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Rose Hesketh, 20 Aug '12

Your lips turned blue a while ago now. I couldn’t check the exact time, because the clock lies smashed at your feet. The face is shattered, caved in; the slivers of glass already embedding themselves deep into the cream carpet which is now slowly being dyed a deep maroon, your blood providing an instant redecoration. It doesn’t go with the furniture.

I stare at you, slumped in your worn azure chair, arms still gripping the edges, fingers still clenched. Your head is tilted back, stormy blue eyes now glazed like a lake in winter. Empty.
My chest is heaving as I try and catch my breath. Yours doesn’t move at all.                 
My head is spinning as blood courses through me. Yours is gashed open as blood slowly trickles down your neck.                                                                 
The pool in your shoulder blade is spilling over, the overflow creeping slowly across your clothes. You’d dressed smart today. But your navy shirt is ruined now – a stain like that will never wash out.                                                                 

My fingers are screaming. I didn’t notice the pain at first, but now I do. Looking down at them, I find they’re crusted in red, though from whom I don’t know. They’re sparkling too; little crystals are dancing in my skin.                                                 
Then I see another glittering on my hand, but this is ugly; this glares up at me. I rip the sapphire from my finger and throw it to the ground, and watch as it falls with a dull thud. The blue stone is darker than your eyes, and yet somehow is the same. It still watches me with menacing accusation. I still feel its clutch on my finger like I still feel your grip on my neck, branding my body with murky-blue bruises. You were turning me into a living coprse. I stamp my foot on the ring, but I can't silence it like I silenced you. It remains undamaged: still gleaming, still laughing.

You were laughing at me when it happened. I wanted you to stop, but you wouldn’t. I begged you to let go of me, but you refused. I said no, but you didn’t listen.                         


So I had to make you.

Comments · 6

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  • Rose Hesketh said...

    I sat down to tackle the Untold Tales competition, and this is what I ended up with.
    I honestly don't know where this came from, especially since it barely fits in with the theme anymore (the only incorporation is a few mentionings of the colour blue).
    I guess it doesn't count anymore, but I still thought I'd post it up.

    Enjoy :)

    • Posted 4 years ago
  • Anthony Blackshaw said...

    Welcome to Burrst Rose, I really enjoyed this and I've added it to the list of competition entries. 'The blues' is really just supposed to be inspiration as much as anything, it can be grades of the colour, the feeling, the music, wherever it leads you - and I'm glad it lead you to write this.

    You can submit more than one entry, so it doesn't matter if you decide you'd like to submit something else at a later date.

    • Posted 4 years ago
  • Mary Beth W. said...

    Oh my God, I loved this! I think my favorite part would be 'I said no, but you didn't listen. So I had to make you.' This harbors a wonderfully twisted fate for the poor fellow who didn't stop. :) Well done!

    • Posted 4 years ago
  • Deb Howell said...

    Great story. My favourite parts are: "It doesn't go with the furniture", "A stain like that will never wash out", etc ... So cold. Distant. It's exactly the kind of thought I can imagine someone having in the moment ... You're so overwhelmed by what's in front of you those "silly" little thoughts seem to be the only ones that make sense in the moment.
    And the ending makes it all, somehow, OK ...

    • Posted 4 years ago
  • Mikey Jackson said...

    Ditto with Deb who lives above me (only here, not literally) about "It doesn't go with the furniture", "A stain like that will never wash out." Classic lines. :)

    • Posted 4 years ago
  • Audrey Semprun said...

    This was really good. I have to agree with Mikey and Deb about your word choices and sentences: "It doesn't go with the furniture" with that line I was totally committed to the piece! "A stain like that will never wash out" was great also! And when you got to the bruising around her neck, I guess that's when I have to agree with Deb again: "And the ending makes it all, somehow, OK ..."

    • Posted 4 years ago