I remember the first time I saw her, not the person she showed to those foolish enough to think they knew her. No, I remember when I saw the real her, the instinctual and true form of her personality.
It was a late November, the snow was still falling and you could hear the frozen rain bound with its bothers and sisters. I don't remember why I was out in that freezing excuse for weather, but I was. I wish I wasn't, but I was. I wouldn't have been so bad, if the cold didn't physically offend me. No matter the reason or purpose, the why or when didn't matter, the fact remained that I was out in the hellish cold. Pity I could hear the furnace calling for me.
So here I was, walking along, minding whatever business I can't remember doing, when I am ambushed from behind, thus falling face first into the. Wet. Cold. Snow. To say I was displeased would be polite, but since I'm not, we'll go with one of my favorite terms: Pissed Off. Good pair of words right there, you could put them into different tenses together and they have different meanings. Convenient, eh?
Anyways, back to the story. Where was I? Lets see, walking along, ambushed, ah yes! So, I'm munching on a flavorless snow cone, pondering whom I've screwed over to deserve such a fate, when my hand is stepped on. Now, I'm in the snow, minding my own business, and some fellow, most likely the reason I'm in the snow, steps on my hand without dilly-dally shilly-shally care!
What? I like 'Advent Children', so sue me!
So, at this point, I'm cold, in pain, and not in a good mood. I manage to push myself up to my knees, when I catch my first glimpse of her.
She was standing over me, like some dark angel. Her hair was whipping about her in some nonexistent wind, obscuring her eyes and clinging to her mouth. She had fangs and short blond hair. I didn't really notice anything else about her just then. I didn't care. I could just feel her looking at me. That's when I noticed it.
She had a gun.
She had a gun, and was pointing it at me.
I could only think of two thingsas she pulled the trigger, number one on that listwas mehoping that someone would take care of my cats.
Thankfully, the girl who shot me, had no problem with that.
Secound on my mind was cursing whatever desire I had to take that blasted FREAK chip.
I remember, just as her bullet tore through me, hearing a faintly sad voice saying someting about her Majesty, god and the word amen.