Malachi Perish: A Collection of Short Stories

Chapter I: A New Partner

Malachi Perish: A Collection of Short Stories

By TheDirector

Chapter I: A New Partner

**DISCLAIMER: ANDREA KELLY AND ZOEY KELLY ARE NOT MY CHARACTERS. THEY ARE THE PROPERTY OF YOLILMONSTA. MALACHI PERISH, BY RIGHT, IS MY CHARACTER. THIS IS A STORY BASED ON A REAL ROLEPLAY THAT YOLILMONSTA AND MYSELF MADE. THE STORY LINE IS NOT SUPPOSED TO MAKE SENSE. READ AT YOUR OWN DISCRETION.**

            It's been years since I've studied a single flower.

            Each time I do, I feel a prickle of pain nipping at my nervous system.

           First it starts within the deepest confines of my heart. It's nestled inside me like a splinter that wedges itself deeper and deeper into my flesh each time I think about it. Then it wriggles free and crawls its way up my throat and into my brain, carrying with it pictures of old faces that I try to hide from. I've deluded myself into thinking that if I do not see them I will not feel the pain they bring.

            I sit here, quiet as a stone, and pick the flower by the base of its stem. It makes a crisp, snapping noise like freshly cut grass. It's white with purple streaks growing from the center of the petals to the edges, as if someone had carefully taken the time to smudge a small burst of purple watercolor along its soft complexion with a paintbrush.

            The wind rushes roughly by, causing the loose flaps of my gray blazer to slap and hug my body tightly like disciplinary arms. I twist the flower around between my index finger and thumb, watching it spiral in a clockwise motion and then counterclockwise, back and forth.

            Flowers are so delicate. One would think that there are enough flowers on this planet; that the world could care less if humans picked them one by one into mere extinction. A flower for each second. But if there is one thing that Elsie and my mom has taught me, it is that the world is alive, and Mother Nature is connected through all living things, no matter how numerous. It is their faces that I see in the flowers, their voices that I hear in the trees, the wind. They were both so in love with the earth we all share, the oceans we all navigate, the skies we all long to taste. I couldn't get it.

            I never could, though I tried. A part of me wanted to be like them, if I can be honest with myself. I admired their freedom of mind, their comfort with the world despite its ugliness, because—to them—it wasn't ugly. It was just as it is, and that was enough for them.

            But I hate the world and its inhabitants.

            They all make me sick. Being like Elsie or my mom is an impossibility for someone like me, and then I remember just exactly who I am.

            A murderer.

            Malachi Perish, a cold-blooded, bottomless soul that viciously tore a brother away from his sister just because he wanted to be cruel.

            That is what made me so different from Elsie and my mother, the two who always seemed to find the beauty in everyone else, even those who seemed to possess cold stones for hearts and empty eyes like hollow logs. So quick to forgive, those two. I was one of those people they learned to really see for who they really are. But unlike most that often pushed people like Elsie and my mother away, I actually listened to them.

            Maybe because I cared, even if it was just a little.

            As I examine the flower, I hear Elsie's voice inside my head like an echo within a cave, the phrase I always hear when I'm alone by myself in the woods. I see the white and pink hem of her dress flaying in the wind as I stare forward, and slowly, I pick my eyes up and let them ascend until her face comes into view, her gentle smile, her small hand as it touches my cheek like my mother used to do.