Arya

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic
A weird dream I had about a year ago....I wrote this in an hour as soon as I woke up.

Submitted: March 27, 2008

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Submitted: March 27, 2008

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Kneeling on the floor, the first thing I see is the blood. It covers my knuckles, drips down my limp fingers to form identical pools beneath each of my hands. My head hangs, no muscular control as I wake slowly from my dreams.

The fog lifts, and my vision expands……and I realize I am not alone. A woman’s body lies naked and broken on the floor directly in front of me, her face smashed beyond recognition, her throat and wrists slit. She long ago bled out, onto the cold concrete floor, and the blood lies in a crimson pool around her, dyeing her bleach-blond hair, staining her white skin….separating her from the outside world. She is safe now; the harsh pains of life cannot reach her there, in her pool…..

But still….a part of me wonders if it had to be this way? We said we loved each other…and I know I did. She was special….

Now the Angel kneels over her, strokes her hair, stares longingly into her eyes. And then he looks at me. He says nothing….he doesn’t have to. I know. She is his now. They’re all his, in the end. He wants me to forget, and move on to the next.

But I remember. All their names, all their faces. Six, now. And she, she was the only one that I…

That I loved?

No, he tells me, I am damned. The damned cannot love, cannot hate, cannot rebel. They are slaves…I am a slave. Always and forever, I serve the Angel, for in him is my salvation. But…the women? Why? Why must they die? Why did she…

Too much, too intense, these emotions. Not suitable for a slave. Too many questions. I raise my head, and beg him to forgive me….but he is busy. His hands traces the lines of her body, still faintly warm as life’s last remnants fade from her form. His fingers traverse her belly, ease across her pale breasts, trace patterns down to her innermost places.

I stand, I scream. No! She was special! He is not worthy of her, not this one. Not this woman….not Arya.

He does not reply, but I know he is furious at my disobedience. She is his now, because I was never…..never strong enough……he took them because I couldn’t, I wouldn’t.

He rises, stands before me, the icon of perfection. He embodies everything I spent years fighting for, strength, will…..until….what? When did I…

Arya. She had to die. She would have come between us. She would have burned you, left you for dead.

But why? I am screaming again, my cries of anger and agony echo across the empty concrete room. He speaks never, but his meaning is always unmistakable. I am nothing. I was a trembling worm when he came to me, and now I am strong, and all he asks in return…..are the women. I stare down, at my bloodied hands. Her blood. Her life. Had I…?

The Angel lifts is chin and stares at me, but his hands are what draws me….covered in blood, stark red against his white skin. Her blood…….

No more! Not another death! I was too weak to save Arya…but she was the last.

The Angel is motionless, always the perfect calm. Never. You can never escape.

I lunge at him, to force him from her body. She was holy. She should not be desecrated…not like this. As I strike him…..we both disappear. I stare at him, see his face, and begin screaming when I realize that I am gazing into icy copies of my own eyes. He smiles. Now you understand. We are one. You can never escape…your true nature.

Kneeling on the floor, the first thing I see is the Angel, staring back at me from the pool of Arya’s blood. It has seeped around my legs, soaked into my jeans, but I don’t care. I have been kneeling, weeping, over her corpse for hours now. The Angel does not speak, but I know he wants me to just go home, and begin fresh tomorrow. Find another girl, gain her trust….

Butcher her. Like I butchered Arya. With that knife.

You wouldn’t.

I seize the knife; it drips with her blood, her final legacy in this world. My fingers shake as I catch my own reflection in its blade, and the Angel screams.

No!

I smile, laugh, and plunge the knife into my own chest. I feel her blood in mine, and I know that we can be together now, free from myself. The Angel will be here, trapped forever away from my heart. Like Arya, I can be saved, protected. To keep my heart safe, I must destroy it.

I twist the knife. I scream. The Angel screams. We are one…..

And as my blood pours from my chest, to commingle with Arya’s...I see her. She is waiting for me, in a place the Angel can never reach…and I whisper to her, my final breath as a slave…

“Arya.”


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