Shy

Shy

Status: In Progress

Genre: Young Adult

Houses:

Details

Status: In Progress

Genre: Young Adult

Houses:

Summary

Murder. Madness. Poetry. To most people, Shy Phillips must look like an ordinary teenage girl. Unique? Sure. A bit weird? Maybe. But Psychotic? Surely not, she seems so nice. But Shy is fighting a losing battle with her inner demons and if those demons win, nobody is safe.
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Summary

Murder. Madness. Poetry. To most people, Shy Phillips must look like an ordinary teenage girl. Unique? Sure. A bit weird? Maybe. But Psychotic? Surely not, she seems so nice. But Shy is fighting a losing battle with her inner demons and if those demons win, nobody is safe.

Chapter1 (v.1) - The Fly

Chapter Content - ver.1

Submitted: April 22, 2017

Reads: 110

A A A | A A A

Chapter Content - ver.1

Submitted: April 22, 2017

A A A

A A A

Hello

My name's Shy. It's actually Shylock but that's a boy's name and I hate it so I go by Shy. My therapist told me I should keep a journal so that I could find a way to express myself, he thinks that there are things I don't tell him. He's right.
 
My therapist is nice. His name is Dr Spring but I can call him Tony. He doesn't like me to call him Tony, says it's unprofessional, but he also doesn't stop me. Tony is tall, around 6ft, he has no hair on his head but a little goatee on his face. He wears glasses and turtleneck jumpers. I like Tony, but not enough to kill him.
 
You have my Mother to blame for my terrible name, she's a ridiculous Shakespeare fan and wanted to name me after one of his characters. Shylock is a character in The Merchant of Venice, or so she tells me, I haven't read it. Why couldn't I have been called Juliette? Or Desdemona? Heck, even Bottom would have been a better name than Shylock, but that's the name I was given.
 
There are things I'd rather be doing than writing this. I do want to express myself, but this isn't the way that I would choose to do it. There is only one way that I could really, truly express who I am but Father tells me that it's wrong, that I shouldn't kill people, so I don't. 
 
I killed my first creature when I was four years old. It was a hot summer and there were two flies buzzing around the living room so Father was waving a newspaper around, trying to knock them out of the air. He was swinging the August the 4th 2003 copy of the Sun around like he was King Kong trying to knock planes out of the sky but to no avail. Suddenly, he stopped and everything was silent. A fly had landed on the window and Father's hunter's instinct kicked in. I watched, cross legged on the sofa, as he slowly raised the newspaper above his head and then smacked it down on the unsuspecting insect. All that was left of the fly on the window was a black smudge. I was fascinated, there was a fly, it was alive and buzzing around, I had enjoyed watching it whizz around the room without a care and then, suddenly, it was dead. It wasn't buzzing anymore, it wasn't flying, it wasn't annoying Father. For all intents and purposes, it didn't exist anymore but I could still feel it. The fly had transcended physical existence and now existed only in the minds of myself and my Father, those present for it's death.
 
I asked father if he wanted any help catching the remaining fly.
"Sure" he chuckled and offered me the newspaper but I didn't take it; I had a better plan. I stood completely still in the centre of the room and listened for the fly.
"Buzz!"
I turned around and there it was, flittering about in the corner of the room. I approached slowly. I had been observing these creatures for a while now and hypothesised that the best way to catch one was to be at it's level. I wasn't superior to the fly, nor was it superior to me, it was my equal and that was how I would catch it.
 
I cupped my hands and approached the fly. I was moving so slowly that it didn't even register me as a threat. Father watched curiously as I stalked my prey. It didn't take long for the fly to get curious and want to find out more about me. "Who is this girl?" it must have thought. Flying over to get a closer look, it landed in my hands and that was when I closed them, trapping it but keeping it very much alive.
 
"Did you get it? " Father asked, watching me as I sat back down on the sofa silently. I could feel the creature buzzing in my hands, tickling my palms and forcing me to smile. It knew it was trapped, it was desperate to escape but I was too strong for it. The hunt was over and I was no longer the fly's equal, it was a mere insect and I was a human. And not just any human, I was the human with absolute control over whether or not the insect could carry on living. It was an incredible feeling and I wanted it to last forever, but there's no point in having power if you don't use it.
 
I shook my hands to disorientate the victim before opening them and pinching the fly lightly between my thumb and forefinger. 
"Shy, honey? What are you doing?" 
I didn't answer, I was staring into the fly's tiny eyes. What was that look? Fear? Apathy. It knew now that this was where it's story ended and there was nothing it cold do to stop me.It stared back into my eyes, awaiting death and I was all too happy to oblige. I squeezed as hard as I could, feeling it's exoskeleton crush between my mighty fingers, and then it was dead.
 
"Shy, you've got it all over your fingers!" Father grabbed me and took me to the bathroom to wash my hands. As the soap and water cleansed my skin of any evidence of the fly's life, or indeed death, I told Father how I'd felt when I held the poor creature's life in my hands. I told him that it was the greatest feeling I'd ever felt and that I would really like to feel it again sometime. Father said nothing, but a look of concern crept across his face so I thought it best not to mention it to him again. I didn't want him to be concerned, he was my Father and I loved him, but also, I knew that I had to get back that feeling. 
 
Something was awoken in me that day, something that I believe lies dormant in all of us, except for the gifted few of us who get a taste of the power and find that they like it.


© Copyright 2017 Jess Diamond. All rights reserved.

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