Some nights I can still imagine her warm touch on my skin, and her sweet, Alabama accented voice whispering into my ear. She was never afraid to show affection. I envy her for that…
Grabbing a lock of my curly black hair, and the sharpest knife in the wooden block on the kitchen counter, I think to myself…
It’s time to get to work.
Stretching my curl out, I raise the knife about a foot’s length up my long chunk of hair, and break through. A voice in the back of my head screams in protest. I’ve spent the past two years growing my hair out…
All that time… Patience… Wasted… At least now you’ve got a fucked up haircut to shape your fucked up face.
Ignoring my subconscious, and not wanting the curl to unravel, I tie a small purple ribbon around it to keep the hair intact, then proceed to drop it into the small, clear, crystal box sitting on the glass table in front of me.
Purple is her favorite color. She’ll appreciate the small details. She always does.
Next, I reach to the glass table for eye drops with a pre-removed lid, and a small glass vile titled “Tears”. I’m too emotionally numb to actually cry, but I figure she won’t know the difference. Squeezing a couple eye drops into the vile, I try to recognize how this will affect her.
Will she cry…? Maybe she’ll smirk and respect my creativity. After all, this art is for her.
I place a small rubber cork into the top of the vile to avoid my fake tears to spill, and replace the lid onto the eye drops, setting the eye drops back onto the glass table, the vile into the crystal box.
Removing my shirt, and grasping the sharp knife in my hand again, I brace myself for the next element in the box. I hold the tip of the knife to my stomach, clench my teeth, and hold my breath as I slowly put more pressure onto the hard plastic knife handle. I want to cut all this ugliness away, but the act is useless at this point. A drop flows out of my skin, and creates a small crimson trail down my abdomen. The uncomfortable sharpness makes me want to squirm, but I push through, and continue applying my strength. As I put more and more pressure, more crimson liquid flows, creating a scarlet stream. Once the knife is deep enough, I cut about an inch wide circle into my “thick” abdomen. I’d like to call myself fat, but I’ve been assured I’m not.
If I’m not fat, how am I cutting these pieces of lard out? Hm? Riddle me that. Bastards.
Once the circle is complete, I use the knife as a lever to tear the lump of fat out, and I place it in the crystal box, along with the other items.
The blood is spilling out now, and the pain hits me, but I have to quickly move on to the next element. I scream, and rip out my still barely vibrating, bloody vocal chords, feeling a flutter of regret-
Or is it relief?
The blood drips from my fingertips to the floor as my neck spurts thick, red-dyed waterfalls, similar to those of which erupted from my wrists so many times before. I close my eyes to shake away the past, but that brings only visions of hospitalized memories. I can still hear the subtle drip from the IV bags. Clearing my mind, the visions disappear, but the drip sound remains. Opening my eyes, with blurred vision, I watch more blood drip from in between my fingers, and splash onto the oak hard-wood floors. I realize that’s where the same sounding subtle drip is coming from. My vocal chords make a splat sound as they fill the remaining room in the small box.
I hope she can see such beauty in my actions.
This pain is different than that of my sliced wrists, or the hole in my stomach, but I’m ignoring that the best I can. I’m on a mission. I can feel my life draining away, but this isn’t how they explain it to be. There’s no white light, no flashes of memories, and no thoughts of grief.
Common, Kei! Keep your head straight. You don’t have much time. Only seconds.
I try to clear my vision, but the waterfalls are gushing too fast, and I’m getting dizzy.
This is it. One more step, and you’ve got it. Just put the lit on, and place the letter on top, then you’re golden. She’ll arrive, and everything will be complete, but for right now, you need to concentrate. CONCENTRATE, Kei.
I clumsily pat around on the table, feeling for the crystal lid for the box, and find it after a few moments. Placing it on top of the box, I wish again, for her to be on time. Now I place the folded letter on top of the box; the letter titled “Taylor”, and notice, what I can see of the room, get darker and darker. I feel myself hit the corner of the glass table on my way down before hitting the wood floor. I’m so far gone that I can’t even feel what should have been a sharp, throbbing pain to the ribs from the corner of the glass table, and now everything’s faded to black. As my mind drifts quickly further into the depths, I can hear the jingle of keys, and the creak of the front door opening.
Good job. You did it.
My consciousness is gone…
Dear Taylor,
You left me for Alabama. I hope your life goes well, and now I know you’ll never forget me. I’ve composed this crystal box of treasures for you to keep, so please take it with you, as well as your other stuff on your return home… I love you.
I give you a lock of my hair, for you admired the curls on my head with such adoration.
I give you my tears in return for all those nights I held you while you wept on my shoulder.
I give you my curse, for you always tried to make me feel attractive, but the weight’s what held me back. “You’re not fat, you’re SOFT,” you’d say. I wish that was so.
I give you my vocals, for you cherished my songful soul.
Xoxo,
Kei.
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