Whilst contemplating just how dull the previous years of her life had been, lamenting the fact that if she were in a novel of some kind those years would have been skimmed over in the space of a chapter, Sarah returned home from a hard day’s studying college. She’d decided drama lessons, much like everything else in Sarah’s view of the world, were entirely unfair. Surely acting was all about being unique, and wonderful, and using your own assets, not being taught to conform to the exact same standard as everyone else, as her college course would suggest. Of course, a sensible person would realise that conforming at college level was mandatory in order to get the qualifications simply to prove she was capable before she later moved on to doing her own things theatrically, but as we all know the words “a teenage girl” and “sensible person” don’t belong in the same sentence unless they’re being connected with the phrase “is incapable of being a”.
As Sarah returned to what she had longed would be the safety of her room, after what she wrongly perceived as a long, hard day at college, Jareth was sat on her bed, cross-legged looking right at her.
“Hello Sarah”, he said in that casual, disconcerting way that teenage girls often mis-interpreted as ‘sexy’.
“What the hell are you doing here?!” she asked, enraged. Amazing what PMS will do to a person.
“I’ve come to tell you of an ancient pact I learned of that was made, oh, a thousand years ago. It turns out if I don’t have sex with a girl I truly love within one thousand years of the pact being made, I’ll simply stop breathing, my heart will implode in on itself, and I will die.”
“What does this have to do with me?”, asked Sarah - who had always been, for lack of a better word, stupid.
“Well, the thousand year period of which I spoke will have ran it’s course within the hour. And the only girl I truly love, or ever have for that matter, is you. So I figured if you had so much as an ounce of compassion in your fragile little body, you’d do the decent thing and save a poor man’s life.”
“Wait a minute. You actually think I’m going to believe any of that trash? That a pact was made that will kill you, if you don’t happen to have sex with me? Isn’t that just a tad convenient for you? Isn’t that just the worst plot device you’ve ever heard? Isn’t that just a load of horse-shit designed to dupe me?”
“If only I’d thought of it a couple of years ago before she gained that ounce of intelligence”, Jareth muttered to himself. Before continuing: “Oh come on! It’s bad enough being the star of such an insipid, boring, sterile piece of writing such as this - I don’t even get to fuck you?”
Jareth faintly became aware of small insect-type creatures having made a home for themselves in his pubic hair. “That’s what you get for calling my writing sterile, you fuck”, thought the author.
“No, you don’t!” came Sarah’s disappointingly weak reply.
“Oh, so you’ll fuck Brian, that complete and total asshole, but you won’t fuck me, someone that re-fucking-arranged time for your puny white ass?”
“At least Brian wasn’t a fucking psycho!”
“Psycho”. Mused Jareth. “I like that.”
He stood, and revealed a blade somewhere between a knife and a short-sword in his right hand.
“Do you really think you can stop me?”
Sarah turned, and without so much as blinking Jareth had slammed her bedroom door shut in her face, with a magic grip that no mortal hand could shove. Sarah ran for the window, that Jareth had entered through himself so many years ago, and again without movement Jareth created a thin sheet of impervious metal, which ran through mid air blocking off her only exit. She turned back to Jareth.
“You’re no match for me... Sarah”, Jareth harshly spoke, twisting the words from a children’s movie into a seething, threatening, rage.
Sarah cowered in the corner as Jareth approached, his erection having pierced through his tights, throbbing with an evil menace like a venemous snake. Jareth was twisting what should have been an object of love and affection into an instrument of pain and suffering, and even now from her corner, even compared to the incident with Brian, she knew that she was never going to be the same again.
Sarah lashed out with a fist into Jareth’s stomach as soon as he came into range, which she followed up with a punch in the jaw, knocking him to the bed. Running on a burst of adrenaline she didn’t know people were capable of she punched at Jareth’s eyes down into the bed. She got in two punches, before Jareth had managed to grab her with one arm, and with his other slash the blade into her side.
The adrenaline transcended into pure fear. She’d never taken a wound so badly, she’d considered it a grave unfairness in the world when she stubbed a toe, and her side was literally cut open. There’s no way to describe the pain really, try it yourselves though, cut a huge gash into your side, you’ll see what I mean.
Jareth grabbed Sarah as she bellowed in pain, and pinned her to the bed.
“This is Labyrinth fan-fiction, Sarah”, Jareth exclaimed, a deranged look in his eyes, a crazed slobber on his chin. “We have to get together”. Jareth grabbed Sarah’s head and banged it hard on a bed post. “It’s what the readers want”. Again, he banged her head again. Sarah could feel herself starting to lose consciousness. She wasn’t sure, but she thought her head was bleeding. “Just think of all the stupid, horny young fucks out there reading that will flock in their adoration at the fantasy of being you. Getting to have sex with someone as all-round yum as myself”. He banged her head again. Her head was definitely bleeding, she realised.
Jareth stood, and Sarah tried to move, but it was no good. She was too weak. She could barely even move her head. Jareth tugged at her clothes, and stripped her lower-half completely naked. Sarah wept at her lack of control. “It’s not fair” she thought, despising herself for having used that phrase so freely in the past. She hadn’t even known what “not fair” even was, until now.
“What’s the matter, sweetheart?” Jareth asked clambering on her body, his prick sliding wretchedly up Sarah’s inner-thigh. “Don’t you know you’re about to live out the fantasy of teenage girls every where?”, he asked, the head of his erection rubbing terrifyingly against Sarah’s naughtiest of naughty parts.
In a plot-twist so dire it’s normally saved for Friday The 13th sequels, Michael suddenly jumped out of Sarah’s cupboard, grabbed Jareth, and flung him to the floor.
“Are you okay, Sarah?” asked Michael.
Jareth got to his feet, approached the good-natured but idiotic Michael, and thrust the blade through the back of his head, emerging through his face, and then jiggled the blade about it so as to generate a disturbing visual to compensate for the lack of actual thrills. Sarah screamed.
After dropping Michael’s fairly shabby body to the floor, he approached Sarah again.
“Now where were we?”, he asked. Not through an attempt to be sardonic, he’d genuinely forgotten. “Oh yes”, he remembered.
He put the blade to Sarah’s throat.
“If you don’t let me have what I want, the same fate shall befall you as did your hapless chum”.
Sarah smiled. She looked into Jareth’s eyes, and everything she was trying to convey was so simply done with that glance. It conveyed everything she was thinking and feeling. It was crystal clear. And then, having made her point, in a final push of energy she drove her head forward, forcing the blade into her throat and killing her instantly.
Well, actually it was a rather slow death, very painful, coughing up lots of blood yet barely being able to cough, so having her lungs and mouth fill with her own blood, while she was still conscious to take it all in. But still, “instantly” sounds so much more poetic.
“Well, waste not, want not”, he philosophised, and picked up Sarah’s corpse and headed back to his castle, with the very definitive formed idea of using it as a sex-toy.
I could be a genius if I just put my mind to it.