Will I ever make it home....: She said no.

Will I ever make it home....

Wednesday, July 12, 2006

She said no.

Saw this in this : The Scheherazade Project: How To Play and thought it was a fantastic idea for those who like stretching their creative muscle. See if you can figure out the theme, after reading.....Thanks!

"No!", she repeated in a firm tone. I hated when she did that. It made me angry inside. Like I could burst at the seams, but I kept my face expressionless. My eyes blank, not presenting the hysteria inside. I struggled to control the very emotions running through me.

I turned away, sighing silently to myself. Feeling the heaviness of my feet as I trudged on forward. I could feel my lips cracking in middle. They were splitting in momentum with my deepest manifestations. The metallic taste of blood rushed in my mouth. I urged my mouth not to spit. I choked back the swallow as I felt the very life of me spilling into my mouth.

I felt her hand on my shoulder. Cold, dead almost as if the inner iciness had frozen her solid, from inside out. I struggled to not look down at the many rings and embellishments on her overly adorned hands. The veins, the rings, the spots were all like a secret playground that only invited itself in short irritated burst to me. I yearned for a warm, comforting touch. For someone like me. For another soul. She squeezed my shoulder, frantically. Spun me around so rigidly, I could feel the fluid spinning in my head. I almost heard the movement of her tongue agaisnt the back of her lips, it reminded me of moth wings on a screen door. Dry rasping out of her jagged mouth, her violent voice demanded adoration that I was unwilling to give.

"I said NO!". A rapid surge of power came from those seemingly fragile hands. I felt the hand ornaments tear my skin. Only the faint aroma of anguish left behind. She would instill it in me, since I would not let it be born of itself. I felt the discharge of blood. It flashed in the light, reflecting from red, to blue, to purple, to black in a single blink. As if synchronized with the blood my emotions went from rage, to heartbreak, to calm, to numbness before the light. The droplets sprayed everywhere. And yet I did not turn my head away this time. A smoldering took over my cheek.

I looked down to my own two hands. I tried to reach the grass below me. To feel the warmth of it. The everlasting life in every blade. A tear swam in my eye, I blinked it back. Inside I was bemusing myself with the beauty of the grass. The warmth of the sun. I felt the rush of warmth on my palm, and before I could extend it, I heard the coarse leather move stealthily in the wind. The whip arrived onto my open palm.

You see, I wasn't always so disobedient. I was once a beautiful performer, my "partner" and I so equal and so disimilar in size and charisma. Our audaciousness, of raw force and dainty grace ridiculed similar acts. I never understood my own worth. Or how I was this special creature. Never before had the world gazed upon a being of my magnitude. I was extraordinary and rare. Something you could fantasize about as a child, but would forget about once you discovered the falseties of being an adult.

I was the world's first. Maybe not the world's last. But I was unusual, and stunningly beautiful. Not only in size, but my fur was exotic. It was the most iridescent azure. It varied from sky to robin's egg blue, extending from head to toe. My skin was a striking navy, contrasting agaisnt my coat. I was larger than any other primate in the world. And I was magnificent!

I had been exhibited around the world. Pictures were taken of my ice blue eyes, and my crooked smile. I could have been the envy of every living primate. Snowflake (the albino gorilla) was no match for me. My trainer was a brusque woman, with a taste for anger and fear of nothing. She probably was the devil herself. She detested me and my so called "spoiled-ness". Abusing me with her whip, and shredding me with her tongue. I was being trained to be angry. To be violent.

I envisioned breaking out one day, lashing out to this fragile creature who kept me in apprehension and captivity. I would tear her flesh open with unembellished hands, and I would not have a whispering anger in my tone. I would have an enormous remarkable voice that would feed terror into those hissing veins of her hand. I would be the very fury to make that cold statue into a living being once more. I would become the ultimate femme fatale.

The Theme

Did you get it?

posted by The Devil @ 1:37 PM

2 Comments:

At 3:01 PM, AndyT13 said…

If I may say so I think this is the best of the entries. Brilliant concept, peerlessly excecuted. I bow before your greatness. No, seriously. Wow. This is amazing.
At 6:43 PM, The Devil said…

Thanks! I thought your direction was morbidly enticing, so I thought I would take a different direction with it.

I am glad I found you guys, cus I can finally use my creative muscle again!