I am going to be a wise-ass right now. Since no one wants to take the glory, I'll just post another story. And...I'll make it gory. Hah! I knew that I could rhyme if I really tried.
Again, the disclaimer: These are mature tales, so once you click "Read more..." you are agreeing that you are of legal age in the state or country where you reside to be able to view such things, that you have parental permission if you aren't of age, and that you are prepared to be thoroughly entertained. Or disgusted. Whatever. If you want some exposure or some feedback, then send in your stories! Or hey, at least send me a note and tell me "Your stories SUCK!" or something. In case you forgot: The Rules. I know, rules are so totally un-groovy. Now on to this week's tale...
" I "
by Mary Goff
She pressed her fingers to her cheeks and grimaced as she avoided her own gaze in the mirror.
“Look at that ugly nose! Eww, black heads and pimples... and those wrinkles! I really should quit smokin’...fuck!” She pulled at her temples and sneered at her reflection.
“Is that a gray hair?”
She turned and appraised her backside and upper arms.
“You really do need to lose weight. Look at you! Yuck! All that saggy skin...”
She turned away from the mirror, eyes moist with tears. She thought about her last love affair and pressed a fist to her lips.
“I hate you.” She whispered into the curls of her fingers.
She turned and met her own gaze, which reflected flatly from silvery glass.
“I hate you!” She said to the reflection through clenched teeth.
“HATE YOU!”
She grabbed a vanity chair and swung it at the glass. The mirror shattered and the chair bounced out of her hands to swirl upon the floor. She heaved, stared at the blank spot on the wall where the mirror had been. She caught some glittering from the corners of her eyes and she looked down. The angled slices of mirror reflected her like an audience of thousands. She screamed and stomped on the glass, over and over.
“I hate you!” She shrieked as she ground the glass beneath the heel of her shoed-foot.
She kept smashing it; smashing it, smashing it.
“I hate you!” She shrilled. “I hate you!”
From the dark place that she traveled-to during sleep, but could never seem to reach, laughter issued. It burned from the back of her brain like a smoldering ember. She vowed one day to find the owner of that voice and kill it. If she could only make it past wonderland...She shook her head to clear the reverie. Her thoughts crowded to the front of her brain like roaches fleeing a fire; the sound of it like pebbles against glass.
She thought that he was in love with her...
When he told her that he had found someone else, she caught her reflection in the dark pupils of his eyes. She was so angry, so hurt. Her reflection laughed at her tears—grinned like a sated cat. She just wanted to pluck it out... She grabbed him and pulled him close, close enough to kiss and he resisted.
“Didn’t you hear me? I said we’re done. I can’t take your jealousy any more.” He stood and curled his lip. “Besides, you have really let yourself go.”
It had been matter-of-fact. It was like he never loved her at all.
Lisanne got up from the couch and walked to the kitchen. She grabbed a nine-inch butcher knife and stared at the blade. She even arched a brow at her reflection as she brought the knife closer to her face.
“How cliché.” She thought, ‘this business of trying to look sad and slightly wicked for my own reflection.’
She pressed a flat-side of the blade against her temple. The handle lined up with her left eye and she noted that the point reached well beyond the back of her head. She smiled.
“Good enough.” she whispered.
Somehow, the image of splitting herself from navel to sternum, and pulling the cut wide-open in front of him sprang to mind. She thought about her guts pushing forward through the opening and unwinding as they fell from the wound much like that of silly string. Her heart hammered in her chest. Thoughts of how she feels more like a butterfly trapped inside an ugly cocoon only manages to bring tears to her eyes. What kind of wings will she spread once the ugly skin is shed? She allows the thoughts free-reign. They are hers anyway. Who cares if they are sappy and unoriginal?
She imagined pressing the butt of the handle against the kitchen counter-top and slamming her face downward upon the blade allowing it to easily sink into her left eye.
The light above the stove flickered—
— “I’m sorry Lisanne.”
Upon hearing her name, Lisanne snapped her head up and swiped at the tears in her eyes. The knife glared up at her from her white-knuckled fist, and a silvery mustard-sheen slipped across the blade. She scowled at her reflection. It mouthed the word, “Chicken.” and scowled back. Lisanne flipped it the bird then slipped the knife into the wood-caddy with all the other knives. She chose a grapefruit-spoon: a serrated edged spoon. She gripped it in her hand as she came back into the living room. She cocked her head to one side.
“Sorry? You’re sorry?” She trembled and swallowed hard. He looked dumbstruck; mute and falsely apologetic.
“Yes. I’m sorry it can’t work out between us. I think we will both be happier this way.”
Before he could finish his sentence, Lisanne charged over to him and cupped the back of his head with her free hand.
“Please stop. You’re making a fool of yourself. It’s over--”
The past few months swirled in heavy clouds in her head and they fogged her vision. All the calls she waited for. All the nights he came home reeking of perfume, cigarettes, and alcohol. All the snide remarks about how she could do nothing right. He tugged at her wrist but she did not let go. He raised his voice, speaking to her as if she were a child.
“Lisanne, let go of me right now.”
She plunged the spoon into his eye and cranked it hard to one side. He screamed as his eye broke free from its socket.
“You—fucking—bitch!” He cupped his eye socket and stumbled back. Blood coursed through his trembling fingers. She rolled her eyes and came at him again. He threw his hands out and waved them.
“Stop! STOP! OH GOD STOP!”
She pummeled into him and knocked him onto the couch. He punched her jaw and sent her sprawling across the living room floor.
“Crazy bitch! You crazy bitch! What-the-fuck!”
Lisanne rubbed her jaw and came at him again. He swung, missed. Lisanne leapt on him and grabbed his dangling eye in one hand. She squeezed and plunged the spoon into his other eye. He screamed and kicked at her, clawing at her hair, face and arms. He swung again, connected with her breastbone and knocked her down. He brought his hands to his face and howled.
“You’re going to pay for this you fucking--!” Spit ran down his chin and mixed with the blood and ooze upon his chest.
Lisanne smiled as she raked her fingertips across her breast bone. She stood and watched him make drunken circles. He cupped his head with bloodied palms.
“I always knew you were shallow. Go on now. Go to your new fucking girlfriend. See if she still thinks you are quite the catch!” She heaved, a grin cut upon her face. Blood and clear fluid dripped from her fingertips. He fell to his knees, his screams pitched into high notes.
“You’re fucking insane. INSANE!” His words dissipated into blubbering. Lisanne walked over to him and with one swift movement she grabbed his dangling eye and squeezed it.
He screamed a wordless plea, swung once, and then succumbed to unconsciousness. Lisanne lost her smile and threw the spoon at him. His unconscious body remained unmoved.
“Fuck—YOU!” Spittle gathered upon her bottom lip and flew as she spoke. Lisanne walked into the bathroom. Immediately, that burning voice had started in.
“Told you that you were ugly... Stupid!”
She flinched and instinctively looked at the blank spot on the wall where the mirror once was. She eyeballed the flakes of glass upon the floor.
“Fuck you too!” She punched the wall and winced. The voice from within only laughed.
Lisanne panted and grit her teeth. She whirled around and made her way back through the living room, mindlessly making a wide berth around her ex-lover’s motionless body, and stopped in the kitchen. Her skin burned. It felt as if she were being stung by a million angry bees. She slapped at her skull.
“You stupid bitch! You stupid bitch! You ugly, stu-pid BITCH!” It was relentless, this voice in her head. It wasn’t even her own voice. It did not sound even remotely feminine.
A thought slithered across her brow. She remembered his eyes and her ghostly reflection there. She twitched as she looked down at the silverware drawer, still open from its last use. She grabbed another spoon and held it up. Her reflection in the curve of the spoon belly-laughed without sound, and pointed at her. She kept her eyes upon her reflection and grabbed a fork.
“I’ll show you.” She said, and with stomp of her foot she jabbed the spoon into her own eye. It came free with a slight popping noise and she dropped the spoon, the clatter of metal on tile unheard.
“Dammit!” She screamed, dizzy. It was more painful than she thought it would be, but not as painful as she imagined it. She trembled now as her world turned myopic and flat. Through the pain she cupped her dangling eye, held it up, and looked at it; Glared at it. She grabbed a fork and gripped it, white knuckled, in her free hand. She wavered on her feet and fought the creeping darkness that came at her from all sides. She brought her free-dangling eye closer to her face. Tears leaked from their proper places but she felt no fear, only disdain. She hissed at the eye in her palm. “Good-bye, bitch!”
She squeezed the eye in her fist, and cackled as her reflection screamed at the oncoming tines.
°°
This tale is brought to you by the creators of "Goo". "Goo", if it's stuck to you, then most likely, it's "Goo"! (They pay me to say that—okay, not really. But I do get free "Goo".)
