Tuesday, August 25, 2009
This is for those of you who know, for those of you whom I have told. And no, I'm not being morbid. I'm dealing with it in the only way I know how.
"21"
It rained harder, incoherent raindrops shattering the suffocating silence of the room. She welcomed the intrusion, relieved that it drowned out the unforgiving seconds. In this timeless interval, Demons no longer tortured her.
But the rain faded, taking with it her sole refuge. Thrust back into the cold four walls of her room, she was more alone than ever. Outside, the wind howled - a mocking, maniacal screech trembling with barely controlled evil. Desperate, she tried to hum a tune salvaged from her childhood, but no more than a harsh whisper escaped from her cracked lips. She stopped abruptly, biting her lip - so hard, it bled. Her hands shook, pale and cold as death.
For it was Death that lay in wait, watching as life drained slowly from her pale stiffening fingers. She had painted her nails crimson in defiance, but too late did she realise that crimson was the colour of blood. Stained ten times over with the Devil's mark, she was bound for Hell, her and her blood-red fingernails.
She screamed wordlessly, even as her body succumbed to the silence.
Only 21, they would say, as they watch her coffin lowering, as they bury her with wet black earth and blood red roses.
Only 21
and still so young.
..signing off..
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