Love Affair with Death
folder
DarkFic › General
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
1
Views:
633
Reviews:
1
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
DarkFic › General
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
1
Views:
633
Reviews:
1
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.
Love Affair with Death
Without a word she screamed out all the anguish, fear, pain ‘til nothing was left but the silence. And that she killed with her own that brooded inside her, festering in wait for the precise moment to counterstrike and claim its prize.
No one heard; she spoke naught but screams too deafening to translate into sound even from her own lips. The pain, the anguish, the fear, all were too powerful to pull into reality, to express in self-preserving language that mortals could hear and not fall down dead.
Dead in all but mortal ways, she still screamed and screamed still, drowning in the intoxicative sound of her own sorrow and falling under the load of mortal baggage.
‘This can’t be the end,’ She thought, ‘There’s still some hope in this god-lost world. Some care out there, isn’t there?’
And still she screamed.
Until no more air reached her inner cavities, and no more blood reached her heart; ‘til only the hopeful dirge of morning awaited her memory.
No one, no one cared. No one sought her out; Neither those heaven- nor those hell sent saw the blood flowing in a steady stream into the river of tears. Gushing into the draining and refilling crevice.
A blood-stained, white crevice, like a white rose with red hue merged in with it, forming shades from deep crimson to light pink within the white flesh.
Silent now, she stared at the origin of the red mess, following the rivers on the pale flesh to the lake of deepest red refilling within it. Out gushed more blood to stain its white surroundings, and steal her breath away—and her light.
Slowly everything faded to darkness becoming the emptiness she always knew was everything.
Calmness embraced her in the nirvana of darkness, everything in an abyss of not feeling, of not hurting or loving. She finally found peace and purity in the coal-black space, abandoned of everything but her soul.
The darkness blurred away, becoming lighter and lighter, then color splashed marred it. Soon nirvana resided in no place but her mind, as her physical eyes focused on reality once more.
“Damn.”
She sat, back against the bed, in her room holding the blade from a broken razor in her right hand while her left forearm bled from five different cuts each at least half an inch from the dangerous part of her wrist.
The thinness of her blood made her bleed easily though, and her floor already bore the stain, as did her jean leg.
‘Stupid, just do it already. Ha, this’d be the time the stupid parent calls her daughter to get out of bed—ha.’
She leaned her head back onto the mattress, feeling drowsy from the heat of the attic in summer—not that she minded, she loved the pleasure of sweating and then the touch of cool air from a fan blowing on her glistening skin.
She loved feeling, especially physical pain, it told her she lived.
“Yeah, but I don’t get enough of it. No loving caresses either. I’ll become a nun if I ever hear my father say ‘I love you.’”
She wiped the sweat off her forehead, and stared up at her ceiling at the bright light in the middle of the ugly green. It drew her into its lividness, but she turned away, not liking the doors it opened.
Instead she turned to face her wall, the one with a white poster board taped to it with splatters of her blood decorating its surface. That she allowed to draw her in, it belonged to her, it bore her pain and desire in its very flesh—it was her kin and only true friend.
“I wonder what would happen if they found me dead, my wrists slit and this poster board on my wall. Would that finally prove I’m not a little girl, the normal girl they think I am?”
She let out a disgruntled sigh and stared into the light again, her body numb from every sensation except the blood dripping slowly down her arm.
Seven years; for seven years no one in her family showed her any mind; She hid from them, and they let her—without realizing it. Sometimes she wished they wouldn’t.
“They see, but never at the right times—they see when it’s not there. I hate them. God, why can’t I die now? Can’t you just smite me dead and carry me off to peace in the loving wings of angels? Why must I stay with these devils who are more kin to animals than anything divine?”
Listening to the silence, she sighed again, disappointed, and walked out of her room, not bothering to wipe her arm off.
No one heard; she spoke naught but screams too deafening to translate into sound even from her own lips. The pain, the anguish, the fear, all were too powerful to pull into reality, to express in self-preserving language that mortals could hear and not fall down dead.
Dead in all but mortal ways, she still screamed and screamed still, drowning in the intoxicative sound of her own sorrow and falling under the load of mortal baggage.
‘This can’t be the end,’ She thought, ‘There’s still some hope in this god-lost world. Some care out there, isn’t there?’
And still she screamed.
Until no more air reached her inner cavities, and no more blood reached her heart; ‘til only the hopeful dirge of morning awaited her memory.
No one, no one cared. No one sought her out; Neither those heaven- nor those hell sent saw the blood flowing in a steady stream into the river of tears. Gushing into the draining and refilling crevice.
A blood-stained, white crevice, like a white rose with red hue merged in with it, forming shades from deep crimson to light pink within the white flesh.
Silent now, she stared at the origin of the red mess, following the rivers on the pale flesh to the lake of deepest red refilling within it. Out gushed more blood to stain its white surroundings, and steal her breath away—and her light.
Slowly everything faded to darkness becoming the emptiness she always knew was everything.
Calmness embraced her in the nirvana of darkness, everything in an abyss of not feeling, of not hurting or loving. She finally found peace and purity in the coal-black space, abandoned of everything but her soul.
The darkness blurred away, becoming lighter and lighter, then color splashed marred it. Soon nirvana resided in no place but her mind, as her physical eyes focused on reality once more.
“Damn.”
She sat, back against the bed, in her room holding the blade from a broken razor in her right hand while her left forearm bled from five different cuts each at least half an inch from the dangerous part of her wrist.
The thinness of her blood made her bleed easily though, and her floor already bore the stain, as did her jean leg.
‘Stupid, just do it already. Ha, this’d be the time the stupid parent calls her daughter to get out of bed—ha.’
She leaned her head back onto the mattress, feeling drowsy from the heat of the attic in summer—not that she minded, she loved the pleasure of sweating and then the touch of cool air from a fan blowing on her glistening skin.
She loved feeling, especially physical pain, it told her she lived.
“Yeah, but I don’t get enough of it. No loving caresses either. I’ll become a nun if I ever hear my father say ‘I love you.’”
She wiped the sweat off her forehead, and stared up at her ceiling at the bright light in the middle of the ugly green. It drew her into its lividness, but she turned away, not liking the doors it opened.
Instead she turned to face her wall, the one with a white poster board taped to it with splatters of her blood decorating its surface. That she allowed to draw her in, it belonged to her, it bore her pain and desire in its very flesh—it was her kin and only true friend.
“I wonder what would happen if they found me dead, my wrists slit and this poster board on my wall. Would that finally prove I’m not a little girl, the normal girl they think I am?”
She let out a disgruntled sigh and stared into the light again, her body numb from every sensation except the blood dripping slowly down her arm.
Seven years; for seven years no one in her family showed her any mind; She hid from them, and they let her—without realizing it. Sometimes she wished they wouldn’t.
“They see, but never at the right times—they see when it’s not there. I hate them. God, why can’t I die now? Can’t you just smite me dead and carry me off to peace in the loving wings of angels? Why must I stay with these devils who are more kin to animals than anything divine?”
Listening to the silence, she sighed again, disappointed, and walked out of her room, not bothering to wipe her arm off.