Crack Attack: A Collection of One-Shots and Other Disturbing Shit

Rorschach (Open Ship)

My key untwists the many locks, revealing the darkened rooms inside. I walk lightly over the red, stained rug across the living room floor, reminiscing about our last wild night months ago, restless and filled with quiet moans and heart-moving laughter. I tread silently across the sleek, spotless black and white marble tiles, my personal daily Rorschach test. I peek around the corner, half expecting him to be sitting on the couch. Dark silence, nothing more. I muffle my footsteps to keep from waking him from his deep slumber down the hall.

I place the fresh, sweet-smelling red roses in the empty, dust-covered vase across our room, the familiar, tangy scent of our room bringing me back to other times in other places. Even if he woke up right now, he wouldn't open his eyes to face me. He doesn't see what I do for him, the sacrifices I make, the labor I endure, the life I forego to always come back to him. He doesn't see the losses I take to keep him here with me, safe in my arms at night and away from the cruel, cold world. I've done everything I can to protect him from them and, most of all, from himself.

I carefully sink into the mattress next to him, watching for any response and seeing only stillness and increasingly dark circles under his eyes. I'm wrapped up in the scent of him - of us - and his tired and empty face reforms into the sweet and cheerful boy I remember.

How did we fall so far?

How did I lose him like this?

If he were awake, he would turn the other way. If he saw me here, I'm sure he would run.

I grab the still, clammy hand that slipped out of the duvet and hold it until I can feel his intoxicating warmth again. I miss when he would look at me the way I still look at him, with the glimmer in his eyes and the teasing smile playing around his mouth. I miss the days before he threatened to fly away; he couldn't take those words back, no matter how he tried. I gaze up at his tear-battered cheeks in the dimming light, feeling more warm trails streaking across mine.

I close my eyes and drift away on the scent of love and roses.

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When you looked at this chapter, what did you read?

 - A. A quickly failing relationship

 - B. Someone trying to help their partner overcome suicidal tendencies

 - C. Someone keeping a murdered corpse in their bed for a month

 - D. Something else (please comment below)

What does that say about you?