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"Red Lines"

She lay there, crumpled in the corner. She willed the walls to hide her, protect her. Anything. The sobs jerked her battered body, echoing off the cold stone walls. She squeezed her eyes shut as hard as she could. She wanted the nothingness to consume her. She waited, like a cat in a bag, waiting to drown, for the next crippling blow to land. Her fists were clenched, her fingernails embedded deep into the palms of her hands. She squeezed harder and the blood oozed slowly. Again and again she heard it. The far off thuds of the club pummelling her into the floor. The pain made her wretch.
Why? Why me? What could I have done to deserve this? Please someone help me. Anyone. Please.
She flinched as the golf club hit the ground. The footsteps died away. She didn’t dare open her eyes. She lay, crippled, in the darkness, her body shaking uncontrollably. She straightened her leg, biting her lip to prevent her from screaming, and brought the other leg up to her chest. A small whimper escaped her lips and she bit harder. The sharp metallic tang of blood warmed her tongue. Wincing she slid her top up over her ribs.
Worst yet.
The flesh was a vivid yellowy purple colour. It looked like the skin of a corpse, not a thirteen-year-old girl. Her whole body was throbbing. She could still feel the distant drumming of the beat on her body. Her consciousness ebbed slowly away, leaving only numbness.
Let me be dead.
The darkness consumed her. She lay there, a hollow, crumpled half-shadow. Her bones poked through the bruised yellow skin, her body twisted and contorted. She could easily have been dead. You couldn’t hear her breathing; there was only the soft sound of her heart beating through the darkness.


They were only a pale ghostly yellow now. A faded stain on her smooth skin, nothing more. Her ribs had healed long ago, and soon so would the bruises. Nothing hurt anymore. She could feel no pain. She drew the tip of the blade across the skin. This was nothing. She sliced another. Still nothing. This time she gauged deep into the flesh. She didn’t even wince. The blood trickled from the cuts, smearing over her leg as she cut deeper and deeper.
Hate me she read. The vivid red lines she carved in the skin were turning darker. She watched as the blood hardened slowly. She had promised herself she wouldn’t cry. After that night, nothing had hurt her, and she was determined nothing ever would. But she couldn’t stop. The tears stained red lines down her face as she sobbed into her hands. Her eyes stung. She’d never cried like this in her life. The pain was unbearable. Not physical pain, that she could handle but the pain she felt now wasn’t that. She’d never felt anything like it before. She cried out in anguish.
Make it stop. Make it stop!
Before this, her heart was a black hole. Now she didn’t have a heart. She wasn’t sure which one was better, but she knew anything was better than this. Somehow, the pain she was feeling she couldn’t control. She wanted to scream. She wanted it to end. She begged the darkness,
Please! Anyone!
The desire to feel no pain, to know no pain overwhelmed her. In one swift movement, it was done. Instantly, all her despair, all her desperation, her anguish slowly ebbed away into a crimson puddle on the floor. She still felt nothing. She wished she could. Maybe the pain would drown it out. She slashed at her wrist again, willing the pain to run through her body, anything to stop this feeling. Again and again she did it. She felt so helpless, so alone. There was no one to save her. No one who cared. She had lost everything. This time she meant it. She wanted to die.
She screamed in frustration.
Why aren’t I dying? Why doesn’t it hurt? Why cant I make it stop?! Someone! Anyone! PLEASE!
She was swallowed up by the sound of her screaming. Oh how she longed for the deep sweet dreaming. She filled the darkness with desperate screams.
Why?
Gradually her screams died down into gasping sobs, and she moved less frequently. The puddle grew and grew, seeping through her hair and into her clothes, staining the carpets, the floor. Soon only the sound of her heart remained. But it kept beating.


I still can’t cease the fear of silent nights. I wish I had died that night. A release from everything. All I wanted was to get away. Feel no pain, know no pain.
Some nights I wake up screaming. The scars still bleeding in my mind. My hair still congealed with half-dried blood, my clothes still stained red.
It’s a nightmare and I can’t wake up.




She lay there, crumpled in the corner. She willed the walls to hide her, protect her. Anything. The sobs jerked her battered body, echoing off the cold stone walls. She squeezed her eyes shut as hard as she could. She wanted the nothingness to consume her. She waited, like a cat in a bag, waiting to drown, for the next crippling blow to land. Her fists were clenched, her fingernails embedded deep into the palms of her hands. She squeezed harder and the blood oozed slowly. Again and again she heard it. The far off thuds of the club pummelling her into the floor. The pain made her wretch.
Why? Why me? What could I have done to deserve this? Please someone help me. Anyone. Please.
She flinched as the golf club hit the ground. The footsteps died away. She didn’t dare open her eyes. She lay, crippled, in the darkness, her body shaking uncontrollably. She straightened her leg, biting her lip to prevent her from screaming, and brought the other leg up to her chest. A small whimper escaped her lips and she bit harder. The sharp metallic tang of blood warmed her tongue. Wincing she slid her top up over her ribs.
Worst yet.
The flesh was a vivid yellowy purple colour. It looked like the skin of a corpse, not a thirteen-year-old girl. Her whole body was throbbing. She could still feel the distant drumming of the beat on her body. Her consciousness ebbed slowly away, leaving only numbness.
Let me be dead.
The darkness consumed her. She lay there, a hollow, crumpled half-shadow. Her bones poked through the bruised yellow skin, her body twisted and contorted. She could easily have been dead. You couldn’t hear her breathing; there was only the soft sound of her heart beating through the darkness.


They were only a pale ghostly yellow now. A faded stain on her smooth skin, nothing more. Her ribs had healed long ago, and soon so would the bruises. Nothing hurt anymore. She could feel no pain. She drew the tip of the blade across the skin. This was nothing. She sliced another. Still nothing. This time she gauged deep into the flesh. She didn’t even wince. The blood trickled from the cuts, smearing over her leg as she cut deeper and deeper.
Hate me she read. The vivid red lines she carved in the skin were turning darker. She watched as the blood hardened slowly. She had promised herself she wouldn’t cry. After that night, nothing had hurt her, and she was determined nothing ever would. But she couldn’t stop. The tears stained red lines down her face as she sobbed into her hands. Her eyes stung. She’d never cried like this in her life. The pain was unbearable. Not physical pain, that she could handle but the pain she felt now wasn’t that. She’d never felt anything like it before. She cried out in anguish.
Make it stop. Make it stop!
Before this, her heart was a black hole. Now she didn’t have a heart. She wasn’t sure which one was better, but she knew anything was better than this. Somehow, the pain she was feeling she couldn’t control. She wanted to scream. She wanted it to end. She begged the darkness,
Please! Anyone!
The desire to feel no pain, to know no pain overwhelmed her. In one swift movement, it was done. Instantly, all her despair, all her desperation, her anguish slowly ebbed away into a crimson puddle on the floor. She still felt nothing. She wished she could. Maybe the pain would drown it out. She slashed at her wrist again, willing the pain to run through her body, anything to stop this feeling. Again and again she did it. She felt so helpless, so alone. There was no one to save her. No one who cared. She had lost everything. This time she meant it. She wanted to die.
She screamed in frustration.
Why aren’t I dying? Why doesn’t it hurt? Why cant I make it stop?! Someone! Anyone! PLEASE!
She was swallowed up by the sound of her screaming. Oh how she longed for the deep sweet dreaming. She filled the darkness with desperate screams.
Why?
Gradually her screams died down into gasping sobs, and she moved less frequently. The puddle grew and grew, seeping through her hair and into her clothes, staining the carpets, the floor. Soon only the sound of her heart remained. But it kept beating.


I still can’t cease the fear of silent nights. I wish I had died that night. A release from everything. All I wanted was to get away. Feel no pain, know no pain.
Some nights I wake up screaming. The scars still bleeding in my mind. My hair still congealed with half-dried blood, my clothes still stained red.
It’s a nightmare and I can’t wake up.

Yeah, I am trying to write a new story now, just can't think of a topic. :-S

Yeah - I always find that's a good way to write as well. It forces your mind where it wouldn't usually.
Ask someone (other than yourself) for the topic titles.

I did the same and won a GAD for "why water snakes are to blame for the lack of originality in games today'.

I just get stuck for ideas, and death pain etc. seems good thing to write about. If I am given a title or topic, I can normally write quite a good story just around that.

It was well written, but I didn't feel compelled to read it.
Probably because I've read it all before, and (indeed) written it myself.

That's why I've strayed away from the death/ destuction / disease strain of short prose lately. Because it's too easy.

Yeah sorry I did not realise I had posted the same one twice. Thanks for all the comments. If i have time I'll post another one in the nor so far off future.

Wasn't trying to be literary company, don't pay-tronise me.

*shrugs*

I ain't going to justify my suggestions. I forgot I was in such literary company.

G'night you craaaazy kids

I prefer metallic tang. "Tang" is a bit naff, but in two words it retains that punchiness that I feel is lost in your version. But your are writing at half ten, so only to be expected.

Hurrah.

Some of the writing leans towards phrases that I've read over and over again in horror stories.
Yellowing bruises, metallica tang of blood.

If you want to make it your own, put your own stamp onto it then just take a few extra moments to try and think of non-obvious descriptive narrative.
Yellowing Bruises? "she lifted her top and looked down. Instead of her once-pristine skin lay the rotten-fruit texture of where she had been used"
Metallic tang? "she swallow reflexively and gagged automatically, it was as if somebody had rammed pennies into her mouth and forced her to swallow"

That sort of thing.
Of course, I'm just another forum poster so what do I know?

You sound like a teacher already.