*Magnify*
SPONSORED LINKS
Get it for
Apple iOS.
Creative fun in
the palm of your hand.
Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/2091195-Sleep-With-Dirt-On-Your-Coffin
by Fen
Rated: 13+ · Prose · Dark · #2091195
Something I wrote a long time ago.
The figure dressed in a black leather jacket, wearing a motorcycle helmet of the same shade with its tinted visor snapped shut, strode angrily through the deserted hallway of the grand statehouse that had long been abandoned and condemned. In retrospect, Maevon thought bitterly, this dilapidated, rundown shambles of a place perfectly complimented the only resident currently living within its cracked and fading walls.

Reaching a set of double doors, he shoved them open loudly, not caring that the force of his push sent them slamming back in their hinges, ancient metal screeching from this mistreatment overladen by the shuddering thud as they hit the wall, sending down a cascade of dust and cobwebs. At a long, antiquated banqueting table, seated in the grand but archaic wooden dining chair complete with discolored velvet lining on the back and seat, sat an individual wreathed in shadows being cast from the immense fireplace that was currently burning and crackling away merrily.

Pulling off the helmet which now felt claustrophobic and suffocating, Maevon shook out his shoulder-length hair and sent the headgear skittering across the hardwood floor with a flick of his wrist. The tall, thin figure stationed by the sitting individual's elbow, also dressed in black clothing, but of a much more formal nature, flinched slightly as the reinforced lexan made full face apparel bounced off the peeling skirting board. Clearing his throat, the sharply dressed figure spoke demurely. "Master Maevon has returned."

Maevon's lip curled a little as he spat back, striding towards the table. "No, really. He hadn't noticed. Thanks for the update Captain Obvious." Reaching the scratched and scarred surface, he smacked his hands, palm down onto it, causing the various antique eating utensils to jump slightly. "What the fuck was that? Sending me to take out a target. No problem for me, you said. An in and out job, you said. Yeah, right. In and out my ass. I wasn't paid to go hand-to-hand with a mortal trained in their primitive military fighting techniques."

Before he could continue, a quiet but menacing voice purred from the seated figure. "Quiet."

His mouth clamped shut, Maevon's top lip trembled from the exertion of attempting to force his mouth open. Then he was fixed with a piercing gaze from the glowing eyes of the voice's owner. "Let me stop you there, Maevon. Firstly, I don't 'pay' you. I allow you to continue living. Secondly," He slowly drew himself out of the chair and walked over to where Maevon stood, eyes smouldering angrily like hot coals. "you WILL remember who you serve." Holding out his hand, he spoke almost condescendingly. "Kneel."

Body now shaking from his futile exertion, Maevon drops to his knees before the figure. A cruel smile crosses the figure's features. "Aren't you a good pet. Now, kiss my ring." With no control, Maevon bent forwards, taking the outstretched hand submissively and placing a shuddering kiss onto the ornate jewelry worn on the ring finger. Leaning back, Maevon stayed in the prostrate position. The individual nodded, satisfied. "You are dismissed." Turning his back, the figure strode away. Maevon briefly thought about jumping him while his back was turned, but thought better of it. The dapper individual followed the other through a small door at the far end of the room, leaving Maevon alone.

As soon as they were gone, Maevon unzipped his jacket and glared coldly at the seemingly plain chain link necklace draped about his collarbone. Grabbing it, fingers pressed against his skin, he began tugging at it. With every pull, he felt his digits press tighter and tighter against his neck. Then, that's followed by a burning sensation and the acrid smell of burning flesh. Letting out a pained half-growl of frustration, he withdrew his fingers and let out a string of curses in his native language as the necklace returned to its normal size.
© Copyright 2016 Fen (mrtotalbrit26 at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates have been granted non-exclusive rights to display this work.
Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/2091195-Sleep-With-Dirt-On-Your-Coffin