Post by lostandtorn616 on Jun 26, 2007 19:17:32 GMT -5
Disclaimer: The day I own Naruto is the day when Hell freezes over (that would be well after I’ve died, my wrinkly, smelly body rotting in a grave alongside my supposedly bastard of a husband, and my children and my children’s children are attempting to legally purchase the rights to Naruto).
Note: I don’t own Lisa, a.k.a. Crazy-chan (also known as andyouthinkimcrazy on this site), or Itachi. Just thought you’d like to know that. Oh, and just so you know, Lisa’s currently eight years old. It might not bear any significance to you, but I assure you it does hold a shred of importance.
2nd Note: I didn’t intend for this to happen anytime in this story, if ever, but there will be comical scenes and perverse, vulgar comebacks and moments. Should’ve imputed hint of comedy in the genre for this, but oh well.
Oh, and please don’t ask what possessed me to write something like this; it’s not very often I write something that’s so sickeningly sweet it would make Gaara want to puke up glowing showers of pink glitter and hearts, then the fluff and cuteness shifts to unimaginable horror, so you’ll have to learn to deal with it.
Also, please note that this is my second try at Itachi’s personality; meaning he’ll act accordingly as to how I’d picture him, but he’ll be semi-nice to Lisa. Semi-nice, you got that?
“Talking”
Thinking to oneself
Emphasis
Shouting
~~~~Dream Sequence~~~~
//Lisa-Itachi Mental Communication//
(//Itachi-Lisa Mental Communication//)
(-“Itachi’s speech”-)
“I said NO.” she stated firmly, glaring at the ground.
The kitten ignored her. Its fluffy little body simply rubbed against her ankles with renewed vigor, purring loudly, its bushy tail coiling around her jeaned legs. She sighed while adjusting her backpack. Silly kitten. Doesn’t know when to take a hint.
She’d spent a good ten minutes in between leaving her house and jogging to school trying to exhaust the stray infantile feline’s enthusiasm by running past the local ice cream shop and other industrial joints, darting past street corners with red stop lights flashing, horns honking and car alarms blaring; of course, her attempts to lose the kitten always ended in dismal failure, much to her ever-heightening dismay.
She’d heard that cats were believed to be supernatural, but as that thought passed through her young mind, it made little-to-none sense. The little annoyance had kept up with its blasted persistence, and this was no otherworldly phantom she was dealing with; it wasn’t even a threat to begin with. It was only a kitten for goodness sake!
All it was really doing was testing her patience, wearing down her resolve as it sat down on its hunches in front of her while she gasped for air, its bobbed, bushy tail swishing back and forth, leering up at her with bright yellow eyes.
Even if was an small irritant, it was adorable to look at. Its entire upper body was sheathed in black fur that gleamed menacingly in the morning sunlight, the bobbed end of its tail a bleach-white dotted with tiny pin-pints of a light chocolate-brown; the tips of its ears – shaded from a deep rich orange to a light black in color – twitched occasionally as it innocently titled its head to the side, analyzing the girl’s dubious expression carefully, just waiting for her to give in at last and take it home.
She even tried a hand at scaring the cat. Swiftly taking a winding left into the schoolyard’s playground, she turned around, her brown-gray eyes narrowing into snake-like slits as she lifted her bag over her head, glowering down at the little ball of fluff, silently threatening to toss her only means of defense at it (contents and all, totaling five pounds, if you included the mountain of homework the evil enforcers of education had given her to complete for the next day).
Sadly, her efforts were in vain, her hopes dashed; it still didn’t leave her. If she had given anyone else the look her face had bared then, human or not, it would’ve turned albino and shot for the hills. But no. Oh no. The cat was either very brave or utterly credulous of its judgment. It had simply arched its spine and hissed back at her.
She couldn’t take it home no matter how much she might have wanted to; for one thing she didn’t think it possible that her father would allow her to keep a kitten, much less one that had chosen to relentlessly pursue her, despite that it was obviously living on the streets on its lonesome; for another the responsibility of a new pet was expensive, and required an owner who was more than trustworthy in decision-making for the job.
An eight year-old girl certainly didn’t qualify for such a thing. Still, she’d give it one more shot.
With any luck the tiny cat would finally get the picture and go off on its merry way.
Directing her attention back down at the kitten, she crouched down on her hunches and picked up the small feline with the gentlest of ease, holding it by the scruff of its neck with her forefinger and thumb. Putting it in front of her expressionless stare, she spoke with abject seriousness, an air of firm finality slipping past her mouth.
“I can’t keep you. Go away.” she imputed, setting the kitten down on the dusty, recently paved concrete path; she took a few tentative steps backwards, a pair of brown-gray eyes still fixated on the kitten, silently hoping that it would leave her be.
“Meow!” The kitten sashayed up to her, stretching its slim body as its mouth gaped open in favor of yawning for a second time before sitting down dutifully at her feet and using her sneakers as a temporary scratching post, its yellow sights shining gleefully.
She sighed, dropping her tough girl act, turning around and slumping down on one of the empty swings, and hanging her head in defeat.
“Mew!” The kitten mewled in approval, leaping into her lap and began to nuzzle her collarbone affectionately; its cold nose cooled her warm skin and, at last, she managed a weak smile and petting its head while it curled itself into a relatively mirthful position on her legs, purring contently as she absentmindedly rocked to and fro on the balls of her feet.
“...What am I gonna do with you, kitty?” she asked, picking it up and holding it gingerly in both of her hands, staring at it fully in the face again, the kitten still purring with the utmost joy; it blinked confusedly in response to her question. “Yeah, that’s what I thought you’d say: “I don’t know”. I can’t keep you, and Daddy doesn’t even like cats. At least... I don’t think he does.”
“Meow?” It mewled again as its mouth gaped open in a wide yawn, the tiny pink tongue and teeth flashing.
“...Hmmm...” She looked towards the school as the bell screeched throughout the school and the surrounding area – first class would start in five minutes. Sighing for what seemed the hundredth time she slid off the swing seat, heading for the doors that had loud, rambunctious children storming the double doors talking, giggling, shouting, and pushing each other to see who’d get in before their principal started to toss profane words and almost casual insults.
She crinkled her brows as she walked, holding the struggling baby feline in her arms, making a huge ruckus as it yowled, hissed and spat in protest in its attempts to clamber up onto her shoulders and drape its lithe body over her like a shawl; the time to formulate a plan to sneak the kitten inside the learning foundation without being caught had come.
“...very good, Joseph! Now, who can tell me what the answer to number five is?” Several stubby fingered hands shot up in the air; some of the more quick-witted and wide-awake students bounced up and down in their seats, free hand gripping their pencils with the other waving frantically in the hopes of catching Ms. Gordan’s attention and answering the question first.
Despite the usual early-morning sluggish, sleepy-eyed behavioral patterns inflicting more than half of the rest of the classroom’s pupils, only one managed to remain half-heartedly alert; a pair of brown-gray sights looked up from the Mathematical textbook and lined paper notebook, scratching the crisp white surface with numbered answers and then, for a split moment, Lisa risked a glance at her book bag which hung aloft from a hook in its respectable place at the back of the room.
Her eyes widened as it suddenly lurched with movement, tiny bumps lined the bag followed by scratching and barely contained yowling; the kitten was growing restless as the fidgeting bundle bucked and then struck the side of the wooden shelf, the bag still giving off faint hissing and clawing as its small talons raked mercilessly away at her schoolbag from the inside.
“Correct Anna!” Lisa jumped in her seat as Ms. Gordan suddenly called her name; she felt her face flushing a light pink.
“Um, y-yes, Ms. Gordan?”
“Do you know the answer to question number six?”
“Um... number six... uh... the answer is...”
A sheen of nervous sweat started to break out on Lisa’s forehead as she began to flip through her textbook frantically, eyes peeled for the correct numerical question; sadly, she couldn’t find it; she hadn’t been paying attention adequately enough. Unfortunately, Ms. Gordan seemed fully aware of this too.
“If your sense of hearing was developed enough for the past five minutes like the rest of the class, Lisa, you’d know that the answer is-”
(-“The answer to question six, the numerical value being five hundred and forty-five, is estimated to be precisely one hundred point zero nine when rounded off by five.”-) came a deep, dark, smooth and extremely unrecognizable male voice slipping past Lisa’s mouth; her eyes, once a brown-gray, were now devoid of all color say for a abysmal black that shot a glacial lour at Ms. Gordan, an unwavering leer that bore not even the tiniest hint of emotion whatsoever.
“Um... Er, yes. Yes, yes... that is... that is correct, Lisa.” Ms. Gordan stammered as her dark aqua sights widened to the size of imperturbable proportions, a manicured hand unconsciously traveling up to her V-shaped blouse and rubbing her neck apprehensively; a layer of cold sweat started to coat her fair-skinned brow, a few beads of the lukewarm perspire dribbled down her cheek as the mesmerizing seas of deceased black suddenly took on a startlingly crimson hue with strange black marks adorning them.
BRRRIIINNNGGG BRRRIIINNNGGG BRRRIIINNNGGG
“For homework,” Ms. Gordan shouted over the screeching of the bell effectively dismissing the thirty-odd students for lunch, “I want everyone to complete questions up to and including number sixty, they are to be done for tomorrow and no exceptions will be made for anyone who doesn’t have them finished; detention for every day up until next Friday will be administered for the person, or people, who doesn’t heed my warning. Class dismissed.”
There was an immediate hustle and bustle as the miniature crowd of students began cramming their school things into their backpacks, girls giggling and chit-chatting merrily away as the boys voiced their plans for the weekend with friends, foes, and acquaintances alike. Lisa was the only girl not discussing her plans for the weekend with anybody, the only girl waiting until the small group of girls wasting her time getting their own backpacks to go away.
Once they did, and only after until the other students had left, leaving her and Ms. Gordan the only people behind, she gingerly unhinged her (seemingly alive) book bag off the hook and undid the golden zipper half-way; peering inside, the kitten’s yellow eyes glowed in the maw of darkness and it gave a soft hiss in displeasure. Obviously it didn’t like being cooped up within the confines of a child’s schoolbag.
Too bad; you’re staying in there until I get you home, she thought sourly as she refastened the zipper and hoisting it over her shoulders, remaining blissfully ignorant of the struggling kitten demanding to be let out.
“Lisa, a moment of your time, if you please.” Ms. Gordan called her over with a reproachful look as she crooked her index finger in a silent ‘come over here now’ gesture. She had a strange emotion sculpted unto her fair-skinned face, like she had come across a canvas that depicted some poor soul being tortured in the most horrible manner imaginable; it was hard for the eight year-old to decide if her Mathematics mentor was angry at her, or whatever had happened before the lunch bell had rung.
“Lisa, how have you been feeling as of late?” Ms. Gordan asked while snapping her briefcase shut, a hint of sympathy and worrisome dither strained about her voice that suddenly sounded very tired.
“How I’ve been-”
“Yes, feeling, Lisa. However strict I may be in front of the other children so as not to give them an excuse to spread rumors, I’m concerned about you. Your other teachers have brought to my attention your uncharacteristic behavior in class; more than once you’ve been caught falling asleep and snapping out of a day-dream like state; your grades are slipping rather badly; and finally, your attention, formerly assertive, is divided. Is there something going on at home, Lisa?”
“...Nothing’s going on at home, Ms. Gordan.” she replied, though it was a bit too sudden, her voice hesitant and shaky; she absentmindedly fiddled with the sleeve of her shirt, shifting her feet nervously and silently praying that Ms. Gordan would send her on her way.
“Lisa, even if what you say is true-”
“It is true!” she protested hotly.
“That doesn’t mean there’s something you’re not informing me or your parents of.” she finished as if there had been no interruption.
“...”
Lisa pondered for a moment: if she did tell her Mathematics teacher about the voice she’d been hearing speaking on occasion for as long as she could recollect, after her third birthday, she knew Ms. Gordan wouldn’t take the news lightly; if there was anything modern-day people disliked above potential law-breakers, teenage delinquents, unfit mothers who disowned their children, fathers who denied the existence of ever conceiving a child due to erectile dysfunction, and neighbors who cheated on the water conservation rule in the long grueling days of summer was people who heard voices – especially kids nowhere near to their pre-teen years – right underneath people telling others they were possessed.
“Can I go now, Ms. Gordan?”
“Of course.”
“... And so he said to the barmaid, ‘that’s no chop-suey, that’s my brother’s girlfriend!’” came a high-pitched female voice. The owner to that voice – a fourth grade student who went by the name of Sandra Adams – grinned weakly seeing two faces staring blankly back at her, bearing no sign of common humorous courtesy at the non-comical pun.
“...”
One of the girls, Bethany Summers, pouted as she put her hands on her hips, black eyes glittering mischievously as she smirked. “Sandra, that joke sucked.”
“Yeah, well, your Momma sucks.” she retorted.
“Your Momma sucks just about as much as you do with decimals.”
“At she helps me with it, no matter how bad she is. What does your Momma do, just sit at the kitchen table and watches her soaps, dramatic radio hosts, and talk shows and smoking while you’re busting your buttocks off until dawn the next day?”
“...Hey, you know what?”
“No, what?” Sandra asked, cocking her head to the side like a confused puppy.
“Lisa’s been acting weird lately, didn’t you notice? Isn’t that right Lisa- Lisa!” Bethany hissed, delivering a quick sideways slap to the brown-haired girl’s head. Sandra and Bethany waited, hoping for some sort of reaction from their friend; she didn’t give so much as a squeak of pain.
Lisa stared uninterestedly amongst the mid-day commotion spreading like a diseased plague across the vast playground; a trio of boys stopped on their hunches underneath a large maple tree, stubby fingers scraping away frantically and pounding and piling earthen mud on a recently dug hole in the soft ground; three kids, two boys and a lone girl, squealed in delight for every time they soared high above the sandy ground, legs cocking their parallel legs forward to build momentum; another girl was, for some reason, hiccoughing as she swung her friend hanging on to her hands for dear life, but having the time of her young existence; a group of five girls giggled shamelessly as they play Freeze Tag, occasionally shouting “You’re it!”, or “You can’t catch me!”
One girl, a blond-haired, green-eyed young beauty, nearly made Lisa fall face-first in a puddle of dry mud compacted together with bits of grass and pebbles; she barely managed to regain her balance and simply stared back at her as the blonde carelessly flipped her pigtails over her shoulders.
“Oh, I’m so sorry.” she said in a snide tone, not really meaning it.
Apparently, someone else was aware of it, too.
Lisa’s eyes slowly began to darken to a vividly noticeable abyss color. For a moment, only the whites of her eyes was the most distinguishable, but then a blood-red color, like dark florescent rubies, slowly veiled the emblazoned blackness; three black marks in each eye embellished the startlingly red shade, being redolent of freshly split blood, rivulets of a benighted crimson that had been sucked up into the child’s eyes.
(-“That was unwise.”-)
“W-what?” the blonde asked, her baby cerulean eyes widening in fear, taking a few hesitant steps backwards, looking from left to right as though hoping for a route of escape; however, she found no such sanctity.
Lisa took step forward, and then another, watching, seemingly disinterested, as her newfound adversary took a few more retreating infantile steps. (-“Know that I will not permit anyone to harm the child whose body I inhabit. You have made a dire mistake on your part. For that, you will be taught a valuable lesson. Now.”-)
In the blink of an eye, she twisted her tiny body around, and her right foot shot up and landed with excruciating accuracy on the opposing girl’s temple. The girl didn’t have time to release even a gasp for some much needed air as her body was sent flying into the air, spinning like a pitched baseball as she crash-landed into the jungle gym, head spinning and eyes streaming because of the pain administered from the inhuman attack she had been on the receiving end of; she glanced up just in time to see Lisa stride forward, glaring impassively with her demonic eyes, and grapple her by the scruff of her shirt, slamming her back into the metallic amusement plaything.
(-“You are not sorry.”-) she stated with abject serious-mindedness when the blonde parted her mouth to protest, most likely; streams of red licked the sides of her face, smearing her forehead and getting in her eyes whenever she blinked, making it seem as though she were shedding crimson tears; the blood – her blood – felt unusually cold and callous slicking down her fair-skinned cheekbones, yet the crystalline currents rolling down her face was warm and sickeningly sweet, mingling together with her life force and creating a dark pinkish hue.
Slowly but suddenly, Lisa closed her eyes and just as abruptly opened them inch by inch; the child she had made sure to be secured to the jungle gym with only one hand gasped as she felt a curious, overwhelming sensation take hold of her; it felt like she was being dragged under the depths of a long-since-buried grave, invisible, deceased, gnarled hands latched unto her, gripping her firmly as they entangled their dead fingers all over her body, pushing her into a pit of inescapable darkness.
Then, a split moment passed, and she found herself staring blankly up into a sea of red with misshapen clouds drifting lazily by over her head. She tried to free her hands and legs but, much to her elevating state of distress and panic, she couldn’t move not even an inch; her wrists and ankles were securely bond to serpentine tongues of rope and her body was propped up unceremoniously against a tall wooden pole; the rope coiled round and round tighter and biting harshly into her skin, causing her exposed flesh to be rubbed most painfully; only a few seconds passed and they begun to bleed.
(-“Seventy-two hours from now, your mind will be all the more weaker; your spirit will be nothing more than a shadow of its former self. I wonder how long a child can withstand these circumstances?”-)
She risked a glance down and nearly passed out from fright at the sight which greeted her: Lisa, standing before her, wielding a katana. Without so much as a warning, the eight year-old raised the sword and stabbed the blonde in the stomach, prying it deeper inward a couple of inches and then carefully jabbing it upward, coming perilously close to rupturing the child’s right lung, and then withdrew the sword impeccably non-hurriedly.
(-“Time and space... I control them both.”-) she stated in a matter-of-fact tone, lifting the katana and stabbing her on the less injured side of her stomach, obviously choosing to ignore the blood pooling at the soles of her feet; she looked up and shot the trapped child another emotionless glower, prodding the blood-smeared tip of the blade inward as though to prove a point; however, the faintest hints of anger flared in her red-and-black eyes.
(-“The pain coursing through your body is real. However, it is what you would dub to be nothing more than an illusion; a figment of your warped imagining; a nightmare, if you will. Call it what you wish. Reality. A dream within a dream. It is both. It is neither. It is nothing in-between.”-)
The blonde-haired child gave a blood-curdling screech as the brown-haired girl gave her wounded, red-blistered stomach another sharp thrust; blood oozed profusely out of the fresh slit in her flesh, blood again trickled down her blue dress, sprinkled dark red beads on the bow-tie that had been ripped since the first stab now lay in tatters on her white leggings.
(-“Seventy-one hours, fifty-nine minutes and fifty-nine seconds to go.”-)
Note: I don’t own Lisa, a.k.a. Crazy-chan (also known as andyouthinkimcrazy on this site), or Itachi. Just thought you’d like to know that. Oh, and just so you know, Lisa’s currently eight years old. It might not bear any significance to you, but I assure you it does hold a shred of importance.
2nd Note: I didn’t intend for this to happen anytime in this story, if ever, but there will be comical scenes and perverse, vulgar comebacks and moments. Should’ve imputed hint of comedy in the genre for this, but oh well.
Oh, and please don’t ask what possessed me to write something like this; it’s not very often I write something that’s so sickeningly sweet it would make Gaara want to puke up glowing showers of pink glitter and hearts, then the fluff and cuteness shifts to unimaginable horror, so you’ll have to learn to deal with it.
Also, please note that this is my second try at Itachi’s personality; meaning he’ll act accordingly as to how I’d picture him, but he’ll be semi-nice to Lisa. Semi-nice, you got that?
“Talking”
Thinking to oneself
Emphasis
Shouting
~~~~Dream Sequence~~~~
//Lisa-Itachi Mental Communication//
(//Itachi-Lisa Mental Communication//)
(-“Itachi’s speech”-)
~~START~~
“I said NO.” she stated firmly, glaring at the ground.
The kitten ignored her. Its fluffy little body simply rubbed against her ankles with renewed vigor, purring loudly, its bushy tail coiling around her jeaned legs. She sighed while adjusting her backpack. Silly kitten. Doesn’t know when to take a hint.
She’d spent a good ten minutes in between leaving her house and jogging to school trying to exhaust the stray infantile feline’s enthusiasm by running past the local ice cream shop and other industrial joints, darting past street corners with red stop lights flashing, horns honking and car alarms blaring; of course, her attempts to lose the kitten always ended in dismal failure, much to her ever-heightening dismay.
She’d heard that cats were believed to be supernatural, but as that thought passed through her young mind, it made little-to-none sense. The little annoyance had kept up with its blasted persistence, and this was no otherworldly phantom she was dealing with; it wasn’t even a threat to begin with. It was only a kitten for goodness sake!
All it was really doing was testing her patience, wearing down her resolve as it sat down on its hunches in front of her while she gasped for air, its bobbed, bushy tail swishing back and forth, leering up at her with bright yellow eyes.
Even if was an small irritant, it was adorable to look at. Its entire upper body was sheathed in black fur that gleamed menacingly in the morning sunlight, the bobbed end of its tail a bleach-white dotted with tiny pin-pints of a light chocolate-brown; the tips of its ears – shaded from a deep rich orange to a light black in color – twitched occasionally as it innocently titled its head to the side, analyzing the girl’s dubious expression carefully, just waiting for her to give in at last and take it home.
She even tried a hand at scaring the cat. Swiftly taking a winding left into the schoolyard’s playground, she turned around, her brown-gray eyes narrowing into snake-like slits as she lifted her bag over her head, glowering down at the little ball of fluff, silently threatening to toss her only means of defense at it (contents and all, totaling five pounds, if you included the mountain of homework the evil enforcers of education had given her to complete for the next day).
Sadly, her efforts were in vain, her hopes dashed; it still didn’t leave her. If she had given anyone else the look her face had bared then, human or not, it would’ve turned albino and shot for the hills. But no. Oh no. The cat was either very brave or utterly credulous of its judgment. It had simply arched its spine and hissed back at her.
She couldn’t take it home no matter how much she might have wanted to; for one thing she didn’t think it possible that her father would allow her to keep a kitten, much less one that had chosen to relentlessly pursue her, despite that it was obviously living on the streets on its lonesome; for another the responsibility of a new pet was expensive, and required an owner who was more than trustworthy in decision-making for the job.
An eight year-old girl certainly didn’t qualify for such a thing. Still, she’d give it one more shot.
With any luck the tiny cat would finally get the picture and go off on its merry way.
Directing her attention back down at the kitten, she crouched down on her hunches and picked up the small feline with the gentlest of ease, holding it by the scruff of its neck with her forefinger and thumb. Putting it in front of her expressionless stare, she spoke with abject seriousness, an air of firm finality slipping past her mouth.
“I can’t keep you. Go away.” she imputed, setting the kitten down on the dusty, recently paved concrete path; she took a few tentative steps backwards, a pair of brown-gray eyes still fixated on the kitten, silently hoping that it would leave her be.
“Meow!” The kitten sashayed up to her, stretching its slim body as its mouth gaped open in favor of yawning for a second time before sitting down dutifully at her feet and using her sneakers as a temporary scratching post, its yellow sights shining gleefully.
She sighed, dropping her tough girl act, turning around and slumping down on one of the empty swings, and hanging her head in defeat.
“Mew!” The kitten mewled in approval, leaping into her lap and began to nuzzle her collarbone affectionately; its cold nose cooled her warm skin and, at last, she managed a weak smile and petting its head while it curled itself into a relatively mirthful position on her legs, purring contently as she absentmindedly rocked to and fro on the balls of her feet.
“...What am I gonna do with you, kitty?” she asked, picking it up and holding it gingerly in both of her hands, staring at it fully in the face again, the kitten still purring with the utmost joy; it blinked confusedly in response to her question. “Yeah, that’s what I thought you’d say: “I don’t know”. I can’t keep you, and Daddy doesn’t even like cats. At least... I don’t think he does.”
“Meow?” It mewled again as its mouth gaped open in a wide yawn, the tiny pink tongue and teeth flashing.
“...Hmmm...” She looked towards the school as the bell screeched throughout the school and the surrounding area – first class would start in five minutes. Sighing for what seemed the hundredth time she slid off the swing seat, heading for the doors that had loud, rambunctious children storming the double doors talking, giggling, shouting, and pushing each other to see who’d get in before their principal started to toss profane words and almost casual insults.
She crinkled her brows as she walked, holding the struggling baby feline in her arms, making a huge ruckus as it yowled, hissed and spat in protest in its attempts to clamber up onto her shoulders and drape its lithe body over her like a shawl; the time to formulate a plan to sneak the kitten inside the learning foundation without being caught had come.
~~Inside School~~
“...very good, Joseph! Now, who can tell me what the answer to number five is?” Several stubby fingered hands shot up in the air; some of the more quick-witted and wide-awake students bounced up and down in their seats, free hand gripping their pencils with the other waving frantically in the hopes of catching Ms. Gordan’s attention and answering the question first.
Despite the usual early-morning sluggish, sleepy-eyed behavioral patterns inflicting more than half of the rest of the classroom’s pupils, only one managed to remain half-heartedly alert; a pair of brown-gray sights looked up from the Mathematical textbook and lined paper notebook, scratching the crisp white surface with numbered answers and then, for a split moment, Lisa risked a glance at her book bag which hung aloft from a hook in its respectable place at the back of the room.
Her eyes widened as it suddenly lurched with movement, tiny bumps lined the bag followed by scratching and barely contained yowling; the kitten was growing restless as the fidgeting bundle bucked and then struck the side of the wooden shelf, the bag still giving off faint hissing and clawing as its small talons raked mercilessly away at her schoolbag from the inside.
“Correct Anna!” Lisa jumped in her seat as Ms. Gordan suddenly called her name; she felt her face flushing a light pink.
“Um, y-yes, Ms. Gordan?”
“Do you know the answer to question number six?”
“Um... number six... uh... the answer is...”
A sheen of nervous sweat started to break out on Lisa’s forehead as she began to flip through her textbook frantically, eyes peeled for the correct numerical question; sadly, she couldn’t find it; she hadn’t been paying attention adequately enough. Unfortunately, Ms. Gordan seemed fully aware of this too.
“If your sense of hearing was developed enough for the past five minutes like the rest of the class, Lisa, you’d know that the answer is-”
(-“The answer to question six, the numerical value being five hundred and forty-five, is estimated to be precisely one hundred point zero nine when rounded off by five.”-) came a deep, dark, smooth and extremely unrecognizable male voice slipping past Lisa’s mouth; her eyes, once a brown-gray, were now devoid of all color say for a abysmal black that shot a glacial lour at Ms. Gordan, an unwavering leer that bore not even the tiniest hint of emotion whatsoever.
“Um... Er, yes. Yes, yes... that is... that is correct, Lisa.” Ms. Gordan stammered as her dark aqua sights widened to the size of imperturbable proportions, a manicured hand unconsciously traveling up to her V-shaped blouse and rubbing her neck apprehensively; a layer of cold sweat started to coat her fair-skinned brow, a few beads of the lukewarm perspire dribbled down her cheek as the mesmerizing seas of deceased black suddenly took on a startlingly crimson hue with strange black marks adorning them.
BRRRIIINNNGGG BRRRIIINNNGGG BRRRIIINNNGGG
“For homework,” Ms. Gordan shouted over the screeching of the bell effectively dismissing the thirty-odd students for lunch, “I want everyone to complete questions up to and including number sixty, they are to be done for tomorrow and no exceptions will be made for anyone who doesn’t have them finished; detention for every day up until next Friday will be administered for the person, or people, who doesn’t heed my warning. Class dismissed.”
There was an immediate hustle and bustle as the miniature crowd of students began cramming their school things into their backpacks, girls giggling and chit-chatting merrily away as the boys voiced their plans for the weekend with friends, foes, and acquaintances alike. Lisa was the only girl not discussing her plans for the weekend with anybody, the only girl waiting until the small group of girls wasting her time getting their own backpacks to go away.
Once they did, and only after until the other students had left, leaving her and Ms. Gordan the only people behind, she gingerly unhinged her (seemingly alive) book bag off the hook and undid the golden zipper half-way; peering inside, the kitten’s yellow eyes glowed in the maw of darkness and it gave a soft hiss in displeasure. Obviously it didn’t like being cooped up within the confines of a child’s schoolbag.
Too bad; you’re staying in there until I get you home, she thought sourly as she refastened the zipper and hoisting it over her shoulders, remaining blissfully ignorant of the struggling kitten demanding to be let out.
“Lisa, a moment of your time, if you please.” Ms. Gordan called her over with a reproachful look as she crooked her index finger in a silent ‘come over here now’ gesture. She had a strange emotion sculpted unto her fair-skinned face, like she had come across a canvas that depicted some poor soul being tortured in the most horrible manner imaginable; it was hard for the eight year-old to decide if her Mathematics mentor was angry at her, or whatever had happened before the lunch bell had rung.
“Lisa, how have you been feeling as of late?” Ms. Gordan asked while snapping her briefcase shut, a hint of sympathy and worrisome dither strained about her voice that suddenly sounded very tired.
“How I’ve been-”
“Yes, feeling, Lisa. However strict I may be in front of the other children so as not to give them an excuse to spread rumors, I’m concerned about you. Your other teachers have brought to my attention your uncharacteristic behavior in class; more than once you’ve been caught falling asleep and snapping out of a day-dream like state; your grades are slipping rather badly; and finally, your attention, formerly assertive, is divided. Is there something going on at home, Lisa?”
“...Nothing’s going on at home, Ms. Gordan.” she replied, though it was a bit too sudden, her voice hesitant and shaky; she absentmindedly fiddled with the sleeve of her shirt, shifting her feet nervously and silently praying that Ms. Gordan would send her on her way.
“Lisa, even if what you say is true-”
“It is true!” she protested hotly.
“That doesn’t mean there’s something you’re not informing me or your parents of.” she finished as if there had been no interruption.
“...”
Lisa pondered for a moment: if she did tell her Mathematics teacher about the voice she’d been hearing speaking on occasion for as long as she could recollect, after her third birthday, she knew Ms. Gordan wouldn’t take the news lightly; if there was anything modern-day people disliked above potential law-breakers, teenage delinquents, unfit mothers who disowned their children, fathers who denied the existence of ever conceiving a child due to erectile dysfunction, and neighbors who cheated on the water conservation rule in the long grueling days of summer was people who heard voices – especially kids nowhere near to their pre-teen years – right underneath people telling others they were possessed.
“Can I go now, Ms. Gordan?”
“Of course.”
~~Lunchtime~~
“... And so he said to the barmaid, ‘that’s no chop-suey, that’s my brother’s girlfriend!’” came a high-pitched female voice. The owner to that voice – a fourth grade student who went by the name of Sandra Adams – grinned weakly seeing two faces staring blankly back at her, bearing no sign of common humorous courtesy at the non-comical pun.
“...”
One of the girls, Bethany Summers, pouted as she put her hands on her hips, black eyes glittering mischievously as she smirked. “Sandra, that joke sucked.”
“Yeah, well, your Momma sucks.” she retorted.
“Your Momma sucks just about as much as you do with decimals.”
“At she helps me with it, no matter how bad she is. What does your Momma do, just sit at the kitchen table and watches her soaps, dramatic radio hosts, and talk shows and smoking while you’re busting your buttocks off until dawn the next day?”
“...Hey, you know what?”
“No, what?” Sandra asked, cocking her head to the side like a confused puppy.
“Lisa’s been acting weird lately, didn’t you notice? Isn’t that right Lisa- Lisa!” Bethany hissed, delivering a quick sideways slap to the brown-haired girl’s head. Sandra and Bethany waited, hoping for some sort of reaction from their friend; she didn’t give so much as a squeak of pain.
Lisa stared uninterestedly amongst the mid-day commotion spreading like a diseased plague across the vast playground; a trio of boys stopped on their hunches underneath a large maple tree, stubby fingers scraping away frantically and pounding and piling earthen mud on a recently dug hole in the soft ground; three kids, two boys and a lone girl, squealed in delight for every time they soared high above the sandy ground, legs cocking their parallel legs forward to build momentum; another girl was, for some reason, hiccoughing as she swung her friend hanging on to her hands for dear life, but having the time of her young existence; a group of five girls giggled shamelessly as they play Freeze Tag, occasionally shouting “You’re it!”, or “You can’t catch me!”
One girl, a blond-haired, green-eyed young beauty, nearly made Lisa fall face-first in a puddle of dry mud compacted together with bits of grass and pebbles; she barely managed to regain her balance and simply stared back at her as the blonde carelessly flipped her pigtails over her shoulders.
“Oh, I’m so sorry.” she said in a snide tone, not really meaning it.
Apparently, someone else was aware of it, too.
Lisa’s eyes slowly began to darken to a vividly noticeable abyss color. For a moment, only the whites of her eyes was the most distinguishable, but then a blood-red color, like dark florescent rubies, slowly veiled the emblazoned blackness; three black marks in each eye embellished the startlingly red shade, being redolent of freshly split blood, rivulets of a benighted crimson that had been sucked up into the child’s eyes.
(-“That was unwise.”-)
“W-what?” the blonde asked, her baby cerulean eyes widening in fear, taking a few hesitant steps backwards, looking from left to right as though hoping for a route of escape; however, she found no such sanctity.
Lisa took step forward, and then another, watching, seemingly disinterested, as her newfound adversary took a few more retreating infantile steps. (-“Know that I will not permit anyone to harm the child whose body I inhabit. You have made a dire mistake on your part. For that, you will be taught a valuable lesson. Now.”-)
In the blink of an eye, she twisted her tiny body around, and her right foot shot up and landed with excruciating accuracy on the opposing girl’s temple. The girl didn’t have time to release even a gasp for some much needed air as her body was sent flying into the air, spinning like a pitched baseball as she crash-landed into the jungle gym, head spinning and eyes streaming because of the pain administered from the inhuman attack she had been on the receiving end of; she glanced up just in time to see Lisa stride forward, glaring impassively with her demonic eyes, and grapple her by the scruff of her shirt, slamming her back into the metallic amusement plaything.
(-“You are not sorry.”-) she stated with abject serious-mindedness when the blonde parted her mouth to protest, most likely; streams of red licked the sides of her face, smearing her forehead and getting in her eyes whenever she blinked, making it seem as though she were shedding crimson tears; the blood – her blood – felt unusually cold and callous slicking down her fair-skinned cheekbones, yet the crystalline currents rolling down her face was warm and sickeningly sweet, mingling together with her life force and creating a dark pinkish hue.
Slowly but suddenly, Lisa closed her eyes and just as abruptly opened them inch by inch; the child she had made sure to be secured to the jungle gym with only one hand gasped as she felt a curious, overwhelming sensation take hold of her; it felt like she was being dragged under the depths of a long-since-buried grave, invisible, deceased, gnarled hands latched unto her, gripping her firmly as they entangled their dead fingers all over her body, pushing her into a pit of inescapable darkness.
Then, a split moment passed, and she found herself staring blankly up into a sea of red with misshapen clouds drifting lazily by over her head. She tried to free her hands and legs but, much to her elevating state of distress and panic, she couldn’t move not even an inch; her wrists and ankles were securely bond to serpentine tongues of rope and her body was propped up unceremoniously against a tall wooden pole; the rope coiled round and round tighter and biting harshly into her skin, causing her exposed flesh to be rubbed most painfully; only a few seconds passed and they begun to bleed.
(-“Seventy-two hours from now, your mind will be all the more weaker; your spirit will be nothing more than a shadow of its former self. I wonder how long a child can withstand these circumstances?”-)
She risked a glance down and nearly passed out from fright at the sight which greeted her: Lisa, standing before her, wielding a katana. Without so much as a warning, the eight year-old raised the sword and stabbed the blonde in the stomach, prying it deeper inward a couple of inches and then carefully jabbing it upward, coming perilously close to rupturing the child’s right lung, and then withdrew the sword impeccably non-hurriedly.
(-“Time and space... I control them both.”-) she stated in a matter-of-fact tone, lifting the katana and stabbing her on the less injured side of her stomach, obviously choosing to ignore the blood pooling at the soles of her feet; she looked up and shot the trapped child another emotionless glower, prodding the blood-smeared tip of the blade inward as though to prove a point; however, the faintest hints of anger flared in her red-and-black eyes.
(-“The pain coursing through your body is real. However, it is what you would dub to be nothing more than an illusion; a figment of your warped imagining; a nightmare, if you will. Call it what you wish. Reality. A dream within a dream. It is both. It is neither. It is nothing in-between.”-)
The blonde-haired child gave a blood-curdling screech as the brown-haired girl gave her wounded, red-blistered stomach another sharp thrust; blood oozed profusely out of the fresh slit in her flesh, blood again trickled down her blue dress, sprinkled dark red beads on the bow-tie that had been ripped since the first stab now lay in tatters on her white leggings.
(-“Seventy-one hours, fifty-nine minutes and fifty-nine seconds to go.”-)