Mourning Light

September 28, 2010
The world was cold, dark, and damp. She couldn't remember how she was standing, but when she started processing what was in front of her, she began to wonder how long she had slept. Her limbs felt like liquid but her legs kept her upright; her hands numb, her chest heavy and empty at the same time. As the world around her became clearer, she could feel the rain soaking her front, while her heavy hair cloaked her back; she was naked.
But she wasn't cold, and that stirred something inside of her that could be called fear. But she can't show it, because they would use it against her; just like when he left, they told her no one could love a daughter of the devil. Not even the son of the devil himself.
She inclined her head, dark locks of her thick European hair falling between her breasts, and she stared out over the city into the Rhine, and recalled everything. Every whisper of the Traders and of American dollars being paid off. When she clenched her fist, industrial metal cut into her skin and rested heavy against her palm as she rose the piercing to her face. It smelled of blood not hers and the end missing a ball had human tissue on it. She remembered the confession and the blood flowing invitingly out of a slit throat. Why anyone would pierce their throat was beyond her.
A flick of the wrist sent the metal ring into the middle of the polluted river and with the ripples came the confusion of why she felt so alone. She could hear every heart beating within the city and the sounds of their love making and crying and birthing and hating and dying.
But she couldn't hear what she needed to hear. The soft sigh of his skin against hers, the warmth coming from him that her body could no longer omit. The feeling of his arms around her, him trying to hide his tears when he's trying to comfort her. Just the memory of him sent her heart into convulsions and imaginary tears fell down her face in the form of rain. She started breaking inside because she could not remember what his face looked like, only his touch and kisses.
You're awake
Her head lifted from her chest and her dark irises took in the shadows around her. They were talking with mouth-less faces and their eyes burned holes in her flesh where it was exposed under the rain and curtain of hair. Their eyes and their blades gleamed as the figures stepped closer, hoping that this fresh, young body would be an easy catch. Instinct came back to her and she rocked back on her heals before disappearing into the night, forming like a mirage behind the skinny one, brushing a hand over the back of his neck, crushing his spinal cord. Before the frail body could waver with what little weight he possessed, the second and third bodies were swiftly internally decapitated. Less than four minutes post-mortem, before the bodies were disposed of, the corpses looked considerably thinner and paler. Her face, however, was flushed almost giving her a healthy complexion. The rain had slowed and wasn't enough to wash away the drop of blood smeared on her lips.
It wasn't enough either to cloak the white hand that reached out to brush away the blood, or enough to hide her look of anticipation and crushing relief when she turned her head seeking the face that was attached. His lips didn't move, but she could hear the words clear as the sustenance filling her veins, pumping her heart faster as he wrapped his thick arms around her shaking body.
You're awake

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This article has 2 comments. Post your own now!

Oct. 17, 2010 at 9:19 am
This is so vivid! I got sucked right in the the world you have created. Which is the most beautiful part of writing. It provides solace from the harsh reality. Great Job!
Spade replied...
Oct. 17, 2010 at 6:48 pm
Thank you! I tend to write better with little to no dialogue.
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