Crimson TideA Story by Mike Wolfe "For the blood cleanses us..." My name is Kara. I’m dying. Voices scream in my mind. Pick up the knife. Draw blood. Taste blood. I pressed my hands against my ears…as if that
would help silence them. It never had before. The knife was stuck in the dirt a
few feet in front of me. Just like always. It was cruel and sharp. Polished silver in appearance.
Always with dried blood. Always. Mine. There was a lion on the hilt. Roaring with its
teeth bared. Red rubies for eyes. Pure evil. Beautiful and deadly. A serpent wound its way
around the handle and its head stuck out at the pommel. Crimson jewels for
eyes. Fangs ready to inject poison. Evil once again. Pick
up the knife! My blood boiled and seemed to turn to fire in
my veins. There was a hideous scream that I barely recognized as mine. There
was only one way to ease the pain. One way to stop the suffering. Picking up
the knife. I stagger forward, like a drunk. Overcome by
pain. I fall forward and my hand misses the knife. Frantically I claw for it,
until I feel its blade cutting through my palm. My blood stopped its burning and
I heard myself wheezing for breath. I clutched the handle and pressed the knife
to my chest, like a religious woman holding a small cross. Hugging it like it was my sole source of
security. Not caring if it sliced my skin. Draw
blood. Taste blood. With trembling hands, I drew the
blade across my wrist and licked the blood that spilled. I was wracked with
pleasure, this was my fix, my drug. But alas, it did not last. My demons allowed me to taste this
satisfaction to keep me craving it. To keep me hoping. That for a split second,
I could make my world right. I could create my own paradise before it was
burned to the ground by reality. By my own destruction. Every beat of my heart was like a sledgehammer
crushing my chest. As if my heart were trying to escape my own personal hell. I rolled onto my back. Staring at the
lifeless sky above me. At the dead and twisted trees surrounding me. Forsaken. Cast down. Abandon. Dead inside. My name is Kara. And I’m dying. The knife lay on the dirt beside me. Its
sharpened blade waiting to cut through more of my skin. My only friend. My
worst enemy. All in one. Wounded.
Scorned. Hated. All have abandon me. All but my demons and
their knife. Worthless. Useless.
Helpless. Blood leaked from my wrists. Scars cover my
body. Pitiful. Hated. I shut my eyes.
I couldn’t take this. I should plunge the knife through my heart. Sinner.
SAINT. The last thought came from a voice I didn’t
recognize. It was like a bullet to the head of my accuser. The name itself seared
its way through my others and seemed to brand itself on my forehead. LOVED.
WANTED. The names kept coming, each like a cool
stream washing away infection. Like an antidote to my poison. Curing my wounds.
Washing them clean. You’re
filthy! You don’t deserve this. Look! You still are wearing scars. But the other voice was stronger. DAUGHTER. CHILD OF THE KING. I opened my eyes. The knife was still beside
me. The scars were still on my wrists like my demons said they were. But there
was a man standing there. Standing tall like a warrior. A protector. Slayer of
demons. He was reaching out a hand. He wanted the
knife. He wanted to take away my only fix! No, he wanted to take away my pain.
The source of my destruction. My friend! No, my enemy. I clasp the knife, and handed it to him. I
heard the demons screaming in my head. Like the clap of a thousand thunder
storms. Screaming like a woman being attacked. Like banshees in the night. Like
they had done to me so many times. No!
That’s her knife. She gave herself to us in blood! THEN
LET ME PAY FOR HER, IN BLOOD. He gave me a small smile. Like a father
reassuring his daughter. He gripped the hilt. And plunged the blade deep into
his chest. I was horrified. I stood quickly and grabbed
him. “No! No!” I was drenched with his blood, I lay him down on the ground and
hugged him around his chest. The knife had disappeared and his blood poured
freely over me. My tears mixed with it and for a time I just lay there, holding
my protector. WHY
DO YOU CRY? No, it wasn’t possible. I stood and looked
around. LOOK,
YOU ARE WHOLE. I looked down at my arms. Not believing what
I was seeing, my arms, once marred by scars, now whole. Complete, without a
single mark. Smooth and soft, like a baby’s. And now I realized, the voices were gone. I
was a slave no longer. AS
LONG AS YOU LIVE, LOVE ME. I LOVE YOU. “I love you too!” I shouted to heaven. Where
I’m sure that one day I’ll see him. My savior, my redeemer. My name is Kara, daughter of the King. And for the first time, I’m alive. © 2014 Mike WolfeReviews
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Mike WolfeAboutMy name is Mike Wolfe, Renaissance man. I have been writing since I was eleven, with over thirty ideas for a book. Only one of these has survived beyond fifty pages and will never see the light of day.. more..Writing
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