Mellea-art-home - Arts

Life's Price (Bat-Jokes fanfic)

The dark sky overhead was slowly being consumed by the rolling clouds, the full moon slowly being suffocated, dimming the only light on the scene of a densely wooded path. Barely able to see with the light slowly fading, just like his confidence, he ran as fast as he could, the brisk wind biting his face, lungs, burning its way through, and around his body, The wicked trees, now barren of all leaves, cut and grabbed at the edges of his disheveled, once white, button down, and his dark purple dress pants held by a black leather belt, and silver buckle. The weight in his hand was far from his mind, slipping it instinctively towards his right pocket, the more important weight on his mind was a moral one. The feeling of the presence behind him grew, it felt like they were almost there, but not now, not yet, I can’t see them, I need to get away. But the feeling of being watched never left his slender, clearly bruised pale face, and what looked like it was quite clean styled hair, now but a bird's nest of knots, twigs and what dead leaves still lay attached to them. His breath was getting more choked, his guilt clogging his airways, blurring his eyes with tears for only a few seconds, a few seconds that caught his ill equipped dress shoes, throwing him off balance, where he crashed to the forest floor with a hard *Thump*. There was a noticeable spray of needles, dirt and dried leaves, he managed to catch himself bracing with his dominant arm, twisting it to avoid slamming into a nearby rock. As he got up his right arm was in a lot more pain than it was before, with his side starting to stitch, he hobbled onward, with his body aching knowing what he did, before all of this,’ the physical pain is what I deserve by now for what I did to him.’ he muttered to himself, almost choking up again. He had images flash by as the last of the moon's rays peered out from behind the clouds, slowly licking away all his bearings. The wide open garden, with a retaining wall half way down the nearly two acre backyard, the large glass house built for parties, strung up with fairy lights, giving a warm comforting hue of orange and yellow onto sleek brown leather furniture. And the smell, not just of fresh cut grass, but their cologne, the food as expansive as could be. That’s when he remembered the song, the one that was most special, and caused this whole mess, a light calm jazz style, meant for dancing.

The crescendo and fall, like waves from a brass sea, then the orchestral string building behind as all lay low, the memories took over the times he’d heard this song, the visions grew just like the waves from the music. He had backed up seeing it come closer, and closer, trying to run until the music all paused for just a moment before the next burst of energy, but what rang out was not the drums and brass blaring energy and life into the room, not at first but a shot rang through the air as he stood there shaking, and just coming to his senses, ‘John?!’ a silky deep voice called out in a stern, but concerned tone. Shaking more, looking in surprise at the gun in his hand, not sure what to make of it, looking around at everyone, flushing barely muttered, “B-b-b-Bruce…” he tried to hold out a hand but hesitated, pulling back, whispering “I’m sorry…” turning and running out, and trying to escape everyone, ignoring the calls for him to come back, despite the pleading he could hear, John kept running. The memory was on repeat, more specifically the pleading he heard to come back, he knew he couldn’t go back, he didn’t even process if he injured someone, but he knew that the visions were what kept him from being able to be there, and improve, have a normal life, Now only small beams were poking through the thin parts of the cloud veil, but on his knees he fell at the edge of a small clearing, hiding a gazebo in the center, made of old wood, and ancient stone carved into eight sides. John hobbled over to the several stairs to get into the relatively spacious interior, where he collapsed on the far edge up against the cool brick wall, as the trees began rustling from the wind, with the weathering mimicking him, there started a drizzle, and then it picked up as he began to weep, pulling the gun from is pocket. He sat one leg up, back pressed against the cool uneven stones of the gazebo wall, his arms bleeding, along with his chest from the tiny knife-like ends of the branches which ripped his shirt and skin. Being almost unable to breathe between the emotions overwhelming him, and catching his breath, he didn’t hear the steps approaching, or the taps of dress shoes on the stone steps growing closer till they stopped at the top. Bruce walked up the few steps out of breath and soaked, adjusting himself to look across at John, cut and bruised, barely able to move his arm, as he tries to aim the weapon on himself, where he sees the tears rushing down his face, weakly saying with cracks in his voice, “I-I’m so so s-sorry Bruce, y-you should have..” he starts to cough, doubling over, and starts to shake, and becomes incapable of moving the arm holding the pistol, clearly straining, and desperately trying to move his arm, as Bruce walks over. “You-you know, I can’t function, you know this is what’s best, so I’m not a risk again, I c-can’t be helped!” John’s voice breaking, and sounding more manic. “W-what else could there be for me, this is the only logical way to deal with someone who is such a threat like me, R-right?” John, straining a pleading face, looked up to Bruce, standing right above him. Bruce simply got onto one knee, hand on the gun, threw it away, holding John's face in his other large, strong, and reliable hand, and said, “I wouldn’t even think it a possibility, my love, it’s something we must work together on, and you can improve.” A hopeful smile played across Bruce’s face, pained, but hopeful staring into Johns eyes, They at last embraced each other, thinking of the future as the rain poured around them, making the most of their new found time together, where John soon fell asleep on Bruce’s shoulder, as they waited for rain to pass to leave and dry off, and see about working their new life.

She woke up and decided to make some bread.

PFP I made for someone a few months ago

I was lost, that fact was damn well known hours ago when I got  here, well whatever, or wherever here  was, a bunch of empty rooms, stale halls, and sickly air. I’ve seen places in areas that I cannot understand the placement of. That has been the least of my concerns. I have been choking on this stale brittle air, something that feels more like a plastic spoon than something you can breathe, like every breath is covering your lungs in something.

But it’s all to get away from whatever I saw, it is something I cannot begin to fathom how it exists, a tall dark figure, that seems to balance on thin toothpick like legs bent back and forth with an odd twitch with each step, and the head of an old tube tv that keeps playing static, intermittent with a blaring alert that echo down the open, dead passageways like a threat, reminding me of its power over me. I am hidden trying to regain my breath but that alert has been getting louder for the past minute, and I keep thinking I hear a ticking.

Time has passed, and I have found some kind of school, but it’s just halls, dull white halls, sickly fading yellow walls, and cold dead air. I feel the air biting at me, like a warning that I am not safe, and it is at that moment I hear the ticking, and a light tap following each tick, come from the hall behind me. I know I must move, and it takes all my strength to do so, down a side hall, or at least what I could think is one, I try to stay calm but the alert blares at an ear piercing volume down the solid walls, and I break out into a sprint, whether it was the safest option or not.

I don’t look back, as my blood runs as cold as the air, the ticking is getting louder, and much faster, no matter how many turns the sound from behind me gets closer. I run down another corner, and made the mistake of looking down the hall, I stop breathing in that moment, as the creature stands at the other end of the hall, the screen playing the noise of children laughing, and a distorted voice calls out, “Hide and seek is over now, we found you, he-he-he-he-”The voice started to get more distorted and covered by static before the creature started running.

swapped the genre of Mellea from high class sci-fi to fantasy and decided to make a show of how she would deal with being pushed to the edge. She is my powerful baby girl