| Scars |
NOTE TO ALL READERS:
This story is a very angsty piece. I started writing it when I was having
a bad day. It started as a piece to explain how I feel. And ended up being
this chapter. So I hope you guys like this story. If not, oh well.
But as I feel really attached to it, I will ask that no one trash it in
reviews. It’s an expression. Please don’t kill my expressions.
I do have depression and other ‘problems’. While this story
is it’s own piece, it’s also a reflection on the problems of
living with depression, and living around those who have it. However, it
is a little one sided. As I do not know how those around me may feel, I
do know how I feel they feel. So characters in the story may not have accurate
reactions.
This story does include ideas of depression, suicide, and possibly rape.
I will say at the beginning of a chapter if it does have themes of suicide,
rape, or other strong violence. And I will do a quick re-cap of what occurred
in that chapter at the beginning of the next if someone does not want to
read said chapter. Just say so in your review.
This chapter contains violence. It also occurs later in the story. Chapter
one (next chapter) happens before this chapter (epilogue) ever occurs. It’s
like a flash/preview into the future. So a slightly varied version of this
will appear later. Any confusion on what I just said, say so in the review
and I’ll try to explain it better at the beginning of the next chapter.
I would also really like reviews. I’m putting a lot into this story
and making myself feel very vulnerable at certain times as some thoughts,
ideas, and actions of Beka’s are ones that I have had/done, and continue
to have/do myself.
I would like some positive feedback. And like I said before, please no mean
reviews. I can be very sensitive and they will make me cry. Only corrections
on spelling and mistakes I may make about drom related topics are welcome
criticisms.
The chapter is in Beka’s point of view. If it ever switches to someone
else I will tell you. If I don’t say who it is, assume its Beka talking/thinking.
Thank you.
Epilogue
I’m lying bleeding on the floor. The room is stained in red. The dagger
plunges deeper. Cuts and twirls. My torturer gives a tiny smile.
‘You brought this upon yourself.’
I’m dared to scream from this overwhelming urge. But even though the
pain is everywhere, I make not a sound. The anguish will remain my own.
‘You deserve this suffering.’
As salt is pored from my assailant’s hand into my wounds I hiss slowly,
quietly, from the burns.
‘You hurt them. You betrayed them. They trusted you. How could you
let them down? You failed them. You deserve this.’
It’s all my fault they lie dead and broken because of me.
‘You deserve suffering.’
I’m a traitor.
‘I’ll make you pay. You’ll die slow and alone, just like
them. Just like him.’
Banging sounds outside my door. I can hear my friends muffled voices screaming
for me. Fear grips me.
Why am I not relieved? They have come to save me. Don’t I want to
be saved? To find relief?
‘They won’t get you. You can’t be saved. This is your
solace now.’
The blade goes in. deeper this time. He bursts through the door. Growling
through anger and frustration. I’ve gotten good at knowing what all
of his different growls mean. The others are right behind him.
I let out my first cry of pain as I feel the dagger twitch deeper at their
arrival. At his arrival.
‘Don’t. You deserve the pain. You brought it upon yourself.’
They look at me.
Shocked.
Hurt.
But I can see anger bubbling beneath.
“Beka.”
He says my name. So much pain. So much anguish. I never knew one word could
hold so much emotion.
He deserves better then me.
I should tell him. But I feel so weak. Everything is so blurry. I feel numb.
Almost blissful, swirling between pain and nothingness.
I blink.
“I’m sorry”, I say to him.
Dylan steps attentively toward me. He starts to speak. Slowly and carefully,
fearfully. Like you would to a stray dog.
“Beka. Beka, put the knife down.”
Now I’m confused. Behind Dylan he stands, and I look at him.
I look back to Dylan. He’s still standing there, unsure of what to
do. My name still on his tongue. Bewildered by my confusion.
Dylan takes a slow step forward.
I feel the knife plunge deeper.
And I would have cried, but my tears were silent inside. I was too weak
to let them out. All my energy was gone.
All of them are talking now. With calm voices, but I can feel more then
hear the fear beneath their words.
I turn to my torturer, punisher. And I see her face for the second time
since this blood covered reward for my bad deeds began.
As I look I almost gasp at the reflection in my shattered mirror. The blood
stained hair. Crimson liquid falling from my lips.
I look down and see a shard of glass clutched so tightly in my hand that
it embedded itself through the skin.
Funny how I didn’t notice the pain from that before now.
My hand is shaking. Its pale white, half soaked in blood. The contrast hurts
my aching eyes. I look away. Back to my face.
As I look into my dead eyes, I have to glance away quickly. The lack of
light scares me. That devoid, haunted look is hard to look at.
I look at my face instead.
I feel the shard of mirror taken away from me. Must be Dylan. He was the
closest.
He stands, staring at me through the mirror.
I stare back at him.
I wonder what he sees when he sees me. My eyes, does he see their lack of
life? Of hope? Does he know it’s too late for me? Or does he want
to save me still?
I sigh.
I already know the answer.
How could he want me still? Now? After all I’ve done?
He is the last thing I am aware of.
His eyes shining with anguished disappointment as my world fades to black,
and I hear his pained voice softly, in a faraway distance.
“ Beka, no…”
...to be continued