View Single Post
Old September 12th, 2005, 03:46 PM  
Cr0oked.Butterfli__x
Junior Member
 
Cr0oked.Butterfli__x's Forum Picture
 
Join Date: August 2, 2005
Location: Deep within the forests of imagination. . .
Default Her Secret__[XXx]

Her secret.

Sun beamed through the shop window, the light catching my spotless steel edge and gleaming proudly; it’s my first day in the shop and I’m at the head of the queue - the top of the pecking order - surely if anyone were to need my particular brand of service I would be the one they pick. The cleanest, shiniest member at the front of all the others. The important one, better than the rest. I have been here about an hour when a tall, large nosed man approaches, his dark, burnt ember eyes, swivelling over the many different blades and finally resting upon me.

His spindle like fingers reach out and enclose around about me. For a while I see nothing but the palm of his pale hand, but I don’t care for at that moment in time I am elated - I have been chosen, I am the one to go to a home and have a place in this world; a purpose.

The journey in a moving contraption that growls and purrs, changing its noise with it’s mood I suppose, goes quickly and uneventfully. The man, my new owner, sings out of tune loudly to some sort of rhythmic noise that is thick in the air around me. Not too long after I have been purchased and ferried about - we step into a house. It’s warm and cosy the smell of bacon around me, but it is not before long that the man, whom I now know is either called ‘Dad’ or ‘Martin’ I think Martin suits him much better, don’t you? Anyway he walks me through a room and stuffs me unceremoniously into a drawer. Pfft, the cheek of him! Respect me.

However, before I allowed darkness to consume me I saw a tall, slim girl, her long locks a dark red - the reminiscent the centre of a rose and the way it appeared to shimmer in the faint hue of light that the blinds were letting in, it would be just a silky as petals to touch. How it would be to feel those cherry coloured waves. Her lips bowed into a smile, that didn’t quite reach her deep green eyes; they showed not sadness nor pain or disappointment only blank staring that reflected nothing but a dark silence.

Then it was I that was in silence, well not complete deadened silence, I could hear muffled voices and music but nothing of interest and nothing clear of decipherable. Boredom ensues after I give up on attempting to understand the conversations of those in the outside world, so I begin to look around me. I’m not generally a curious one, but just this time I figure, why not? Maybe someone with a bit of intellect to talk to around here.

Nothing catches my gaze, so I stop searching and concentrate not on something physical bit an image in my mind’s eyes - the girl. She is a beautiful one, with no doubt, but a striking beauty, much like myself; not pretty or cute and yet people find us captivating. But for all of her stunning features they do not allure me to her as much as the way she seemed to falsely inflate with feigned happiness then allow herself to die down, gone as quickly as it had come, like a leaf caught in the wind.

Five hours. Five long, excruciating hours I have been waiting. Waiting and listening. And watching. But nobody has come, nobody has claimed me again. How dare they just forget, me, raised all my hopes of having a reason to be here only to abandon me in the dark and the quiet. Unused. Unwanted. Unloved. Do they not know? I was the finest damned blade in that shop. Do they think it’ s riff raff that get put to the head of the queue to be bought? Well it’s not fai -

The draw creaks open. A shaft of light spills through it, casting a luminous glow over me. I expected Martin’s hand to enter and pick me up but it is not pasty white fingers ruined by bitten nails that grasp me but a smaller, freckled hand, bejewelled with two silver rings, one on her thumb and another encrusted with ebon stones on her middle digit. She, I believe it’s a she; the girl from earlier I’ll warrant.

She picks me up and before I have chance to glimpse my surroundings or breathe in some fresh air I am slipped into a dark, snug pocket. My transporter moves quickly and at the absence of the sound of heavy footsteps I presume she is moving with some sort of grace. Suddenly I stop. Well, we stop. The hand slides me out and places me gently on a dark red cushion. It’s velvety and soft; comfortable and makes me swell with importance. This is how I should be treated; special and loved, like royalty of a kind. She moves nervously, like a rabbit sniffing the air certain a predator is nearby. Is it me she’s afraid of? Surely not, I wouldn’t do anything to her she did not want; how can you hurt someone who treats you with reverence and respect?

She shuts the door with a slight creak emitting from the hinges and with a gentle flick of a white switch on the side of the wall, the room become brighter. Looking around, I realise I am on her bed, which soon dips slightly as it takes her weight. Her legs folded beneath her, her eyes set upon my sharp edge. Her warm hand clasps about me and she raises me to her face, I’m so close I could count the sprinkle of freckles that lay upon her nose, like a smattering of cinnamon. Emerald orbs fixed upon the glinting razor blade, lifting her other hand she stretches out her forefinger and slips it along the knife-like metal. I feel my steel pierce her flesh and she drops me, blood dripping from her finger and now staining my silver, crimson.

It’s wrong. I know it’s wrong. But I enjoyed inflicting the incision. I liked to feel her skin break and rip like paper beneath me. As I look up I see her sucking away at the blood and a certain once swelled bubble within me bursts. Did she not like my slit? My creation? Did she not feel that rush of adrenaline as blood drew from the narrow wound? Will she hate me now? Am I destined for the scrap heap so soon? Apparently not. Her eyes are gazing at me with some sort of adoration, she collects me up in her palm, wipes of the stain with a damp, scented wipe. A cry emits from somewhere below us, screeching the word of ‘Dinner!’

She jumps, her eyes wide and very quickly I am placed upon her dresser, while I watched her back retreat through the door again and hear her as she makes her way down the steps. Leaving me in silence. But I am not bored and restless as I was the last time I was left alone, no, now I have things to contemplate and look upon. Her room is simply buzzing with life and vibrance.

Four cream walls with a dark red border in the middle and a crimson carpets - shocking colours, striking and yet they seemed to match perfectly in their contrast. Bookshelves line the walls and clothes spilled out across the floor create an air of clutter but it’s a comfortable clutter, making the room appear homely and welcoming. She returns and switches out the light straight away. Not looking at me or anything else particularly. I observe her silhouette, pulling off her clothes and replacing them with overlarge baggy items of cotton. Then her body lays horizontal beneath the quilting of her bed and silence envelopes the room for a while.

Sniff. I looked around me, my ears perky and listening for the noise again, it’s her. She’s crying I’m sure of it. Tears will be leaking down her cheeks and I want to be there to wipe them off of her. What’s wrong? Why do the tears come?

Two months have passed since I first heard her shedding tears in the dark of the night. Two whole months and in that time I have been her only friend. She needs me, and I need her. We depend on each other. Her routine is meticulous, she comes in from school, her hair windswept and her eyes encircled in black eyeliner. She retreats directly to her bedroom and sits at her desk, hunched over maths or science. Her heart not really in it and her brain not really focused. Dinner is ready and she leaves my presence to go and eat so that her parents do not become suspicious.

They have before. Become suspicious, I mean. Searched her entire room for the reason behind their daughter’s non-existent spirit, but they never found me…how could they? I am safely in my own little velvet lined box. Like a secret. A hidden secret that will never be revealed. I won’t let her! I won’t let her tell them about me. I won’t let her forget me. Forget that she needs me. So a dirty, little secret I will remain.

Here she is now. So thin her ribs and hipbones poke through her skin, which is now so pale that it no longer even bares the mark of her sun-kissed freckles nor the little red hue that used to reside in her cheeks. But she is still beautiful to me. Always and forever she will be beautiful. To me at least. And really that’s all that matters. Isn’t it? She’s just eaten dinner and a fair amount by the way she appears disgusted with herself I see her critically poking and prodding at her stomach and thighs then her attention turns, as always to her hair; she hates it. So red, so noticeable. Like the scars and cuts that line her arms and legs. Caused by me. All me.

Finally I see her stalking towards me, picking me up and sitting her legs crossed upon the floor. Where do I insert you tonight? She is thinking, I know she is pondering this - I know it. And it looks as if she has chosen her forearms. Not too close to the wrist but near enough. I’m lined put and softly yet with enough force I am pressed into her flesh and as a knife through butter I cut. Adrenaline pumps. Pulses race. And blood falls.

She’s smiling. Every time she gashes deep enough I see the sight of her crimson blood, staining her blemish free skin and I see her lips mould into a perfect smile. It makes her happy. I make her happy. Too feel pain, too feel anything for her is such an achievement and I understand her pride in her scars. They are all hers, her strict Mother and ignorant Father can’t take away that she created them and will be able to own and keep something forever.

She speaks so softly it’s like she’s spinning silk with her very words ‘thank you’. She tells me every night ‘Thank you’ and every night I remain silent, never speaking, never wanting to ruin the unspoken relationship we have. Because I know if I talk, I may say something I regret…may prod and poke too deep into her life and I don’t want that. If I do that she may get offended and stop our nightly ritual. And I can’t have that because I need her as much as she needs me.


End___

Okay...a few spelling mistakes I know...just can't care enough to change it...[/b]

Â*Â*Â*Â*Â*Â*Don\'t make my mascara bleed . . .

Â*Â*Â*Â*Â*Â*Â*Â*Â*Â*Â*Â*Â*Â*Â*Â*Â*Â*Â*Â* Â*Â*Â*.i love you. ___*|x


<3 tasha.
Cr0oked.Butterfli__x is offline   Reply With Quote