Join Date: Jul 2007
Location: Australia
Posts: 2,424
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Graphic
Just a small bit of fiction I wrote for school-
Graphic
I reached towards the small wooden box on my dresser, my fingers dancing across smooth, polished surface. My fingers fumbled with the lid, easy it up and I probed into its velvet depths, wincing when I scraped my finger on one of the many blades inside, but as I felt the first drop of blood ooze from the wound , a feeling of minor pleasure began to throb from my digit.
I brought the sharp kitchen knife from the box, stopping momentarily to lick the blood from my finger, savoring its metallic taste and seductive aroma. I placed the knife at the base of my arm and traced my way up it with the flat side of the knife, the cold metal sending shivers down my naked back. Then bringing the knife back down to the base of my arm, I twisted it so the sharpened part of the blade rested ever so gently against my skin.
I pressed it on my skin softly at first, then harder, harder, and harder till I could the skin bruising. I wrenched and convulsed as I brought the knife up my arm, piercing my flesh and blood instantly began to seep from the cut.
I ravenously lapped up the blood, its’ taste only serving to increase my bloodlust; my tongue swirling around in the crimson mess as my other hand placed the knife on my knee, making quick incisions into the silky flesh.
Ripples of pleasure began to radiate from every wound as I stood in front of the mirror observing my fine work, all the cuts past and presents were my gift to the world. I was a piece of living art.
For you see in a world like mine, art is not contained in beautiful colours splashed over an expensive canvas, or pieces of metal twisted together and given meaning. I was not abstract scrap, or an intoxicating rainbow effect. Beauty is raw human emotion, expressed through words and more importantly actions.
“Beautiful…”
It’s what they had called my eyes, icy sapphires glinting in the light, they were wrong! My eyes were hideous abominations; they were no different from the crap on a canvas!
But I could make them beautiful, cuts of varying sizes had made my chest, arms and legs beautiful, I had dared not to hurt my face yet, for if they should know my secret, they would put a stop to my masterpiece.
If I were to change my eyes, paint them with a serrated blade and twist them with sharpened nails, I would no longer be plagued by the looks of other and the hideous “art” that filled this world of mine.
They could not fix what was damaged so much…damaged, why did I even use such a word? Damage was done when one looked at the Mona Lisa. That smile, content and mysterious, how I wish to carve up her face!
Damage is not something I could do, for I only had the interest of beauty in mind.
I brought the blade up to my eye and plunged it into the left socket, the pain was unbearable, but I must continue! Drawing out the blade I proceeded to scrape out the remains of my eye, the ruined mass of jelly and flesh quivering in my hand. I brought the knife up to my right socket. I pondered for a moment on the taste of ruined one’s own eye was it seductive like blood or did it just get stuck in your teeth like skin?
I chastised myself mentally for getting distracted so easily, my euphoria returned, I once again raised the knife to my eye from my lap, where it had laid in my moment of day dreaming.
It was over in a flash, but to be pedantic I would have called it un-flash. You see the process of going blind must be terrible indeed, but going from having to sight to being blind in an instant was strange and confusing.
Oh I wish I could have seen my face, but I could feel it, and that was all that mattered to me, I could feel the ruined skin, I could feel the pain pulsating, I could feel the trickles of invisible crimson dribbling out from my ever-darkened holes, warming my face, I was content.
My knees buckled as my pain turned to pleasure as waves of ecstasy overtook me, and I lay there on my bedroom floor, naked, quivering, bleeding, and lost in a world of untold bloodlust, my own artistic utopia.
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