Author's Note - I wrote this at work last week after reading "The Wasp Factory" by Iain Banks, which means it's possibly quite disturbing. Honestly, do not read that book unless you are in a very very secure and happy state of mind. It's fantastic but absolutely horrifying in a way I can't put into words. However, that's not important. I did not come to write a book review of "The Wasp Factory". So, on with the fic. Reviews are lovely, so is con crit, and flames will only be used to light my incense sticks.
Disclaimer - Roses are red, violets are blue, me no own, so you no sue.
Warning - Gore. Lots and lots and lots of it. Heavily inspired by Iain Banks and H.P. Lovecraft.
Untitled (Still Ill)
'Does the body rule the mind, or does the mind rule the body? I dunno.'
Morrissey
Though painful, I am willing to cut out my heart for him.
He gave me his to hold, once. Hypnotised by the the repetitive movement of it, I clutched it reverently. I ran my fingers over the smooth, slick muscle, traced sircles around the delicate rim of the aorta, let it beat-beat in my cupped palm, and relished the viscous red liquid running down my wrist. The dull thumping sound seemed to engulf me, envelop me in the very sense of him. For a few moments, I felt the terrible pain of his loss and knew I would never again hold something so precious.
He is precious to me.
My hands trembled as I pressed the blade to my chest and made the incision, slitting open the skin over my heart which all of a sudden seemed so delicate. The blade bit deep into my chest, slicing through muscle and splintering the bones protecting what I was about to give up to him. Blood welled up in the gash over and over, gushing over my fingers and down my stomach. I looked up at him, fixing my eyes on his as I reached inside the gaping, ragged hole in my chest. My fingers found wet, ripped mucle and sharp broken bones, and then I felt the beat-beat of my own heart.
He said nothing as I clutched the slippery organ and pulled it free from the gory cavern of my mutilated chest, severing the sinewy tubes tying it to my body. But as I held it out to him, throbbing hot and purple in my hand, he smiled. He took it from me and gazed at it, explored it as I had his, while I, so happy that he loved me enough to want this part of me and so glad to be able to give it to him, held my own hands over the empty space where my heart had been and let warm blood gush through my fingers.
I placed my heart in the chest next to his. Two vibrant red muscles, beating side by side for each other. He tenderly sewed up the gash in my chest, and I placed my head against the ugly beautiful purple scar on his. The silence was comforting.
end.