Young Writers Society

I am the Creature

I am the person staring out the window, hoping, wishing, that some strange force will allow me to live vicariously though it.

Through the glass I can see it all, but as I reach out to touch it,

my hand is stopped. I look down, wondering what this barrier is, and why.

The grass is fresh and green outside, trimmed and watered to perfection,

yet here I sit, unable to touch it, unable to smell it. The sky is that shade of

cotton-candy blue, with clouds so white and pure it’s like something out of a

dream. But I can’t taste this air. I can’t feel the wind, or smell its journey.

No, I’m stuck here inside, alone.

I want to pull flowers petals, let them fall and mix with the

greenness of the grass. I want to test fate, he loves me, he loves me not. I

want to be able to live a life so unknown to myself, that even others will find

it beautiful.

I turn back, let the curtain fall and hide the light of day from me

once more. Knowing that the world is out there, waiting for me to come and

find it, I want even more to escape these confines.

Her footsteps get closer, slow and confident. They are the

sounds of my life, the warning and the fear that has me pushed in the

shadows of a corner, never enough darkness to hide. As the door opens,

light falls in and falls across the stained and dirty carpet, yellowed with wear

and age.

She walks in, and my heart tries to run through my throat,

searching, longing for the escape I wish I could give it. She, who has been

the single fear and constraint of my life, is the one who holds the only key

to my world.

“Kimmy, Kimmy, Kimmy. Come out of the corner, Kimmy,

Mommy wants to see you.”

It’s a lie, I know it. Her voice is so soothing, like air passing

through a stale room, I want to go to her. I long to feel her hands on my

skin and hear her praise.

But I can’t.

It’s all a lie. I am repelling. I am a monster. I am incapable of

being loved.

I know this, yet I wish it weren’t true.

“Where are you? I miss you, Kimmy. I’m sorry.”

Her words lull me out of the shadows and I crawl toward her

smiling face. She is beautiful and she knows it. Her hair frizzes around her

face, strands of it sticking almost all the way out. It is the color of the dirt

where the rosebushes grow, and looks rough like the shredded bark of a

palm tree. Her eyes are far back in her head, shadowed by her beautiful

hair. From far away they are nothing but dark imprints in her skin, which

flows like the many hills and valleys of a desert. Up close they are like two

black river-stones, shining and dark, with the stars twinkling in them. I am

lost in her beauty.

“There you are,” she says, her eyes shiny with anticipation. Her

white mouth is pushed together in a smile, hiding perfect teeth, the color of

a setting sun.

I crawl closer to her, drawn in by her beauty. She is nude. Her

body is large, and is almost too wonderful to fit through the door. It flows

over itself, over and over as she walks, like the waves of a never-ending

ocean.

“Why have you been hiding, Kimmy?” she asks in a calm voice,

high and raspy like the call of a hawk.

“I was afraid, my mother,” I admit, hoping that my honesty will

be rewarded.

“Afraid of what?” she asks. She is now standing above me, and

her beauty stuns me to my core. My heart freezes in my throat, chokingly

lovely.

“Afraid that I would be punished.” I say.

“Punished for what?” she asks. I drop my head, so I am staring

down at the carpet. She will be mad if I tell her, but I must. I will be

rewarded for my honesty.

“For I have looked out the window, Mother.” I cannot look up. I

cannot stand to see the disappointment shroud her beauty.

“What for?”

“To see the world, for I hope someday you will allow me.”

“My dear, ignorant Kimmy.” Mother kneels down, and lifts my

head so we are eye to eye. “You know I can’t let you do that.”

I lower my head once more. “I know, Mother.”

“Do you know why?” she asks.

“Yes, Mother,” I say.

“Tell me.”

I turn my head, so I cannot see her out of the corners of my

eyes. I am ashamed of my request, and of my narcissistic thoughts.

“I shall not stain the beauty of the world,” I recite. I know the

words by heart now. “I shall not let them see that I am ugly. I will not allow

myself to dirty the world, or lessen it for those more deserving of its

presence. I am nothing to this world, and I ask you now to please forgive

my sins. My life is in your hands.”

At the final words my eyes flick to the knife hanging on the wall.

It is as large as my forearm and shines even in the dark when there is no

light for it to steal. If I were ever to disappoint Mother so much, that knife

would be my final cry. Yet if I were to impress her, it would be the thing to

bring me beauty such as hers.

“You know what you are, but tell me, what am I?”

“You are beautiful, Mother.”

“Good.” Mother smiles, and stands up. She turns to leave,

stroking the knife as she does so. “Kimmy, Kimmy, Kimmy,” she

says. “Your life is in my hands.”

She picks the knife up from the wall, lets it hang by her leg. She

smiles down at me. “Tonight I will make you beautiful.”

My heart flutters in my chest as she leaves through the door. For

my life I have wished to be beautiful, to be looked upon by the world, and

be allowed to look back.

I skip to the wall that hangs hidden in the closet. There I study

myself, and wonder what changes will be made. My hair is long and hangs

straight down in one even spill of red. It shines like the knife, stealing the

light. My eyes are blue and wide; lashes surround them, dark and fanning

out. My arm is like a snapped twig, thin and smooth. My skin, which has no

bumps or valleys like Mother’s is worthy of despise. It is smooth like spilled

milk, and nothing like the wonder of Mother’s beautiful desert.

I am ugly; I am unworthy to have eyes laid upon me. I am

wretched. I am nothing more than a hideous unwanted creature. But that will

all change soon.

I smile, and even my teeth, so white and straight, cannot still

my joy. For Mother will make me beautiful tonight.

Even now I can hear her sharpening the knife.

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This is my first attempt at writing in first person present tense. I'm much more the kind of person to stick to one form of writing and never change. But I decided to try something new, so...this is it. Definently a change from my usual, eh? Tell me how you like it!

Thanks!

-JC