PANA
As I'm the body prophesied to bear a child of a corpse, not any soul must smell the stink of this betrayal. The exceptional pleasure of reproducing a human through intercourse is the first time I put myself first. Thus I, who was a child made in the purest process made by love, am also a woman who wanted her child to be created in the same heavenly way.
We'll see. One day, I may regret this. Maybe not. I honestly don't know. All certain is I cannot have him with me in the way I dream but his child might have me, until I'm afoot away into a selfish new beginning, the truest home to be built, and to this man to be finally free living alive even—ultimately without me and this offspring soon to thrive.
This filthy mirror stares back at a weight of rot crawling around my neck like a growing mold, increasing slowly but hideous each time, an active suicide note. It feels nothing and smells nothing likewise just unattractiveness. Tonight, I'll be the living ghost standing in this forbidden house where the painful screams of a child echo like burning shadows from the past to be remembered. A forbidden home, forgotten as an eternal punishment.
To hell's merit, I'm alone with this fallen angel in his living bare body walking behind and closer to stand next to his victim defined as I am. Other than my female anatomy and a bruised sensation crippling my hips— I can't let him ask for another activity of false loving no matter if he begs this time. My fearful anticipation even worsens as his stares pierce my clouded reflection ignoring his own.
"Your decay" his whisper moved by appreciating my neck decorated by deep partial rots not ashamed to this eye admiring, "...I missed that," he noted. My dead man is a necrophile.
"Your eye." I returned while buttoning my sleeve back together, guided by my glance at his influencing image overtaking my view, "...I missed him" I teased back.
He bobbed slowly once, "I miss it too" he replied.
His friskiness compelled one of my brows cocked up, "I meant... a target" I muttered in derision expressed in a blank defying stare. A hissing smirk slips on his lips on the end, one I playfully imitated as my own retort that made him chuckle a tender noise I long to be reprised.
Even if it's a piece of luck carrying a child made of this man's gifted flesh, there's no way our bodies failed to reproduce considering the labor of our five hours of merging raw. A tiny human, a baby, a successor of his physicality, a brain beautifully smarter than me. Now, fearful is I am if I ever wasn't made as a mother.
Footsteps that mustn't be here poke my idle thoughts, crunching over the rocky ground nearby the outer corner with the smell of haunting aspiration not to be caught. To my interest for pry, I folded the window blinds narrowly open just to be welcomed by a view of the dead neighborhood that seemingly wasn't. Setting aside the footsteps' existence to its own, we caught a fleeting gaze upon the silhouettes beyond the windows of every home where I think I might've found my friends, doing things as normal people would do in this quarter of 12.
YOU ARE READING
Empty: Book 2
Science FictionThe continuation of 'Empty' Chapters 29-45 (epilogue) As the secrets behind her death unfolded, Locke Arrow- who was also known as Pana; was opted to become affiliated with her brother's criminal organization aiming to assassinate for the sake of h...
