Part 1
I watch as the dumbass snatches the purse. Then he's running, bolting as fast as he can down the moonlit streets, making a hard right down the alleyway. The idea here is to limit anyone's ability to see him so he can get away with it. What he hasn't accounted for is that it also limits anyone's ability to see me, and I am at my most dangerous when I am unseen.
His legs are a blur now, he's running as fast as he can, but something is different now. He's only just beginning to realize what it is as his limbs move quicker and quicker.
At this moment, he is several feet off the ground, running in place in mid-air.
He screams, but I lift a finger and he finds his lungs quite empty of oxygen.
"Shhhhhh." I command.
"What the fuck?" He rasps as I step from the shapelessness of shadow.
Men are amazing. Even when fighting for their very life's oxygen, their eyes find time to wander over my unnatural curves.
"Who the fuck, is what you meant to say." I purr.
He just cocks his head, I allow a trickle of breath through now, he'll still be weak and light headed, but he isn't going to die if I lose concentration.
Well it's happened before, and I do not like making fatal mistakes.
"The answer to that question," I continue, "Is Rapture."
"Am I going to jail?" He asks, dropping the purse. "Or are you just going to kill me?"
"Probably the former... but no, not the latter. You see, there is a sad shortage of men like you in the world."
"What's that supposed to mean?" He asks.
I extend a hand and make a beckoning gesture, tendrils of spiritual energy collecting, cupping, tugging. Making a surprised noise of pleasure he looks down as an invisible hand has collected his prackage and pulled it up and forward for display, a marvelous little bundle easily the size of a cantelope.
"It means you have a big dick, genius, and while I can shape nearly all reality and command cosmic forces to my whim, that is one thing I cannot create."
He blinks, then grins a little.
"Are...are big dicks like your mystical power source or something?" He asks.
I roll my eyes.
"No, moron. They just feel really fucking good. God you're dumb."
***
I was not always Rapture. I was born to a far more boring name, and a far more boring life. I was Felicia Thompson, a sickly child who grew into a freckled, bespectackled, knock-kneed girl who refused to smile for fear of people seeing her braces. So she stuck to her books, and studied hard, soaking up what little pity popularity she could by doing the homework for Cheerleading squads and Football teams.
There was a boy I craved, a reciever for the team in my senior year. Will Lennox was surprisingly well-read for a football player, and kind. He treated me exactly the same as he treated all the cheerleaders.
Well, almost the same. He had a weakness for big boobs, and was dating the bustiest girl on the squad. When the three of us were together I would stare almost as much at her as him, wondering what her parents had fed her, or what she had done that was so moral and virtuous that God should reward her with such big sweater missiles.
Yes, there was a time when Sarah's DD cups seemed big to me.
I'll never forget the day I snapped. Will and I went to a weekend camp together. We shared secrets, exchanged books, took long walks in the woods together, and even had a slow dance at the ice cream social together. I was sure that when we returned, Will would dump city-loving Sarah for nature-loving me. Surely he'd seen how much we were meant for each other as I had?
But when we returned, there she was, in her push-up bra and slutty mkakeup. Within two jiggles and a squooshy hug, Will had forgotten I even existed, let alone my name.
In frustration I ran up to my room. Like most teenagers, I had my suicide totally planned out down to how sorry everyone would be at the funeral after I was gone, especially Will.
First I would read from The Book.
I had found The Book some years before, at a garage sale. I couldn't tell the age of it, but it had clearly been written before the Printing Press and bore the tell-tale ink smudges of a document written by a robed wrist, the work of a medival monk. I had taken a long time translating the latin into english, and found that it was the most beautiful sounding dark poetry. I knew the thing must be worth a million times the 25 cents I'd paid for it, but to me its sentimental value was far greater.
I debated whether or not I would turn on my computer's web cam and film my death for Youtube, but decided against it, instead opting to dress myself in all black, pop about 40 sleeping pills, and then read from page after page of The Book out loud until I was gone.
I pledge myself to you, oh darkness, oh oblivion, oh endless night and eternal fire...
Grant unto me that which is denied all mortals and take what price you wish...
For I renounce all that I am to be all that you will make me...
And thus I am fulfilled...
I had just drifted off to my final sleep, when I was awoken by the booming sound of a grating laugh.
"Oh this is simply the WORST dreck, isn't it? And I thought today's kids were bad with their angsty emo poems!"
My vision was blurry, but so was the... thing I was looking at. An immense face, six feet tall perhaps and wreathed in eerie purple flames that flowed more like water than fire around it.
"wh-what?"
"And you didn't even bother to make a summoning circle. Don't you understand I could just rip your throat open and harvest your soul right now if I wanted? You really suck at magic, kiddo. Not as much as you apparently suck at life, but it's still a close call."
"Oh God, the pills are making me hallucinate!"
"What, these pills?" The figure asked, a hand springing from the strangeness that it was and running down my body, from my nose to my tummy. It then made a fist, rotated its wrist so that the palm was upright, and splayed the fingers out.
