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exsequarI just dug up two pieces of original fiction that I wrote a year ago. I'm intensely proud of both of them (especially Another Step) and would love any feedback. (Especially you, Sara - I'd love to know what you think.) And I swear I'm not depressed like these stories make me seem. I'm just somehow much better at capturing pain and despair than comedy or love or anything happy. Heh.
Title: Another Step
Author: Anne (![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
starsouls1013)
Rating: PG-13
Summary/Teaser: She did not feel the jagged edges of the broken stalks as they scraped the soft skin of her feet. Her footprints glistened crimson in her wake, marking her trail of small scale destruction.
A/N: There really is no context for this. The beginning sprang from my mind, and I just ran with it.
The ground beneath her bare feet crackled and shifted drily. Relentless, soporific sunlight beat down on the crown of her head until her temples felt like they were going to burst. All around her, for miles and miles, stretched a golden plain of grass, shifting imperceptibly and giving the illusion of a gently undulating liquid surface. It would have been beautiful if not for the pervading sense of desolation, of utter abandonment. A vague scent of decay rode the heavy summer air, causing her nose to wrinkle slightly in disgust.
Must do something. Something. Move? Yes, move. But where? The question was a puzzler, because from what her slightly blurry vision told her, there was nothing on the horizon to give her any sort of goal or direction. For a few minutes (or maybe an hour, or maybe two seconds) she just stood and stared. Her slightly fried brain ground slowly through her options. Gradually, one became coherent.
Turn around? The message traveled slowly down her spine and eventually her feet did their bidding. Her vision, fixed straight ahead, slid slowly along the line between ground and sky until suddenly it stopped. An anomaly. A large, disconcerting anomaly. She squinted slightly and it came into focus.
Yes, she wasn’t hallucinating. Or maybe she was, but it was a very concrete and unwavering hallucination. Another few moments for her poor, shock-numbed mind to grasp the idea, and she took a faltering step forward. Then another. Another, and another, until her stride widened into a firm walk. As her momentum built, so did her determination, and she broke into a full run. Her long skirts brushed against the tall, golden stems surrounding her on every side. Swish, swish, swish. The sound built upon the barely audible background noise of millions of stalks brushing against each other. It was as though the plants were whispering amongst themselves, malevolently plotting to get rid of this disturbance.
These perceptions flitted dimly across her consciousness, barely acknowledged. She ran. She did not feel the jagged edges of the broken stalks as they scraped the soft skin of her feet. Her footprints glistened crimson in her wake, marking her trail of small scale destruction. The wind picked up slightly, and the whispering sound became more pronounced, surrounding her, suffocating her. But she ignored it, firmly intent on her goal. Neither pain, nor worry, nor doubt penetrated her consciousness. To a large extent, her mental facilities were frozen, unable to cope with this bewildering sequence of events. For now, she was satisfied to just run.
Her eyes locked on her goal, she didn’t notice as it imperceptibly grew larger and larger. The sun hung directly above the aberration, a strange coincidence that her exhausted mind didn’t bother to register. Until, that is, she flew into the structure’s shadow. She skidded to a startled halt.
The abrupt change of atmosphere shocked her tired eyes. Even though it was still quite light, she blinked a few times as her pupils dilated to compensate. A vague sense of pain penetrated her conscious, a full body ache supplemented by sharp twinges from the soles of her feet. Looking down curiously, she saw the blood between her toes, trickling in thin lines from where her feet rested. A slight, detached frown crinkled the skin of her forehead. Then, just as quietly, the frown faded from her features.
Catharsis. The word was whispered to her from that deep place where her analytical mind was locked. It was a big word, confusing and all too complex for the circumstances. But the beautiful pain she was feeling, its purity, made the word fit somehow. As each drop of blood came forth, she lost a piece of herself, and at that moment that was all she wanted. To lose that temporarily crushed self, struggling to get out. With that self came too much memory, too many burdens, and she just wanted this, the purity of pain and dark and escape.
She lifted her eyes once more to her salvation. Its perfection was almost too good to believe. Once again, she started to run, no temporary hesitation holding her back. Everything was suddenly perfectly clear, and she ran faster, ever faster, this time the pain shooting up her legs with every jarring step. She reveled in it. The golden grass whispered and whispered.
And then suddenly she was there, standing at its base. Ominous and beautiful, it loomed high above her, dwarfing her in its shadow. The sun was completely occluded, and she felt almost cool. A shiver wracked her slim figure, and she took in a deep, steadying breath. Then, a step forward. As before, one foot after the other, no longer in a hurry. She approached the black doorway, slowly, peacefully. Above her stretched a rounded white tower, unmarred except here, at its base, by one means of entrance. But she knew she had to enter. The decision had been made for her long ago.
She passed through the dark opening and was greeted by blackness. The light entering behind her seemed to be swallowed and suppressed ruthlessly by the presence of this place. She could just make out a first step and, without hesitation, took it. Then the next. And the next.
Upward she climbed, the stairway curving up and away before her, any sense of time disappearing. The steps beneath her blood-slick feet were cold and hard, rough and dusty. Gradually, the blood clotted and pain faded away, like everything else. Nothing passed through her mind except a driving desire to continue.
After an age, her eyes perceived a slight change in the darkness. Her step quickened, and slowly the light increased as she went up and up, around and around. It grew brighter and brighter until, abruptly, she turned the last corner, mounted the last step, and was blinded by the sun streaming directly through a tall, rectangular window. Instinctively, she squeezed her eyes shut and threw up her hands to ward off the painful light.
She remained that way for a moment or two, letting her eyes become accustomed. Then, slowly, she lowered her hands and opened her eyes, fixing her gaze on the floor before the window. Her heart began to slow, its pace having quickened both from the climb up the stairs and the sudden shock of the light.
Her composure regained, her purpose once again overcame her. A step towards the window. Eyes still on the floor. One more step. And another. Her feet left faint outlines in the dust, a memory of her transient presence in this inviolate sanctuary. In time, dust would come again, but the blood of her passage was imprinted on the cold steps below, a silent, permanent testament to her pain.
She did not stop at the window, but lifted a foot and placed it on the sill. A pause, closing her eyes, and then she lifted herself up and both feet stood on the window sill. Her head just grazed the top of the window. It was as if the opening had been measured and built for her.
Eyes still closed, she lifted her face to meet the sun. Its warm, fierce light beat down on her, her eyes seeing a blend of gold and crimson through their lids. She opened her eyes, and did not flinch.
Another step.
Title: Obsidian Eyes
Author: Anne (starsouls1013)
Rating: PG-13
Summary: A young man tells his story of loneliness, temptation, and loss.
A/N: The narrator is male. Everyone assumes it's a woman because I am - but nope! This was written for a creative writing assignment for AP English last year. And if you don't know, obsidian is a kind of rock, completely black, shiny, and very hard.
You might not believe what I am going to tell you. It’s up to you. I just want to let you know that it did happen. I’m not a liar.
At least I don’t think so.
It was dark that night. Very dark. The moon was a mere sliver, casting no light on the land below.
The darkness was complete.
I’ve always liked the dark. In the dark you can hide from the world and imagine that no one will ever find you.
That’s what I was doing that night – hiding. Hiding from the constant light and noise and lack of privacy. Hiding from my family, hiding from the yelling and my bitching sisters and the screaming baby.
So I hid. I knew my parents wouldn’t worry about me – they gave up on me long ago. Besides, they were too busy fighting to worry about a little thing like their son.
I walked along the road, wrapped in a blanket of silence. Everything was still as death. Not so much as a squirrel stirred. The world was holding its breath, and I found myself wondering what for.
I was soon to find out.
I had no real destination in mind, so I simply wandered wherever whim took me. Eventually I found myself at the somewhat battered front door of a small, ramshackle building that looked like it could have been a little shop, years ago. Now it just looked deserted.
I wasn’t surprised; I had been spending an “unnatural” amount of time there, according to my parents. Of course, they didn’t know where “there” was. They just knew there was somewhere I was constantly disappearing to.
I pushed open the door without a sound – no eerie squealing of hinges, no creaking of rotten wood. I stepped through into a room that was as thoroughly deserted as the outside, except for one incongruous detail – the floor was swept clean.
I headed directly for a black door, concealed in the shadowy recesses of the far corner of the room. I lifted my hand and rapped on the door with my knuckles, a complicated series of taps, rat-a-tat, shattering the stillness. The door swung open, silent as the grave, and I slipped through the forbidding opening.
Slight nods were exchanged as I glided past the dark figure who had opened the door. I knew his face; he knew mine. No words were needed.
I descended a short flight of steps and emerged in what had once been a cellar but had been appropriated for a new purpose. The only light came from candles spaced here and there. The flames cast undulating shadows on the walls. I reveled in their nebulosity, in the morbidly sinister quality of the light – or rather the absence of light, emphasized by the lonely pinpricks dotting the room.
A few people sat at the small tables that took up most of the space in the room. No one sat together; everyone preferred their own company. Anyone who didn’t wouldn’t be here. It was a place of silent acceptance, where you didn’t ask any questions and none were asked of you.
The room was utterly silent.
I approached a short bar to one side of the room. There was a woman behind the counter who met my eyes and nodded in recognition. I nodded in response and she began mixing a drink. In a few moments she handed me a glass. A Bloody Mary. My “usual”. No questions asked.
I took the glass and turned away. No words were spoken.
The chair’s legs made a soft scraping sound as I pulled it away from a vacant table. I sat and took a sip of my drink. My eyes locked on the rough grain of the tabletop and I lost myself in my own thoughts.
I sat that way for some time, nursing my drink. My parent’s angry shouts echoed in my ears but I shoved them away ruthlessly. Instead I focused on nothing, on oblivion, trying to imagine what the complete lack of anything would be like. My shoulders relaxed as I found solace in the emptiness.
I was nearly finished with my drink when something compelled me to turn my head. My eyes alighted on a figure sitting at the table next to mine. I assumed it was a woman because of the long, raven hair spilling to the table and concealing her face. Her posture spoke of misery. She was alone like everyone else, but more than that, she was lonely.
I felt an inexplicable connection to her as I watched her silently, entranced by the golden candlelight playing off of her ebony tresses. I hadn’t even seen her face yet.
Then I noticed a movement – gradually, reluctantly, her head begin to lift from the table. I wanted to look away, but I couldn’t seem to wrest my eyes from her figure. Slowly, interminably, her hair fell away from her features and then, all of a sudden, her eyes met with mine.
I almost reeled, as if from a physical blow, as the unbelievably powerful despondency hit me like a freight train. Her eyes were portals into a world of agony and heart-breaking sadness. My eyes widened and my fingers attempted to dig into the tabletop – I had never seen such raw emotion before. Abruptly, she stood and left, brushing by me as if nothing had happened.
I sat there for a few minutes, shell-shocked and bewildered by what had just occurred. I couldn’t move.
I finally realized that the longer I sat there, the farther away she was getting. I snapped out of it, tossing back the last of my drink and standing up hastily. That earned me a few looks but I didn’t care. I slammed the glass down on the table with a loud bang and some of those looks turned to glares. Oblivious, I hurried out of the room and up the stairs. I had to find her.
I all but ran out of the front door, skidding to a halt and looking around with something akin to panic. What if I didn’t find her? I tried to decide what direction to go in but before I made up my mind, I spotted movement out of the corner of my eye.
Whirling, I saw a shape detach itself from the shadows. With wide eyes, I watched as the figure approached. Gradually, a face became visible as my eyes adjusted to the gloom
My breath caught.
It was her. The girl.
Her black hair fell into her face again, unrestrained. Her eyes gazed at me through the dark curtain, but their power was undiluted. The depth of their suffering, suffering it seemed to me no human could bear, was staggering. I felt my heart would break just looking at her.
To my astonishment, she stopped in front of me; all I could do was stare. Her lips curved faintly in what I thought might be a smile, but one that held no amusement. I attempted to smile back, but my lips didn’t move. I couldn’t think of a single thing to say. Silence reigned as we stood there, looking into each other’s eyes.
I felt a light pressure on my hand and looked down to see her fragile-looking fingers seeking entrance into mine. I uncurled my fingers and her hand slipped into my grasp. She turned and set off into the darkness, pulling me along after her gently. I took no further urging and quickly fell in step with her.
We walked slowly through the night, enveloped in comfortable silence. It registered that I didn’t know this girl’s name, I hadn’t even heard her speak, but I didn’t care. I felt so comfortable, so relaxed, so… at peace, as I hadn’t for a long time. In her I had found a kindred spirit.
We passed into an even deeper darkness as we entered the woods on the fringe of town. I lived in an area where there was still a lot of forest left, and I had often explored their depths, enjoying the sense of solitude and unearthliness.
Looming out of the darkness ahead was a tall stone outcropping. We emerged into a clearing at its base and I peered upwards, trying to distinguish the rocky outline from the ink black sky. The fingernail moon was barely visible. The surface of the stone was covered with dark lichen and dangling mosses, giving the cliff a sad, weeping look. An aura of anguish and pain pervaded the place, and it felt very lonely, as if no one even knew it was there. Instinctively I knew this was where she lived, or at least spent most of her time, because it was saturated by her essence. I was fascinated.
Sure enough, we stopped walking. She lightly but firmly pulled on my hand until I was facing her. I looked down into those tragic eyes and waited for whatever she was going to say.
“You’re lonely.” Her voice was quiet, calm, yet laced with an undercurrent of sorrow. It blended in perfectly with the silence.
I nodded slowly, almost imperceptibly, unsure of how to respond to this statement. Of course I was lonely; anyone could see that. But it was the way she said it that struck me. Her voice held such familiarity with that emotion that I felt another surge of compassion.
“You want to escape from everything. I was like you, once.”
I frowned slightly – what did she mean, “once”? Seemed to me like she still was. I opened my mouth to ask, but she cut me off.
“What if I told you that we could heal each other, that we could spend eternity and never be alone again?”
My frown deepened, though I can’t say that I wasn’t intrigued. The idea was undeniably attractive, but I had only just met her, and the way she said “eternity” made me a bit cautious. I didn’t even want to think about the method she had in mind for achieving this goal. I eyed her warily as I responded.
“Then I would ask you what you meant by eternity.”
She laughed softly, an ironic laugh, slightly condescending, as though she was the professional and I the naïve little kid.
“The human mind cannot conceive of eternity. Try to picture the universe – stars and planets stretching out into infinity without end; you can’t do it. I, on the other hand…”
As I stared into her eyes, completely bewildered, it occurred to me that I was dreaming. None of this was real. I had drifted off at my seat and I would wake up and there would be no girl standing in front of me with pools of obsidian for eyes. She smiled… a feral smile, her lips curling back to reveal what could only be called fangs.
Fascinated, and still convinced I was dreaming, I reached out towards this bizarre product of my subconscious. She watched my hand approaching, unconcerned. The tip of my finger came in contact with the iridescent surface of her… fang and I started in shock. I had honestly thought that my hand would go right through her.
I yanked my hand away, but my retreat was arrested by what felt like an iron clamp on my wrist. I looked at the small, fragile hand locking me in place and my world spun. It finally struck home just what I was looking at.
I felt an insane urge to laugh uncontrollably, or cry hysterically, but I was paralyzed by those eyes. They were the same eyes, melancholy and anguished, but now even the whites were dark as the blackest night. It was unnerving and unsettling.
“We could go on forever, together, never again to know loneliness.” Her voice was deep and fluid, washing over me soothingly. The smile had slipped from her lips and she looked almost normal, if I could forget the eyes. But I could never forget the eyes.
Then the implications of what she was asking hit me, like a shock wave trailing moments behind the visual experience of an explosion.
And I realized that she was offering everything that I had wanted for a long time. I could escape from this hell on earth. Be with someone – something? – who understood me. The concept was unbearably tempting.
I have never been good with temptation.
Meeting those strange, yet so familiar eyes, I nodded slowly, once, in acquiescence.
Her features lit up with what I swear was joy, or at least they tried to; they were so out of practice they had forgotten what happiness felt like, much less joy.
The teeth sinking into my neck imbued me with a sense of peace, of total contentment, and then she had drawn with her fingernail a thin line across the milk white of her chest, bright red heart’s blood welling to the surface, and she gently lowered my head to the wound, and so we shared a meeting of souls so profound it cannot be described in words.
Then all was darkness.
I clawed my way up from the bottom of a bottomless pit, grasping desperately at consciousness. When I finally hauled myself out of oblivion, my eyes slid open, but they registered no light, no objects, just darkness. I sat up and she was there. My eyes didn’t tell me, nor the other four senses – I just knew with a certainty it was impossible to ignore.
I realized I still didn’t know her name.
“Hello?” I ventured timidly.
“Welcome to my world.”
Memory flooded back and my hand flashed to my neck. Nothing. Not even a scab. I focused on what I was feeling – shouldn’t I feel different somehow?
But the only difference I could find was a heavy burden on my heart and soul, a crushing despair that I recognized as being the same torment I had seen in the girl’s eyes. Her obsidian eyes…
The scream that tore from my throat was of the deepest anguish, the most profound suffering. I collapsed into sobs on the hard, unforgiving stone.
The pain never ceases. I will always be alone.
Title: Another Step
Author: Anne (
starsouls1013)Rating: PG-13
Summary/Teaser: She did not feel the jagged edges of the broken stalks as they scraped the soft skin of her feet. Her footprints glistened crimson in her wake, marking her trail of small scale destruction.
A/N: There really is no context for this. The beginning sprang from my mind, and I just ran with it.
The ground beneath her bare feet crackled and shifted drily. Relentless, soporific sunlight beat down on the crown of her head until her temples felt like they were going to burst. All around her, for miles and miles, stretched a golden plain of grass, shifting imperceptibly and giving the illusion of a gently undulating liquid surface. It would have been beautiful if not for the pervading sense of desolation, of utter abandonment. A vague scent of decay rode the heavy summer air, causing her nose to wrinkle slightly in disgust.
Must do something. Something. Move? Yes, move. But where? The question was a puzzler, because from what her slightly blurry vision told her, there was nothing on the horizon to give her any sort of goal or direction. For a few minutes (or maybe an hour, or maybe two seconds) she just stood and stared. Her slightly fried brain ground slowly through her options. Gradually, one became coherent.
Turn around? The message traveled slowly down her spine and eventually her feet did their bidding. Her vision, fixed straight ahead, slid slowly along the line between ground and sky until suddenly it stopped. An anomaly. A large, disconcerting anomaly. She squinted slightly and it came into focus.
Yes, she wasn’t hallucinating. Or maybe she was, but it was a very concrete and unwavering hallucination. Another few moments for her poor, shock-numbed mind to grasp the idea, and she took a faltering step forward. Then another. Another, and another, until her stride widened into a firm walk. As her momentum built, so did her determination, and she broke into a full run. Her long skirts brushed against the tall, golden stems surrounding her on every side. Swish, swish, swish. The sound built upon the barely audible background noise of millions of stalks brushing against each other. It was as though the plants were whispering amongst themselves, malevolently plotting to get rid of this disturbance.
These perceptions flitted dimly across her consciousness, barely acknowledged. She ran. She did not feel the jagged edges of the broken stalks as they scraped the soft skin of her feet. Her footprints glistened crimson in her wake, marking her trail of small scale destruction. The wind picked up slightly, and the whispering sound became more pronounced, surrounding her, suffocating her. But she ignored it, firmly intent on her goal. Neither pain, nor worry, nor doubt penetrated her consciousness. To a large extent, her mental facilities were frozen, unable to cope with this bewildering sequence of events. For now, she was satisfied to just run.
Her eyes locked on her goal, she didn’t notice as it imperceptibly grew larger and larger. The sun hung directly above the aberration, a strange coincidence that her exhausted mind didn’t bother to register. Until, that is, she flew into the structure’s shadow. She skidded to a startled halt.
The abrupt change of atmosphere shocked her tired eyes. Even though it was still quite light, she blinked a few times as her pupils dilated to compensate. A vague sense of pain penetrated her conscious, a full body ache supplemented by sharp twinges from the soles of her feet. Looking down curiously, she saw the blood between her toes, trickling in thin lines from where her feet rested. A slight, detached frown crinkled the skin of her forehead. Then, just as quietly, the frown faded from her features.
Catharsis. The word was whispered to her from that deep place where her analytical mind was locked. It was a big word, confusing and all too complex for the circumstances. But the beautiful pain she was feeling, its purity, made the word fit somehow. As each drop of blood came forth, she lost a piece of herself, and at that moment that was all she wanted. To lose that temporarily crushed self, struggling to get out. With that self came too much memory, too many burdens, and she just wanted this, the purity of pain and dark and escape.
She lifted her eyes once more to her salvation. Its perfection was almost too good to believe. Once again, she started to run, no temporary hesitation holding her back. Everything was suddenly perfectly clear, and she ran faster, ever faster, this time the pain shooting up her legs with every jarring step. She reveled in it. The golden grass whispered and whispered.
And then suddenly she was there, standing at its base. Ominous and beautiful, it loomed high above her, dwarfing her in its shadow. The sun was completely occluded, and she felt almost cool. A shiver wracked her slim figure, and she took in a deep, steadying breath. Then, a step forward. As before, one foot after the other, no longer in a hurry. She approached the black doorway, slowly, peacefully. Above her stretched a rounded white tower, unmarred except here, at its base, by one means of entrance. But she knew she had to enter. The decision had been made for her long ago.
She passed through the dark opening and was greeted by blackness. The light entering behind her seemed to be swallowed and suppressed ruthlessly by the presence of this place. She could just make out a first step and, without hesitation, took it. Then the next. And the next.
Upward she climbed, the stairway curving up and away before her, any sense of time disappearing. The steps beneath her blood-slick feet were cold and hard, rough and dusty. Gradually, the blood clotted and pain faded away, like everything else. Nothing passed through her mind except a driving desire to continue.
After an age, her eyes perceived a slight change in the darkness. Her step quickened, and slowly the light increased as she went up and up, around and around. It grew brighter and brighter until, abruptly, she turned the last corner, mounted the last step, and was blinded by the sun streaming directly through a tall, rectangular window. Instinctively, she squeezed her eyes shut and threw up her hands to ward off the painful light.
She remained that way for a moment or two, letting her eyes become accustomed. Then, slowly, she lowered her hands and opened her eyes, fixing her gaze on the floor before the window. Her heart began to slow, its pace having quickened both from the climb up the stairs and the sudden shock of the light.
Her composure regained, her purpose once again overcame her. A step towards the window. Eyes still on the floor. One more step. And another. Her feet left faint outlines in the dust, a memory of her transient presence in this inviolate sanctuary. In time, dust would come again, but the blood of her passage was imprinted on the cold steps below, a silent, permanent testament to her pain.
She did not stop at the window, but lifted a foot and placed it on the sill. A pause, closing her eyes, and then she lifted herself up and both feet stood on the window sill. Her head just grazed the top of the window. It was as if the opening had been measured and built for her.
Eyes still closed, she lifted her face to meet the sun. Its warm, fierce light beat down on her, her eyes seeing a blend of gold and crimson through their lids. She opened her eyes, and did not flinch.
Another step.
Title: Obsidian Eyes
Author: Anne (
starsouls1013)Rating: PG-13
Summary: A young man tells his story of loneliness, temptation, and loss.
A/N: The narrator is male. Everyone assumes it's a woman because I am - but nope! This was written for a creative writing assignment for AP English last year. And if you don't know, obsidian is a kind of rock, completely black, shiny, and very hard.
You might not believe what I am going to tell you. It’s up to you. I just want to let you know that it did happen. I’m not a liar.
At least I don’t think so.
It was dark that night. Very dark. The moon was a mere sliver, casting no light on the land below.
The darkness was complete.
I’ve always liked the dark. In the dark you can hide from the world and imagine that no one will ever find you.
That’s what I was doing that night – hiding. Hiding from the constant light and noise and lack of privacy. Hiding from my family, hiding from the yelling and my bitching sisters and the screaming baby.
So I hid. I knew my parents wouldn’t worry about me – they gave up on me long ago. Besides, they were too busy fighting to worry about a little thing like their son.
I walked along the road, wrapped in a blanket of silence. Everything was still as death. Not so much as a squirrel stirred. The world was holding its breath, and I found myself wondering what for.
I was soon to find out.
I had no real destination in mind, so I simply wandered wherever whim took me. Eventually I found myself at the somewhat battered front door of a small, ramshackle building that looked like it could have been a little shop, years ago. Now it just looked deserted.
I wasn’t surprised; I had been spending an “unnatural” amount of time there, according to my parents. Of course, they didn’t know where “there” was. They just knew there was somewhere I was constantly disappearing to.
I pushed open the door without a sound – no eerie squealing of hinges, no creaking of rotten wood. I stepped through into a room that was as thoroughly deserted as the outside, except for one incongruous detail – the floor was swept clean.
I headed directly for a black door, concealed in the shadowy recesses of the far corner of the room. I lifted my hand and rapped on the door with my knuckles, a complicated series of taps, rat-a-tat, shattering the stillness. The door swung open, silent as the grave, and I slipped through the forbidding opening.
Slight nods were exchanged as I glided past the dark figure who had opened the door. I knew his face; he knew mine. No words were needed.
I descended a short flight of steps and emerged in what had once been a cellar but had been appropriated for a new purpose. The only light came from candles spaced here and there. The flames cast undulating shadows on the walls. I reveled in their nebulosity, in the morbidly sinister quality of the light – or rather the absence of light, emphasized by the lonely pinpricks dotting the room.
A few people sat at the small tables that took up most of the space in the room. No one sat together; everyone preferred their own company. Anyone who didn’t wouldn’t be here. It was a place of silent acceptance, where you didn’t ask any questions and none were asked of you.
The room was utterly silent.
I approached a short bar to one side of the room. There was a woman behind the counter who met my eyes and nodded in recognition. I nodded in response and she began mixing a drink. In a few moments she handed me a glass. A Bloody Mary. My “usual”. No questions asked.
I took the glass and turned away. No words were spoken.
The chair’s legs made a soft scraping sound as I pulled it away from a vacant table. I sat and took a sip of my drink. My eyes locked on the rough grain of the tabletop and I lost myself in my own thoughts.
I sat that way for some time, nursing my drink. My parent’s angry shouts echoed in my ears but I shoved them away ruthlessly. Instead I focused on nothing, on oblivion, trying to imagine what the complete lack of anything would be like. My shoulders relaxed as I found solace in the emptiness.
I was nearly finished with my drink when something compelled me to turn my head. My eyes alighted on a figure sitting at the table next to mine. I assumed it was a woman because of the long, raven hair spilling to the table and concealing her face. Her posture spoke of misery. She was alone like everyone else, but more than that, she was lonely.
I felt an inexplicable connection to her as I watched her silently, entranced by the golden candlelight playing off of her ebony tresses. I hadn’t even seen her face yet.
Then I noticed a movement – gradually, reluctantly, her head begin to lift from the table. I wanted to look away, but I couldn’t seem to wrest my eyes from her figure. Slowly, interminably, her hair fell away from her features and then, all of a sudden, her eyes met with mine.
I almost reeled, as if from a physical blow, as the unbelievably powerful despondency hit me like a freight train. Her eyes were portals into a world of agony and heart-breaking sadness. My eyes widened and my fingers attempted to dig into the tabletop – I had never seen such raw emotion before. Abruptly, she stood and left, brushing by me as if nothing had happened.
I sat there for a few minutes, shell-shocked and bewildered by what had just occurred. I couldn’t move.
I finally realized that the longer I sat there, the farther away she was getting. I snapped out of it, tossing back the last of my drink and standing up hastily. That earned me a few looks but I didn’t care. I slammed the glass down on the table with a loud bang and some of those looks turned to glares. Oblivious, I hurried out of the room and up the stairs. I had to find her.
I all but ran out of the front door, skidding to a halt and looking around with something akin to panic. What if I didn’t find her? I tried to decide what direction to go in but before I made up my mind, I spotted movement out of the corner of my eye.
Whirling, I saw a shape detach itself from the shadows. With wide eyes, I watched as the figure approached. Gradually, a face became visible as my eyes adjusted to the gloom
My breath caught.
It was her. The girl.
Her black hair fell into her face again, unrestrained. Her eyes gazed at me through the dark curtain, but their power was undiluted. The depth of their suffering, suffering it seemed to me no human could bear, was staggering. I felt my heart would break just looking at her.
To my astonishment, she stopped in front of me; all I could do was stare. Her lips curved faintly in what I thought might be a smile, but one that held no amusement. I attempted to smile back, but my lips didn’t move. I couldn’t think of a single thing to say. Silence reigned as we stood there, looking into each other’s eyes.
I felt a light pressure on my hand and looked down to see her fragile-looking fingers seeking entrance into mine. I uncurled my fingers and her hand slipped into my grasp. She turned and set off into the darkness, pulling me along after her gently. I took no further urging and quickly fell in step with her.
We walked slowly through the night, enveloped in comfortable silence. It registered that I didn’t know this girl’s name, I hadn’t even heard her speak, but I didn’t care. I felt so comfortable, so relaxed, so… at peace, as I hadn’t for a long time. In her I had found a kindred spirit.
We passed into an even deeper darkness as we entered the woods on the fringe of town. I lived in an area where there was still a lot of forest left, and I had often explored their depths, enjoying the sense of solitude and unearthliness.
Looming out of the darkness ahead was a tall stone outcropping. We emerged into a clearing at its base and I peered upwards, trying to distinguish the rocky outline from the ink black sky. The fingernail moon was barely visible. The surface of the stone was covered with dark lichen and dangling mosses, giving the cliff a sad, weeping look. An aura of anguish and pain pervaded the place, and it felt very lonely, as if no one even knew it was there. Instinctively I knew this was where she lived, or at least spent most of her time, because it was saturated by her essence. I was fascinated.
Sure enough, we stopped walking. She lightly but firmly pulled on my hand until I was facing her. I looked down into those tragic eyes and waited for whatever she was going to say.
“You’re lonely.” Her voice was quiet, calm, yet laced with an undercurrent of sorrow. It blended in perfectly with the silence.
I nodded slowly, almost imperceptibly, unsure of how to respond to this statement. Of course I was lonely; anyone could see that. But it was the way she said it that struck me. Her voice held such familiarity with that emotion that I felt another surge of compassion.
“You want to escape from everything. I was like you, once.”
I frowned slightly – what did she mean, “once”? Seemed to me like she still was. I opened my mouth to ask, but she cut me off.
“What if I told you that we could heal each other, that we could spend eternity and never be alone again?”
My frown deepened, though I can’t say that I wasn’t intrigued. The idea was undeniably attractive, but I had only just met her, and the way she said “eternity” made me a bit cautious. I didn’t even want to think about the method she had in mind for achieving this goal. I eyed her warily as I responded.
“Then I would ask you what you meant by eternity.”
She laughed softly, an ironic laugh, slightly condescending, as though she was the professional and I the naïve little kid.
“The human mind cannot conceive of eternity. Try to picture the universe – stars and planets stretching out into infinity without end; you can’t do it. I, on the other hand…”
As I stared into her eyes, completely bewildered, it occurred to me that I was dreaming. None of this was real. I had drifted off at my seat and I would wake up and there would be no girl standing in front of me with pools of obsidian for eyes. She smiled… a feral smile, her lips curling back to reveal what could only be called fangs.
Fascinated, and still convinced I was dreaming, I reached out towards this bizarre product of my subconscious. She watched my hand approaching, unconcerned. The tip of my finger came in contact with the iridescent surface of her… fang and I started in shock. I had honestly thought that my hand would go right through her.
I yanked my hand away, but my retreat was arrested by what felt like an iron clamp on my wrist. I looked at the small, fragile hand locking me in place and my world spun. It finally struck home just what I was looking at.
I felt an insane urge to laugh uncontrollably, or cry hysterically, but I was paralyzed by those eyes. They were the same eyes, melancholy and anguished, but now even the whites were dark as the blackest night. It was unnerving and unsettling.
“We could go on forever, together, never again to know loneliness.” Her voice was deep and fluid, washing over me soothingly. The smile had slipped from her lips and she looked almost normal, if I could forget the eyes. But I could never forget the eyes.
Then the implications of what she was asking hit me, like a shock wave trailing moments behind the visual experience of an explosion.
And I realized that she was offering everything that I had wanted for a long time. I could escape from this hell on earth. Be with someone – something? – who understood me. The concept was unbearably tempting.
I have never been good with temptation.
Meeting those strange, yet so familiar eyes, I nodded slowly, once, in acquiescence.
Her features lit up with what I swear was joy, or at least they tried to; they were so out of practice they had forgotten what happiness felt like, much less joy.
The teeth sinking into my neck imbued me with a sense of peace, of total contentment, and then she had drawn with her fingernail a thin line across the milk white of her chest, bright red heart’s blood welling to the surface, and she gently lowered my head to the wound, and so we shared a meeting of souls so profound it cannot be described in words.
Then all was darkness.
I clawed my way up from the bottom of a bottomless pit, grasping desperately at consciousness. When I finally hauled myself out of oblivion, my eyes slid open, but they registered no light, no objects, just darkness. I sat up and she was there. My eyes didn’t tell me, nor the other four senses – I just knew with a certainty it was impossible to ignore.
I realized I still didn’t know her name.
“Hello?” I ventured timidly.
“Welcome to my world.”
Memory flooded back and my hand flashed to my neck. Nothing. Not even a scab. I focused on what I was feeling – shouldn’t I feel different somehow?
But the only difference I could find was a heavy burden on my heart and soul, a crushing despair that I recognized as being the same torment I had seen in the girl’s eyes. Her obsidian eyes…
The scream that tore from my throat was of the deepest anguish, the most profound suffering. I collapsed into sobs on the hard, unforgiving stone.
The pain never ceases. I will always be alone.
