He was waiting for her in the study, the place of his birth. He stood in front of her desk with his back to the doorway, running a gnarled finger back and forth across the five-toned scale of the miniature wind chimes. His left fingers twitched nervously about the side of his head, twisting and tugging on the dark hair above his ear. The sleeves of his ratty jacket rustled with each motion. He always wore that shredded piece of leather – it had become something of a signature.
She was not surprised to see him, but the sight of him nevertheless made her tremble. She stood in the doorway, glued to the threshold like a child terrified to enter a dark room for fear of the monsters hiding within. She was certain he was aware of her presence; he always was. He was waiting for her, though, to speak.
“Get out of my head, Daemon,” she called with manufactured strength. He silenced the chimes with the back of his hand but did not turn to face her. His shoulders shook with inaudible laughter. She shifted uneasily in the doorway, her supply of the artificial confidence having run out.
“Come to try again, Charlotte?”
No response. What could she say? He was right. He was always right. She could almost feel his thin, knowing smile at her silence.
“Have a seat.” He stretched forward his right hand, his left still picking at his head, and indicated her desk chair. With a stilted gait, she walked across the room and took her seat, facing him. His face was gaunter than she remembered, his cheeks wide craters in the livid flesh. His eyes had lost their lonely, melancholy expression long ago, replaced by cloudy-blue marbles. He met her gaze and she immediately lowered her head, shaking.
“Please, Daemon,” she whispered, “let me be.”
He laughed. It was a brittle, hollow sound as if you could snap it in half like a dead twig. He sensed her discomfort, which pulled out further laughter.
“Quit making me laugh, dear. It gives me a headache,” he said, reaching for the glass of water on the desk.
She stared at the fidgeting left hand as he raised the glass to his cracked lips and drained it gulp by gulp.
“What do you want?” she blurted. His lips hinted at a smile, but twisted suddenly in disgust.
“Your desk is a mess,” he commented, placing the empty glass back on her desk.
It was true, of course. A typewriter occupied the majority of the desktop, surrounded by worthless office toys and cups holding bouquets of pens and dirty dishes from last week’s meals. God only knows what could have been hiding under the mass of crumpled papers.
“Fine,” she spat in a sudden wave of rage, rocketing out of her chair. “You want me to clean my desk? I’ll clean the stupid desk!” She swept her arms wildly across the desk, pushing a waterfall of balled paper over the edge. She hit the glass, knocking it over and spilling water across the wooden surface. She threw herself backing into the chair and buried her face in her wet arms.
He had been observing her calmly and now let out another transparent laugh, despite the pain in his head.
“Why are you doing this to me, Daemon? I know you. This isn’t like you.”
He grinned and plopped himself down in the dusty grey chair by his side. He swung his legs up and planted his heel on the desk, ankles crossed. He overturned a cup of pens, causing them to spill out in the shape of a fan.
“You only know what you wanted me to be. I would like to invite you to get to know me now; I’m much more interesting than I ever was under your pen.”
She clamped down on her lower lip to keep it from trembling, breaking the skin and drawing blood.
And through it all, his left hand still twisted, still pulled, still scratched the dark hair.
“Please…stop!” she begged.
He glared at her, not a trace of amusement left to play on his lips. With tauntingly slow movements, he lowered his feet and stood, plucked a couple of strands of brown hair from his scalp, and sprinkled them onto the typewriter, a mocking gesture.
Avoiding his gaze, she concentrated on the cup, upright and untouched.
“You’re here to kill me, aren’t you?” she muttered.
He smiled at her and loomed over the desk. She flinched as his shadow swallowed her.
“I’m not the one with the gun in my desk, Charlotte.”
She forced herself to meet his gaze. The corners of his pallid lips were curled slightly, and for a moment, the dead, milky blue eyes flashed. She understood the command and robotically obeyed.
She removed the gun from the drawer.
“Why, Daemon?” she cried under her breath. He needed no further clarification.
“I spent my life playing the part of the puppet. Now, Charlotte, I’m ready for us to switch roles.” He paused for a moment before adding, “Let’s be sure to make this your last try, shall we?”
She turned the gun over in her hands under his impatient eye.
“Go on,” he murmured.
She didn’t move.
“Just do it,” he hissed, irritation raising his voice.
“I don’t want to.”
“You don’t want to?” He was yelling now. “Did you ever think that maybe I didn’t want to either? You never gave me that option!”
He turned angrily to the side and lowered his hand for the first time, giving her the full impact of the small blossom of dark hair in a field of platinum blonde.
She burst into tears and looked away from the hole, from the foggy blue eyes that used to be such a beautiful shade of brown, from the pale cheeks that used to be so rosy.
“Do it!” he shouted over her head.
She screamed in horror and agony as she positioned the gun to her temple. She gave him one last look through her tears, imploring him for mercy.
But he laughed.
She squeezed her eyes shut, spilling tears down her face. She alternated between sputtered apologies and pleads.
“Do it now!”
The crack of the gunshot was beautiful, he thought.
She slumped forward onto the desk. He breathed in the smell of the crimson liquid that spattered her expensive rug and chair. He dipped his fingers in the accumulating pool of blood under her head and painted his smiling lips with it.
His image began to flicker as he soaked his hands in the thick, warm substance. The room was filled with the sound manic laughter until he vanished completely.
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139,263 Literary Works • 672,523 Reviews
I promise I'm not usually this morbid. 
Hi Searria,
Hmm, a very different story from the ones that I read, but it was interesting and also mysterious. But at the end, I had but one question. "Why?" Why did all that happen. I mean, I could guess that Charlotte had somehow killed Daemon, the same way he had her kill herself, but it still brought the question 'Why?'
Why did Charlotte kill Daemon in the first place. What was the relationship between her and Daemon? If Daemon was actually dead, how did come back as a spirit? How did he control her?
It gets the reader confused when he/she asks questions like this and gets no answer back after reading the chapter again. So, I do hope you intend to write more, and give answers to some of the above questions.
Right, with that out of the way, let me start my review,
Mistakes
He "waited" seems better, as you begin the next sentence with "He stood"
Don't say "nervously" as it's quite contradictory to the cold confidence he shows after Charlotte arrives.
Saying "run out" in the same paragraph where it says, "she called with manufactured strength." seems quite on the contrary. So, change it something like, "...confidence running out."
"the chair besides her desk"
Assonance works in poems but not in prose. So, I think you need to revise this.
Write this as, "God only knows what could be hiding under the mass of crumpled papers."
Look at these two, and tell me if you notice something that you seem to have missed earlier. Yes, if he drank all the water, how did the same glass get filled with water again?
Should be "wet hands"
Correct this as, "He observed her calmly and let out another transparent laugh."
Which cup is this? Because both the glass and the cup overturned earlier. Please clarify.
Plot
Now why did I like this, although there were so many questions that were left unanswered. I liked it because of the rising flow you created, and your use of carefully picked words that made that affect. I also liked it because it took you so little to describe something a lot more sinister, and more deeper than the surface facts that we are seeing. Although it's plot is so small, it's written in a way that it's seems to have roots going a lot more deeper than we know. So, I congratulate on the plot.
Descriptions
The descriptions were good and suited the style of the story. But the things I liked were the similes you used in place of descriptions, such as,
These were unusual similes but they had their affect, and a similes effect is greater that just plain descriptions. It helps the reader in understanding the exact idea you had in mind when write it. So, good job on the similes.
Character Descriptions
These were given so off handedly that I had created imagery of the character without even knowing that I was doing. That's the ability that should be there, and with this story, you show that you are exceptional at it. So, I have no faults in them to point out, but I have to say very well done on those.
Overall
It was a mysterious chapter and was kinda sad but you had written it exceptionally well. But do write further to provide the answers to the questions I asked.
Good luck
- C -
Hey, Searria!
I thought this was really good! First of all, your grammar is great
Even though the time spent with these characters is so short, I feel very intrigued by them. I love how you started right off the bat with introducing us to Daemon’s hair teasing habit. Later, I liked the sudden emotion from Charlotte, who sent the items flying off the table. At the end, the description of Daemon was great again, with the patch of dark hair amidst the platinum blonde and hazy blue eyes.
I think it was really cool how you brought us into the scene so quickly, and how I was immediately attached to the characters. Even right now I’m wondering about these two’s pasts, and how in the world they got this way. If there was more of this story, I would go on to read it for sure.
Since there’s not much to this lengthwise, it’s hard to go into a detailed review. The only thing I have to complain about is that in the beginning I thought that Daemon was some weird way of saying Demon, but that’s about it x)
For an exercise, this is amazing! Keep writing!!
Have an awesome day,
~blacksheep
Hi there Searria! ^^ Sorry it took me so long to get to this. oo"
Anyway, I figure I should tell you I didn't read whatever lurked inside the spoiler. I don't like explanations. The story should always stand on its own.
Final thoughts:
I like this much better than the first version. Just saying.
I actually like this, although I notice you have two main problems.
First is your flow. I have problems with this too. Sometimes it's hard not to use your default sentence pattern, but when you use a certain pattern too many times, it becomes monotonous. Other times, when you try to cram too much into a sentence, you break its flow.
What is flow? Flow is how the words come out the page, how they read, how they run through your reader's mind. Truly good prose has near-perfect flow. Bad flow makes you stumble when you read it, and so it's difficult to stick with an author who has no sense of flow. You want your words to be smooth and silky.
Fortunately, flow is easy to fix. Just read your piece again and take note of any sentences that make you pause. Your words should come as naturally as breathing, so if they make you stop for breath or leave you tongue-tied (and you didn't mean to do that), it means your flow is all over the place in that area. Simply revise the sentences that make it awkward and read them again. Repeat until it sounds right. ^^
Your other problem is that you frequently neglect to tell your reader some things. While it's not good to treat your readers as stupid, you have to realize they're not psychic. ^^" They don't really know as much about your world as you do. This is a bit trickier than flow because the only way to realize it is if someone tells you. I noted the parts where I was confused above.
Also, you have a tiny problem with consistency. You say this, and then you forgot that you said it in the next few lines. No biggie either. Just read through the story again after taking a short break from it. You should be able to note the inconsistencies yourself. I pointed out a few to you.
Overall, this story has a good impact. It's kind of slow at the start, but I suppose it's supposed to be drawn out there. The ending could be improved as well. It kind of tries too hard. Only the last two paragraphs, though. I like the whole crack of the gunshot line, but everything below it just kind of went downhill. Revise so it doesn't sound so corny, maybe?
Oh, and try to get rid of exclamation points where you can. Maybe leave only one or two in the story, and personally, I think they'd work best in the climax, but it's your call. ^^
Again, good job on the revision~ ^^ If you have any questions or need anything, PM me, all right?
Sincerely,
Octave
I really liked this. You should check out my work. I think you may like it. Keep writing!
Hmm this is interesting and I can't wait to read more. Good luck!!! I couldn't find any spelling errors. So that's good. Also you have good descriptions and emotions in this. It made me sad at the end but hopefully I will get to read more soon. Keep up the good work and Happy Writing!!!
Soulkana<3