Pure Black

An experimental piece. Rather dark, image-driven, with a bit of a twist.

 

The wind blew through the streets, scattering the bits of snow which still floated in the air. With the cold came a serenity throughout the city; there was less of the usual light and noise. Everywhere it was the same: still, dark, and peaceful. There was only one place the spell of winter did not seem to touch: the small apartment on the corner of 33rd and Main. It seemed that while the quiet was sleepily welcomed by the rest of the city, this little apartment was choked by it. It found no rest in the silence.

                A dark figure stood in the window. She was clad all in black; black pearls lined the bodice of her black satin gown, draped with a black lace overlaying. Even the thick tresses which curled around her neck and shoulders were ebony black, contrasting starkly against her snow-pale skin. Her face was cold, like the moonlight which shone upon it, and the silver frost of her tears dusted her cheek. 

 

                "You miss him, Arienne?"

 

                The figure in black turned at the sound of her name. There stood another woman of the same age and build as herself. Arienne stared at the hated face before her; it wore that expression of smug carelessness it always did. "Of course I do, Raelyn. He was my husband. I loved him."       

 

                Raelyn laughed mockingly. "You wear black, the garments of mourning. Garments of bitterness, I say! Black, the color of hate, and anger, and sin. Love; yes, perhaps you loved him; but I have long been under the impression that love was meant to be mutual. He did not love you, Arienne. If he had, he would have been faithful." 

 

                Arienne grabbed for the long knife which lay on the vanity table in front of her. "I could destroy you...." she whispered. The silver blade gleamed white beneath the light of the full moon. 

 

                "You will not strike," Raelyn sneered, "You cannot." 

 

                Arienne drew her fingers thoughtfully over the cold steel, allowing scarlet droplets to seep from the thin cut it made across her hand. "I could, with this knife."

 

            Raelyn stared, expressionless, at what Arienne had done.   "That blade has killed before."

 

            Arienne glared darkly at the woman before her. "How would you know?"

 

            "It was that blade which took your husband's life."

 

            Horrible realization took hold of Arienne's mind. Images of her husband flashed before her; images of him pleading, begging for his life; images of the blade she held stuck down his throat as he tried to scream.....images of Raelyn standing over his dead body, her hands covered in his blood, smiling with horrible satisfaction. She clutched the knife more tightly, her whole body shaking with rage. "You. You killed my husband...."

 

            Raelyn grinned, demonic mischief glinting in her eyes. 

 

            "CONFESS IT!" Arienne screamed, raising the knife.

 

            "You know to whom you owe your husband's death. You have only to accept what you know to be true...."

 

            "I do know to whom I owe my husband's death. And you will pay! I swear to God you will pay!!" With that, she thrust the knife down Raelyn's throat, screaming in pain as she did so. Blood covered her face and her hands, and suddenly it was her husband's blood, and she was killing him. 

 

            I'm so sorry, beloved. It is the only way...if you cannot love me... 

 

Glass shattered; the mirror fell to the ground.

 

            ...then you shall love no one.

 

            Arienne's corpse lay crumpled on the ground beneath the mirror, the long silver handle of the knife protruding from her mouth. She wore her black dress of mourning to her grave; black, the color of bitterness, of hate, of anger, and of sin.

Reviews

[Eric Lowther]

Excellent job with the characters in a very short space. Look forward to checking out your other works.

[Shawn Drake]

Heart-breakingly beautiful. So very emotionally moving. You should be proud of this.

[Bea Wass]

it sad

[C M Coger, Sr.]

It found no rest in the accursed silence. Take out accursed and note how much more powerful that sentence. Arienne stared at the hated face before her. Take out hated and re-read that sentence. Show that she hates that face don't tell. scarlet droplets. scarlet drops will work. Her whole body shaking with rage. drop whole. her body shaking with rage. are you starting to see the power of rewrites? in writing less is more.