The Cut
folder
Angst › General
Rating:
Adult
Chapters:
1
Views:
597
Reviews:
0
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Angst › General
Rating:
Adult
Chapters:
1
Views:
597
Reviews:
0
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.
The Cut
A/N: i did not know where to put this, it's sort of a story, kind of a journal entry, maybe a poem. i really have no idea, i just needed to post it...(it is a one shot)
THE CUT
She slid the tiny box open. It opened on a hinge, the lid falling to one side before being caught and hanging there, as though suspended in time.
Within the box, lying as though asleep, was the silver, rectangular blade that would set her free. It held her eyes, calling to her as though her entire being was dependent upon it. As though each breath was a gift solely from this bit of metal.
She placed the box upon her desk. Using one hand to hold the box steady she used her index finger of the other hand to pull the blade up and free of it’s confinements.
She stood, holding the object between thumb and forefinger. It shone in the dim light of her lamp. It shone as though brand new and she was curious as the sin this action might be. It had been a promise to quite. It had been a promise to many to never subject herself to this again. Yet she knew this must be. It must begin and end here, with this blade, with her skin, and her blood. It was hers, and she was the only one to say when things would change. Now was not yet the time.
She moved to the bed, using senses separate from sight to settle herself as her eyes were firmly glued to the shining surface of her savior metal.
As she became comfortable her mind began the all too familiar considerations. Where? Beneath clothing? Shallow or deep? Long or short? One or more?
In the end she let instinct take her as she lifted her shirt. Her stomach recoiled at the sight of the blade, sinking lower as though in fear.
Smiling she placed the corner of the blade against her soft white skin. It was cool, harsh, jagged…she moved the tip slowly down her abdomen, from bellow the breast to the navel, almost to shallow to leave a mark.
A smile like one she had not felt in so long lifted her lips. A feeling of grief escaped her as a sigh of ecstasy. Moving the blade back to the spot bellow her breast, the place so often unnoticed, she pressed the entire length of the sharpened end against her skin.
Grimacing she pressed harder, she needed this to be deep. She needed to see the blood. She needed to feel this, the pain, the love the control, she just needed to feel.
Pushing even harder now, she pushed. Deeper, farther, dragging the pain into pleasure as the blade sliced through the skin. A quarter, a half, a full inch now. Hesitation settled her hand and she pulled back, pulled the blade away from the skin. She was met with the sight of blood, sweet, tangy, beautiful blood spilling from her parted skin. Like a rivulet of sweat it meandered down her stomach. Like a tendril of drool it exited her wound. HER, it was her wound. It was only hers, just hers. And she could feel it now. Like the itch returning. Like the grief ebbating. Like the scars placated.
She felt herself breath. Deep breath before the exhale. Everything within her mind had focus once more. Awakening of the mind after time spent within fog. She knew she had duties yet to do. She would have to clean up, hide the blade, patch up her skin. She would need to bandage the wound and be careful around people, try not to show any pain. But all of these things, everything, was quite. In this moment, it was a fine thing to simply be. It was done, it was pure, and she was whole again. Everything else would come later, now was now. She was whole. She was finally whole once more.
END
THE CUT
She slid the tiny box open. It opened on a hinge, the lid falling to one side before being caught and hanging there, as though suspended in time.
Within the box, lying as though asleep, was the silver, rectangular blade that would set her free. It held her eyes, calling to her as though her entire being was dependent upon it. As though each breath was a gift solely from this bit of metal.
She placed the box upon her desk. Using one hand to hold the box steady she used her index finger of the other hand to pull the blade up and free of it’s confinements.
She stood, holding the object between thumb and forefinger. It shone in the dim light of her lamp. It shone as though brand new and she was curious as the sin this action might be. It had been a promise to quite. It had been a promise to many to never subject herself to this again. Yet she knew this must be. It must begin and end here, with this blade, with her skin, and her blood. It was hers, and she was the only one to say when things would change. Now was not yet the time.
She moved to the bed, using senses separate from sight to settle herself as her eyes were firmly glued to the shining surface of her savior metal.
As she became comfortable her mind began the all too familiar considerations. Where? Beneath clothing? Shallow or deep? Long or short? One or more?
In the end she let instinct take her as she lifted her shirt. Her stomach recoiled at the sight of the blade, sinking lower as though in fear.
Smiling she placed the corner of the blade against her soft white skin. It was cool, harsh, jagged…she moved the tip slowly down her abdomen, from bellow the breast to the navel, almost to shallow to leave a mark.
A smile like one she had not felt in so long lifted her lips. A feeling of grief escaped her as a sigh of ecstasy. Moving the blade back to the spot bellow her breast, the place so often unnoticed, she pressed the entire length of the sharpened end against her skin.
Grimacing she pressed harder, she needed this to be deep. She needed to see the blood. She needed to feel this, the pain, the love the control, she just needed to feel.
Pushing even harder now, she pushed. Deeper, farther, dragging the pain into pleasure as the blade sliced through the skin. A quarter, a half, a full inch now. Hesitation settled her hand and she pulled back, pulled the blade away from the skin. She was met with the sight of blood, sweet, tangy, beautiful blood spilling from her parted skin. Like a rivulet of sweat it meandered down her stomach. Like a tendril of drool it exited her wound. HER, it was her wound. It was only hers, just hers. And she could feel it now. Like the itch returning. Like the grief ebbating. Like the scars placated.
She felt herself breath. Deep breath before the exhale. Everything within her mind had focus once more. Awakening of the mind after time spent within fog. She knew she had duties yet to do. She would have to clean up, hide the blade, patch up her skin. She would need to bandage the wound and be careful around people, try not to show any pain. But all of these things, everything, was quite. In this moment, it was a fine thing to simply be. It was done, it was pure, and she was whole again. Everything else would come later, now was now. She was whole. She was finally whole once more.
END