Post by DolorNoir on May 24, 2008 0:45:24 GMT -5
Skinny Violet was bored. The monotony of daily life beat through her like a tribal drum, and she was the human sacrifice; only the sacrifice never happened. For a long time now she'd been waiting for something to happen, something huge and life-changing, something that would satisfy the romanticism of death and suffering.
Skinny Violet picked up a plump ripe tomato, and bit into it's soft skin as it creased around her teeth.
Watery. Tangy. Slimy seeds slipped across her tongue.
She pulled back her hand and looked at the fruit. The bite was a jagged and dried semi-circle. A fly crawled across, wings twitching inquisitively. Violet must leave.
Skinny Violet went for a walk. She walked far. She passed the town limits and kept walking. It was the middle of the night when the driver came by. Violet was way out in the middle of nowhere in the middle of nowhere country, when the once white '82 VW Rabbit pulled up beside her.
“Get in.” Commanded the gritty voice of the night hawk. Skinny Violet got in. The woman's hair was bluish gray, like at one point it might have been purple. Her clothes were out of date.
Skinny Violet stared, then asked “How did you get here?”
The woman pulled a box out of her pocket and griped a cigarette in her lips. Violet recognized the scent: cloves. Cloves: the same as the one she herself fingered between the fabric of her pocket.
Finally the woman answered. “Didn't like life. So one day I started driving. Drove right on out of town. Haven't stopped in twenty years.”
Skinny Violet stared through the holes in the skull that were the woman's eyes, the cigarette held by naked teeth and caressed by lips long turned to dust.
“Oh.” replied Violet.
The car came to an abrupt halt. Skinny Violet got out. It sped out of sight.
Skinny Violet walked across fields until she reached a forest. It was damp and dark, but she did not trip.
Before her, illuminated like a golden altar lay a needle full of silver-white liquid. What elixir this was she did not know. She slid it into her arm, easy as buttered mayonnaise, and downed the plunger.
Skinny Violet could feel the silken push and pull of her heartbeat, wanting her to fall into starry-eyed nothingness.
She was just drifting off when somewhere in the forest a twig snapped. She opened her eyes and stared at the green pine needle she'd used to puncture the skin of her main artery. It was sticky with Skinny Violet's crazy blood.
She spoke to it. “Are you worthy of my blood?” She had it pinched between thumb and forefinger.
“But are you worthy of the tree-needle's sharp bite through your skin?”
Skinny Violet twisted around on her tree trunk bench to behold a male youth with spiky green hair. “I hope so.” She swallowed as she was overcome with desire for him. He licked a drop of blood off the corner of his lip. He turned his luminous gaze toward her.
Skinny Violet lay naked on the dirt and pine needles. She could still feel spiky green sap tearing through her veins, and this felt exquisite.
The green-haired apparition was gone.
The moon looked brighter.
Skinny Violet knew now what she wanted, the only one to satisfy her anxiety and frustration from doomed boredom.
She wept. Sobbed. Screamed at the top of her lungs.
When that was done she picked up a sharp rock and opened her vein from palm to elbow. A crimson ribbon rushed out. Skinny Violet gripped this malleable rope, and used it to climb the tallest tree. When she reached the top, she leaped off and landed on the crescent that was the moon. But in between lassoing, climbing, and leaping, the brightness had moved off to a star, then another. And another...
Skinny Violet took a deep breath and jumped toward the brightness, wishing for love as she always did. Then the next.
And the next...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A middle-aged psychiatric doctor stands with his student assistant at the edge of the cemetery, clipboards in hand. The assistant asks a question: “Why does she leap from plot to plot in that repeated pattern among the same ten stones?”
The doctor replies with authority. “She can not remember which grave stones she's already read.”
“What is she looking for?” The assistant presses further.
“She claims her 'beloved'.” He looks out at the haggard woman leaping to and from various stones. “She claims his light, brightness if you will, keeps moving from 'star-to-star'.”
The woman's grayish blue hair looks like it might have once been purple. She pauses at a stone for a rest, fingers a clove cigarette before lighting it.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
On the opposite corner of the large cemetery, in a completely remote section, under a fair sized pine tree stands a crooked stone. The dead boy had been in his late teens upon his death twenty years ago. His green hair paled and faded away through thew sifting dirt. It would never be loved again.
Skinny Violet picked up a plump ripe tomato, and bit into it's soft skin as it creased around her teeth.
Watery. Tangy. Slimy seeds slipped across her tongue.
She pulled back her hand and looked at the fruit. The bite was a jagged and dried semi-circle. A fly crawled across, wings twitching inquisitively. Violet must leave.
Skinny Violet went for a walk. She walked far. She passed the town limits and kept walking. It was the middle of the night when the driver came by. Violet was way out in the middle of nowhere in the middle of nowhere country, when the once white '82 VW Rabbit pulled up beside her.
“Get in.” Commanded the gritty voice of the night hawk. Skinny Violet got in. The woman's hair was bluish gray, like at one point it might have been purple. Her clothes were out of date.
Skinny Violet stared, then asked “How did you get here?”
The woman pulled a box out of her pocket and griped a cigarette in her lips. Violet recognized the scent: cloves. Cloves: the same as the one she herself fingered between the fabric of her pocket.
Finally the woman answered. “Didn't like life. So one day I started driving. Drove right on out of town. Haven't stopped in twenty years.”
Skinny Violet stared through the holes in the skull that were the woman's eyes, the cigarette held by naked teeth and caressed by lips long turned to dust.
“Oh.” replied Violet.
The car came to an abrupt halt. Skinny Violet got out. It sped out of sight.
Skinny Violet walked across fields until she reached a forest. It was damp and dark, but she did not trip.
Before her, illuminated like a golden altar lay a needle full of silver-white liquid. What elixir this was she did not know. She slid it into her arm, easy as buttered mayonnaise, and downed the plunger.
Skinny Violet could feel the silken push and pull of her heartbeat, wanting her to fall into starry-eyed nothingness.
She was just drifting off when somewhere in the forest a twig snapped. She opened her eyes and stared at the green pine needle she'd used to puncture the skin of her main artery. It was sticky with Skinny Violet's crazy blood.
She spoke to it. “Are you worthy of my blood?” She had it pinched between thumb and forefinger.
“But are you worthy of the tree-needle's sharp bite through your skin?”
Skinny Violet twisted around on her tree trunk bench to behold a male youth with spiky green hair. “I hope so.” She swallowed as she was overcome with desire for him. He licked a drop of blood off the corner of his lip. He turned his luminous gaze toward her.
Skinny Violet lay naked on the dirt and pine needles. She could still feel spiky green sap tearing through her veins, and this felt exquisite.
The green-haired apparition was gone.
The moon looked brighter.
Skinny Violet knew now what she wanted, the only one to satisfy her anxiety and frustration from doomed boredom.
She wept. Sobbed. Screamed at the top of her lungs.
When that was done she picked up a sharp rock and opened her vein from palm to elbow. A crimson ribbon rushed out. Skinny Violet gripped this malleable rope, and used it to climb the tallest tree. When she reached the top, she leaped off and landed on the crescent that was the moon. But in between lassoing, climbing, and leaping, the brightness had moved off to a star, then another. And another...
Skinny Violet took a deep breath and jumped toward the brightness, wishing for love as she always did. Then the next.
And the next...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A middle-aged psychiatric doctor stands with his student assistant at the edge of the cemetery, clipboards in hand. The assistant asks a question: “Why does she leap from plot to plot in that repeated pattern among the same ten stones?”
The doctor replies with authority. “She can not remember which grave stones she's already read.”
“What is she looking for?” The assistant presses further.
“She claims her 'beloved'.” He looks out at the haggard woman leaping to and from various stones. “She claims his light, brightness if you will, keeps moving from 'star-to-star'.”
The woman's grayish blue hair looks like it might have once been purple. She pauses at a stone for a rest, fingers a clove cigarette before lighting it.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
On the opposite corner of the large cemetery, in a completely remote section, under a fair sized pine tree stands a crooked stone. The dead boy had been in his late teens upon his death twenty years ago. His green hair paled and faded away through thew sifting dirt. It would never be loved again.