Eyes by Lia Jones

This story is one of the October Writing Challenge entries chosen to be a featured story.

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Green eyes. Golden flecks swirled in a sea of emerald, centred around a black void. Ashen skin. Icy charm ridden with frostbite. Brown hair. Waves tangled complexly in a mahogany hurricane. Glossed lips. Gleaming strawberry poison. The moonlight reflected off her silken mini-dress, sending beams of dimmed light shooting from her body. She stood on the side of the back road, hand on her clutch, staring at what appeared to be nothing, oblivious to the black car coming to a stop at her feet. The window rolled downwards, revealing a young man at the wheel.

“Hey, darlin’, what’s a pretty thing like you doin’ out here by yourself? Need a ride home?” No vocal answer, just a slight nod as she opened the passenger door and climbed into the car.

“Which way home? Or should we go back to my place?”

“Forwards.” Her voice was cracked and broken, with the same consistency of cords that had spent many millennia in silence.

“Forwards it is, darlin’.”

 

The uneasy silence suffocated him, invading every corner of his mind, weighing down on his lungs. Her eyes hadn’t strayed from the road ahead since she had climbed into his car, whilst his danced between the steering wheel, the road, and her body, always resting for a millisecond too long on her breasts. Fingers drumming against the gear stick, he tried to focus his mind from the oppressing atmosphere.

“Where are you from, then? Gotta know where I’m driving to.” He sniggered at his own joke, nervous energy seeping from his laugh.

“The general area.” Swiftly, she turned herself to face him, gentle fingers brushing against his arm as she began to toy with the frayed edges of his collar, her face changing from its blank expression to a slight grin. His eyes grew wide at her touch, frozen adrenaline darting through his veins.

“Pull over,” she whispered, soft lips pressed lightly against his ear.

 

Concealed by stretching trees, the black car came to a stop in a forested undergrowth. Vibrant green bushes, dulled by the black sky, crawled up the scuffed wheels, bound by their spindly twigs. His eyes met hers, hands slick with sweat, mind pooled with apprehension as he felt her fingers wander down his body, finding his seat belt. The harsh fabric skimmed his cheek, coming to rest in its hole in the ceiling.

“I…I thought you were waiting for a ride home.”

“Really, I was only waiting for a handsome, charming guy to pick me up.”

She raised herself up, moving effortlessly across the car. Her leg swung over him, putting her in a straddling position over him. He froze, unsure, watching as her slim arms stretched towards him and wrapped around his neck. Her warm breath thawed his frosty cheek, soothing the chilled nipping of the air.

“Its… getting late.” The pressuring feeling of the unknown had overtaken the lust he had felt upon seeing her, the anxious aura surrounding him, once seeming petty, now attacked him in torturous ways, compelling his entire being to quake at its presence.

 

Without a word, she pressed her delicate lips against his, threading her fingers into his hair, forcing her body onto his. He reached out for the lever beside his chair, allowing his chair to lean back into a relaxed posture, one hand on her waist all the while. Sloppily, his tongue entered her mouth, lack of experience clear as it slithered inside, exploring every inch of her saliva-filled caverns. His eyes shut; her eyes open. His hands on her waist; her hands on her clutch. She gripped onto cool metal, pulling it away from the small bag, pulling herself away from his invading arms. Startled, his eyes flew open, greeted by a blade held to his throat. His breath quickened, throat shrivelling. She held the knife with an iron-clad grip, her smirk widening at his struggle.

“I really did enjoy myself. Thanks for the ride.” In one sudden movement, his neck became a gaping hole, blood rushing to the surface, pouring over the edges. She opened the car door, feeling the harsh whipping wind of the night capture her body as she turned away from his corpse. Her green eyes, once filled with golden flecks swirling in her sea of emerald, rolled backwards to reveal their true colour: crimson red.

 

 

Lia Jones
13
England
Germ Magazine guest author

… is a contributing guest author for Germ, which means the following criteria (and then some) have been met: possessor of a fresh, original voice; creator of fresh, original content; genius storyteller; superlative speller; fantastic dancer; expert joke teller; handy with a toolbox; brilliant at parties; loves us as much as we love them.

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