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 Posted: Sat Dec 05, 2009 12:08 pm
The nails that Esen, before her death, usually kept short and blunt (it's safer for when you do an experiment and you need to wear plastic gloves), had ripped off quite a bit of flesh on Fallon's side with their clawlike tips. Esen only knew this because she felt a bit of liquid on her fingertips.
This was the last thing she registered in her head before it got pulled up by her hair and punched in the face. Esen had to shut her eyes, but seeing and feeling were two different things: even though she could not see it, she felt something drip from her nostrils and mouth, which were accompanied with pain. This was more intense than her actual death, the pain (though, when she became paper for the first youma student, Elle, it would have probably been worse than this if she weren't DEAD right after).
Her brain partially shut off... Good Esen was left to experience her second death. This Esen was the one screaming to the fighter within who had killed Lucas... and the Esen who was once truly alive understood, understood the reason why the girl attacked her. With the hunger pangs and what might as well have been head trauma, her final verbalization was strained, although her mouth was wet.
"I... know why... you... had..."
There was no more she was able to say. The body of Esen had fell unconscious, mistaking the sensation for death. Hopefully Fallon would understand what she said without the last part of the sentence:
'...to attack me.'
Of course, the reason why Fallon had attacked was mistaken in Esen's final moments. It was Fallon's need for order, a motive Fallon was unable to control, that fueled the fire. It was not simply avenging someone you cared about, not today.
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Posted: Sun Dec 06, 2009 6:09 am
Fallon did not stop punching until long after Esen had succumbed. At some point, her hand got tired and she let go of the girl's hair, letting her head fall to the infirmary floor with a wet squish. She switched hands, but kept punching, scraping ripping until Esen's head was not a head, just a collection of bone shards and rotted brain matter staining the floor like a Pollock mural. Fallon hit and hit and hit until her own knuckles bled, until she was simply pounding her fists into the floor. The pain felt good; it felt real.
Only when her stomach cried out in pain did she stumble away from Esen, falling haphazardly on Lucas. Though she had not delivered the crushing blow, she would be the one, alone, to decimate his body. No sharing, no hesitation, just scratching an itch that had been plaguing her ever since she awoke in the woods. And then there was Kimmie too. And Esen. Kneeling in the grime of three deaths, Fallon lowered her hungry jaws again and again, tugging away bits of flesh and catching the steady flow of blood in her mouth. She appeared as a lion, crouching over her kill and the one who she had not killed. When the flesh no longer pleased her, Fallon slid on to her belly, lapping up the blood that ran into the cracks in the floor.
By the time she thought to go to Kimmie, Fallon was completely full, swollen like a pregnant mother. She could not stand, and instead, she collapsed backward, lying between the other fallen students. Her chest rose and fell in something that felt almost like an orgasm, but not quite. The rush of sustenance made her feel stronger, almost invincible. Power crackled in her fingertips, the power to destroy. After fifteen years of life, she had released the violent nature that she sought to keep in check all these years, the impulse that she should keep in check. But according to whose standards? Humanity? Fallon did not fall under its authority any more. She was not a human -- was she ever? It was a question that plagued Fallon, that made her want to kill again as much as it made her want to vomit up the gore that she had consumed.
A tiny part of her was saddened more by how she ate, not the fact that she ate flesh, or who it was. Before, Fallon took the utmost care with the food she consumed. She had standards. She had cooking technique. What would she do with it now? Fallon no longer craved delicious food that was well-prepared; she wanted only the adrenaline rush of taking down prey and consuming it immediately. Not only did her new youma form deny her the humanity she felt she had always known -- it took away the one thing that gave her purpose: her cooking. The thought was more terrifying than the murder she committed, than the peers she had eaten.
It was knowing that she would never cook again that reduced Fallon to tears in that room, curling into a tight ball alongside Esen's rotted corpse and Lucas's decimated form. After a time that Fallon did not register, the girl rose to her feet -- blood-stained from head to toe -- and slowly wandered out of the room, moving like a ghost, a shell, an empty echo down a dark hallway.
And then she disappeared into the darkness once more.
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