"Ghost of the Blood"
Imo Kay
A shrill cry of pain erupted from the dark. I look down at my hands- covered in blood. I look westward-nothing-north-a young girl sits huddled alone, tears streaming down her cheeks, and long black hair splayed over her thin and bony back. I approach, yet she cringes away from me, continuing to keep her eyes out of my sight. "What's this?" I say. No. I mouth. No sounds come out. A silent theatre film scene coats the surreal dimension I am in.
She finally looks at me, still more tears crawling their way toward earth from her deep brown eyes. Disgust sweeps its stealthy way over her taught and utterly pale face. Familiarity is hidden beneath her skin, yet I cannot seem to find it. Blood pours off of my hand as I reach it out to her, in another futile attempt to comfort her. She turns away, snapping her head away so fast, I am slashed by her hair.
I look down to my hand, yet instead of seeing the usual feminine, and spidery fingers, I see tough, masculine hands. Each hand callused from long and hard days of work. In shock, I pull my hands to my body. As I do, blood pours off of my hands onto the white chemise of the girl. I pull my hands to my body, yet instead of landing between my breasts, they land over my flat rib cage.
I am a man. How can this be? I look over my body, I feel up to my head. Short hair. No avoiding it. I am a man. I kneel beside the girl, and just as I move my arm to put it around her side in comfort, I see a deep abrasion begin at the left shoulder, and running diagonally downward to just before the spine. Blood is quickly pouring from the gash, and some of it is being absorbed into the fabric, the rest runs down her shirt, and falls to the floor of this world we are in. Yet, instead of forming a small pool in the floor, it is absorbed into the walls and floor of the white dimension.
She cries in pain, and shivers in fear. I kneel down next to her, forgetting that envelopes me, and mouth "Who did this?"
She turns back to me, more disgust sweeping athwart her face. She mouths "What have you done?" She stares inquisitively at me for several moments before turning away once more. Penetrating anger rushes through the entirety of my being. I grab her shoulder, and pull her back to face me. With more strength than I ever could have imagined, I pound my fist into her face. Force enough to surely shatter her nose.
Though as the fist hits her nose, I don't feel the hard bridge of a nose. In fact, I don't feel anything at all. Pulling my hand back for another blow, I stop as I see her body lying on the invisible floor around us. Relaxing my hands, I walk to her motionless body. Her face is only visible in pieces, the rest being covered by her hair. I crouch beside her, and move her head, bringing facial features into view.
Her eyes remain closed, and her mouth is slightly open, just enough for what seems to be an air hole. I put my hand over her mouth, yet feel no breath. I place my head upon her heart, checking for a heartbeat, and hear a slow, but steady beat. I begin to lift my head, yet as I do, she seems to be returned to life, and grabs me tightly around the neck. I feel her driving her elongated nails into my neck. I cannot breathe.
My eyes shoot open faster than light. Was it a dream? That pain was so real, I still feel it now. Putting my hands to my neck for comfort, I feel something wet touch my skin. I roll over onto my side, and reach for the lamp on my bedside table. I hit the switch, and am momentarily blinded by the sudden change in lighting. After adjusting my eyes, I put my left hand back to my neck, remove it, and look at my palm. Lines of blood run across it.
Panicking, I run towards the bathroom. Before even getting three steps, I trip over my blanket as it hangs off the bed onto the floor. Getting back up, I walk to the bathroom, and look at the wounds on my neck in the mirror. Each light, but signaling that I had gripped myself about the neck. The dream. I gripped my neck-just as that girl, had gripped my neck. But it seems I dragged my nails across my neck, I didn't stab them in.
* * * * *
She gets into her bed; I lurk in the shadows, waiting for her to fall asleep. I sit, patiently, for near an hour, just to be sure. Then, I come out of the closet, walking smoothly, yet quietly to her bedside, I sit down beside her resting body. Head turned slightly to one side, her long dark hair spread across her pale, fair face, I brush the hair to one side, revealing a bony structure, and lips twitching-what I assume to be from her dream. Her left hand lays flat across her stomach, twitching occasionally just as her lips. The other hand lays on her pillow, beside her head, half closed, but unmoving.
I lean forward, and kiss her on the forehead, just above her right eye. I sit up again, and run my hand through her hair several times. Then, running my hand through her hair one last time, I stop my hand at the back of her head, and hold my hand under her head. Putting my other hand to her forehead, palm down, I close my eyes. Pictures of the dream going through her mind rush through me.
A girl-of near eight or nine-is running through a wood. The girl trips and falls. She shrieks in terror. A large black object comes at her.
Strumming my index, middle, and ring finger on the back of her head with my left hand, I suppress that memory, and send her into a dreamless sleep. Her lips and left hand cease to move.
Slowly as not to wake her, I switch the positions of my hands, causing her head to turn to the other side. Thinking carefully, I choose a dream to replace the one I took.
Two people in a white room, a man, and a woman. The woman sits huddled alone. The man looks around, confused.
She is the man-in her dream. Removing my hands from her head, I stand up and walk across the room. Sitting down at the desk on the other side of the room, I watch her turn over every once in a while, and sometimes she moves her lips. Rolling onto her back, she tenses her muscles, and throws her hands to her neck, and begins scratching at it. After a near fifteen seconds of this, she slowly puts her hands down, and lies still for a moment.
Then moving both hands back to her neck, she holds both of them around her throat for a moment, but then quickly pulls them off. Rolling onto her side, she faces the wall opposite me, and sits up. She turns on the lamp, and puts her left hand to her neck again. She takes it off, and looks at it. Panicking, she gets up and starts to run, in what looks like the direction of the bathroom.
Before getting too far, she trips, but then getting back up, she walks to the bathroom, and turns on the light in there as well. Getting up to follow her, I saunter quietly to the bathroom, and stand in the doorway, just out of her peripheral vision. I watch her inspect her neck in the mirror for a moment or two. Then turning back towards me, I see light scratches on both sides of her neck, and from parts of some of the scratches, blood oozes slowly.
"See me. See me." I wish silently to myself. Yet to no avail-she walks right through me.
* * * * *
Though, that girl seemed so familiar. An uncanny resemblance to someone I know.but whom? Turning away from the mirror, I walk back into the bedroom. As I walk through the doorway, a sudden presence seems to be around me. After taking a few steps away from the door, it goes away. All the while, my thoughts stay on the face of that girl. Suddenly looking up to the mirror over my bed, my eyes make contact with the eyes of the reflection. Then I know.
* * * * *
She walks right through me, and continues into the bedroom, keeping her hand on her neck as she goes. Staring up to the looking glass, she pauses, with a look of terror on her face, her hand slips from her neck, and she falls weak onto the bed. For a moment, she sits there, staring into the mirror.
After several minutes of complete silence, she looks away from the reflecting glass, stands and walks out of the bedroom. Quickly following, I walk into the hall as well. She is no where to be found. Rushing down the hall, I look into each room as I go. She is in none of them; reaching the end on the hall, I find her standing by the couch, again staring at her reflection in the window.
* * * * *
I know that I was that girl. I was the one being assaulted. Yet who was my assailant? Falling weak from shock, my hand slips from my neck, and I fall to the bed. Sitting in absolute silence for several minutes, I run over all of my possible attackers. After minutes of contemplation, and no result, I quickly leave the room, rushing down the hall, stopping in the living room of my apartment, after catching my reflection in the window.
But that anger I felt towards myself was so real. What if I wasn't the victim? What if I was the aggressor? How could I be capable of such gruesome actions? What a monster I am, I can no longer bear to look at myself. Chagrinned, I look away. Panic runs through my body, and all possible ways of self-injury, or hurting someone else rush through my mind.
A shrill fear engulfs my body, and I begin to scream in utter terror.
* * * * *
She stares into the reflection, apparently lost in thought once more, for a few moments. Then, looking away, an ashamed expression pierces through the darkness to be clearly read. Several seconds pass, as she gazes into nothingness, then, without warning, she begins to scream at suck a high pitch shriek that I fear that the glass will break, let alone wake the neighbors.
Imo Kay
A shrill cry of pain erupted from the dark. I look down at my hands- covered in blood. I look westward-nothing-north-a young girl sits huddled alone, tears streaming down her cheeks, and long black hair splayed over her thin and bony back. I approach, yet she cringes away from me, continuing to keep her eyes out of my sight. "What's this?" I say. No. I mouth. No sounds come out. A silent theatre film scene coats the surreal dimension I am in.
She finally looks at me, still more tears crawling their way toward earth from her deep brown eyes. Disgust sweeps its stealthy way over her taught and utterly pale face. Familiarity is hidden beneath her skin, yet I cannot seem to find it. Blood pours off of my hand as I reach it out to her, in another futile attempt to comfort her. She turns away, snapping her head away so fast, I am slashed by her hair.
I look down to my hand, yet instead of seeing the usual feminine, and spidery fingers, I see tough, masculine hands. Each hand callused from long and hard days of work. In shock, I pull my hands to my body. As I do, blood pours off of my hands onto the white chemise of the girl. I pull my hands to my body, yet instead of landing between my breasts, they land over my flat rib cage.
I am a man. How can this be? I look over my body, I feel up to my head. Short hair. No avoiding it. I am a man. I kneel beside the girl, and just as I move my arm to put it around her side in comfort, I see a deep abrasion begin at the left shoulder, and running diagonally downward to just before the spine. Blood is quickly pouring from the gash, and some of it is being absorbed into the fabric, the rest runs down her shirt, and falls to the floor of this world we are in. Yet, instead of forming a small pool in the floor, it is absorbed into the walls and floor of the white dimension.
She cries in pain, and shivers in fear. I kneel down next to her, forgetting that envelopes me, and mouth "Who did this?"
She turns back to me, more disgust sweeping athwart her face. She mouths "What have you done?" She stares inquisitively at me for several moments before turning away once more. Penetrating anger rushes through the entirety of my being. I grab her shoulder, and pull her back to face me. With more strength than I ever could have imagined, I pound my fist into her face. Force enough to surely shatter her nose.
Though as the fist hits her nose, I don't feel the hard bridge of a nose. In fact, I don't feel anything at all. Pulling my hand back for another blow, I stop as I see her body lying on the invisible floor around us. Relaxing my hands, I walk to her motionless body. Her face is only visible in pieces, the rest being covered by her hair. I crouch beside her, and move her head, bringing facial features into view.
Her eyes remain closed, and her mouth is slightly open, just enough for what seems to be an air hole. I put my hand over her mouth, yet feel no breath. I place my head upon her heart, checking for a heartbeat, and hear a slow, but steady beat. I begin to lift my head, yet as I do, she seems to be returned to life, and grabs me tightly around the neck. I feel her driving her elongated nails into my neck. I cannot breathe.
My eyes shoot open faster than light. Was it a dream? That pain was so real, I still feel it now. Putting my hands to my neck for comfort, I feel something wet touch my skin. I roll over onto my side, and reach for the lamp on my bedside table. I hit the switch, and am momentarily blinded by the sudden change in lighting. After adjusting my eyes, I put my left hand back to my neck, remove it, and look at my palm. Lines of blood run across it.
Panicking, I run towards the bathroom. Before even getting three steps, I trip over my blanket as it hangs off the bed onto the floor. Getting back up, I walk to the bathroom, and look at the wounds on my neck in the mirror. Each light, but signaling that I had gripped myself about the neck. The dream. I gripped my neck-just as that girl, had gripped my neck. But it seems I dragged my nails across my neck, I didn't stab them in.
* * * * *
She gets into her bed; I lurk in the shadows, waiting for her to fall asleep. I sit, patiently, for near an hour, just to be sure. Then, I come out of the closet, walking smoothly, yet quietly to her bedside, I sit down beside her resting body. Head turned slightly to one side, her long dark hair spread across her pale, fair face, I brush the hair to one side, revealing a bony structure, and lips twitching-what I assume to be from her dream. Her left hand lays flat across her stomach, twitching occasionally just as her lips. The other hand lays on her pillow, beside her head, half closed, but unmoving.
I lean forward, and kiss her on the forehead, just above her right eye. I sit up again, and run my hand through her hair several times. Then, running my hand through her hair one last time, I stop my hand at the back of her head, and hold my hand under her head. Putting my other hand to her forehead, palm down, I close my eyes. Pictures of the dream going through her mind rush through me.
A girl-of near eight or nine-is running through a wood. The girl trips and falls. She shrieks in terror. A large black object comes at her.
Strumming my index, middle, and ring finger on the back of her head with my left hand, I suppress that memory, and send her into a dreamless sleep. Her lips and left hand cease to move.
Slowly as not to wake her, I switch the positions of my hands, causing her head to turn to the other side. Thinking carefully, I choose a dream to replace the one I took.
Two people in a white room, a man, and a woman. The woman sits huddled alone. The man looks around, confused.
She is the man-in her dream. Removing my hands from her head, I stand up and walk across the room. Sitting down at the desk on the other side of the room, I watch her turn over every once in a while, and sometimes she moves her lips. Rolling onto her back, she tenses her muscles, and throws her hands to her neck, and begins scratching at it. After a near fifteen seconds of this, she slowly puts her hands down, and lies still for a moment.
Then moving both hands back to her neck, she holds both of them around her throat for a moment, but then quickly pulls them off. Rolling onto her side, she faces the wall opposite me, and sits up. She turns on the lamp, and puts her left hand to her neck again. She takes it off, and looks at it. Panicking, she gets up and starts to run, in what looks like the direction of the bathroom.
Before getting too far, she trips, but then getting back up, she walks to the bathroom, and turns on the light in there as well. Getting up to follow her, I saunter quietly to the bathroom, and stand in the doorway, just out of her peripheral vision. I watch her inspect her neck in the mirror for a moment or two. Then turning back towards me, I see light scratches on both sides of her neck, and from parts of some of the scratches, blood oozes slowly.
"See me. See me." I wish silently to myself. Yet to no avail-she walks right through me.
* * * * *
Though, that girl seemed so familiar. An uncanny resemblance to someone I know.but whom? Turning away from the mirror, I walk back into the bedroom. As I walk through the doorway, a sudden presence seems to be around me. After taking a few steps away from the door, it goes away. All the while, my thoughts stay on the face of that girl. Suddenly looking up to the mirror over my bed, my eyes make contact with the eyes of the reflection. Then I know.
* * * * *
She walks right through me, and continues into the bedroom, keeping her hand on her neck as she goes. Staring up to the looking glass, she pauses, with a look of terror on her face, her hand slips from her neck, and she falls weak onto the bed. For a moment, she sits there, staring into the mirror.
After several minutes of complete silence, she looks away from the reflecting glass, stands and walks out of the bedroom. Quickly following, I walk into the hall as well. She is no where to be found. Rushing down the hall, I look into each room as I go. She is in none of them; reaching the end on the hall, I find her standing by the couch, again staring at her reflection in the window.
* * * * *
I know that I was that girl. I was the one being assaulted. Yet who was my assailant? Falling weak from shock, my hand slips from my neck, and I fall to the bed. Sitting in absolute silence for several minutes, I run over all of my possible attackers. After minutes of contemplation, and no result, I quickly leave the room, rushing down the hall, stopping in the living room of my apartment, after catching my reflection in the window.
But that anger I felt towards myself was so real. What if I wasn't the victim? What if I was the aggressor? How could I be capable of such gruesome actions? What a monster I am, I can no longer bear to look at myself. Chagrinned, I look away. Panic runs through my body, and all possible ways of self-injury, or hurting someone else rush through my mind.
A shrill fear engulfs my body, and I begin to scream in utter terror.
* * * * *
She stares into the reflection, apparently lost in thought once more, for a few moments. Then, looking away, an ashamed expression pierces through the darkness to be clearly read. Several seconds pass, as she gazes into nothingness, then, without warning, she begins to scream at suck a high pitch shriek that I fear that the glass will break, let alone wake the neighbors.