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The Afterlife of the Aftermath part1 |
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A young girl sat on the edge of a ten-story-high building. The sun was almost just a sliver behind a darkened horizon. Everything had no shadow, and the whole view was tinted a sultry gray. She sat with one knee brought up to her chest, arms wound loosely around it, and her chin resting on her knee as well. She silent, and somber, as she stared blankly out at nothing in particular. She was considering jumping,but she hadn't got up her nerves enough to do it yet. She just felt like...thinking. Calm and detached as she was to the world nothing could stop a single, deadly tear from gently sliding down her face. Slowly she wiped away the tear with the sleeve of her baggy, black hoodie. It wasn't really her hoodie, and she glare at the both the tear, and the sleeve it soaked into.
How could she let this happen? It was all her fault, and she knew it. It was her fault he left, and her family blamed her secretly as well. Though they tried to comfort her, saying it wasn't just her fault. "If he had really loved you, he wouldn't have done what he did." They would tell her with a fake embrace. Well, she was tired of it! How would they know? What did they know? They didn't know how everything happened, they weren't paying attention to her every move, much less was she was saying.
She lifted the billowy sleeve over her thin wrist, exposing strawberry red lines, as well as bloody brown ones. Gashes, both deep and shallow, adorned her wrist, and fore-arm. She pulled out a razor she had taken from her friend when he did the same, but he didn't care, he had others. She ran the blade lightly down her arm, from her carved up wrist to the scarring bend in her elbow. She sighed and then turned the blade horizontally on her arm and pushed it hard into her skin, quickly dragging it across. It cut deeply. Blood began to seep up onto her skin, and she bared a small smile, and repeated the action of cutting.
Self-mutilation. It was her salvation. Her anger-management. Her stress relief. Her torment. Addicted to the sight of her skin splitting apart, baring crimson red to her pale skin, she was obsessed with the feeling of the pain. Soon, four more gashes were added to the devastating many that already existed. She tore open healing wounds, made shallow ones deep, and before she knew it, her arm was almost torn completely apart. She frowned. She needed a new canvas, something else to destroy. Her smooth skin disgusted her, and filled her with sickening hate. He had touched her there, on her wrists, on her hips, her neck, her face, and more.
She pulled up the bottom of the hoodie, exposing a pale belly. Smooth skin was instantly turned into something hideous as she bled from there. She winced at first. The skin was tender. But it still digusted her. She moved to her waist, cutting a long gash from her belly button to her side. She tilted her head to the side. Oops, she thought, that was a little much. She let the hoodie cover her again.
She then then turned to her other wrist, carving up and down as if tallying the kisses they shared, the feeling she had for him. They weren't enough. The cuts were not enough to keep her from wretching at the thought of his lips against hers. His warm arms embracing her. The jokes, the memories. She wretched again, wiping her mouth. She spit to get the taste of puke out of her mouth.
She loved him so much, it made her sick. Both mentally, and physically.
"Dammit all." She said, as if to the tiny people, who she managed not to throw up on, down below her. She frowned, "DAMMIT ALL!" She screamed at them. Very few looked up, they probably didn't hear her. "DAMMIT! DAMMIT! DAMMIT!" She screamed repeatedly.
Now, self-angered and depressed, she stood up. Tottering on the edge of the building. "DAMMIT ALL!" She screamed again. A few others looked up, and some stopped. Startled, just as she herself was, they pointed to her.
Yes, she thought, I'm going to jump. Now get out of my way!
Something stopped her from moving. It was him. She dared to think of him again. She had no right. She snarled at herself, "Forget him! Your worthless trash! He never cared! Why should he? You're nothing! NOTHING!" She expected herself to jump, but she still stayed atop the building.
"You're a coward." She whispered, and urged herself to jump, but again, she was rooted to the roof.
She emitted a low growl in her throat, and turned from the people. She jumped over her puke and headed for the door that led inside.
Coward.
Days later, very early in the morning, she sat bolt upright, sobbing uncontrollably. She pressed the back of her hands to her tearstained face. Wiping the unwelcomed moisture from her skin, she reached under her pillow for her razor.
She had dreamed of him.
They were happily walking side by side, acting like best friends, even though they had been broken up. That she knew of. She didn't know where they were, but it seemed familiar. The sun softly caressed his face, and she felt her heart warm up. He was handsome, and rightfully so. She didn't deserve him, never did, but out of so many people, he chose her. She had smiled at him, and he smiled right back.
Suddenly a friend she had never met of his approached him.The sun died down, and everything was cast once again in the sullen gray she loved, but suddenly was afraid of. He had lost his smile, instead, it was replaced with a deadly glare, and frown. A killer expression. One she feared completely, and one she had hope she would never face. She suddenly recognized the situation. A reminisce of when she screwed everything up.
He shoved her away, with as much force as it had felt like when she messed, and turned away with his friend. Screaming, she ran for him, but every time she got close, he would shove her, harder each time. She couldn't tell what she was saying, but she knew she was begging. Begging him to come back, pleading. He stopped walking, his friend standing alittle ways off from him, not looking at neither him, nor her.
She stepped forward, and realized her beloved was staring at her, not really glaring, but still frowning. With unrecognizable words she begged him, more and more. After what felt like months of begging him, the sky turning from sunny to dark, then sunny, repeating constantly. She grew tired, and grabbed his hand and uttered one sentence she never fathomed saying so soon.
"Marry me."
That was when she woke up, saying those exact words aloud. The tears escaped after that. She was disgusted with herself, feeling sick for thinking of him. She began to dig into her wrists, but something was wrong. The blade had dulled, it no longer cut deep enough. Enraged and going crazy, she repeatedly tugged the blade across her arm until she cradled it and the the blade to her shest, once again crying her eyes out.
"Kill me." She muttered to the darkness around her, "Kill me, please. I can't take it anymore. I can't do this. I can't." She threw the blade across her room, and grabbed a pillow to cry into. She repeated herself over and over again, until eventually she cried herself into a troubled sleep.
Her alarm startled her awake, and she crawled out of bed to turn it off, since it resided on the dresser on the opposite wall. Upon returning to her bed, she lay there, calm and detached.
~~~~~To Be Continued~~~~
Kiss me until my eyes bleed black ink on to the canvas of your skin.
 euya · Mon Sep 29, 2008 @ 03:23am · 0 Comments |
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