stock: typewriter

Drabble: Illusion of Solitude

Title: Illusion of Solitude      
Progress: 12/100
Prompt: #17 Air
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters and no profit is being made from the use of them.

Illusion of Solitude
The swoosh of her nylon shorts was a steady backdrop to the pounding of her feet as her easy stride ate up the course. A sneaker struck a small puddle of water that had collect after the last night’s rain fall—or so she assumed—since she lived below ground and thus had no way of actually knowing if it had rained. Shaking her head she pushed herself further along the path, eyes tracking the trees and shadows lining the way. The faint rustling of leaves above her signaled a warning before the burst of cold air swooped down from the mountains located east of the compound or so claimed Rain.
Sighing with her current train of thought she picked up her pace and took a quick inhalation, savoring the nearly silent moment she found herself in. She smiled with the damp scent of forest and forced herself to welcome the change in scenery from the neutral white walls of boredom. This was the first moment outside her room that she was alone and she pumped her legs higher, drove herself farther until she met the curve along the path that took her back toward the compound.
A slim branch blocked her way and she pushed herself into a run, gaining momentum. She leapt the fallen limb with a quick and simple, lifting and stretching of her legs. Her landing was flawless and she stilled, turned to glance at the branch and the large space that separated her from it.
Her spine stiffened, back straightening as she walked toward it, putting heel to toe of the opposite foot and counted. Seven steps brought her to the offending branch and she frowned, glancing back to where she had started. “How?”
The black watch dominating her left wrist beeped and she glanced at it, saw the timer clicking down to thirty seconds and she still had nearly 400 yards, over rough terrain, to go. “Dammit.” With the muttered curse and one last glance at the branch she sprinted off, wincing at the verbal tear down Rain would give her if she were late. 
The monitor depicted a slight feminine form making a steady progression over the wooded course. The angle switched, camera focusing on the sway of her ponytail as she sprung up and over an easily dodged obstacle. She landed and turned, retracing her steps and slim fingers danced over the keyboard. Brought her face into focus so that the confusion pulling her brows down could be seen. A hand reached out traced the image, thumb dragging over the screen where the slop of her cheek was.
Isaacs paused the image, rewound and played it again. His lips pulled upward, “Excellent.”
The End.

  • Current Location: Home
  • Current Mood: bouncy bouncy
  • Current Music: My Chemical Romance
That last bit was quite creepy.

And ooh, something else to make her go, 'Hmm.' Or, 'What the hell am I?' Very organic in its inclusion.
I wanted something not too flashy for her first realization that she's not normal. This seemed like a good opportunity and Isaacs is becoming more and more worrisome. I really can’t wait until Buffy kills him but alas I have to plot this to coincide with the prompts so his eminent demise may be a long time coming.
Man is he creepy. *shudder* This is becoming an obsession for him. Poor Buffy.

Isaacs needs to die but alas my muse has plans for him but eventually it'll be painful and probably slow.