StaticA Story by love, lorey I open my eyes to the sickly yellow of a dying bulb, the only sound the thudding of my heart. My head throbs along with disgusting gusto, like some kind of giddy band geek. Nausea hits like a dented metal chair in a wrestling match, and I shake my head slowly, refusing the vomit an easy exit. No, no, no. I don't wanna throw up, I think like a petulant child. I roll over to my side, just in case, berating myself for my uncontrolled drug lust the night before. My eyes are met by a gruesome, but sickeningly beautiful scene. The far wall is painted with thick brushes of blood. It's a woman's face, wispy and dreamy. She's gorgeous in red. My stomach roils. Crumpled against the baseboard, is a body. A woman's body. I can only see her back, but her hair is blonde, long and lovely. Or would be, if it wasn't streaked red with more blood and chunks of gore. She's wearing what looks like it had once been a long, black summer dress, eye-lit maybe. I squint trying to see better. This is oddly important but I can't think of why. Other than the bloody wall painting (of that face, that familiar face!), the walls are bare, albeit dirty. Filthy. The dying filament, encased it's glass bulb home, hangs alone from the ceiling on a long cable. There is no switch that I can see. This makes me wonder. There is a small, broken wooden table in a the corner. A tall, slender glass stands alone one it, empty and perfectly clean. I squint again. But instantly forget why. I'm so tired. When did I become so tired? I groan, the nausea reminding me of it's stubbornness. I grit my teeth and refuse it once more. Closing my eyes I wonder if I killed the girl. I'm not afraid, not filled with remorse, I just absently wonder if I could have been the one who committed the sin. I move to shrug, but realize I can't. I try to try again, but my thoughts are starting to echo in a fuzzy way. I want to giggle. Instead I pry my eyes open. She's gone. The body on the ground, not the bloody face painted so lovingly upon the wall. My eyebrows draw together. The face is no longer lovely. It is misshapen, accusing. I wonder at this, but the muffled echo of the thought confuses me and I wonder what drug has left me so lethargic, so dazed. I look toward the table that holds the tall, slender, clean glass. I'm so thirsty. But the glass, just like the body is gone. Where, where, where? I feel it again, my old chum, nausea. This time I can't hold it back. My mouth opens, my throat burning, my stomach cramping. At first nothing happens except air whooshing from the depths of me and then.... Blood gushes forth in violent waves, landing on the floor, making wet explosive sounds. I hurt, it hurts. My thoughts clear momentarily and I begin to remember something, and then it's gone. And I see it. A white hand, covered in blood (mine or the blood from the wall, or from the missing girl's body?) its fingers crawling onto the bed like some kind of morbid insect, frightening and disgusting. The wrist comes into view and I see the deep, thick slashes in the porcelain skin and I want to scream, but the blood trickling from the corner is all that comes out. I try to move and I find that I am cemented, movement impossible. The elbow lands with a soft thud and I see the shredded skin reaches all the way down to the bend. They aren't bleeding, I notice. The skin flapping in a gruesome, fascinating way. Bone and muscle, are stained a deep red. I can't look away. Horror seeps into my skin like water to sponge. I finally stop struggling (or trying to anyway), the fog starting to settle once again over my thoughts. Again I get the outrageous urge to giggle. In my mind, I scowl. What the f**k is happening?! Terror is eating at my stomach, as the arm begins the move again. The exposed muscle tensing, straining. Bits of dried blood and chunks of something I didn't want to identify, falls from the flapping hole. The top of a head is now visible and my eyes search for something, I'm not sure what. Some kind of escape, weapon... hero? There is nothing but bloody blonde hair. My knees, so close to the arm feel tense and sore and I try to kick out. My mind is screaming. My eyes are stinging. A flicker of a memory here and then gone like a magician in his magic box. A tear escapes. I see the forehead now, a bloody gash, old and dry, crusting. Nothing but the smell of death seeps from the gaping hole. Now I see her eyes. Lovely, large, shining. A deep brown that is familiar, I stare into them for a moment and something is there, in the back of my mind, tickling at recollection. There's her nose, small, button like. Adorable. Her cheeks, high and delicate. She's beautiful in an ordinary way. And now her lips, finally, the completed picture. Do I know her? My eyes bulge and my stomach clenches at the sight of her mouth, the bottom jaw torn away, gone, I don't know where. A gruesome kind of never ending grin. Bits of skin and muscle sway with her movements and I struggle to get away, but my body doesn't move. (What the hell is wrong with me!) Her tongue, lifeless and limp hangs all the way down her torn throat. She stops moving and her eyes remain on me, unmoving, unflinching, accusing me of something I can't quite remember. The stink of death and rot overpowering what little senses I have left. I almost giggle. I hear something. I can't tell if it's close or far away. A kinda of silent keening. It's getting slightly louder, like it moving closer. Her eyes roll to the back of her head and I realize it's her. This strange, high pitched, far away sound is emanating from her jagged, joker's smile. And it's growing in it's intensity. Before the hollow, bumbling thought is finished, the sound is louder. Louder than I can bear. I feel cold wetness, spilling from my ears and realize it's blood. I begin to lose my mind, I can literally feel it disintegrating, and I am relieved. For a flash, I find all of this very funny. Yes, I think, madness, sweet obliterating madness, take this away. She's moving again, and I didn't notice, but she has my full terror filled attention again as I will my mind away. The muscle in her arm is no longer tensing, it's as if she's floating, gaining strength of some kind from my complete horror. Her face is coming closer and closer to mine, her tongues grotesquely flopping,that high pitched maddening keen dropping to an unending guttural wail. She'll devour me, I know it. Her eyes are burning, filled with hatred, and now pain, and now madness, and now regret and now nothing... Constantly changing, constantly closer, just inches from my own face now. I force myself to look away, the terror too much. Trying to hide like a child. If I close my eyes the monsters will all run away. But my eyelids no longer work and I'm left staring at the screaming face of the wall. And then I realize... the face is mine. End?
© 2013 love, loreyAuthor's Note
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Added on December 6, 2013Last Updated on December 6, 2013 Author
love, loreyTulsa, OKAboutSome people never go crazy, what truly horrible lives they must lead. -C Bukowski Behind every beautiful thing, there's some kind of pain. -Bob Dylan more..Writing
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