07
FALSE
PROPHETS
▿ ▿ ▿
WHEN HER MOTHER passed away, she felt nothing.
She was glad she didn't have to listen to her mother cry anymore.
Her mother just didn't get it. All her mother did was cry and cry and cry. Her father was just trying to protect her when he did it. Her father was just trying to help.
At least, that's what he told her. To protect her from all the monsters in the world.
Her mother just didn't see that. And now she was gone. Gone. Gone like the dust in the wind. Like whispers in the dark.
The funeral was short and empty. People didn't care much. She didn't care much. She just sat and listened as everyone whispered about abuse and the mentally ill.
They didn't know what they were talking about. People talked too fucking much.
They gave her looks of pity, light pats on the shoulder, and a million hollow sorry's. And then they left because in reality, they just didn't care.
But she sat there, for hours, long after the service had ended and the church had darkened. She just sat and stared. Sat and stared.
Her mother was so fucking foolish. Death? That was permanent. That was forever.
She sat and she sat, her fingers digging deep into her skin. Pain. Pain was temporary. Pain was good. Why did she have to go and die?
There was an empty pit in her stomach. She was hurting herself but all she wanted to do was dig herself inside-out and bury that horrible, petrified feeling rooted in her heart.
She was bleeding now. She was crying now.
Was God judging her?
Shaking her head, she stood and wiped the blood and tears on her black dress. She cursed the damned church she was in, cursed her dead, stupid mother, cursed herself.
When she stepped outside, he was waiting for her, leaning against a wall, cigarette dangling from his mouth.
He looked like a devil dressed as an angel. She stared at him for a moment and wondered if she was going to die too.
She didn't say anything when he looked up and smiled. She was probably crying.
He always did like it when she cried.
He handed her the cigarette and she gladly took it. The nicotine burned its way down her lungs, crawling its way into her poisoned veins. It took everything in her not to press the scorching end into her skin.
He wouldn't like that. He was all she had now.
It's okay, baby. I'll take care of you now, he said. His voice was low and raspy, soothing and familiar.
You'll be okay. I promise, he said.
But she knew better.
God, she was sick of these false prophets.
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Cruel Intentions | ✓
Short Story"Love me like you want to break me." Is it really love if it isn't cruel? #1 - deranged #3 - madlove
