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Lavender Skin and Rose Eyes
The overhead lights drape the restroom in sterile rays. A person stands across me from the sink. A dejected being. Purple flowers paint its arms, torso, and eye. They’re painfully beautiful; I can’t help but stare. Stare into its bloodshot eyes—those flowery red eyes. Eyes swelling with fires and flames of anger. Eyes enflamed with an overwhelming sea of despair and pity.
I take off my glasses and place them down against the porcelain sink. Everything appears more clear and vivid. My eyes, although dull, look brighter and the purple on my body becomes considerably more violet.
A skein of red comes from under my nose and draws itself down to my chin. Drops of red appear on the white porcelain sink and in the clear water. Each drop slowly unravels itself in wispy red smoke—the water shades itself incarnadine. Like roses blooming in a bed of snow, the spatter of red dots dapples and stains the white sink so gorgeously—so unnaturally.
A shiver runs up my spine and I break away from mirror. I shudder weakly. I have to leave, I think to myself. I don't mind the marks and scars on my body, but I cannot allow it anymore—I must leave. My body has become too fragile to live in this harsh wicked environment called a home. I need to get out. If I had the chance earlier, I would've set myself far from here already and gone miles, cities, states away.
The door behind me burst with angry clamor, "How much longer are you going to take! You can't hide in the restroom forever; do you want me to break this door down!"
I hesitate to respond, "J-just a second, I'll be out soon."
And just like that, I hear footsteps echo away. Reluctantly, I dispose of the plastic pregnancy test—I know he won't let me keep the baby. Peering into the dark, narrow hallway, I can see him in the living room; and with a furtive walk, I take up my luggage from under the bed. I had known I was pregnant before I took the test. I was showing too many symptoms and I feared he would catch on—I knew he wouldn't let me keep the child.
I take my things, and make way to the backdoor. Pulling on the handle, a loud screech sounds from the rusty hinges throughout the house, as if to signal my escape. I rush forcefully out into the open like a caged bird no longer barred and make to the decrepit car. Clumsily, I pull the engine to life and it sputters violently as if on its last breath. As I begin to back out, a titanic man slams furiously into the side of the car.
He's deranged, "Where the hell do you think you're going! You tryin' to leave me, aren't you! Why I oughta! Open the door!" Pulling at the handle with such a savage force, the car begins to shake uncontrollably. He begins to roar and bellow, slobbering all over the windshield.
I scream a wild desperate scream in response. Though, he can't hear me, I'm already gone—gone miles, cities, states away.
It's deep in the night; the moonlight shimmers faintly inside the car. This night is cold, but I don’t feel it—I'm much too happy, too free to feel the icy air bite at my skin. My freedom is my own warmth in itself. It is a fire burning deep down within that allows me to finally open all senses to the world and breathe a sigh of relief. So, I continue on happily down the lonely road to somewhere, anywhere, far away. The sound of the engine running and wheels spinning against the rough tar asphalt are enough to keep me awake, for they serve as reminders of the sound of free reign and will—my anthem. Strongly, as I drive, I will continue to hear the whispers of freedom in my ear. Softly and yet loudly it rings so sweetly.
Enjoying my first few moments of the fresh air, I think I'll never be trapped again and dreams of living a better life now seems within reach. But that once again starts to fade into a dream as I catch a glimpse of bright headlights speeding towards me in the rearview mirror. That has to be him. No car is out this late driving that fast in the middle of nowhere.
My foot drives itself into the pedal, and sounds of freedom crescendos into a frenzy of chaotic noise singing into the dark sky. The grey Acura pulls steadily closer and closer; it being a machine manufactured to be better than the rundown car. The sounds of freedom are gradually drowned out by his approach. Our cars are driving both shoulder to shoulder and I can see his face, all twisted with anger and fury. His car turns and smashes into the side of mine, exploding into an eruption of metal and glass. Losing all control, I'm sent into a whirling world of glittering crystal and glimmering sharp metal.
Dazed and hazed, I can't feel my face. I hear the crunch of glass beneath an unforgiving foot outside the door, then I feel myself thrown upon the asphalt. He pulls me up and seizes my wrists, holding me close. He's shouting and screaming at me, his face inches away from me.
"You goddamn stupid b*tch! Look at what you've done, you idiot! Why, why would you do this; don't I do enough for you! You're ungrateful, useless and you've destroyed my car!"
He drew his arm back and across my face causing me to stumble to the ground. I fought for balance, crawling across the ground. But he grew feral and savage, kicking and pounding on my helpless body. And then almost all at once, he stops. Standing atop me, I can hear his heavy breaths or at least make them out through my own insubstantial, heaving, gasps.
His breaths stop abruptly. He starts to lean down, his fingers slowly slipping around my thin neck, and with a firm grasp, he squeezes. Then I can't breathe. Franticly, My arms start flailing, searching for something to wield. I felt my hand grab a shattered piece of glass then draw it across his neck. He pulled and grabbed at the cut, desperately trying to ease the loss of blood. I laid curled up and coughing violently, sputtering spit and blood along the ground. I rose up unsteadily and still with the glass in my hand, drove it into his stomach
"You b*tch," he whispered, falling to the ground
I straddled him, and over and over again, I stuck the glass shard into him. Suddenly, I fell back, mortified at what I had done. I watched, horrified, as he retreated on all fours away from me. Still slobbering and clasping his neck, he crawled further and further till his body and mind gave up and quit its physical form.
I looked up at my canvas, a pool of blood encircling it. It's wretched, disgusting. Despairingly, I bury my grazed face into my stained hands yearning once again to be far away.
This must be some horrid nightmare, I thought.
Waking up, I faced white walls and a clean room. I was laying atop a warm bed; a television played noisily in the background. My body ached and my throat was sore. My arms, I could see, were covered in bright brilliant red lines and spots like red novas glowing across a white space.
I desired for a mirror. The bathroom mirror beckoned me and I lifted myself off the bed. Uneasily, I limped to the looking-glass. In it, I could see purple hibiscus flowers covering a neck. There were roses in its eyes and faded crimson ones covering its skin. I withdrew from my hospital gown, and beheld a garden in its body. It was a lovely, blooming with finely cultivated lavender, scarlet, and honeysuckle. As I closed in to the sink, I could see a person standing across me from the sink. A happy being.