The beginning of a story. |
Prologue: He took the pillow between his thumb and forefinger. Pausing, he looked up at me questioningly. I nodded, as if to say go ahead. His eyes never leaving mine, he tore the pillow into two neat halves. The muscles in his arms did not move, and his eyes never blinked. I shivered. He glanced down at the mess he had made. At the feathers swirling around our feet, floating briefly on the warm summer air, then landing without a sound on the green grass below. “I’m sorry,” He said, voice low, “I did not mean to scare you.” I hadn’t realized my face was paralyzed in the very portrait of fear. I tried to pull my face into a smile, and failed miserably. “Do not be afraid,” He whispered, reaching out a hand. I instinctively flinched away, taking a step backwards as I went. I instantly knew I had crossed the line. His face darkened, and his eyes filled with bitingly cold fury. In a strained voice he asked softly, “Is something wrong.” Tears filled my eyes. Run, I told myself. But my feet were frozen, my eyes couldn’t escape his livid gaze. In a soft voice I hurriedly said, “I-I’m so s-sorry, I didn’t mean…” But I never got to finish my sentence. Because before I did, he pounced. |