Hey guys just wrote this short story and I wanted to start sharing my writing and I thought might as well start now. A little gore but I donβt think itβs too bad!
I looked into the eyes of the girl, really just stared. Everything looked so familiar and Iβd memorized every feature years ago. The soft brown hair in perfect curls, the carefully done makeup hiding all the features the girl hated, the nails so beautifully manicured, and the trendy clothes that fit every little curve just right. The grey of the bathroom tiles around her really made her glow. Everything about the girl was just impeccably beautiful, absolutely stunning even.Β
Except for the eyes, something was just so very wrong with the majestic blue eyes. They stared into mine unblinkingly, and though her lips curled into a shining smile it never reached her eyes. Staring into the eyes of that beautiful girl sent shivers down my spine and the emotion I felt in that momentΒ was only shared by that of staring into the eyes of a corpse.Β
Yes, thatβs it I tell you. It felt as if I was looking into the shell of a human long gone, but of course I wasnβt. I could clearly feel her chest rising and falling gently, I could tell the way her expression changed slightly as she stared back at me, and I heard the careful scrape of her feet as her high heels moved against the cold tile floor. Everything about her was flawless and yet I could sense this girl really didnβt seem to exist at all. It was a mere puppet really, an unsettlinglyΒ perfect rendition of a make believe girl. A figure that could never be created naturally if you will.
As I stared longer I realized how truly disgusting the caricature was. The teeth so whitened they seemed to be rotting at the irritated gums, the hair highlighted so many times that it fell into the porcelain sink when she twitched, the feet breaking and blistering from how long sheβd stood in those god forsaken heels. Oh, and I noticed the way she could barely breathe with how tight the clothing fit, despite the fact she was so slender you could see her ribs through the cloth.Β
No, she really wasnβt perfect. She was terrifying. She was a monster.Β
A monster that must be killed. She must be destroyed. I knew what I needed to do.
I noticed how the blade glistened as I drew it from my pocket. The weight in my hand was as heavy as the weight of what I would do.Β
The girl didnβt blink.Β
My hands shook as my gaze shifted between the creature in front of me and the weapon in my palm, clutched so tightly my knuckles had turned a starch white. Hands trembling, I brushed my choppy hair away from my face, trying to ease my nerves.
How could I rid the world of something so eerily familiar? How could I turn away something I could describe in exquisite detail? What would people say if I destroyed her, someone they knew so well? Would I be praised for murdering a monster or would I be outcasted for changing something most saw as correct? Surely they would understand why I had to do this.
I looked up from the weapon, eyebrows furrowed and breath caught in my throat. To my surprise the girl in front of me laughed, tauntingly almost. God, she laughed and the sound pierced my ears, sending a chill down my spine. The shrill noise sounded empty and fake and I hated it. I hated how familiar it sounded, and I hated how it hated back. I loathed the way it punished anyone who caused the sound, whether they deserved it or not. I never wanted to hear it again, and I never wanted to see the terrible awful evil thing in front of me either.
I lunged and grabbed her stupid hair, cutting it off, destroying the hated dead hair. I bashed her face with my elbow, smearing the spotless makeup with my dirty sleeve. Her foot slipped out from under her, the stiletto she stood on snapping as she fell with a gasp.
I stood over her, and dropped down to sit on her chest. Roughly, I pried her mouth open by using my knife as a crowbar.. From there I took the snacks I always carry in my bag and I forced it down her throat as she screamed with a tone that made my blood curdle. Her brittle teeth closed around my hand causing a sharp yelp from my throat, but didnβt relent force feeding her. I was determined to fix this beast.
Her scream was shrill and sounded just as familiar as everything else about her. She started to feel more real every moment, making my conscience grow heavy. I felt her body grow healthier the more food I forced her to eat, weight finally returning to cover her vital organs.Β
With shaky hands I drew the knife once more and plunged it into her ribs, a laugh escaped me as the blood began to soak her clothes. Twisting and writhing, the girl screamed and shrieked.
However, as Iβd failed to pin her arms, she reached up and wrapped her bony hands around my throat. The knobs of her knuckles pressed against my airway hard, blocking my breath. Sharp plastic nails dug into my soft skin, causing blood to run down my torso. I couldnβt breathe, but I refused to be the one to die.Β
I took a firmer hold of the knife I had plunged into her chest, and yanked it back and forth. Loud cracking filled the air as her ribs snapped.
Wheezing mixed with that sound as I struggled for breath, and I swear the beating of my heart was loud enough to hear a mile away. The room spun and my vision began to blur. My head throbbed. But I couldnβt stop yet, it wasnβt an option. I ground my teeth hard enough to make one crack as I thrust the knife once more.
Her squeals turned to gasping and gags as she choked on her own blood. It spewed from her mouth onto my face. It felt warm, I remember, and it felt nice on my cold, sweat soaked skin. The warming sensation helped distract from the way the metallic scent burned my nose.
The ebbing blood from the stab wound slows, though it doesnβt clot, and her gasping and choking halts to a stop as her final breath is drawn.Β
At last the struggle is over, but all I can do is cry. I let the tears spill endlessly onto the corpse as I reached into the chest cavity I had pried open with my knife during the struggle. I stare at the crimson glisten on my blade, letting it fall in my lap.Β
From there I ripped the heart out, feeling it pulse in my hand as I inspected it. Blackened and shriveled, as Iβd expected. It felt like a leather covered rock, hardened from years of exposure to terrible things.Β
I stood on weakened legs and stumbled to the sink where I gently washed the distorted organ. I whispered apologies to it, caressing it with gentle fingers as my tears washed the black to red again. I felt the warm, gentle water soften it like frozen meat. Maybe thatβs why she was so cold. Upon this, the heart began to spill blood and I smiled with pleasure as I gently placed it in the drainboard to rest.Β
I grabbed a rag from the shelf beside me and soaked it in warm water from the sink before returning to the now cold corpse. As I began whispering how beautiful she is, I wiped the makeup, sweat, and tears from her body with the care of a mother to her newborn child. I used my knife to add some choppy layers into her poorly cut hair, which I also apologized for despite it being much healthier this way. I removed the clothes cutting into her skin, and draped my baggy jacket over her shoulders, describing the beauty of the weight on her hips and stomach.Β
At last, the corpse looked natural, and I recognized itΒ anew. I shuffled to the drainboard and grabbed the heart, allowing it to again bleed onto my hands. It just needed me to revive it. After I returned to the body, I kneeled on the sticky floor beside it with quiet reverence and kissed the heart, allowing the ebbing blood to coat my lips and feel the pulsing thud as it beats. I placed the organ back in the chest, and felt as the warmth of the heart spread through the rest of the body, returning to life as I pressed the chest cavity closed again. I watched as the scar healed as I murmured in a hushed tone about beautiful things.
The girlβs eyes fluttered open as I pressed a kiss to her nose, smudging the metallic blood on my lips across her cheeks like blush.Β
Finally, her eyes no longer appeared dead or empty. I saw the light twinkle through the iris and as she stared at me I felt a soul in the body. Gently, I scooped her into my arms and pressed her against the mirror behind her, and she sank easily into the cool glass.
With an air of finality I press my hand against the glass and so does the girl in the mirror. I stare at it, watching as the girl moves the same way I do. Everything is the same. The reflection is no longer perfect, but itβs alive and itβs human. Sometimes I look in the mirror now and I think about that struggle. I remember the damage that was done by that mirror. Then I remember how the damage isnβt even something I can see now, the only proof of the fight being my words and faint scars. Iβm writing this so I can remember the struggle, and I can prove to myself I put up the fight.
