An arrow is pierced into my chest, where my heart belongs, paralyzing all thoughts and only inflicting pain. It hides deeper into my skin, sliding inside like a snake trying to run away from its predator. I should be bleeding by now, should be fainting because of the blood loss. Yet the only liquid that I can feel, more than I can see, are the tears streaming down my face, dropping on my hands.
Small bloodstained tears are covering my palms. I want to stop crying, but I know it is impossible. Trying to clutch my hands into fists, the carmine tears form a figure that simulate of what appears to look like a heart.
I know I can’t do much to hide what I feel, but the tears keep dripping down involuntarily. I don’t know how much of this I can withhold, but all I know is that I’m on the verge of a breakdown.
I can feel the darkness seeping within me, getting nearer as time passes. I wonder if I can tame the beast that is inside me. I wonder if it will turn the tables around and say that it can tame me. Can it tame me? Is the creature within me gentler than this arrow-pierced-blood-stained living being that stands before you? Yes. It is.
You may look at me all injured and bloodstained and ask yourself “How could anyone ever hurt something this delicate? The real question is: How can something this delicate be able to hurt anybody that appears in it presence?
While you ask yourself the futile question that has no answer, I will be making questions of my own, in which you will be the one who replies. I will look at you in the eyes and make you believe the innocence that you already deem. I will smile at you wryly when you’re not looking. When you are, I will sheepishly look down to my grimy shoes and blind you with your already imprudent thoughts of me. I will take a knife and slice your throat and enjoy the bloody river your body displays as a picturesque show. Of course this will only be happening in my head, because in real life I’m doing much worse, I’m making you believe what you see is real.
They say “don’t judge a book by its cover”, so read the prologue on the back instead. Only then will you know if it’s good or bad, romance or horror, fantasy or reality. But before that you can only hope that it is what you expect it to be. Then as the story starts you will begin to have an idea of what you will be facing.
Do you not see the prominent pierced arrow I have in my chest? Do you see that I am, in fact, not bleeding at all through that wound? Do you see that instead it’s dripping from my eyes and that it is not a capillary dysfunction? Do you really not see the evil you are facing? I have no heart. This is why you should understand that you should not pity me.
I take pity on you.
How can you gladly accept me for who I am? With my dreadful features I cannot possibly be able to be accepted in society. With my gruesome thoughts I cannot possibly be able to hold a colloquy with any kind of living creature, without it having afterwards suicidal consideration. Did you already forget that I wanted to kill you? That I wanted to get a chainsaw and slice you in half, quarters, fifths, sixths, eights, and all the ‘ths there are? Well you surprise me with your stubbornness. When you open that impassable mind and understand that there is no such thing as Santa Clause or The Tooth fairy, you will too late, because, it has already begun.
