....On this wet and windy day
She floats in crimson,
Her hair unbound.
Her feet will never
Touch the ground.
....On this wet and windy day
"It’s working." I murmured to myself. I ran my fingers across my puffed cheeks, around the hollows of my eye sockets, down towards my chapped and bloody lips. It was striking the difference a week could make to one's appearance. I had only been on the prescribed diet for a few days but I was already starting to feel so much better.
You should have seen me last week. I could barely blink my eyeballs were so dry and as for the skin on my face? Forget about it! It had been grey and torn like an old rag, sagging over the protruding structure of my skull.
Now that my face had filled out a bit and I had some meat on my bones again, I could almost see the ghost of my previous self. I smiled at the image in the mirror and bared my teeth. My choppers were strange things to me now, endlessly fascinating with their sharp points all in a row. They were looking a little stained though.
I grimaced at the sudden moaning behind me. I must admit to feeling a bit guilty about Marty, but then again he had offered to help me get well. It wasn't like I forced him into it or anything. Perhaps I should have been a little clearer about what helping me would require.
He wasn't likely to miss his left arm that much. Marty had always been a righty. Besides, it had tasted ever so good. He should count his lucky stars that I was able to stop myself from eating the rest of him!
© Sophie J Ball 2010
I was doing a little bit of spring cleaning this morning. This is unusual for me. I'm a stacker by nature but the book shelves are full and the wardrobe is piled high with graphic novels and comics. More space is required for my brain to munch on.
As I was rummaging through my drawers I came across a battered, black notebook. On the front cover, 'Words' is scrawled in what I can only assume is red nail varnish (I think it was supposed to look like blood). I had a flick through the pages and was confronted by my teenage self. Here is a poetic offering from my youth:-
I want to breathe,
To feel the essence
In my charred alveoli.
To feel the nails
Tear in to my hallowed flesh.
To rid myself of
The dead blood and corruption
Deep within my cells.
I want to peel
Away the scar tissue
To reveal my pulsating heart.
To rip my arms
From their sockets
And use them as my eyes,
Spreading my Gabriel wings
And burning them black.
To christen my new shell
With a bag filled with angel dust
And a bottle of fire water,
Writhing on the floor,
Picking up insults from the carpet
And sympathy from the ceiling.
Ah, those were the days. I can imagine myself locked away in my room, dressed in black, chain smoking and listening to Nirvana.
Cheery little soul wasn't I? I blame the hormones.
THE NIGHT AND HER LOVER
There once was a girl with a head filled with dreams. She lived a sheltered life yet her heart hungered for adventure. She lived vicariously through her books and her films and her imagination which knew no boundaries. But still she ached for more. She ached for real life. She longed for something amazing to happen to her, and finally her wish was granted.
She met a wild and mysterious young man who had eyes filled with the darkest of nights. He promised her nothing and offered her the ride of her life. Naturally, she accepted. He was her secret.
He took her out and showed her the night. He liked to drive fast and her heart raced to catch up with him. He took what he wanted and she gave it to him freely.
Although they agreed to give flesh without emotion, she began to ache for the drug that his presence offered. When they fucked, her mind was flooded with him. The scent of his skin was enough to make her wet. His touch made her feel alive and his mouth set her on fire. He opened her up and she let him delve deep, creating something new within her soul and her mind and her heart.
The taste of him lingered each time they met. It infected her until there was nothing left. He had filled her up with a craving for his flesh. Her heart no longer beat blood through her veins. Now, her body swam with rivers of desire. She was fuelled by passion but her eyes were filling up with love.
He could see it and he liked it. Her joy of him gave him fuel of a different kind. He fed on her affection for him. He enjoyed her eagerness and the stars that danced in her eyes at the very sight of him. But he had secrets and other flesh to feed.
She grew dissatisfied with sharing his affections. She wanted more. She wanted to be the only one but she did not dare tell him. She didn’t want to frighten him away like those who came before, so she kept her heart at bay and her wishes to herself.
All was well until their secret was blown wide open after months of illicit nights. Her dark-eyed lover had planted himself in another.
He took her somewhere public. He brought her a drink. He told her what he had done. Her world fell apart. She was shattered as he told her of his choice and ended their journey into the night. But she could not bare the thought of losing him completely. She lied. Friendship was all she ever offered and now, as then, it would remain the same.
The girl with the shattered dreams and red-rimmed eyes lost herself to the night. Her anger knew no boundaries and her tears could have flooded galaxies of space and time. She cursed the gods and the stars and the night and all that it had promised. She cursed her lover and forgave him and cursed him again. She threw herself into anything to numb the pain of her shredded heart. She replaced the river of desire with the comfort of Jack and the sleep of Jo Blow. And still she knew no peace.
There were no answers for her. Hurt came to everyone who tried to help her. They gave her words of reason and advice on how to heal her broken heart, yet she ignored them. They told her to cut him out of her life and she lied to them. All to protect her errant lover. She stood by him, though she longed for him to hold her up. She was drowning. He didn’t even notice.
Her dark-eyed love gave all to the other. His new love was dark as he yet she set his nights aflame. He gave her all of himself. He gave her his heart.
The girl with the red-rimmed eyes could only watch from afar as her lover was gathered into her young light and she was left to wallow in the dark.
The darkness ate at her. It gathered her up with cold, comforting arms and she willingly fell into it. She felt the dark consuming her, feeding her, until there was little of the innocent girl left. She had walked in the dark corridors of the night and she had found that she liked it there.
Yet still she ached. Still she hoped that the darkness would end and her lover would set her on fire once more.
She saw him now in safe and friendly bars where they sat and drank and laughed like the friends that they had become. He talked to her of his life and his other lover and jealousy flared in her like the jade of a panther’s eye. She could not resist the hurtful words that whirled in her head and fired them at him without regret. She tried to win back his wandering flesh yet he resisted the lull of her voice and the curve of her body.
He had drawn a line that she was desperate to cross. He was unwilling to give up a love that could make him bleed. He had once drawn blood from her and she spent her darkest hours dreaming that he would do it again.
So they danced to the song of friendship and she found that she could cope. Her hunger still lingered in her eyes and both could see the patterns of her heart and the secrets that it still held. But more, she could see now a spark in him that was not there before and so she held on to the small hope it offered and immersed herself in their friendship. Yet she knew, if he asked her to, she would die for him.
So together they still sit:- the girl with the night in her heart and the boy with her stars in his eyes. They talk and laugh and share their lives and smile and drink and part. Yet like magnets, they draw each other back together, whilst part of her still wishes he would erase the line that cannot be crossed, no matter what the cost. She still loves him and he still knows, yet that’s as far as either of them go.
©Sophie J Ball 2002