Fluffy Cookies
Angelic Demon
"Good night, Emma!" Andrew calls from the back entrance of the speakeasy. Emma was the one locking up tonight.
"Good night, Andrew, I'll be home in an hour or so," She calls back, straightening a glass on a shelf. Emma has lived with Andrew since both of her parents were dead and she had no one to go to. Sad, she knows, but she can't change the past. Emma began to wipe down the counter and the tables. All was peaceful. That is until her head spun and all the color in the room, except on her, turned to gray tones. It was silent. Completely silent. And it was uncomfortable for her ears.
Emma was the only thing with color and the only thing with sound. The sound, however, echoed as if she were in one, big, empty room. This felt wrong. Emma glanced at the clock: Three-thirty AM.
"Andrew?" She called, her voice reverberating off the walls more than once. Leaving the cloth on the high table, she raced after her friend to see if he saw this too. Emma saw him slowly crossing the cement road on his crutches. He had them for the purpose of hiding his legs. His horns were hidden under a hat much like mine. They were perfectly invisible to anyone. "Andrew!" Emma yelled, beginning to run to him. Now she was two feet away.
He didn't respond to her words or her presence. The only thing he did was look into the pair of headlights of a rogue vehicle, before getting hit. An echoed scream erupted from her mouth and she fell backward.
Oddly enough, Emma was back in the speakeasy, sitting next to the table she had been washing down. The clock still read three-thirty Am. Weird. That had to have taken me two minutes. Wait... Andrew!
Emma found him crossing the road. Looking up the street, she saw the automobile's headlights coming. How the hell..? Emma ran up to her friend and pulled him back as the vehicle took his place on the road and sped by. (Little do they know, Andrew was being hunted by a Paranormal hunter named Fox Lucien).
"Bloody Hell!" Emma yelled. "That palooka must be completely smoked!"
"How did you-" Andrew began to ask.
"I saw you get hit by that automobile..." Emma replied. "I-I guess I'm an oracle." He was about to say something else, but the car was coming back. "Aw, this is just swell!" Emma exclaimed sarcastically.
"Hey!" A voice whisper-yelled from the library doors. Andrew and Emma turned. "Come in here!" We could barely see his face, but we chose to follow him anyways. Inside the library, we hid behind the shelves of books. Emma drew her knife, a short-handled dagger with a clear glass blade.
"Thanks!" Andrew said quietly. “What’s your name?” My brows furrowed in slight frustration and confusion. She didn’t hear the answer. That person in the car wasn't drunk. If they were drunk then they would be swerving. They drove straight so…
“Andrew, someone’s after us,” Emma spoke watching out the window. The headlights stopped outside, and someone got out with a shotgun. “Shit, shit, shit! We need to hide!”
“Where?!” The stranger questioned. She glances at him and then at Andrew. We couldn’t go to the speakeasy, we couldn’t trust this guy. Not yet. Emma thought for a second. It was a second too long.
The door was opened and the man with the shotgun stepped in. Emma began to cuss in her head. She motioned to Andrew and the stranger to hide behind the central library counter. As they silently obliged, she began to step out of her own hiding spot, but Emma made too much noise in doing so. Damn it! The double barrel of the shotgun was pointed right into her forehead.
“State your name,” the man said, “and drop the knife.”
“Now why would I do that?” Emma asked. He began to push me back to the wall with the gun.
“I said, ‘state your name’!” He growled. Emma said nothing and showed barely any fear, but she breathed heavily, showing some panic. Emma dropped the knife. “If you won’t tell me, I’ll have to force it outta you.” He sets the gun down and pulls out a knife on the back of his waist, under his jacket. The man, now in a small patch of light, looked not much older than me. He pushes the knife to her throat.
“Jeez, Bruno, take me to dinner first!” Emma try to joke, but the knife cut into her skin slightly, and her small laughter caused it to cut a little deeper. He didn’t find it funny.
“State. Your. Name.” He tried again.
“Emma. Emma Rockefeller.” Emma finally whimpered. He let me go and put his knife away. However, he pulled out another gadget. It looked like a pendulum. It was a small metal ball on the end of a metal chain. On the other end was a metal rod that he hung on to. “What’s your name?”
“Fox Lucien,” he said, “not that you will remember anyways.” His expression was solemn, almost sad, as he held the trinket above her head. It began to swing around and around, though he held the rod still. His calm face turned vile, and he quickly aimed a pistol at her forehead, just as he had done with the shotgun, but just as fast as he pulled his out, Emma pulled out her own. It was a standoff, more formally called a walk-down.
“Put the gun down,” Emma said cooly.
“I don’t think so,” he growled. “Sorry, but you're on my hit list.”
“Hitlist?” She asked, faltering just enough…
"Good night, Andrew, I'll be home in an hour or so," She calls back, straightening a glass on a shelf. Emma has lived with Andrew since both of her parents were dead and she had no one to go to. Sad, she knows, but she can't change the past. Emma began to wipe down the counter and the tables. All was peaceful. That is until her head spun and all the color in the room, except on her, turned to gray tones. It was silent. Completely silent. And it was uncomfortable for her ears.
Emma was the only thing with color and the only thing with sound. The sound, however, echoed as if she were in one, big, empty room. This felt wrong. Emma glanced at the clock: Three-thirty AM.
"Andrew?" She called, her voice reverberating off the walls more than once. Leaving the cloth on the high table, she raced after her friend to see if he saw this too. Emma saw him slowly crossing the cement road on his crutches. He had them for the purpose of hiding his legs. His horns were hidden under a hat much like mine. They were perfectly invisible to anyone. "Andrew!" Emma yelled, beginning to run to him. Now she was two feet away.
He didn't respond to her words or her presence. The only thing he did was look into the pair of headlights of a rogue vehicle, before getting hit. An echoed scream erupted from her mouth and she fell backward.
Oddly enough, Emma was back in the speakeasy, sitting next to the table she had been washing down. The clock still read three-thirty Am. Weird. That had to have taken me two minutes. Wait... Andrew!
Emma found him crossing the road. Looking up the street, she saw the automobile's headlights coming. How the hell..? Emma ran up to her friend and pulled him back as the vehicle took his place on the road and sped by. (Little do they know, Andrew was being hunted by a Paranormal hunter named Fox Lucien).
"Bloody Hell!" Emma yelled. "That palooka must be completely smoked!"
"How did you-" Andrew began to ask.
"I saw you get hit by that automobile..." Emma replied. "I-I guess I'm an oracle." He was about to say something else, but the car was coming back. "Aw, this is just swell!" Emma exclaimed sarcastically.
"Hey!" A voice whisper-yelled from the library doors. Andrew and Emma turned. "Come in here!" We could barely see his face, but we chose to follow him anyways. Inside the library, we hid behind the shelves of books. Emma drew her knife, a short-handled dagger with a clear glass blade.
"Thanks!" Andrew said quietly. “What’s your name?” My brows furrowed in slight frustration and confusion. She didn’t hear the answer. That person in the car wasn't drunk. If they were drunk then they would be swerving. They drove straight so…
“Andrew, someone’s after us,” Emma spoke watching out the window. The headlights stopped outside, and someone got out with a shotgun. “Shit, shit, shit! We need to hide!”
“Where?!” The stranger questioned. She glances at him and then at Andrew. We couldn’t go to the speakeasy, we couldn’t trust this guy. Not yet. Emma thought for a second. It was a second too long.
The door was opened and the man with the shotgun stepped in. Emma began to cuss in her head. She motioned to Andrew and the stranger to hide behind the central library counter. As they silently obliged, she began to step out of her own hiding spot, but Emma made too much noise in doing so. Damn it! The double barrel of the shotgun was pointed right into her forehead.
“State your name,” the man said, “and drop the knife.”
“Now why would I do that?” Emma asked. He began to push me back to the wall with the gun.
“I said, ‘state your name’!” He growled. Emma said nothing and showed barely any fear, but she breathed heavily, showing some panic. Emma dropped the knife. “If you won’t tell me, I’ll have to force it outta you.” He sets the gun down and pulls out a knife on the back of his waist, under his jacket. The man, now in a small patch of light, looked not much older than me. He pushes the knife to her throat.
“Jeez, Bruno, take me to dinner first!” Emma try to joke, but the knife cut into her skin slightly, and her small laughter caused it to cut a little deeper. He didn’t find it funny.
“State. Your. Name.” He tried again.
“Emma. Emma Rockefeller.” Emma finally whimpered. He let me go and put his knife away. However, he pulled out another gadget. It looked like a pendulum. It was a small metal ball on the end of a metal chain. On the other end was a metal rod that he hung on to. “What’s your name?”
“Fox Lucien,” he said, “not that you will remember anyways.” His expression was solemn, almost sad, as he held the trinket above her head. It began to swing around and around, though he held the rod still. His calm face turned vile, and he quickly aimed a pistol at her forehead, just as he had done with the shotgun, but just as fast as he pulled his out, Emma pulled out her own. It was a standoff, more formally called a walk-down.
“Put the gun down,” Emma said cooly.
“I don’t think so,” he growled. “Sorry, but you're on my hit list.”
“Hitlist?” She asked, faltering just enough…
