Excerpt: Life's Disease

It had been dark for some time. She wasn’t sure how long; there was nothing to alert her of the passing hour, nor did she have any reliable sense of time. Darker shadows had moved about her in slow motion, sometimes prodding her. Voices called her name. She opened her bleary eyes to a single, uncovered light bulb which dangled from the ceiling by an unraveling string and wire. An old fan squeaked as it rotated at a medium speed. She lifted her head off the desk and blinked slowly.
The room was dark in spite of the lighting. Shadows gathered in the pitch-black corners like soot cowering from an open flame. A piece of paper that had been stuck to her cheek floated back to its brothers and sisters scattered over the table. She stared at it, leaning back in the uncomfortably wide wooden chair. Her pencil rolled across the table casually and clattered onto the floor.
There was a breath in her ear Lillith. The woman’s head lolled back and the light burned spots into her tired eyes. The voice tried again Lillith. The hot breath left her side and there was a distinct echo of stiletto boots around the table. The other woman crossed her vision, bent over, and retrieved the pencil. Long fingers set the pencil on the table with a quiet click. The woman smiled, shadows spilling onto her perfect eyebrows and nose Lillith you have to continue. Her silver eyes smoldered underneath long eyelashes, burning with a deep, unrestrained malignance.
Lillith blinked heavily with her own, shorter eyelashes. She was dazzled by the nefarious beauty that leaned over the desk. Her short black hair was flipped out like she was staring a hurricane in the eye and its red highlights winked at her with every slight movement.
Suddenly an open palm slammed into the table. The sweet voice was replaced with a deeper, more threatening one that growled in impatience I said continue. The words were strained between perfect teeth and full, dark crimson lips.
Carefully, Lillith picked up the pencil and began to write. The other woman moved to stand over her shoulder as the sound of lead scratching paper overlapped the noise of the fan. Hurried points of i's and slashes of t’s relieved the fan’s repetition, creating its own tempo in tandem with the incessant squeak.
The woman’s lips curved into a smile again and her poison dripped onto the paper.