Untitled
disclaimer- contains suicide, lots and lots of suicide...VERY VERY VERY DARK! (oh yeah, and cutting)
author's note- i toyed around with the idea that kara found her father after he committed suicide. i saw this in someone's story (as well as kara's mother being an artist) and fell in love w/ it.so if it's yours, please don't sue me, take it as a complement.
What woke you was the constant drip.
In the Thrace house, nothing was ever constant,
(Everything varied,
Nothing ever happened twice,
Be it the pitter patter of notes on the piano,
Or the sudden colors of your mother's paintings.)
But this,
plop
plop
plop
Just this time dragged your gaze to the stark white barrier,
It begged you to enter.
Just a quick peek,
Making sure everything was alright with daddy.
At your call, nothing happened.
Not a twitch,
Or a smile,
Or a murmured, "kara dear".
You move closer, thinking to wake him,
And unknowingly brush a note off the counter,
(not a note, the note.
The one thing that travels along with your idols).
The normally clear bathwater is tainted a bright red.
(It's unnatural that anything this bad should be this bright).
And ignoring the deep cuts on his wrists,
And the knife resting on his right thigh,
You try to wake him.
At first you lightly tap,
And then nudge,
And then his body starts to rock from side to side.
(The bathwater starts to leak,
And the whole front of your beautiful white dress is turned bright red.)
You know what will wake him,
("Pain is a powerful stimulus," he says as the knife bites into his skin,
"It releases my passion,
To pour into my work.)
You take the knife gingerly between index and thumb,
And reluctantly curl your hand around the instrument of so much destruction.
You draw a thin line down his right arm.
Nothing happens, so you press harder.
And harder.
You push deep into what was once warm,
Trying to find a part still alive.
You push,
And pull,
And tug away at the flesh,
Until only scraps float in the shallow pool.
(An unwelcome blasphemy of giggles abound and orchids floating in water)
Finally, there is nothing left to tare.
The first tears glide down your cheeks.
Wailing soon follows,
Loud and clear,
You call for your father.
("Come home daddy, I need you")
By the time mommy returns,
You wish the knife had found it's way to you.
