A HEART TO BLEED - Competition Entry
In the heart of a town cloaked in perpetual mist, where the fabric of reality seemed to fray at the edges, lived Alex, a soul ensnared by a curse so ghastly it seemed borne of the darkest recesses of imagination. This town, a character in its own right, whispered secrets through its fog-laden streets, secrets that clung to the very air like a second skin. Here, in the dimly lit corners where light dared not linger, Alex's tale unfolded—a narrative steeped in horror, a testament to a lineage accursed.
Alex's life, marked by an isolation as profound as the fog that enveloped his town, was overshadowed by a secret so dark it could only exist in whispers. This secret, a burden so heavy, rendered his existence a mere shadow of what could have been. Most days, he could distract himself enough to relegate this burden to the recesses of his mind, treating it like a nightmarish figment from a dream hastily forgotten upon waking. Yet, it was in moments of quietude, when the distractions of the day faded into the encroaching darkness, that the memories returned with a vengeance, unbidden and cruel.
On the night of February fourteenth, as the knife plunged into Aria's chest once more, these memories flooded back with an intensity that bordered on physical pain. Aria, with her patience and perseverance, had not deserved her fate. Alex, haunted and tormented, knew he hadn't deserved her either. His existence, fraught with complexities, had rendered him a difficult companion, yet Aria had remained, even when the town turned its back on her.
As she lay before him, her lifeblood painting a stark contrast against the dark wood floor, Alex felt an eerie detachment. "It isn't my fault," he rationalized, even as the knife tore through flesh, severing one piece from another. His world, a realm of shadows and whispers, was one where the boundaries between love and pain were not just blurred—they were nonexistent. This was the legacy he bore, a legacy where love was synonymous with sacrifice, a lesson imparted with a cruel clarity by his parents.
The term “a bleeding heart” taken quite literally.
"I don’t want to hurt you," his mother's whisper echoed in his mind, a haunting refrain that returned with every argument, every displeasure expressed by Aria. "But you won’t stop. All I wanted is your heart, so now I’ll take it." This memory, a specter from his past, clung to him, a reminder of the twisted love that ran through his family's veins.
Alex had been indoctrinated into this macabre belief system from an early age, taught that to love was to bleed in the most literal sense. It was a lesson demonstrated with horrific clarity during his first brush with love, a moment that had ended in agony and a physical manifestation of his family's curse. The sight of blood, a stark red against the fabric of his shirt, had been his initiation into a legacy of pain and loss.
Now, as he stood over Aria, the cycle repeated, the curse manifesting once more. But this time, Alex was not the witness but the perpetrator. Aria's final moments, marked by a struggle that ended only when her body could fight no more, were a grim testament to the depth of Alex's descent. She had tried to escape, to break free from the cycle, but the curse was unyielding, as inevitable as the mist that shrouded their town.
The act of taking Aria's heart was one of grotesque intimacy, a final confirmation of Alex's surrender to his family's dark legacy. The floor beneath him, once a mundane fixture of their home, now bore witness to the horror of his actions, sticky with blood and carrying the scent of death. This scent, a perverse reminder of his deed, stirred something primal within him, a hunger that was as much a part of him as the curse he bore.
As he took a step back, Alex's eyes, once filled with a tumultuous storm of emotions, now reflected a chilling calm. He had embraced his fate, accepted the teachings of his mother, and carried out his grim duty with a resolve that was as horrifying as it was absolute. The heart, still warm in his hands, was not just a symbol of his love for Aria but a testament to the curse that had dictated the course of his life.
This night, February fourteenth, would be remembered not as a celebration of love but as a commemoration of horror. As the mist continued to envelop the town, cloaking its streets in a blanket of silence, the echoes of Alex's actions would linger, a dark reminder of the thin line between love and madness. In this town, where secrets and curses intermingled freely, Alex's story was a grim addition to its lore, a tale of a bleeding heart that was all too literal, a love that was destined to end in tragedy.
As the dawn approached, bringing with it the promise of a new day, the mist began to recede, revealing a town forever changed by the events of the night. But for Alex, the dawn brought no solace, only the stark realization that he was now irrevocably bound to a legacy of bloodshed and sorrow. In the end, he was left to ponder the true nature of love and sacrifice, a pondering that would haunt him for the rest of his days, a prisoner of his own bleeding heart.
THE CHAIR
I hate this stupid chair. “Take a seat and try to relax” they say but how can I possibly relax when this chair is freezing cold and rock hard? Sitting in this chair used to mean I might get some help but I am not so sure anymore. It has become so predictable.
“How was your weekend?” she’ll ask followed by “Do you have anything new to tell us?”
No, I don’t, and even if I did have something to share nobody will believe me so what’s the point?
They think I am crazy but who gets to decide that? Only I do and I have decided that I’m not crazy. I’m just a little more in-tune than these idiots. What I am in-tune with I do not know, it seems to be a frequency only available to me. If only they knew how much information was being given to me and me alone. Being alone is something I am used to.
I am not truly alone though, I am surrounded by those who look out for me and help me up when I am down. Then again, they are the reason I am here. What am I even still doing here? I tried, I really did but everyone here just wants me to be “better”. Not one person here is willing to believe me.
If only they could see how full this room really is. In fact, it is so crowded I can barely breathe. A lot of new faces today, maybe they have just come to watch. Not my usual messengers. I would introduce myself but then she’ll give me the injection again. It will have to wait until I am out of this god-damned chair.
That one in the corner just called the doctor-lady a bitch. Ha! How fitting. He says that she never even finished her degree but is willing to do the job for less money than the “real” doctors. Imagine how upset she will be if I tell her I know.
I’m gonna tell her.
Screw it.
I am gonna tell her!
What have I got to lose?
She’s more upset than I anticipated she would be. I am not sure what she is more upset about. The fact that I knew or the fact that it made me laugh? At least now I know my friend’s don’t lie. The “session” has ended early. Thank goodness, I was running out of things to talk about.
FAREWELL, MY LOVE
He lies beneath my garage floor. There he can be nice and warm and no longer need to worry about the things that had him so worked up before. All he will know is the cold and damp. So, I am sure that he will feel at home there. I will cry for him, eventually. I have no choice. But they will not be tears of grief. Tears of joy are what will celebrate the life he left behind. Secret tears, cried in secret locations, for as far as anybody else is concerned, he is on holiday. A holiday from which he will not return, rendering me heartbroken, I think.
I will walk the Earth with a different purpose now. The land beneath my feet will feel like my own, the air that I breathe will taste like life, and the world I see will be in colour, for once. Even the snowy days might seem friendlier to me, for those days will still be mine. All my days are mine now. Let me stray from my path if I want. Who will stop me? He won’t. He couldn’t even try that now. I will dance in the rain and drink ‘til I drop and wear nothing at all if I feel like it.
While my body heals from its breaks and bruises, his will decay. While my mind feels freedom and comfort, his will feel the feeding of the cold, hard concrete. He will not feed the worms, or the Earth. He does not deserve their compassion, and hard work.
I figure that, eventually, someone will start to miss him. I can’t tell you why. I mean, I sure won’t. And they can do what they want with me. Drag me away, lock me up and chain me to my bed if they must. I will still not be as trapped as I was then.
When that day arrives, I will leave my home, lock my door and say, “Farewell, my love.”
And my life will still be mine. My choices will still be my own, and my freedom will still run wild, while he lies beneath my garage floor.
