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Lament

She could see them. She could see the color of their eyes and the glitter in their hair. Red eyes, she remembers. And gold glitter. She remembers that she screamed, screamed in fear of what was coming. It was them, and they were finally coming to get her.

She raises her hands in defense, as if the whiteness of her palms will drive them away. They hiss and lash, eager to move. Her legs are so frozen. Her face drips with cold sweat and her eyes blink feverishly in the dark.
In the midst of her fear she remembers that she was once beautiful. Once beautiful before they came. She tries to remember days when she walked through the house feeling beautiful, tries to remember the days that she was free and flying, days where she was not afraid. But her fear and panic weigh down her head and clamp her to the dark, dark ground and she cannot see anything but them.
They creep forwards slowly, taunting her. Breaking the silence with cackles every few moments, they twist and turn to grin at each other.
Red eyes with glittering gold pupils. Stringy black hair with gold glitter speckled over the strands. Bone thin arms and twisted, gnarled fingers. Legs the width of a rail that shake and tremble with each strength. Torn clothing draped over their shoulders and around their stomach. She’s envisioning more terrors then there is. The fear is too much for her. She knows what has happened before.
She can hear their laugh in her mind, and she presses her palms to her head.
“Stop! Help!!” She screams helplessly. But their laughter, their voices, have taken hold of her mind. She believes it is too late. Her fear has let them win. They have turned her against herself by yanking her confidence from below her feet.
When they speak, she collaspes with fear. Shaking on the ground, she tears herself to death with terror. The last thing she hears is them singing- singing in suprisingly beautiful laments. Laments of sadness, of failure. Lament of a quest that was lost. When she forces her eyes open she sees a halo of angels- torn clothing and all shed on the ground. Too late, she sees that there is beauty under ugliness.
Too late to remember. Closing her eyes, her breath shortens and she falls aimlessly towards death. Too late, she realizes they were only trying to save her from herself.
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Comments

  1. AnonymousApril 6, 2011 at 6:06 PM

    You are amazing. When I read it to my Mom she couldn't believe that such a harsh (but very good) story could have came out of "little" Carol. We were just blown away by it. Have you ever thought of being a writer when you grow up?

    ReplyDelete
  2. CarolApril 6, 2011 at 9:18 PM

    Haha. Little me :)
    Thankssssssssssssssssssssss :)
    i am very bad at happy stories :D
    no. maybe for fun? :)

    ReplyDelete
  3. MollyApril 8, 2011 at 7:10 PM

    I think sad stories are just as good happy stories are too gushie

    ReplyDelete

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