She didn't notice how hard she gripped the knife in her hand, nor the whiteness of her knuckles. She started slicing longitudinal sections of her arm, ignoring the pain as she peeled off layers of epidermis. Only the corner of her mouth and her clenching jawline conveyed any of the agony she experienced; but she reminded herself as a mantra 'it will be worth it if it gets rid of the Trace.' She winced, immediately forgetting the cause as she carried on. All of this evil had to go! She had to get rid of the evils on her. She had to get rid of the Trace or He would find her. Slowly, steadily, to try and reduce the torture, she pulled back the skin, layer after layer flayed, till all that remained was flesh, and even there the golden runes glittered impertinently amidst the pink and red and purple.
She couldn't stop! So what if He got her arm? So what? Small price to pay for her life! She was sick of it! She wanted to be freed. The layer of skin rolled up her arm like a fine curl of chocolate. She looked into the distance to take her mind off her work as she hacked at the flesh. Wince. Chocolate. Jaw clenched. That heavenly goodness she had lost, along with her appetite.
Ouch! Her arm suddenly stung in addition to the background pain. Droplets were sliding down her face, in quick succession too. Where had they come from? They welled at her chin, falling with force on her wound.
It burnt. She knew now the origin of the old adage about rubbing salt into a cut. Blood swelled and spewed amid the stream of tears. It hurt so much. She looked down involuntarily, and glimpsed her arm. Bile rose up her throat, pouring out of her mouth in a sour sea of muriatic acid diluted by scraps of stomach contents, hastily moving her cuts out of the way. She hadn't eaten in years, or months, or hours. Who knew? Who cared? She wiped her mouth with the back of the hand carrying the knife, but again saw her wrist. She felt the stomach contents eat at her teeth.
With the emptying of her gastric system came a feverish clarity of mind. She tried to roll the skin back on, and stick it down with sticking plasters and tapes. Whatever was at hand. Maybe the blood would clot and hold it together like a glue. It would hurt like Hell (well almost). She bit her tongue to blood while sticking it down, adding to the already large amount of bodily fluid seeping out of her. The tapes didn't stay; they slid over the pus and red fluid.
She must have lost half a pint of blood by now, she couldn't see straight anymore, it hurt too much, things stung and spun in a sea of bile and the gentle rap at the door sounded like the gates of the Forbidden Lands closing behind her. She fell.
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FYI. She isn't dead.
YOU ARE READING
The Trace
Teen FictionWeird series of ficlets that work together to be semi coherent. You don't need to read them in any particular order, it was written in a completely different order. The way it is arranged by 'chapter' is purely coincidental. Also, the titles have no...
