She died with my name on her lips. A grin curls on my teeth. It pleases me. A feeling of glee giggles up through my chest and attempts to bust through my throat, but I hold it still. My patience amazes me. I am so calm, so in control of myself. I want to get up and dance and jig, over her body, maybe stomp a few times in the maroon carpet—I frown. That was rude. I really shouldn’t defile someone’s body so. Maybe I should put a blanket on it. But I know if I look at it again, I won’t be able to contain myself. I can feel my mouth stretching nicely just from the thought of it. My chest is full, my eyes are probably gleaming.
What if I cry? I can feel tears pricking my eyes already, just in case. They’ll think I regret it. That will be good for me. There’s no doubt that they’ll find me eventually.
But maybe they won’t.
I shake my head. Of course they will. All I have to do it wait. I look at my hands. It’s difficult to see in the dark, but my glistening eyes, full with now receding tears, uncover the water color painting my hands. So messy… so pretty. I grin again. So wide, not as wide as before when thinking of the delicious body lying just outside… I want to lick the crimson paint from my hands, but then I could get diseases. I catch myself and reluctantly lower the crimson back into my lap. They twist together, the color running through hills and dripping into the pond pooling before me.
They’ll think it was for nothing. I frown. They’ll think I’m crazy. I am crazy, a part of my brain snips. I snarl, that vile, putrid—I shove it into a room, slam the door, swallow the key and hiss when it scratches at the door. When it’s quiet, the growl is still in my chest, the snarl still on my teeth. I realize that I’m gnawing on my still wet thumbnail, and I almost give a cry of anger, resulting in slamming my hand against the plaster beside me. The sound thumps, and barely does anything to help the growl deep in my chest. I take a deep breath, seeing red as I do. Damn doctors. That never helps.
I remember what I had been thinking about.
They’ll know I’m crazy. Do I want them to know? Somewhat. Parts of me do, but the rest knows… I’ll regret it. I want to live in normal society. They’ll lock me up if I tell them, and while that might be fun for a while, I can picture now the nights of sleepless sobbing, hot tears with a deep ache in my chest.
But I had a reason. I had to do it, I can tell them. Part of me knows that I won’t be able to convince myself. I follow this trail of thought anyway.
She had to go. I think of the events and the growl rumbles in its cage. Shut up. Her brown hair annoys me. It’s always so silky. It’s long. Her face is heart shaped—it was. Ha. Oops. It escaped. The giggle couldn’t be controlled. The rise in my chest comes back, and I grin. It’s coming up my throat. I hold it down. Her body was perfect. It rumbles again. It’s pathetic. I imagine kicking it as it cowers and whimpers like a puppy.
I frown. That was mean. I like puppies.
Her eyes were pretty. But I hated them. No one else did. They were so, so pretty. But they judged me, they were always looking up and down, up and down. Just stop. I don’t curse in my mind. I did earlier. A lot. Now the words are worn out, my tongue wishes to no longer hold them. It is tired from curling in those certain ways; they taste empty now, almost like plastic.
Everything about her. Everyone liked her. She was fawned over. Stupid fawns.
No… I like animals.
She’s just a b****.
Oh. That was the last one it didn’t mind forming. I’ve used it a lot. She deserved it.
My risen chest lowers. Just a centimeter. The growl is silent, it knows.
I had asked her to help me with something. She had no reason to think I wouldn’t be waiting, that she would just help poor little me in need. She knew of my dislike. She didn’t know how deep the demon was. The side curled. My teeth sharpened. They might have glinted in the dark.
Just as the shards did. She had walked in, her teeth glowing. Those stupid eyes going up and down, up and down. Another curse word ripped quietly through my lips. She never saw the lamp. It made me a little sad. I had planned it out so well.
I even had the small knife and lighter in my pocket. I can feel the pressure of them now against my leg through the fabric.
But those eyes. Those damn eyes. Up and down, up and down. She turned, and so did I. I was quicker. The sound was brilliant. Earlier I had played it over and over again in my mind. Like a bell being shattered into a pillowcase filled with a large rock. But even prettier. It was like a bass thump, but with triangles being thrown together underneath. The paint immediately ran. Through that long hair of hers, as her perfect body collided with the ground. The shards fell from my hands, holding my own watercolor as well. She was coughing. Crimson splattered. Teeth glinted.
Her body turned on me. Her eyes met mine—less pretty now… glazed slightly. Laced with fear. That was nice. Her perfect lips moved. Formed my name. Her tongue clicked. And then her eyes swept down. The growl was attacking her throat in the seconds it took for her eyes to sweep up. It was a flurry; the colors ran brilliantly, flashing in my vision, catching my eyes like moths to a light. Jewels of paint, they were beautiful.
And then… still. Her eyes were stone. No up and down. Nothing. Pure bliss. White shards in rows radiated.
The elation that arrived again was thinner than the last, the teeth flatter than before. Crouched where I was, remembering the painting laid out just feet away, my chest was calm and silent. My mind flashed back to those eyes, those nice eyes as she asked me how my day went. She listened. That time she set my plate down in front of me for dinner. When she helped do the dishes. When she watched television.
And then I saw the crimson.
It rose in my throat. It pushed up. I couldn’t contain it. I wretched. Splattering an array; green, brown, red… red? Crimson. Their boundaries touched and swirled timidly with the blood red pool. The thin sticks; my hands. They were vibrating. I choked, a sharp shard striking the inside of my throat. Thin glass shredded my eyes. It fell. Water. My face was wet. I touched it, eyes widening. My teeth curled down. The growl roared a different tune. That ache I had thought of. Deeper than imagined. It abandoned the cage. The growl tore freely. Inside me. I clawed at my chest. I couldn’t get inside.
To the demon inside.
Click. Clack.
A curious hello. A shriek follows. I hear a sob. I realize it is from me. Another, louder click.
Yellow pours in, cutting over my watercolors, lighting it on fire. Vibrant red radiates and reverberates so loudly. A shuddering breath sucked in by the ache greedily. The growl takes it all. The demon does. The lens over my eyes muddles the lines and shapes them into an unrecognizable canvas. I look up.
“…Mommy?”
What if I cry? I can feel tears pricking my eyes already, just in case. They’ll think I regret it. That will be good for me. There’s no doubt that they’ll find me eventually.
But maybe they won’t.
I shake my head. Of course they will. All I have to do it wait. I look at my hands. It’s difficult to see in the dark, but my glistening eyes, full with now receding tears, uncover the water color painting my hands. So messy… so pretty. I grin again. So wide, not as wide as before when thinking of the delicious body lying just outside… I want to lick the crimson paint from my hands, but then I could get diseases. I catch myself and reluctantly lower the crimson back into my lap. They twist together, the color running through hills and dripping into the pond pooling before me.
They’ll think it was for nothing. I frown. They’ll think I’m crazy. I am crazy, a part of my brain snips. I snarl, that vile, putrid—I shove it into a room, slam the door, swallow the key and hiss when it scratches at the door. When it’s quiet, the growl is still in my chest, the snarl still on my teeth. I realize that I’m gnawing on my still wet thumbnail, and I almost give a cry of anger, resulting in slamming my hand against the plaster beside me. The sound thumps, and barely does anything to help the growl deep in my chest. I take a deep breath, seeing red as I do. Damn doctors. That never helps.
I remember what I had been thinking about.
They’ll know I’m crazy. Do I want them to know? Somewhat. Parts of me do, but the rest knows… I’ll regret it. I want to live in normal society. They’ll lock me up if I tell them, and while that might be fun for a while, I can picture now the nights of sleepless sobbing, hot tears with a deep ache in my chest.
But I had a reason. I had to do it, I can tell them. Part of me knows that I won’t be able to convince myself. I follow this trail of thought anyway.
She had to go. I think of the events and the growl rumbles in its cage. Shut up. Her brown hair annoys me. It’s always so silky. It’s long. Her face is heart shaped—it was. Ha. Oops. It escaped. The giggle couldn’t be controlled. The rise in my chest comes back, and I grin. It’s coming up my throat. I hold it down. Her body was perfect. It rumbles again. It’s pathetic. I imagine kicking it as it cowers and whimpers like a puppy.
I frown. That was mean. I like puppies.
Her eyes were pretty. But I hated them. No one else did. They were so, so pretty. But they judged me, they were always looking up and down, up and down. Just stop. I don’t curse in my mind. I did earlier. A lot. Now the words are worn out, my tongue wishes to no longer hold them. It is tired from curling in those certain ways; they taste empty now, almost like plastic.
Everything about her. Everyone liked her. She was fawned over. Stupid fawns.
No… I like animals.
She’s just a b****.
Oh. That was the last one it didn’t mind forming. I’ve used it a lot. She deserved it.
My risen chest lowers. Just a centimeter. The growl is silent, it knows.
I had asked her to help me with something. She had no reason to think I wouldn’t be waiting, that she would just help poor little me in need. She knew of my dislike. She didn’t know how deep the demon was. The side curled. My teeth sharpened. They might have glinted in the dark.
Just as the shards did. She had walked in, her teeth glowing. Those stupid eyes going up and down, up and down. Another curse word ripped quietly through my lips. She never saw the lamp. It made me a little sad. I had planned it out so well.
I even had the small knife and lighter in my pocket. I can feel the pressure of them now against my leg through the fabric.
But those eyes. Those damn eyes. Up and down, up and down. She turned, and so did I. I was quicker. The sound was brilliant. Earlier I had played it over and over again in my mind. Like a bell being shattered into a pillowcase filled with a large rock. But even prettier. It was like a bass thump, but with triangles being thrown together underneath. The paint immediately ran. Through that long hair of hers, as her perfect body collided with the ground. The shards fell from my hands, holding my own watercolor as well. She was coughing. Crimson splattered. Teeth glinted.
Her body turned on me. Her eyes met mine—less pretty now… glazed slightly. Laced with fear. That was nice. Her perfect lips moved. Formed my name. Her tongue clicked. And then her eyes swept down. The growl was attacking her throat in the seconds it took for her eyes to sweep up. It was a flurry; the colors ran brilliantly, flashing in my vision, catching my eyes like moths to a light. Jewels of paint, they were beautiful.
And then… still. Her eyes were stone. No up and down. Nothing. Pure bliss. White shards in rows radiated.
The elation that arrived again was thinner than the last, the teeth flatter than before. Crouched where I was, remembering the painting laid out just feet away, my chest was calm and silent. My mind flashed back to those eyes, those nice eyes as she asked me how my day went. She listened. That time she set my plate down in front of me for dinner. When she helped do the dishes. When she watched television.
And then I saw the crimson.
It rose in my throat. It pushed up. I couldn’t contain it. I wretched. Splattering an array; green, brown, red… red? Crimson. Their boundaries touched and swirled timidly with the blood red pool. The thin sticks; my hands. They were vibrating. I choked, a sharp shard striking the inside of my throat. Thin glass shredded my eyes. It fell. Water. My face was wet. I touched it, eyes widening. My teeth curled down. The growl roared a different tune. That ache I had thought of. Deeper than imagined. It abandoned the cage. The growl tore freely. Inside me. I clawed at my chest. I couldn’t get inside.
To the demon inside.
Click. Clack.
A curious hello. A shriek follows. I hear a sob. I realize it is from me. Another, louder click.
Yellow pours in, cutting over my watercolors, lighting it on fire. Vibrant red radiates and reverberates so loudly. A shuddering breath sucked in by the ache greedily. The growl takes it all. The demon does. The lens over my eyes muddles the lines and shapes them into an unrecognizable canvas. I look up.
“…Mommy?”
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