Crime and Punishment
Sep. 23rd, 2013 06:39 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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twispitefic<b>Title: Crime and Punishment</b>
<b>Author: xxburningsoulxx and Mafia_Angel (her nickname---she and I collaborated on this)</b>
<b>Fandom(s): Fifty Shades of Grey</b>
<b>Rating: </b>
<b>Word Count: 576</b>
<b>Inspiration: The constant abuse that Ana had received from Christian and how he's treated her</b>
<b>Warnings:Blood, some Violence</b>
<b>Summary: What happens after all of the abuse, hateful words, and the control that one puts you through? Does it make you want to commit suidice or....better yet, take revenge? Ana finally gives in and confronts her abuser as he sleeps away; dreaming of things unheard of. Ana, in her hand, holds his death sentence and hopes that she can be finally free of this monster. </b>
They say the eyes are the window to a person’s soul- if that’s so then I say Christian Grey has no soul.
He is standing at the podium with his back straight, his chin up, as if he was a lord surveying his land. But it’s his eyes that are the most chilling part of him: dark and cold, no life. I’ve seen more life in a fish on my dinner plate than in his eyes. If we’re to go by a person’s eyes, then I would peg Christian Grey to be a human with no soul, a veritable monster out for blood.
Out for my blood.
He looks once more in my direction: the slightest upwards curve of his lips as we catch each other’s gaze again. I am transfixed by the creature before him: is he an enemy or he is a foe?
~~~~
You have to do this, I told myself as I walked down the hallway, the butcher knife grasped firmly in my hand. I moved as quietly as I could, every sense alert. Had the wooden floor always felt this grainy? Had my heart always beat so loudly? Had the shadows of the night always been so blended together, so indiscernible from each other that it made it impossible to see? I placed one hand against the door, holding my breath as it swung inward.
There he was: my monster.
Like an angel he slept: hair tousled, lips slightly parted. His skin was flushed from our earlier, forced, romp, a blissful look on his face. I stepped inward, forcing myself to exhale softly. I had to do this. I had to do this. One could argue that it was Mrs. Robertson who made him into who he was, one could argue that it was his mother who did such a thing to him. But in the end, it was up to those close to him to stop him. It was up to me. He was my monster, in the disguise of an angel, and it would be my duty to end this nightmare once and for all.
I paused at his bedside, the blade raised, watching his chest rise and fall. You have to do this. For you. For everyone that came before you. “I’m sorry,” I whispered as I brought the blade down with all the force I could manage.
He screamed: high, shrill as the pain awoke him slumber. Those gray eyes I had likened to soullessness, to a strange, erotic beauty I could not place, were full of malice, hatred as I jerked my blade out and flung it back in. Each motion, each frantic stabbing resulted in his blood spurting out: staining my skin, the sheets, stainless steel ripped through flesh with frightening ease, his hands doing nothing to stop my onslaught. It was the sound of his frantic breath, the sight of the remnants of his once muscled chest panting as he struggled to crawl away, the feel of his warm, sticky blood underneath my fingertips that excited me.
I took no notice of his punches, of his fingernails biting into my flesh as he tried to scratch me. I continued stabbing until his body stopped thrashing, until even the tiniest twitch disappeared and it was just I in the room with the corpse of my monster.
Like Frankenstein, I have helped create a monster.
And like a God I have decided to end its life.
They say the eyes are the window to a person’s soul- if that’s so then I say Christian Grey has no soul.
He is standing at the podium with his back straight, his chin up, as if he was a lord surveying his land. But it’s his eyes that are the most chilling part of him: dark and cold, no life. I’ve seen more life in a fish on my dinner plate than in his eyes. If we’re to go by a person’s eyes, then I would peg Christian Grey to be a human with no soul, a veritable monster out for blood.
Out for my blood.
He looks once more in my direction: the slightest upwards curve of his lips as we catch each other’s gaze again. I am transfixed by the creature before him: is he an enemy or he is a foe?
~~~~
You have to do this, I told myself as I walked down the hallway, the butcher knife grasped firmly in my hand. I moved as quietly as I could, every sense alert. Had the wooden floor always felt this grainy? Had my heart always beat so loudly? Had the shadows of the night always been so blended together, so indiscernible from each other that it made it impossible to see? I placed one hand against the door, holding my breath as it swung inward.
There he was: my monster.
Like an angel he slept: hair tousled, lips slightly parted. His skin was flushed from our earlier, forced, romp, a blissful look on his face. I stepped inward, forcing myself to exhale softly. I had to do this. I had to do this. One could argue that it was Mrs. Robertson who made him into who he was, one could argue that it was his mother who did such a thing to him. But in the end, it was up to those close to him to stop him. It was up to me. He was my monster, in the disguise of an angel, and it would be my duty to end this nightmare once and for all.
I paused at his bedside, the blade raised, watching his chest rise and fall. You have to do this. For you. For everyone that came before you. “I’m sorry,” I whispered as I brought the blade down with all the force I could manage.
He screamed: high, shrill as the pain awoke him slumber. Those gray eyes I had likened to soullessness, to a strange, erotic beauty I could not place, were full of malice, hatred as I jerked my blade out and flung it back in. Each motion, each frantic stabbing resulted in his blood spurting out: staining my skin, the sheets, stainless steel ripped through flesh with frightening ease, his hands doing nothing to stop my onslaught. It was the sound of his frantic breath, the sight of the remnants of his once muscled chest panting as he struggled to crawl away, the feel of his warm, sticky blood underneath my fingertips that excited me.
I took no notice of his punches, of his fingernails biting into my flesh as he tried to scratch me. I continued stabbing until his body stopped thrashing, until even the tiniest twitch disappeared and it was just I in the room with the corpse of my monster.
Like Frankenstein, I have helped create a monster.
And like a God I have decided to end its life.
The End
Fanfiction coming soon! :D Same title! This is just a preview of what we're writing! Please comment below on what ya'll think of it and give us some ideas on what to do. It'll be greatly appreciated!
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Date: 2013-10-14 01:27 am (UTC)