d o w n w a r d s p i r a l
Prologue.
Small droplets of blood bead on the pale, finely scared surface of my skin, before winding their way through the light hairs which cover my arms, to drip, drip onto the waiting tissue beneath.
I'm rather pleased with myself for remembering the tissue this time: I hate trying to get blood off the floor, especially when we're at one of Quatre's houses - makes me twice as paranoid.
Mahogany flooring, cream tiles, and matching towels.
Running over the same cut with the razor blade - making it deeper. You can almost see the two sides of the cut parting: shying away from the cold metal.
Moses parting the Red Sea. Exodus: 14.
You wouldn't believe how sharp a razor blade is. Honestly - you just have to touch your skin and the blood starts to seep, then flow.
It doesn't hurt, you know: it just looks so pretty.
Scarlet.
Not: "The blood is an outward manifestation of my inward pain." or any of that psychobabble bullshit.
It just looks so pretty.
And when I cut, I can forget about the war, and the death, and the hysterical edge my laughter seems to have recently..... and it doesn't really matter to me anymore, and its not really me anyway. I'm not even worrying if anyone is going to find out, 'cause that's somewhere else - you know?
And him? The guy with the razor blade?
Well, that's Shinigami - he's real good with a knife. And usually, I can tell us apart, but sometimes, in my darker moments - the boundaries blur, and I can't tell the difference anymore.
Maybe someday there won't be any difference....
I put my blades away, clean myself up, pull down my sleeves, and flash my reflection a grin and a wink before I walk out of the bathroom.
Still Duo.
Prologue.
Small droplets of blood bead on the pale, finely scared surface of my skin, before winding their way through the light hairs which cover my arms, to drip, drip onto the waiting tissue beneath.
I'm rather pleased with myself for remembering the tissue this time: I hate trying to get blood off the floor, especially when we're at one of Quatre's houses - makes me twice as paranoid.
Mahogany flooring, cream tiles, and matching towels.
Running over the same cut with the razor blade - making it deeper. You can almost see the two sides of the cut parting: shying away from the cold metal.
Moses parting the Red Sea. Exodus: 14.
You wouldn't believe how sharp a razor blade is. Honestly - you just have to touch your skin and the blood starts to seep, then flow.
It doesn't hurt, you know: it just looks so pretty.
Scarlet.
Not: "The blood is an outward manifestation of my inward pain." or any of that psychobabble bullshit.
It just looks so pretty.
And when I cut, I can forget about the war, and the death, and the hysterical edge my laughter seems to have recently..... and it doesn't really matter to me anymore, and its not really me anyway. I'm not even worrying if anyone is going to find out, 'cause that's somewhere else - you know?
And him? The guy with the razor blade?
Well, that's Shinigami - he's real good with a knife. And usually, I can tell us apart, but sometimes, in my darker moments - the boundaries blur, and I can't tell the difference anymore.
Maybe someday there won't be any difference....
I put my blades away, clean myself up, pull down my sleeves, and flash my reflection a grin and a wink before I walk out of the bathroom.
Still Duo.