The girl from the mire: part 3. The uroboros is a Möbius strip. The curtain is drawn. The raven is alive.
Wattpad version still in writing process. I'm letting it sit for a bit before I finish and edit about a thousand more times.
18+ graphic viole...
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The girl from the mire: part 3
EPILOGUE
"She's coming for us again!!!"
The world that Patricia knows in this moment is coated in the sensation of a million broken shards, mirrored around the incorporeal murkiness of near total tenebrosity. One dim pot light faintly hangs shadows at the entrance before the darkness of the destroyed lobby. Under that tiny burdened haze, she is watching the door. Sweat coats the entirety of her body under her clothes. A butchers cleaver is partially hacked into the blood coated wall beside her. And she is watching the door. Sweat drips into her sorrow, into her eyes and so she wipes her face. Watching the door. Waiting for her fear to show itself. Waiting for Death. Watching the door.
She can hear her own terrified breathing. It's like her soul is shivering out of her mouth and is silently wishing ascendance into the unknown afterlife. Perhaps the Hades underworld. Or a reincarnation. Even eternal recurrence would give her time for the next inevitability. It's less of a death wish to eat a bullet now and be anywhere but here, anywhere but in this moment, this piece of time. Anywhere but this caesura between what horror has happened and what horror is soon to come through that door. That white steel, blood drenched door. It reminds Patricia of a rabbit that her dad shot when she was little. White fur exploding crimson upon white snow. Warmth becoming cold as life leaked away. She remembers her tears freezing to her cheeks and her father's rough hands wiping the tiny icicles from her eyelashes.
"I love your heart, my little girl. But life feeds on life. We must be fed as does time. One day we all become the rabbit in the snow. The trick is to know that this is what we are and to then make the best of what life is before that moment. Promise me you'll make the best of it."
Patricia never answered her father. She never promised anything to him. He was a brutal man but he taught her to shoot. He taught her to kill. Maybe her actions were more of an answer than a child's word.
An hour ago her father became the rabbit in the snow. An hour ago, Death tore his head off and smashed it into the concrete and composite vinyl tile floor, exploding his pink brains like a boot stomping on pieces of vomit. It made the sounds of morsels and broken skull sloshing in thick red muddy liquid. Patricia could only watch as people all around her fled. Her friends pulled her away from what was to come.
Her sister died as well. A few minutes before her dad. Muerte walked through the door and no one knew it. That thing was disguised as a friend who was supposed to be dead. Terra was dead. How was she walking through the door? Paula didn't see the monster coming. She had turned around to give her friend a hug. What everyone thought was Terra, that pale skinned reddish blonde waif, twisted Paula's head all the way around and snapped her beautiful face from her neck.
Then Paula's boyfriend, Mark, attacked Death. She grabbed his throat and tersely laughed as if her voice was playing through an old, crackly record player. She opened her mouth wide and her voice came out without her lips moving. "Boo!"
