Trouble Approaching
All my life, I have known the worst things that should never come alive. I have completed most of my life sentence to which I am cursed, but this final matter is what will resolve and unite the missing puzzle pieces of my life. I thought I could drastically change my life back. I never have and I never will. My life has been horrorific, terrible and isolating. Compared to animals, I am the animal. Unusually, my name is Crystal, a mysterious name which apparently was given to me because of my glass-like eyes that 'draw' people in. Past, future or present, people have unwillingly survived living around me. However, there are some, unfortunates, that have passed because of my carelessness. And that's why I am here today.
Eerily, I drifted soulessly through the ancient hollow oak doors. So dark, it was almost like cinnamon and chocolate had invaded my sight. Unaware of my surroundings, I was not steady on my feet. I was a newborn giraffe getting the tremors out of my long, slim legs. Trembling, I took a deep and reassuring breath and counted from ten. Ten...Nine...I could hear footfalls announcing their way into the worn out corridor...Eight...Seven...I wasn't sure of where I was, but I just carried on, awaiting my perpetrator. Dreamily, I finished my haze of a countdown and kept treading ahead on the oak floor. The surroundings were perfect. Dingy, cold and dull walls covered in sloppily layered wallpaper, obviously to match the dark and sinister pattern of the approaching carpet that made my spine shake and shiver. Almost as if there was a draft. Strangely, there were no open doors or windows; my footsteps like a cacophony of whispers scraping against the grain.
My hand never shifted from my gun. It was my priority as my protection was key to my lifestyle. However, there have been times where I have been weak and naive. I would attach to anyone because I had no one, not even my own parents. Ever since I was at the potential peak of adulthood, my parents were nowhere to be seen. They never returned my helpless calls. I always rememebered that one and only evening that was normal.
December 21st 2010
Round the fire, the warmth radiated off of my face and sent delightful shivers down my arms and legs. My family: mum, dad and myself, cuddling for even more warmth to scare off the cold from the December chill. The minute living room cream walls plastered in decorative gear. Tinsel, Baubles, Christmas cards. The lot. In the far corner, standing tall, was the Christmas tree. Gigantic, slim and festive, the explosion of colour all over our living room from just that thing. It was almost Christmas and excitement glowed off of my skin into everyone's wellbeing. I loved my family, we were all normal citizens. People that loved and cared for one and another.
At Christmas, I recieved nothing as my parents were long gone. They decided to disappear on Chrsitmas Eve, the time for gift buying and festiveness. Although, when I was collecting up my few things to go live with my friends, I found a wooden box. The sandalwood was smooth and attractive on my fingers. It was light and soft in my hands, it was like holding a feather. The small box had a mysterious energy to it. Automatically, I wanted to know what was inside. I gently open the delicate box, only to find a note and triplet bullets. On the note it read "I am not sorry for leaving you, here lies the objects that you will, someday, kill me with. From your adoring mother"
I picked up one of the triplet bullets, the metal cool against my fingers and more smooth than the petite sandalwood box. It glittered and shimmered off of the little light in the room. The bullets each had skillful engraved writing on them. On them, it read "Power." A simple word that meant a lot to me. This single word was what made my life and would, most probably, kill me too. This single word was reality and inspiring. This was the object that would kill my mother. She was always one for suprises.
Reality
Suddenly, I heard the frightening footfalls again. My heart racing, I gathered up my thoughts and checked that my own feet were grounded thoroughly to the sleek oak floor. Turning, I see nothing but intent blackness, my shadow not clear enough to see who and what I am. Then, silence. Maybe it's my conscience? I should really be at home, in a warm welcoming bed, wrapped up with a nice steaming hot mug of hot chocolate. With extra marshmallows, of course. Temptation was killing me. My conscience reminds me that I have to finish this, no matter what.
Blood pumping intensely, I continued my daring quest without a thought of worry of what was coming next. I should of let my temptation kill me. I was in my haven of temptation, when a draping and shallow figure aprroached. Gentle footfalls sped up my heartbeat and multiplied the thoughts racing visciously through my head.
"Well, well, well, look who we have here" said my mother, no friendliness oozing out of her.
"Hello, mother. Wondering why I am here?" She knew the answer already, but I wanted to see if she had the courage to speak her own petty little mind.
"Oh, I know alright. Recieved my present?" Her sly wink sent me off the rails. I couldn't bring myself to look at her face. I did, eventually. Wrinkles had sunken her once beautiful face. Her cheeks were deflated and her eyes, or should I say unemotional glass balls, made her seem souless. Lastly, her once thick brown hair had withered and become frail.
A intense memory appears in my mind, blocking my vision.
"I woke up. Blackness. The floor, under my feet, felt like marshmallow due to my unslightly legs. I couldn't feel any of my body. Stomp, stomp. The whisper of voices. Hushed tones. He was here.
Taking out my needed and trusty knife, I cut carefully through all of the thick binded ropes that were cutting off my blood circulation. I aggressively took my stance and grabbed my gun that was calling for me on the cold and lonely metal desk that occupied the nearest corner of the room.
He entered the room. His name Steve (Also known as Sly, for his persuasion.) A wealthy man with glossy green eyes and luscious dark muddy brown hair. Honestly, for a person that could kill you at any time, he scrubbed up well. Before he could properly enter the room, I fired the bullets. In slow motion, the energy that powered off of the bullets was fascinating. They glowed when they travelled through that time taken to cross the room. He was dead before he even knew it."
Swiftly, I was snatched out my reverie by the smell of smoke. While in my day dream, my mother had taken the time to light a cigarette. She was already tired. Her figure was the same, yet her face had fallen and made her seem 60, when she was in her 40s. The thin and medium sized cigarette glowed in between her fingers, the white paper being burnt within a blink and the white hot ash flicking off the end. Once she had finished, the game really started.
This all happened very fast. I grabbed my slick and bold gun, her presents loaded already. She gripped her own similar gun. (Picture this) Twins, but one much younger, holding guns towards each other in hate. This one day that I have waiting for, has finally come and there needs to be an ending. Some people, if they really knew about what I have been searching for, they would be shocked and abandon me, just like my parents. For all the pain that they caused me, I needed to do this.
Before firing, I asked a teasing question, that I have wanted to know the answer for, for years "Where's Dad?"
This happens even quicker. She shot her bullets first. The pain was excruciating. The hated bullets delved into my chest, past my worn and old t-shirt, so deep, it was like diving into the devil's own saliva. As I said my last and final goodbyes, I looked intensely into my killer's eyes. Still no emotion. My own mother had killed me.
"He's dead darling. I killed him." She spat in my face and changed before me, into the devil incarnate. Pains in my chest defended my consciousness, yet I drifted soulessly into a peaceful sleep. My job would never be finished. Never.
