“Oh, darling,” the villain sighed, voice laced with mocking pity. They crossed their arms lightly over their chest as they leaned back against the doorframe, each casual movement lined with grace and power.
The hero froze in place at the sight of them, suddenly unable to move, to breathe. Their legs that had been prepared to run and run and run, forever and ever until their lungs gave out, until the villain could never find them again, now trembled in place as their heartbeat spiraled out of control, thundering so loud in their chest that they couldn’t think beyond a panicked no, no, no—
The villain only smiled, cruelty gleaming sharp in their eyes as they strode slowly toward their prey.
They didn’t fight as they were thrown into the cell, only stared at the hero with pleading eyes so full of guilt and regret—and so at odds with the cruel, merciless eyes of the villain who had slaughtered innocents and leveled cities without a second thought.
“Please, just one more chance. I’m trying—I’m trying so hard to be better, for you,” they pleaded, kneeling on the floor of the cell. “Please, please don’t leave me here again—”
“You’re out of chances,” the hero said—cold, unflinching, apathetic. They should have felt some pride at the sight of the mighty villain kneeling, begging at their feet, but they were so tired of dealing with this, of putting up with the same act over and over again, that they felt nothing.
And whatever small part of the hero that had tried, over and over again, to hope, to forgive… it shattered as they slammed the cell door shut on the villain.
“I hate you,” the hero snarled, burning with the force of their rage. “You deserve to suffer, to die for the things you’ve done—”
“Oh, come on, darling,” the villain laughed, stalking closer and closer to the hero’s outstretched blade. “You don’t really believe that, do you?”
The hero didn’t, couldn’t, pull away from the villain’s touch—not as strong, gentle fingers traced a line down their cheek and along their lips, not as their traitorous heart started beating faster, faster, faster.
“Please,” the hero whispered, blade slipping through their fingers to clatter against the stone floor.
They had no strength left to fight this, to do anything but stare in terror as the villain’s power swirled around them, an angry mass of shadows stretching farther and farther out into the world. The villain only laughed, cold and cruel, as that monstrous power burst out of them.
“Please, you don’t want to do this.”
“Oh, darling,” the villain sighed, the words laced with venom, a maniacal gleam in their eyes that was beyond saving, beyond stopping. “I most definitely do.”
“Please,” the villain whispered, “just stay. We can talk about this—”
“I have nothing to say to you,” the hero snarled, pushing past the villain.
“Wait.” The villain grabbed the hero by the arm, a desperate pleading in their eyes as they met the hero’s stare. “Please, I can’t lose you.”
Shame flushed bright red across the villain’s cheeks—shame at their own weakness, at the vulnerability they couldn’t hide—but the hero only jerked their arm away, anger burning in their eyes.
“I can’t do it,” the hero whispered, hands shaking.
They had the villain pinned beneath them, tip of their blade balanced directly over the villain’s heart, yet they couldn’t bring theirself to land that killing blow. Victory was theirs, yet they couldn’t bring theirself to take it.
“Pathetic,”the villain snarled, spitting in the hero’s face. “You’ve always been such acoward.”
Maybe so, the hero thought as they shifted their weight, lowered their blade. Maybe they weren’t cut out for this, to fight and defeat a monster that they only felt sorry for.
The hero reached down to help the villain to their feet, but the villain only scowled at the outstretched hand, at the pity in the hero’s eyes.
“If you can’t do it, I will,” the villain snarled, and plunged their blade deep into the hero’s chest.
“No,” the villain gasped, falling to their knees beside the hero’s body. “No, no, no.”
They pressed their hands to the hero’s chest in a pitiful attempt to stop the bleeding. They were shaking from head to toe, trembling as panic built up in their chest. The hero couldn’t die. The hero couldn’t die. The hero couldn’t die.
“Hey, it’s okay,” the hero whispered, placing a hand over the villain’s, intertwining their fingers together, holding them close to their heart.
“You promised me you’d be okay. You promised me you would live,” the villain whimpered, a single tear falling down their cheek. “You promised.”
The hero only let their eyes fall shut with a final sigh, a soft smile twisting up the corners of their lips.
It was the fear that froze the villain in their tracks. It was the fear that dug a knife into the villain’s heart, brought tears to their eyes, sent shards of glass shattering through their soul.
It was the pure, undiluted terror that shone in the hero’s eyes, the tremors that racked their entire body, and those broken whimpers that broke from their throat… God. The villain’s hand went limp at the sight of it, weapon falling forgotten to the floor.
The hero flinched at the sound. “Y-you… you’re not going to kill me?” they whispered, the words barely more than a shaky breath that broke the villain’s heart.
“No,” the villain whispered, falling to their knees beside the trembling hero, taking the hero’s hands in their own and holding them tight.
The hero’s strength was lagging. They could feel exhaustion pulling at their bones, in every clash of swords that sent them staggering back a few steps.
They were on the verge of losing, but they had been outmatched from the very beginning. Every move they made, every breath they took, was just a delay of the inevitable, a hopeless battle against fate itself.
And the hero was so, so tired of fighting.
They barely registered the feeling of the sword slipping through their fingers. Barely registered the shock that shot down every nerve as their knees crashed into the cold stone floor.
“You don’t get to quit,” the villain snarled, but the hero barely heard the words, the world around them fading to a dull buzzing in their ears. “Pick up your sword and fight back!”
“I trusted you,” the hero whispered, blinking fast against the flow of tears.
The wounded beats of the hero’s heart were the only sound to break the silence stretched thin across the room. The hero lifted their head to meet the villain’s eyes, searching for something there—some guilt or regret or pain to match the hero’s own—but there was nothing. The villain was nothing more than a statue, cold and unmoving, eyes dark and empty when they finally opened their mouth to speak.
The words were cracked and broken, muffled with the hero’s head buried in their arms. They didn’t bother to look up as the villain entered the cell. They didn’t bother to hide their pain, their fear.
“I’m sorry,” the villain whispered, watching the hero’s shoulders shake with silent tears.
“I really thought somebody would come to save you.”
(NOT A PR0MPT) inspired by the song “He Died in Dreams” by Ross Wylde
******
Villain died.
And, of course, Hero knew this. She knew this because the halls were cold, and because her sheets, no matter how long she laid beneath them, were never warm like before. She knew because the tea kettle wasn’t hot every morning like it was when Villain was here, when he inevitably awoke before her because the sounds of birds intrigued him.
Villain was dead.
Yet, Hero occasionally felt a brush of fingertips along her shoulders when the breeze picked up. It was as if Earth were reminding her what accompanied the delicate swoop of her hair. Rather, it was as if it were reminding her of what was missing.
Then again, the clasp of Hero’s necklace appeared at her front. No hand fixed the chain then.
Today, though, she heard a voice, and it tickled the back of her brain. “I need to stay with you,” it said at first. Then, “But I don’t know what to do.”
Tears sprung to Hero’s eyes because- yes- she knew that voice.
“This grief,” Villain’s voice said, “it hurts, and I know it’s hurting you, too.”
“Villain?” she whispered to the wind. A part of her wanted to believe in miracles. She wanted to believe Villain would materialize on the balcony, beneath the moon, and that when he did, he would cup her cheek in a hand and tell her all was well. Everything was a joke, Hero wanted to say to herself.
“The trees look different here, less solid,” the voice- Villain- continued, off topic. “The leaves and pine needles are just a visual, so your hand goes right through them. You can still use branches to climb. I guess there has to be some kind of symbol of life within death, even if it is just a solid branch. I think you’d like it. You were always so fond of meaning, of symbolism, weren’t you?”
“Are you here, Villain?” The question was desperate and perhaps panicked. Was Hero finally losing her mind? Maybe it was she who was dead, or dying, or whatever phase this was. Surely, surely, Villain wasn’t dead and speaking to her from the Land of the Dead. No. That wasn’t possible. So, it was Hero who was dead instead.
“You don’t really hear me, do you?” Villain asked. “It’s just a coincidence that you’re responding.” A pause occurred, and the man, who Hero progressively felt convinced was unreal, continued. “I know death is as difficult as life- probably more so- but you-”
Shewasdead?
No.
But he said-
I know death is as difficult as life.
Why was he saying that to her?
Everything was so confused in Hero’s mind. She could so vividly remember…remember her lover’s…his…she could remember his body. Breathless. Lifeless. Dead.
He was dead.
Then why did she keep questioning it?
“-know that, don’t you? I have to leave at some point, and it should be sooner rather than later. It would save us both the grief. Then again-”
Now was one of those moments in which Hero could imagine Villain pinching the skin between his brows. He was frustrated, and she knew that only through his tone.
“-I could just stay and we could live like this. Two voices in two realms, only one able to hear the other. It’s cruel,” Villain explained.
Hero agreed, “It is cruel,” but not about the two realms. It was obvious the two could hear one another- Villain simply couldn’t believe it.
“Which one of us is dead?” Hero asked, and to her surprise, crickets of the night responded. The near-silence made her feel as if no one had been speaking just moments prior, and made her feel as if she truly had gone insane. Who was to say she wasn’t? The only voice she’d heard in days were her own and a dead man’s. If anyone else in the world heard that statement, they’d put her in counseling. Worser yet, they’d treat her for schizophrenia.
“I almost feel sorry for you.”
Hero jumped at the voice behind her, her hands leaving the balcony before promptly carrying her weight in a spin. She faced the man behind her.
“You really don’t understand which one of you is dead?”
The way Hero’s heart hammered against her ribs made her hesitant to speak. She watched. But watching did nothing as Supervillain approached the balcony of Hero’s apartment. Her body was frozen.
“I had your mind racing earlier,” Supervillain commented, “when I made you think you heard your precious Villain. What makes that mind so empty now?”
Her mind was a blank sheet of printer paper waiting for instruction.
“If my presence is that troubling then why don’t you turn back around? Face away.”
“That would make everything worse,” Hero finally had the sense to snap. In the same moment, her sweaty hands curled into tight, white-knuckled fists. “I want you out.” Her voice shook, but her feet remained planted.
As mighty as she looked, Supervillain chuckled, so lightly intimidated that he even covered his eyes with a hand as if to scoop away tears. “That was cute,” he said. “That was really cute, but here’s the thing; I know how scared you are. I can hear you begging the world to prevent me from reminding you what I did to that little lover of yours.”
Already, it was enough to make Hero see Villain’s body all over again.
“He didn’t deserve it,” she whispered. Hero didn’t notice the way her chin was angled down until Supervillain lifted it in order to wipe away a tear. Weakness like this wasn’t meant to be shown. It made her look vulnerable. It made her look easy to take control over.
Supervillain’s fingers left Hero’s cheek and travelled to her chin as it began to fall again. He lifted her chin slowly while cooing softly to her. “Sh, sh, sh. All traitors deserve what they get.”
The way he said it like a reassurance made Hero’s stomach roll. “Why are you here?” Why is he-
“Tormenting you?” Supervillain shrugged. “Villain betrayed me. I killed him in my anger, and frankly, I’m not satisfied with it.” Exposing Hero’s neck, he said, “Seeing the fear in your eyes is as satisfying as it can get.”
(NOT A PR0MPT) inspired by the song “He Died in Dreams” by Ross Wylde
******
Villain died.
And, of course, Hero knew this. She knew this because the halls were cold, and because her sheets, no matter how long she laid beneath them, were never warm like before. She knew because the tea kettle wasn’t hot every morning like it was when Villain was here, when he inevitably awoke before her because the sounds of birds intrigued him.
Villain was dead.
Yet, Hero occasionally felt a brush of fingertips along her shoulders when the breeze picked up. It was as if Earth were reminding her what accompanied the delicate swoop of her hair. Rather, it was as if it were reminding her of what was missing.
Then again, the clasp of Hero’s necklace appeared at her front. No hand fixed the chain then.
Today, though, she heard a voice, and it tickled the back of her brain. “I need to stay with you,” it said at first. Then, “But I don’t know what to do.”
Tears sprung to Hero’s eyes because- yes- she knew that voice.
“This grief,” Villain’s voice said, “it hurts, and I know it’s hurting you, too.”
“Villain?” she whispered to the wind. A part of her wanted to believe in miracles. She wanted to believe Villain would materialize on the balcony, beneath the moon, and that when he did, he would cup her cheek in a hand and tell her all was well. Everything was a joke, Hero wanted to say to herself.
“The trees look different here, less solid,” the voice- Villain- continued, off topic. “The leaves and pine needles are just a visual, so your hand goes right through them. You can still use branches to climb. I guess there has to be some kind of symbol of life within death, even if it is just a solid branch. I think you’d like it. You were always so fond of meaning, of symbolism, weren’t you?”
“Are you here, Villain?” The question was desperate and perhaps panicked. Was Hero finally losing her mind? Maybe it was she who was dead, or dying, or whatever phase this was. Surely, surely, Villain wasn’t dead and speaking to her from the Land of the Dead. No. That wasn’t possible. So, it was Hero who was dead instead.
“You don’t really hear me, do you?” Villain asked. “It’s just a coincidence that you’re responding.” A pause occurred, and the man, who Hero progressively felt convinced was unreal, continued. “I know death is as difficult as life- probably more so- but you-”
Shewasdead?
No.
But he said-
I know death is as difficult as life.
Why was he saying that to her?
Everything was so confused in Hero’s mind. She could so vividly remember…remember her lover’s…his…she could remember his body. Breathless. Lifeless. Dead.
He was dead.
Then why did she keep questioning it?
“-know that, don’t you? I have to leave at some point, and it should be sooner rather than later. It would save us both the grief. Then again-”
Now was one of those moments in which Hero could imagine Villain pinching the skin between his brows. He was frustrated, and she knew that only through his tone.
“-I could just stay and we could live like this. Two voices in two realms, only one able to hear the other. It’s cruel,” Villain explained.
Hero agreed, “It is cruel,” but not about the two realms. It was obvious the two could hear one another- Villain simply couldn’t believe it.
“Which one of us is dead?” Hero asked, and to her surprise, crickets of the night responded. The near-silence made her feel as if no one had been speaking just moments prior, and made her feel as if she truly had gone insane. Who was to say she wasn’t? The only voice she’d heard in days were her own and a dead man’s. If anyone else in the world heard that statement, they’d put her in counseling. Worser yet, they’d treat her for schizophrenia.
“I almost feel sorry for you.”
Hero jumped at the voice behind her, her hands leaving the balcony before promptly carrying her weight in a spin. She faced the man behind her.
“You really don’t understand which one of you is dead?”
The way Hero’s heart hammered against her ribs made her hesitant to speak. She watched. But watching did nothing as Supervillain approached the balcony of Hero’s apartment. Her body was frozen.
“I had your mind racing earlier,” Supervillain commented, “when I made you think you heard your precious Villain. What makes that mind so empty now?”
Her mind was a blank sheet of printer paper waiting for instruction.
“If my presence is that troubling then why don’t you turn back around? Face away.”
“That would make everything worse,” Hero finally had the sense to snap. In the same moment, her sweaty hands curled into tight, white-knuckled fists. “I want you out.” Her voice shook, but her feet remained planted.
As mighty as she looked, Supervillain chuckled, so lightly intimidated that he even covered his eyes with a hand as if to scoop away tears. “That was cute,” he said. “That was really cute, but here’s the thing; I know how scared you are. I can hear you begging the world to prevent me from reminding you what I did to that little lover of yours.”
Already, it was enough to make Hero see Villain’s body all over again.
“He didn’t deserve it,” she whispered. Hero didn’t notice the way her chin was angled down until Supervillain lifted it in order to wipe away a tear. Weakness like this wasn’t meant to be shown. It made her look vulnerable. It made her look easy to take control over.
Supervillain’s fingers left Hero’s cheek and travelled to her chin as it began to fall again. He lifted her chin slowly while cooing softly to her. “Sh, sh, sh. All traitors deserve what they get.”
The way he said it like a reassurance made Hero’s stomach roll. “Why are you here?” Why is he-
“Tormenting you?” Supervillain shrugged. “Villain betrayed me. I killed him in my anger, and frankly, I’m not satisfied with it.” Exposing Hero’s neck, he said, “Seeing the fear in your eyes is as satisfying as it can get.”
Hero had never been to a drive-in movie theatre. She didn’t expect much. It was a movie, on a big screen, viewed from behind a windshield- or the bed of a truck for those who could afford that. Some might have preferred the truck bed- but not tonight.
The movie started nicely. Hero sat in the passenger seat while Lover sat in the driver’s. Lover bought the two of them snacks, and for a time, the two monched whilst watching the film- something about a kid running away from home because he couldn’t keep a pet bee (spoiler alert- the kid came home after a series of falls in puddles. The problem became that he then wanted a pet bird).
“I’m getting a little cold. Is it okay if we turn the air conditioning off?” Hero asked.
“I was about to ask you the same thing. It wasn’t supposed to get beneath seventy degrees outside, even through the night,” Lover explained. “It’s the middle of summer.” He shrugged, then began unzipping the jacket he wore. “Take this.”
“You’re cold, too. Keep it.”
Lover gave her that look, the one that reminded her that if Lover wanted to give her his jacket, she was wearing the jacket. She took it.
“Well? Put it on.” Lover rose a brow at her before reaching for the dial on the console and turning it to the left. The air turned off. Still, it was cold. “Weird,” he whispered, and he squinted at the window. “Is your side cold?”
Yes, her window was cold- freezing to the touch, actually. She looked through her window and into the windows of other cars. Many of the trucks were now full of people too cold to stay outside.
“What is going on with the w- can you check your weather app?”
The app was already opened on Hero’s phone, as she, too, became worried. It was the middle of summer and the temperature was falling to forty degrees Fahrenheit. This was not normal by any means.
“There’s a freeze warning,” Hero said.
It was in the very next moment that Hero and Lover’s phones went off with an urgent alert.
GET INDOORS IMMEDIATELY.
“Does the car count?”
Well, Hero would have liked to say yes, but the fact of the matter was this: the car was nearly as cold as the outdoors. “We need to get home.”
“It says immediately, Hero. We’re already in a sealed space.”
Before Hero could argue, the sound of spinning tires screeched by. A car was gripping the pavement occasionally as a family of four was attempting to leave. Soon after them, another car followed- a truck, another car, another car, another truck, until Hero and Lover’s car tailed behind.
“Lover, oh my-” Hero’s scream was cut off by a vehicle crashing into the concession building of the theatre. Hero tried to stay calm as she asked, “Do we help?” but her voice was a full pitch higher than usual and she felt heart heart beating against the front of her chest. If she looked down, she bet she’d see the full form of her heart trying to escape.
Lover didn’t say a word as he stared straight ahead, taking a path different than every other car- which was no path at all. He drove straight through a field, praying to whoever would listen to his conscious mind, that he and Hero wouldn’t slide into the nearby forest. Already, he could see frost forming, glistening against each blade of grass. The world, little by little, was becoming less and less saturated.
“I’m scared, Lover.”
“I know,” he said, “I know. We’re going home.”
Home was where Lover’s family was. His mother and father, brothers and pets. Hero’s family was far away and unheard from, even as Hero continued to call and text with shaking hands and a growing desperation.
***
Never had Lover, nor Hero, witnessed so many crashes. They’d never seen so many pale bodies either.
One car along the way had one of those BABY ON BOARD stickers, and sure enough, as Lover drove past, Hero barely noticed a car seat in the back, all crushed plastic and ripped blankets.
“Here, take this back.”
It was the jacket that Lover gave Hero. Naturally, he wouldn’t take it, saying that it was Hero who needed the warmth.
“What use are you in the driver’s seat if you freeze to death?” Hero reasoned. “You’ll kill us both. Put the damn jacket on. We’ll take turns.”
Lover nodded. “It’s impossible,” he said, “for this to happen. For the love of everything, it’s June in the Mid-East!”
Shocked by the outburst, Hero could only say, “Let’s get back. I have no signal on my phone so I’m not getting the alerts or updates.”
And so the two drove until finding home. The driveway, usually empty of a car or two, was now full of strangers’ vehicles. Who were they?
“My allergies are horrible right now.” The hero sniffled for show, and when Villain turned around, he was surprised to see Hero’s face glistening with slow-moving tears.
“Why are you crying?”
“I’m not crying. My eyes are burning…because I have allergies.” Simple explanation, and the solution was just as simple. “I just took my allergy medicine- just waiting for it to kick in.”
“You’re still sniffling.”
“Because it hasn’t kicked in yet. It will,” she reassured, as if he were the one that even needed the reassuring.
Villain nodded and turned away, walking to a nearby shelf. For a moment, Hero didn’t think anything of it. There were snacks on those shelves, as well as some videogames. Nothing unordinary. “A warhead would clear your sinuses.”
“No.”
A mischievous look was returned as a sour candy was plucked from a basket on the top shelf. “It would work.”
“It would kill me!”
Hero, in her weakened and dying state, had no defense as Villain approached, tearing the candy open and holding the green, apple-flavored drop of death between two pinched fingers.
“You’re going to kill me,” she screeched, and tried to sniffle, hoping her nose would have already cleared, hoping she could save herself from the sour punch her lover wanted to deliver. “Stop, no! I don’t want it, I don’t-”
But Villain was grabbing her chin with his free hand, squishing her lips until they fell open.
A moment of silence ensued and Villain smiled widely at his success. Hero was puckering, miserable, but her sniffle was gone. “It worked,” he said finally, and she could do nothing in revenge.
The war was lost, settled by a candy smaller than Hero’s thumb.
“I loved you for a time.” The admittance is easy, as if the very statement is so insignificant and easily observed that it need not be spoken aloud.
Of course, to you, the words are slowed down, like the moment a life changes- when everything related to that moment nearly freezes, and the gears in your mind, once swift, now feel too rusted to comprehend even the wind caressing the bare skin of your arms in spring. Still, your mind is racing, isn’t it? In its own way of insanity.
“For a time?” you’re forced to ask, because it’s all you know to do. To question the moment you’re in, and wonder, Is this real?
“Think of it all as a flower: it was planted, it grew- bloomed, even- but now winter is approaching, and…well, should I say more?”
No, they don’t need to say more. Even with that acknowledgment, your heart and mind have made no connection. The flower is still growing, creating new shoots, new blossoms…when had it all begun to decay, you wonder?
“We kissed just an hour ago,” you say, and you have never heard your voice so quiet, even in your mind. “I still taste the espresso on my tongue.”
“Sulfur,” they say, and now is the moment you notice your heart has never felt a sting so harsh before. Maybe a heartstring snapped. Is this heartbreak?
“Is there still that peppermint gum in your purse?” you ask them, even though you know the gum won’t help. The sulfur lingers on your skin, just as much as your mouth. You are poison.
Without waiting for an answer, you protest, “I love you now.”
No use. They are gone, their perfume a heavy persistance that nags at you and tells you to chase after them while simultaneously telling you that ‘You better not move. Or else-‘
You take a step and your head spins like the last water of your shower going down the drain. You’re going to get sick. You’re going to throw the sulfur from your belly onto this pavement and you are going to let the flood of tears which follow wash it away.
Do you understand? That is what you will do.
Tomorrow, the sun will rise and the rainbow formed will dive down your throat until it reaches the belladonna of your stomach, ripping the roots up from the dry ground which it was planted in. You’ll feel alive again.
Do you understand? That is what will happen.
******
This is a little different from what I typically post, so let me know how we feel about this! More first person or back to third?
