For Your Consideration...

Here's a short story I posted months ago on here. I've revised it over and over, but don't know if it's going anywhere. Please tell me what you think! Is there something else/different you want to happen? What doesn't work? Are there parts that don't work, that are confusing, or over-the-top? Does the end seem...dumb, too abrupt, anti-climatic or anything like these? Also, I'm notorious for using too many adjectives--did I go overboard on this? Please, please tell me what you think. I want to submit this very soon, by Monday, to a literary magazine and can use all the feedback I can get.

Thank you, thank you, thank you!!!

Fear Conversed

A young girl encased in a green bathrobe nestled in a couch's corner, her feet and body wrapped in folds of a sixteen-year old 101 Dalmatians comforter. The once vibrant red now pinkish orange material constricted further as her right hand slid down determinedly and secured a loose corner under her right foot. She yawned. Her exposed teeth gleamed dully from a late night TV show. The leather coach groaned as her form sank further, further into depths of deliciously warm fabric.

A commercial selling greasy, slowly-rotating pizzas began. Her fingers and chin bobbed absently to the muted jingle about "2 pizzas for 10 bucks" while fists of 10 dollar bills and grinning families at immaculate dinner tables flashed across the screen. Another followed, featuring a natural male-enhancement pill. Her lips and brows wrinkled downward over the ridiculous, distasteful innuendo.

Her sluggish, undecided thumb surrendered and switched off the jumbled images with a silent click. Black exhaustion lowered her into arms of waiting dreams. Her mouth became lax, a black void drawing air in…out…in…out.

A tall shadow crept through her closed eyes. A worn sole shuffled over laminate wood.

Charlie? She wondered with petrified hope. No. No fourteen year-old dog's paws made that noise but a person, casually—the presence thick and noiseless as fog.

Her chest kept her frantic heart from escaping. Her breathing cut off. She refused to see.
Nothing was there. Nothing was there. Nothing was there. Nothing was th—! A whispering of smooth, light fabric brushed leisurely back-and-forth, like solidifying vapor. Closer…closer…closer…

The floor she cowered by creaked deliberately. She felt the presence of something, felt the air in front of her occupied. Someone was standing there. Watching her. Waiting.

"Dad? Mom?" she jerkily cracked. Why weren't they saying anything? This was not her parents. She knew their footsteps: a heavy shuffle or quiet, dry sweep of heels. This was another’s.
Her mind shrieked at her legs, Run! Get away! The waterless mouth struggled to function. What could she do? Her arms clenched each other. She wrenched open her quivering eyelids. A thin silhouette waited before her.

Knowing, quiet omnipotence.

"Hello, Elenore." A fluttering, soft noise.

The blanket and feet yanked back from the sound. The remote control, laid to rest for the night, catapulted off the armrest into thick ebony silence. Her mouth gaped.

A desiccated chuckle.

"Help. Help. Help. Help. Help. Help." Her whispered plea lost in juddered breaths.

A smooth voice. "No need to fear. I won’t extinguish you tonight."

She shrunk from the response. Her chest squeezed air into frozen lungs.

"Wh—what—who are you!?"

"I couldn't tell you, really. I'm fashioned from fear," a deliberate, heavy hesitation, "yours, actually. I’m unattached to bonds of existence, yet your imagination and fear insist I…linger."

The girl's pupils contracted. Her eyelids drew back, disbelieving.

"I'm awake, so how can I see you?"

"Oh, I'm not a nightmare." A hint of jeering loftiness.

The floating voice paralyzed the girl. Each word cut, slowly, deeply, carefully into her skin, seeping, searing into her bones. Blood slogged icily through veins and heart.

"Get away from me!" "Help!" she wailed. The shadow laughed. Quiet, bemused.

"You, Elenore, arranged this to be private."

"I…what?"

Each word drew, languidly from encircling darkness: a water-laden rope dragging up from fathomless depths. "No one can hear us. No one can see us.”

“Why are you here? What do you want!?”

“Now that’s a sensible response from you for a change.” Mocking incredulousness.

Without thought, the girl retorted. “Shut u—!” Slender fingers slid calmly around her throat. Blood pulsed beneath his quiet hand.

He whispered liltingly, harshly directing her to his voice, caressing her cheek with one fingertip. A weak moan bled through her lips. “Should I break my promise? The one I made just for you, Elenore? Do you want me to kill you—right now? When I could give you more time to live, to ponder, wonder just what night I’ll return to unravel your mind and ultimately destroy you?”

Her body quaked as fear held her. A trapped sob longed to escape her.

“S-sorry—! Ple-ase …” The fingers allowed only so much air for her plea.

And then fear released the girl. Her body took over next as it convulsed with frenzied twitches. Perspiration coated her flesh like liquid sequins. She inhaled slowly, fearing to do so too audibly for its ears--if it had any.

“Don’t be frightened, my sweet, precious Elenore…breath all you want tonight. Enjoy the lovely, fresh air surrounding you.”

“Ar-are you human?” The question had hung on her lip from the beginning of the meeting.

A laugh. Humorless, dark. “Of course not. Most humans have eyes, I gathered.”

The young girl couldn’t stopper the sickened curiosity teeming within her, “How can you see? The last word a noiseless hiss.

“I don’t need eyes to see my prey, Elenore. Most humans produce an extraordinarily tangible representation of fear. Though I can't see other’s or your fear always, only when my prey gives in to their thoughts, hallucinations.” She saw the shadow smirk though she could not see him.
His voice was thoughtful, polite.

“I've been watching you,” every one of her cells quivered, “I should say your fear, for a long time. Sometimes I lost track of yours amidst the forest of mindless victims, but as of late, your fear has grown stronger and clearer for me to watch and study. How could I resist not acquainting myself with the owner of this distinct fear manifestation? I owed yourself and I that much.”

Boundless euphoria rang with a note of reverence from darkness: “How fortunate and rare you are to be selected by me." She recoiled, clutching at the blanket and moisture between her fingers.

She dreaded the response before the question entered her thoughts, "What do I…What does my fear look like?"

"An odd, unwise notion to pursue. However, if you insist. It is, after all, a peculiar, rather delicious image to behold.” He surveyed a great, succulent feast with those words. The higher tone and tempo ripped at her. Her numbing fingers clung to withered edges of the quaking blanket, furling it around her.

“Absolute fear always looks a deep, dark, old shadow.” He spoke slowly now. Ancient and far away.

“As fear matures and prey weakens, I always step closer to examine—being, of course, understandably incapable of disregarding my own maturing curiosity and craving. As I come nearer, I look beneath, past what all other humans see and project. You. I see a crumpled, grey child. Scarcely does she raise her head or eyes. Whimpering, whining, weeping always. Her eyes always staring, never closing, never calm. Eyes so hallow, so broke, like an expired light bulb."

"You’re lying." She barely whispered.

"False hope, ludicrous hope usually springs up.” She imagined him waving a hand airily as his tone while he smiled sympathetically, shaking his head in jest. Then his voice was bubbling acid. “But soon enough it’ll wane.” Just as abruptly, his voice once again became as quiet and assuring as each step of a feline. “My selections sometimes manage to hold on to a fragment of light I can distinguish—like yours. Each loses this dim glimmer though. Once I find them, I lead each one-by-one to fade to darkness, utterly absorbed, lost in fear. He paused, breathing measured, peaceful breathes. His words smoothed out and became eager, exultant. “How I look forward to guiding you there soon, Elenore. Watching the little grey figure grow limper, darker. Watching those once shivering limbs lie silent, still, welcoming. Seeing—"

"No!"

Elenore sunk back, terrified and spent. A long, sinister gap of sound hovered and fell upon both. All she could muster was a dry, involuntary swallowing inside her throat. Still, he did not speak. Finally, a faint snigger, to mostly himself.

"My most sincere apologies, dear, sweet Elenore.” Artificial. A crescendo of obsession mixed with palpable jubilation crept in. “I'm getting far too ahead of the agenda, so to speak. There's plenty time left yet to savor those happy moments.” He stopped, smiling wistfully to himself, she imagined. The voice became somber and longing. “Yes. Those long…happy…moments." He

sighed true bliss.

“Well then, until next time, my very fortunate friend." She heard a cold, pleased smile in his farewell as she sunk into the cushions, limp, cold, unaware a slight hand rested upon her still, grey countenance.

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Also, here's two poems I was working on today. I have no idea if either is worth pursuing. You tell me. What do you like/dislike and why?

I can't decide if the first one is too short/unfinished, but everytime I tried to add more, it just seemed to bog down the rest of it.

embryo

There's something waiting,

fighting to be free

burrowing away at shell of order and

space

There's something emerging,

breaking through the void

wriggling in earnest for light and

purpose

Does the ending work for this next one? I like this one a lot more and think it has a bit of potential. What do you think? How can I improve it?

The Slaying of the Dragon

Her lips part in despair.

The beast hath come for her.

She retreats from its many greedy eyes.

He advances with mechanical speed.

The maiden mounts a stool, crying for assistance.

Its long spindly legs reach for her.

Will no one save her?

Hark!

A knight approaches.

Eying the hairy demon monster

Who holds the lady at bay.

The good knight raises his arms to strike as

The creature races across the smooth surface.

The fair maiden pleads for the beast’s demise.

The weapon smites the body of the brute.

She shrieks in fear and disgust.

The fiend is all but expired, twitching in agony.

Thousands of bristles drive again at the sorry creature.

At last, it lays mangled upon the bathroom floor.