Rift Station: Open Worlds
"You know that feeling when you get when you're really excited for something? It's like a pit in your stomach. It's like the feeling when your coach slaps you on the behind for good luck in preparation for the big game."
I turn from the sofa to see Annie facing me in the mirror. Her simple white nightgown would look extravagant if not for the flying unicorns pictured all over. She may have a young spirit, but she's not that young. The two busty lumps in the front of the gown is proof enough. I think she wears it to tease me for being older. I don't know. Maybe she just really fucking loves unicorns. I've seen weirder shit. She brushes her hair the way I imagine cowboys brush their horses.
"I didn't play a lot of conventional sports in my early days," I muse. "The few times I did, though, Uncle Rob coached. So, to answer your question, yes."
Annie giggles and continues brushing. "Tee hee. You're bad. You know what I do to bad boys?"
"Slap them on the behind?"
"And after they get put in time-out."
I sit up from the sofa. I notice the brown liquid hanging near the bottom of my cup. Tossing the remains back, I head to refill the cup. Annie meets me at the mini bar. She smiles and grabs for the bottle, my favorite bottle. Henshaw's. The finest whiskey in Cara X. Her blue eyes glow in the low shadows of the room. The chrome backdrop only highlight the ocean color shimmering back at me. Not a single knot in her dirty blonde hair. Always thought her hair color was ironic. I hold my cup out in front of me. Silent, but for the calming rush of the pour, I stand there just staring at her. Sometimes I can't help myself. At least I know my vice. That's more than some can say. Once my cup is full, she takes a swig from the bottle. I begin to sip at my cup, still staring into her eyes. She doesn't stop. I don't stop either.
Footsteps. I hear footsteps coming from the hallway. Quickly, I place my cup down. Too late. Armed sentries burst through the door. A bright light flashes in the room and reflects off the metallic interior. My eyesight. It's fading. The last thing I remember is laser fire and Annie's scream. Her cries haunt me. The stillness of night, the quiet resting places are replaced with a constant echoing of her agony.
I turn from the sofa to see Annie facing me in the mirror. Her simple white nightgown would look extravagant if not for the flying unicorns pictured all over. She may have a young spirit, but she's not that young. The two busty lumps in the front of the gown is proof enough. I think she wears it to tease me for being older. I don't know. Maybe she just really fucking loves unicorns. I've seen weirder shit. She brushes her hair the way I imagine cowboys brush their horses.
"I didn't play a lot of conventional sports in my early days," I muse. "The few times I did, though, Uncle Rob coached. So, to answer your question, yes."
Annie giggles and continues brushing. "Tee hee. You're bad. You know what I do to bad boys?"
"Slap them on the behind?"
"And after they get put in time-out."
I sit up from the sofa. I notice the brown liquid hanging near the bottom of my cup. Tossing the remains back, I head to refill the cup. Annie meets me at the mini bar. She smiles and grabs for the bottle, my favorite bottle. Henshaw's. The finest whiskey in Cara X. Her blue eyes glow in the low shadows of the room. The chrome backdrop only highlight the ocean color shimmering back at me. Not a single knot in her dirty blonde hair. Always thought her hair color was ironic. I hold my cup out in front of me. Silent, but for the calming rush of the pour, I stand there just staring at her. Sometimes I can't help myself. At least I know my vice. That's more than some can say. Once my cup is full, she takes a swig from the bottle. I begin to sip at my cup, still staring into her eyes. She doesn't stop. I don't stop either.
Footsteps. I hear footsteps coming from the hallway. Quickly, I place my cup down. Too late. Armed sentries burst through the door. A bright light flashes in the room and reflects off the metallic interior. My eyesight. It's fading. The last thing I remember is laser fire and Annie's scream. Her cries haunt me. The stillness of night, the quiet resting places are replaced with a constant echoing of her agony.