Death's Door, Day 3
NaNoWriMo is in THREE days (eleven hours, five minutes, and counting)!!! I'm SO excited! Mind, my characters have run off on me... they totally started their plot a week early. Hopefully I'll be able to catch up.
Anyway, this is Day 3 of the Death's Door prompts. I'm not sure if I did as well on this one. I think I could have gone somewhere if I'd continued it, but ... I got bored (never a good sign). Anyway, let me know what you think:
Mischief grinned, well, mischievously, and looked his apprentice in the eye.
"Are you ready for this?"
The apprentice was grinning, too, but a little less certainly.
"I think so," he said.
"They say 'never knock at Death's door,' I say, 'ring the doorbell and run -- she hates that!'"
"Y-yes," said the apprentice, "But what if she catches me?"
"She won't. Now get." Mischief pushed his apprentice gently in the direction of the middle door of the connecting flats.
More bravely than he felt, the apprentice climbed the stoop towards the innocent-looking magenta door. It had white trim, and there were pots of flowers beside the stair rail. Still, the mischief-in-training was filled with dread as he raised a trembling hand and rang the doorbell.
He turned and bolted.
Well, began to bolt. He had hardly made it down two steps when the door swung open.
"Freeze, right there," said a woman's voice -- cold and commanding, "If you know what's good for you, you won't move a muscle."
He didn't move. He didn't even breathe.
Death moved down the stairs until she was standing in front of him. The young mischief's first thought was a started realization that she, Death, was beautiful. Clad in tight black that showed off an excellent figure, and with a long mane of glossy black hair, she was breathtaking. Even her sharp grey eyes, which were boring into him, were gorgeous.
"Ah," she said, her lips twisting into a sarcastic smile, "What have we here? A little mischief? And where is your master?"
Mischief's apprentice said nothing -- mostly because he was too stunned to speak.
Death gave a curt nod. "Well, you're not a squealer, I'll give you that. I'll find him myself. You, go inside-- don't touch anything!-- I'll be back to deal with you in time."
Nodding dumbly, the apprentice stumbled into the flat. The inside was as deceptively innocent as the outside. The entryway consisted of a narrow, horizontal hallway. Against the wall in front of the apprentice was a wooden table, bearing a bowl of flowers. The hall led to a living room (which seemed kind of ironic, considering who it belonged to), which was decorated elegantly, mostly in shades of white.
Sitting himself down on the white couch that was designed for looks rather than comfort, the apprentice looked around in amazed wonder at the house belonging to Death.
Maybe it was just that he was sitting in her living room, waiting for her to return and "deal with him," but he couldn't seem to get Death out of his head. He had never met a woman with such control -- or such beauty. It occurred to him that she was over a hundred years old, whereas he was only just twenty, but physically they could not have been more than a few years apart.
For the first time since he could remember, the mischief trainee was not thinking about playing pranks or causing trouble, but about something... someone... else entirely.
Then he shook his head. He was fantasizing about Death. That was so many levels of twisted he didn't even want to think about it.
No, he would receive is lecture and then get out of there, and he wouldn't spare Death another thought.
In fact, why was he placidly sitting there, waiting for his punishment? He was a Mischief, for Rex sake! And Mischiefs did not do what they were told.
Getting to his feet, Mischief's apprentice turned to go -- and found Death standing in the entryway.
"Did you know that, in some cultures, white is the color of mourning?" she said.
"N-no, I didn't," said the apprentice, sinking back onto the white couch.
Mischievously,
The Hot Girl in the Comic Shop
For your information, I believe the word's meaning comes from the Latin prefix mis, meaning naughty, and chief, meaning most important, or first. First comes naughtiness, and first is best.
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5 Brilliant Ideas:
Ooh, I loved it! Kat!e you are such a good writer!!! That short story kept me CAPTIVATED!!! I was enthralled! I like death. That sounds weird... Umm I like the character death… that's better! Keep on being great!
You are SO sweet ^_^
I must admit, it made me very happy!! was it our new DEATH and Mischief? no, she doesn't have black hair...oh well. but it was obviously the Mystik world! "for Rex sake!" ^_^ you make me happy Kat!e!!
oh, and K'neth, don't feel weird. I've loved DEATH much longer than you have. ^_~
Creme: She's more the Death I first thought of, when I began plotting the Mystyk world -- before we began our version. So, yes, in our world, but with none of our characters (except Rex. I love Rex.)
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