The Shadows Within
By: Umbri Moon
Disclaimer: I do not own the original Slayers characters. They belong to their creators. Don't sue me. It isn't worth it. Any characters you don't recognize belong to me.
Chapter 1: The Ordinary Life
I sit by my window, calm and composed. But that's only on the outside. Inside, my emotions rage. Literally. Everyone's gone right now. They're at work, thank God. Summer's the only time I ever have to myself. That's about to change, though. Soon, Dad'll retire. Then I'll never have this time to myself. Time to myself is all I have to keep me sane now. Time… and my friends. But I never see them in the summer. So it's just me. Me and the shadows. They like to pop up at inconvenient times…like now-when I'm alone and there's no one but me to hold them back.
I have to get up now. If I keep moving or distract myself, maybe they won't be so bad. I go into my room for my sketch pad and colored pencils. That always relaxes me. I begin to draw, and for once, I only pay half attention to what I'm drawing. Curiously, I look down and am not surprised with what I've done. It is a girl, shackled, broken and bleeding. Her eyes are brown, like mine. Her hair color's the same, too. Her eyes…well, they're dull. Completely blank and staring at nothing. Like I do, sometimes.
I gulp. This was the most realistically I've ever drawn. There are even identical scars on the girl's left hand that are just like mine. I don't remember drawing that. I didn't even know that I could draw that well without a photograph to look onto. It's like a window to my soul. That's what I really look like. Without the happy, careless smile. Without the craziness that my friends are so used to. I think they have an idea of what I'm really like. I actually broke down in front of them once.
But that's not important right now. I close the sketch pad hastily and get up again to find something else to distract me. I get distracted all right. By the tiniest glint of gold plating in the sunlight. My knives. They're just fantasy knives, not practical in the least, but they're very beautiful. I take one, my favorite of the two, and release the catch, allowing the blade to come out of the sheath and to rest in my palm. I shouldn't be holding it, not while I'm in this mood. Especially when I'm in this mood. Masochistic as I am, I don't want to commit suicide. But I never know just what might happen when I'm like this.
With deliberate care, I press the sharpened blade to my right arm. I don't have any scars there, yet. I press harder…no blood yet. I draw the knife across my skin, reveling in the comforting pain. I sigh, still no blood. But I broke skin this time. Briefly, I think about my rage and about how easy it would be to get angry enough to stab myself…to mortally wound myself. My eyes travel to the white underside of my arms, tracing the blue lines of my veins all the way to the juncture of my elbow. I shake my head. I've got to stop this line of thinking…
The knife slips down my arm, unconsciously, I press harder and harder. It nicks my vein. I just sit as the blood pours out. Blood has such an interesting color-red, yes. But also so…I can't describe it. It's beautiful, though. And it tastes so metallic on my tongue, almost coppery. It really is amazing how much blood can come out of one little cut… No one will be home for hours.
By: Umbri Moon
Disclaimer: I do not own the original Slayers characters. They belong to their creators. Don't sue me. It isn't worth it. Any characters you don't recognize belong to me.
Chapter 1: The Ordinary Life
I sit by my window, calm and composed. But that's only on the outside. Inside, my emotions rage. Literally. Everyone's gone right now. They're at work, thank God. Summer's the only time I ever have to myself. That's about to change, though. Soon, Dad'll retire. Then I'll never have this time to myself. Time to myself is all I have to keep me sane now. Time… and my friends. But I never see them in the summer. So it's just me. Me and the shadows. They like to pop up at inconvenient times…like now-when I'm alone and there's no one but me to hold them back.
I have to get up now. If I keep moving or distract myself, maybe they won't be so bad. I go into my room for my sketch pad and colored pencils. That always relaxes me. I begin to draw, and for once, I only pay half attention to what I'm drawing. Curiously, I look down and am not surprised with what I've done. It is a girl, shackled, broken and bleeding. Her eyes are brown, like mine. Her hair color's the same, too. Her eyes…well, they're dull. Completely blank and staring at nothing. Like I do, sometimes.
I gulp. This was the most realistically I've ever drawn. There are even identical scars on the girl's left hand that are just like mine. I don't remember drawing that. I didn't even know that I could draw that well without a photograph to look onto. It's like a window to my soul. That's what I really look like. Without the happy, careless smile. Without the craziness that my friends are so used to. I think they have an idea of what I'm really like. I actually broke down in front of them once.
But that's not important right now. I close the sketch pad hastily and get up again to find something else to distract me. I get distracted all right. By the tiniest glint of gold plating in the sunlight. My knives. They're just fantasy knives, not practical in the least, but they're very beautiful. I take one, my favorite of the two, and release the catch, allowing the blade to come out of the sheath and to rest in my palm. I shouldn't be holding it, not while I'm in this mood. Especially when I'm in this mood. Masochistic as I am, I don't want to commit suicide. But I never know just what might happen when I'm like this.
With deliberate care, I press the sharpened blade to my right arm. I don't have any scars there, yet. I press harder…no blood yet. I draw the knife across my skin, reveling in the comforting pain. I sigh, still no blood. But I broke skin this time. Briefly, I think about my rage and about how easy it would be to get angry enough to stab myself…to mortally wound myself. My eyes travel to the white underside of my arms, tracing the blue lines of my veins all the way to the juncture of my elbow. I shake my head. I've got to stop this line of thinking…
The knife slips down my arm, unconsciously, I press harder and harder. It nicks my vein. I just sit as the blood pours out. Blood has such an interesting color-red, yes. But also so…I can't describe it. It's beautiful, though. And it tastes so metallic on my tongue, almost coppery. It really is amazing how much blood can come out of one little cut… No one will be home for hours.