My Own Creation

A Story by Galldora King

A sickly horror story. More gross and creepy then scary.

The blood slowly drains from my body. The knife in my heart plunged by you. You make this death so sweet. So slow. I feel the blood flowing out. I’m laying on the floor. Beautiful white candles light the room. The darkness is beautiful. So beautiful. So much sweetness its sickly. A beauty to die for...

I see my children, my 3 dead children glowing brightly in a distance. I want to go to them. But with what face. I killed them. I killed them this same sickly sweet way. They come towards me. There sweet angel faces change. Oh how ugly they look. Dark hollows surround there eyes. Lips are purple and the skin turns as pale and ghostly as hot candle wax. I smile. I made them this way.

Todays the night. Oh how there clothes are stained with wet blood. So much like mine. The faces are burning. No not burning rotting. Rotting on there ugly faces. I must look like a sight.

I keep wishing that the blood dries fast. Its uncomfortable you know. But that’s as hopeless as the world raining on a sunny day. Sunny days. Its been so long since I’ve been out in the sun. So long since i have been happy. But today I’m ecstatic.

My white cloths are now blood red. I chuckle. Yes they are pretty bloody aren’t they? All because of you. I watch my children, still walking towards me. They are now bones. Such ugly bones. Yet to me. To my disgustingly red eyes they look beautiful.

They look as pretty as the day I had first given birth to them. All three, my triplets. To bad they had died. To bad they had died in my womb. I didn’t know it then of course. That’s how beautiful they looked.

Until...I suppose Death does have humor. My attitude changes and I have fear in my belly. Well I think its fear. I haven’t been scared in my life. But I was feared...Probably because of my psycho self. I suppose that does count as something.

My fear clenches at me, but I feel like I’m watching myself. Could I have died already? My heart must be black and my beauty only magnifies the black shadow.

My little children seem to have had a growth of fungi and moss on there lovely bones. Oh no. I know that look. I gave that same look to there father right before I had killed him. It was a fine death for him. So slow. So painful. I think he must have died from the pain then from the actual thing.

I myself had made a show out of it. He had deserved it. Making me this way. I watch as my children inch towards me and fall on there knees. My two daughters are hideous. There jaw have such sharp teeth. Such red teeth. Horror. I feel horror. My son is on the other side. The look still clogs there eyes. And I know. I know that I’m being devoured on by my own children. My own creation.