinned young woman with ancient eyes, her knees digging into his stomach.  He’s trying to throw her off, but he can’t move her.  Her eyes are wide, the pupils no more than pinpoints of black, and she’s making a sound, not quite a laugh or a scream.  It doesn’t sound human.  Then she is watching through her own eyes again.  She glares down at the boy.  She can feel his heartbeat.  One of her hands is on his chest.  She can feel the muscles in her hand flexing, the strength in them.  Slowly she closes her hand into a fist, digging through cloth and flesh and tearing both away like paper.  He screams.  It’s an annoying sound, and it won’t stop.  She wants it to stop.  Her free hand closes around the front of his throat and squeezes.  The scream cuts off, becoming a funny gurgling, gasping noise.  It’s better than the screaming.  She can still feel his heart beating and she pulls away a little more skin, like she’s looking for it.  Her other hand squeezes a little more tightly and she smiles at the feeling of her nails going through, tiny popping sensations as her nails break the flesh.  It almost feels like peeling an unripe peach.  The gurgle starts to fade and she pulls at his throat, cutting off that sound too.  Silence is much better.  His eyes are wide and thick red veins spider web across them.  She likes the design they make, but she doesn’t want him looking at her.  She doesn’t like him at all.  She lets go of his neck and spreads her hand wide to grab his face.  He starts screaming again and she frowns, lifts his head and pushes it back down to the ground again.  It makes a loud pop and the screaming stops.  His eyes are closed.  She lets go of his face and lifts her other hand off his chest.  It makes a soft squelching sound.  She looks at her hand.  It’s covered in blood.  She thinks it’s such a pretty color: Like the mist.  She smiles.
         With a soft sigh she closes her eyes, and when she opens them again, the boy is still standing in front of her, cursing and making an ass of himself.  This time the room really starts to fade, but then someone walks up behind him.  Another one, his eyes are calm and one hand rises toward her in warning.  He shakes his head.  No.  The mist dissipates and she smiles.  She knows him, he is good.  He keeps the dreams from becoming real and the mist from darkening her sight.  He is the stones around the fire in her mind.
         “Thank you.”  He nods and fades away.  The boy looks at her, head cocked to side.
         “Who the hell are you talking to?”
         She sighs, and her eyes refocus on him.  Her voice is soft and a little wistful.
         “The past…The one who saved you…and me…”
         She turns and walks away, ignoring the boy’s confused protests.
         “I really miss you, you know.”  She closes her eyes and she can see him again, now no more than a memory.
         “But thanks still, for back then.”