Catastrophic Charm

"Mine."

The word echoed in his head. It was only through his deep understanding and his deathly experiences did the simple word fill the man with dread. His mind raced as he turned around, realizing that he had finally been found. His breathing then became ragged, at the horrifying sight of the glinting knife that was jagged. He immediately took a step back, bracing himself even before his assailant, a woman, could attack.

In her eyes, this man was her greatest prize. She smiled as she took a step closer; who knew he was such a teaser? He was of a tall muscular build, with emerald eyes and long blond hair - his personality was that of a complete gentleman who was also fair. And to boot, he was her forbidden fruit. His fear of her was understandable; her sanity was long since questionable.

The man gulped. He would rather have let himself be beaten to a pulp. Seeing her breath in the air was akin to seeing death. He ran away. His stalker followed him as if he was her dog gone astray. At this however, she frowned. They were both fog bound. The relieved man ran to the coming fog to his advantage, as his hands were still in tight bondage.

"Why do you keep running away from me, my love?"

Her calm sad voice, as beautiful as it was, was a signal for danger. Reading between the lines, the man knew she was hiding her anger. He skidded to a stop and hid himself in a thick bush, already feeling the wrath of a woman scorned in the wind's gush. In his pain, he involuntarily gasped, adding to his worry of not knowing when he would breathe his last.

Under the shadow of the night, the park where they were in the quaint town didn't feel quite as right. Lamp posts were dark yet flickering, and the countless insects in the trees were no longer bickering. Instead, there was a stone-cold silence. Alone, frightened, and tired, the man wished he had a gun, and a gun license. She was near, and high was his fear.

It took his entire will to stop himself from grinding his teeth, as various bugs were climbing up his bare feet. He remained in a crouched position, as his sanctuary would be the subject of suspicion, were he to be seen by the woman whose eyes were a bright aquamarine. Her footsteps were becoming more and more distant. The man bolted away in an instant.

"Do you not love me?"

She had heard him run, and he was beginning to be of no fun. But nevertheless she eagerly followed, ignoring the tree whose trunk was hollowed. Only when she was a far distance away in her sprint, did the man feel glad that she didn't take the hint. He walked away silently from his hiding spot; glad that his lengthy practices in sneaking weren't at all for naught.

"I will find you and make you mine!"

Her voice was far away, almost minute. In the tree tops above him, there was a calming hoot.

"That was so close."

But then he heard the cock of a gun behind him.

"Oh, crap."

He paled, as he knew his chances of dodging a bullet were grim.

"My darling."

The new voice belonged to another woman, another stalker. It was smooth, silky, soft; befitting of an eloquent speaker. He knew who this woman was, and thus, his face became a mask. To this woman, he was an infamous lady-killer. And his latest crime was her murder - and her death as his newest victim was figurative, of course. Despairing, the man had to wonder whether if he had self-inflicted a deadly curse.

It was obvious that she savored every moment he spared her, even if he never intended to. The pleasures he gave her long ago - his enigmatic air, his polite manners, his kindness and his personality - were all more than enough to unbalance her state of mind, although on a late cue.

All she ever wanted from him was his love and his undivided attention, so that she will die happy again and again while he was in her retention. But his mere presence alone was enough to make her snap - and she always prepared for him a good trap. Like the one he had found himself in. She wondered if wanting him for herself was a sin. She raised her revolver to aim at his temple.

Her giggling was gentle.

"My darling. My beloved darling. You are finally mine and mine alone."

The man, defeated, sighed and closed his eyes. This was his end, he surmised.

"I don't think so!"

The voice belonged to yet another woman; another pursuer. The man cursed inwardly in recognition - he wished his meetings with her were fewer. Her hair was an assortment of rainbow colors - and she looked at him as if they were lovers. This angered the woman with the gun; for her own attempt to keep him to herself had come undone.

On her lips was a grin, but it was not directed at her adversary's misfortune. Suddenly she became a distortion; her speed was her weapon. Faster than the eye could see, she kicked the gun out of the second stalker's hands. The discharge of a bullet wasn't part of her plans. Instinctively, the man ducked - his messy red shirt was now no longer tucked.

"Back off! I got to him first!"

"I beat you! So that means he's mine!"

To make things even worse, the first stalker returned in a show of force.

"No! He's mine!"

The one who they claimed they loved wished he was already dead - he wanted to cut twice his own life's thread. The tight ropes around his hands continued to bite deep into his skin, even though they felt thin. His bare feet's soles bled. Looking down, he could only see small puddles of red.

They paid him no mind, for they were distracted by the first stalker's appearance ill-timed.

"You?!"

"He's going to love me!"

At this claim, the man winced. This was not going to end well, he was convinced.

"No, he'll love me!"

"No, he won't!"

The blond backed away. His face showed dismay.

"Yes, he will!"

"He won't!"

"He will!"

He realized where this was coming to. He hoped the argument would not follow through.

"BIG MACINTOSH! TELL US WHO YOU LOVE MORE!"

At the mention of his name, the man knew it was too late. He was going to suffer his easily foreseen fate.

"WHO DO YOU LOVE MORE?!"

"Uh..."

He was doomed. Their shadows loomed.

"ANSWER US, MAC! ANSWER US!"

There was no point in giving survival a try. He was going to die.

"MAC!"

[>!<]

"WAKE UP!" A feminine voice in his ear yelled.

"AHHH!" A deep scream was the response.

What happened next was chaotic. Big Macintosh had literally jumped up on his bed from a flat sleeping position. While it was near-impossible to do so, his body ignored the laws of physics and only then did he find himself deep under his thick and heavy bed sheets. In his panic, he wildly flailed his hands, making his tangled situation worse.

Everything became a blur as he fell from his bed. Then his head hit something hard and cold. It was the floor. As he began to lose his consciousness slowly from the pain; his strained ears could pick up someone nearby calling out his name - and his body being nudged vigorously. As his vision dimmed, he could see a dark figure in his sights. It looked familiar...

He involuntarily tensed; for a moment he thought he was still in his nightmare.

It turned out to be Applejack, though. He immediately felt relieved.

But before Big Macintosh could do anything else, he passed out.