Wednesday, September 01, 2010

Writing Wednesdays: The Reformed 1.0

June 28, 2019

The prey fled, winding corners and jumping over obstacles.  None of it mattered to Sienne.  She would chase it to hell and back if she had to.  Once she caught a whiff of living flesh and blood there was no breaking her determination, no stopping her hunt until the chase was done and the prey between her teeth.
She moved with purpose, easily making her way through the maze of abandoned streets.  This was her clan’s neighborhood.  She knew the terrain.  The prey, likely scavenging for food or supplies, did not.  Sienne smiled.
She rounded a corner and stopped.  The prey was no longer visible, but his odor painted him bright red in a world of grey.  She could smell him.  The slightly soured smell of sweat.  The pungent bitterness of urine.  And, above all, the sweetness of blood.  Her body quivered in anticipation.
Her bare feet padded on the sidewalk as she walked towards a cluster of abandoned vehicles.  The power of his scent was drawing her like a magnet.  Soon she would feast.  Her throat tickled as she purred, soft like a cat playing with a toy.  She inhaled deeply and turned her attention to a blue minivan.  She crept closer, willing her body stay calm.  Sienne enjoyed the hunt nearly as much as the fruits--or in this case, meats--of her labor.
She threw open the sliding door and scowled.  The smell was strong, but there was no body, only a pile of discarded clothes still full of life’s warmth.  She tossed the garments aside, frustrated.  She wanted food.  Sienne slammed the door, snarling.
The cold touch of steel blew through her stomach, knocking her backwards against the rear doors.  Sienne did not understand what was happening when she felt something else stir, something old and long forgotten.  Pain.
Blinding, crippling fire lanced through her gut and out the rest of her body.  She quivered again, this time from shock.  She screamed a terrible yell of hatred and raw natural response against the agony.  Her legs gave out and she sagged, the harpoon lance through her belly keeping her pinned to the van.
She tried to pull the bolt from her, but touching it increased the unbearable pain that she gave up.  Through it all, the smell of flesh and blood wafted around her, making her hungry and sick at the same time.  Nausea weakened her further and she vomited.  
Footsteps brought her head up and she had just enough time to see a crowbar before it slammed across her face and she saw only black.


Jay Belt said...

Is this part of a new series? I hope so. I liked what I read, but I want to know more about this person and this world.

logankstewart said...

Indeed, it is the start of a new series. I'm not sure if I'll add to it weekly, but that's my goal.

Glad you liked it. Like with so many other stories, I'm excited to be writing it.

David Wagner said...

Dang, nicely done. I'll certainly look for more. Good work. (glad it wasn't first person!)

logankstewart said...

Thanks, Dave. Hope you continue to like it.