Cut Me Down

Life is sometimes a burden.

Cut Me Down

     A waterfall of raven hair cascaded across soiled chipped tiles, long eyelashes fluttering as a pair of emerald eyes opened, and she again faced the agony of her existence. She glared at the shiny blade still seized in her hand.  Its serrated teeth and curved point were beautiful; temporarily ceased the nightmare and kept brutal reality at bay, but she longed for something permanent.    

     Tracing the bow of her lips with a bloodied finger she sat up.  Her smooth ivory skin bloomed red roses from various divides.  Together they formed a swirling pool beneath her, staining the doll like dress she wore, and swam between the grooves of the tiles toward obscurity.

     I wonder, she thought.  I wonder if I could stretch my intestines out and hang them like pretty decorations.  My blood is paint, but I doubt there’s enough to color my walls.  I don’t think I have the strength to even try.  I’m so tired and I can see darkness starting to settle around me.  Please let this be permanent.  I don’t want to wake up again.  I can’t wake up again!

     Then the flashes commenced--

--rib cages crushed by unseen forces as bone jetted through soft tissue"

--tongues violently ripped from screaming mouths and eyes scooped from sockets with metal instruments operated by phantom hands--

 --as she sluggishly coasted somewhere between life and death and acknowledged with a heavy heart that this was a part of the cycle; the cycle she dreadfully anticipated to break yet miserably failed to do despite her best efforts.

It then stomped into view; cloven hooves deliberate in splashing the crimson pond now stretching much further than the horizon.  It towered over her, tilting a malformed head while its furnace eyes burned into her, and laughed.

“You,” it rasped. Its voice was a chorus of distortion.  “You cannot die, Virgin Dove.  It is a futile endeavor, but your blood will further nourish sorrow and mortality.”    

She slumped over.  Her self-inflicted wounds had already begun to close, erasing any memory of their being from her blemish free exterior.  The substance she had generously spilled was soaked up by the monstrosity insulting her yearning for oblivion, its thick coarse fur drinking every last drop, before it dematerialized. 

Don’t leave me, brother, she thought and lay on her side.  The fragmented tiles under her shifted, squirmed as more of them flaked away and exposed writhing sinew.  Much to her liking it was warm.  She glanced at the blade, twirling it over and over between her fingers and concluded it was rubbish.  I’m not playing your game anymore, she resolved.  The walls encasing her had subsequently disoriented their solid structure only to be replaced by cancerous formations, but she was fine with that.  This was her room after all.  She’d decorate it however she wanted and did.