nocturnal_90s
10-27-2009, 01:15 PM
I wrote this story about two years ago, and I wanted to share it. Hopefully, some of you will read it. Let me know what you think of it. It's definitely not the final draft.
WARNING: This story is rated PG 17 (lol)
And She Did Not Want to Be Real
By Oscar Gonzalez
Arnunfla Flores was sitting in a painting looking at the affectionate professor write page after page about her silk red dress, her perfectly-shaped lips, sumptuous and juicy breasts, and her bruised knees. Oh, how she hated the professor. Everyday he would pick up that darn pen and write about a new encounter that she would have with a man in Peru, a hermaphrodite in Phoenix, two koala bears in a Kyoto zoo, or an entire troop in Afghanistan. This professor was a total psychopath that forced Arnunfla into the most ghastly sexual mores that would enter the terrible dystopia of this thought. One night she would have her limbs tied and her naked body exposed for a French playwright to drop whipped cream, fruits, urine, and feces upon every inch of her body. The next night she would be taped to a wall and the morbidly obese legislator from Quito would forget whether he was pounding the tender frog lips of Arnunfla or the dry and cold wall of the abandoned motel. Arnunfla’s existence was a cycle of painful sex, and unfortunately, she never had a say in anything.
Arnunfla was the dreadful creation of Professor Victor Santander. Scared by his crippled body and monstrous face, Victor achieved to scare children in the streets and make people cross the street if they saw him approaching. When he was fifteen, Victor’s face happened to get in the way of a gallon of acid that his mother must have been trying to spill on the dead grass. At age nineteen, Victor’s dorm-room in college happened to be in the way of a drunk driver who crashed through the wall and left Victor’s lower body practically detached.
Now Victor teaches at the University of California, Santa Barbra where he stares ahead of himself with his eyes blurred to avoid seeing the mocking stares and occasional gestures of ridicule. His wheelchair crushes the putrid bugs and beautiful litter that dare to get in his way. Everyday at six o’clock, Victor arrives at his apartment where he sits on the floor of his living room, stabbing stuffed dolls that have an eerie resemblance to a lot of people in his life. When he finishes stabbing the dolls, he crawls to the bathtub and washes his unstained dagger, pretending that the dolls have bled. Then, he picks up the phone and orders a prostitute for eight o’clock. A prostitute comes at eight; she spends 30 seconds starring at Victor’s misfortune of a face, 20 seconds starring at his ragdoll body, and 9 seconds to turn around and run away as far as she possibly could. In less than a minute, Victor’s looks have saved him about $25.
Whenever Victor allows his mind to process the fact that she has fled, he crawls to his desk and begins to write another horrible story about Arnunfla where he manifests himself as a different man or creature that punishes Arnunfla for having ran away from him. Yes, Arnunfla was every prostitute that ran away after seeing Victor, she was every pretty colleague that rejected his offer to go see a movie with him, she was every fat woman online that said that even she could do better than that. Arnunfla was every woman that ever rejected Victor, and logically, she must be punished for being so cruel to a misfortunate soul. That is why she drowned every week in a mixture of urine and semen. That is why she was tied and taped and had her nipples nearly torn off.
One warm August night, Victor dared to draw his beautiful fictitious slave of sex. He drew her red dress and her perfect golden hair, her thick juicy breasts and her dainty white arms. He placed the masterpiece directly above his desk so that he could observe the beautiful emotionless villain while he created a new and unfortunate sex tale in which she would experience severe levels of pain. After every paragraph, he would look above and glance at her. He would go on and on until he fell asleep with his repulsive face pinned to the desk. He would dream of the woman in the painting living with him, walking around the apartment naked, cooking food for him, and lying in bed waiting for him. Of course, this was but a dream world for Victor. That is, it was a dream world until Christmas Eve of that year. The painting of Arnunfla Flores decided that she had become bored from sitting motionless and emotionless and that it was time to become real and simply walk out of the painting. The manner in which a fictitious woman stretches her legs out of a painting and steps into the real world is quite amazing, and I must admit that even I, an omniscient narrator, was incredibly shocked as I saw fictitious Arnunfla turn into flesh and bones.
Arnunfla tried to leave the apartment, but the doors were locked. She decided she would wait until Victor came back from the university to make a run for it. In the meantime, she walked into the different rooms and was amazed at all of the foreign objects that were completely new to her. She went into the kitchen and saw the stove. She contemplated the round knobs until her hand flew toward one of them and turned on the stove. Arnunfla heard a foreign noise coming from the stove and pulled her face and breasts closer to the sounds. Her face and breasts were directly on top of the stove when the fire poured out and burned the top of her beautiful red dress. She felt the burning pain of the fire; she recognized this pain from the time when a man pressed a lit cigarette butt upon her left thigh. She instantly ripped the dress to the sound of the flames beating at her ear drums and her shouting trying to quite them down, and in less than a minute, she was standing naked in the kitchen watching her red dress finish burning. She walked to Victor’s closet and put on an oversized bathrobe that some sympathetic fool gave to Victor three Christmases ago. She walked to the kitchen, grabbed a tub of ice cream that she found in the mysterious white box standing next to the stove that burned her dress. She sat on the couch, eating ice cream and waited for Victor.
She remembered her seemingly permanent sit inside the painting; she remembered that Victor was a cruel and monstrous man. He would definitely not allow Arnunfla to simply walk away. He would surely try to tie her limbs and urinate on her body or get some koala bears to to claw at her chest. No, she couldn’t just try to walk away. That would make him madder. She had to think, and think fast because it was almost six o’clock. She decided that she needed to get Victor to go to sleep somehow. She agreed that she would welcome Victor, tell him that she would do whatever sexual horror he wanted, and somehow get him to fall asleep so that she may run away. She browsed through the drawers and found a bottle of pills. She recognized the pills from the time that the man with a snake as a penis forced the pills into her mouth so that he could have sex with a sleeping body. It was perfect: she would feed the pills to Victor so that she could leave.
At six o’clock when Victor came in and saw his drawing in flesh and bones eating ice cream on his couch, he didn’t question it. He just looked at her and pressed the joystick on his chair to approach her. He stretched his hand to grasp her face to see if he wasn’t merely hallucinating. She lifted her arms and grabbed his hand and guided it toward her face. Victor’s eyes shot wide open. He waited a moment and used his arms to jump out of the chair and fall onto her body. He land on her body and moved his hands up and down her face, neck and breasts. He forced his face upon hers, and although she closed her eyes in disgust, Arnunfla knew she had to force her lips to accept the hideous and sloppy kiss. Gravity and Arnunfla’s slanted posture eventually led to Victor rolling off and hitting the ground. Arnunfla stood up and helped Victor back into his chair. Victor was about to say a word when he spotted Arnunfla’s eyes drift away from him and center on the open door. In a split second, he used his arms to jump toward the door. He fell on the floor and crawled as fast as he could to shut the door. He locked the door and hid the key in his coat.
“I wasn’t going to leave, Victor,” said Arnunfla who was surprised herself that she could pronounce words. Victor crawled back to his wheelchair, and once he was up, Arnunfla untied the strings to the oversized robe and let it fall to the ground. Victor could not believe that his painting was standing naked in front of him exactly the way that he had dreamed.
“You could do whatever you want to my body, Victor, but first let us eat,” Arnunfla pronounced still amazed at her vocal capacity. Victor starred and guarded the door as she walked naked to the kitchen and returned with a tray. On the tray there was a sandwich (that looked like it was made by a retarded child) sitting next to a cup of dark, pink juice. Victor didn’t question the sloppy meal, and pounded the sandwich into his mouth as quickly as he could so that he could finally do whatever he pleased to that perfect father. He grabbed the cup and swallowed the juice as if it were air. Arnunfla’s face became a large smile when she saw the last drop of juice enter Victor’s mouth. The smile worried Victor, and he tilted his head toward the kitchen table behind Arnunfla. He saw the empty bottle of sleeping pills and immediately realized what Arnunfla had done to him. He didn’t care; he wanted to jump on her and feel the realness of her naked body as long as he could before the pills took effect. Again, he jumped at her, but this time, she backed away and forced him to crawl all around the apartment to chase her until he tired himself and entered a deep, deep sleep. Arnunfla grabbed the bathrobe, put it on, grabbed the keys from Victor’s coat, and spent almost an hour trying to figure out how to work a key. Once she opened the door, she ran away as fast as she could into the streets where she kept running and running until she fell tired in the middle of the freeway. She was so tired that she too entered a deep sleep.
When she awoke, Arnunfla was in a hospital room. She laid on a soft, white bed until a young, handsome doctor walked in and began to talk to her.
“Hello, my name is Dr. Larson. What is your name, ma’am?” he pronounced.
Arnunfla thought for a bit and concluded that she couldn’t possibly use the abortion of a name that Victor gave to her. She tried to think of a name, and all she could come up with was random collection of sounds: Volcapeach.
“You didn’t have any I.D. when they brought you here, but I doubt you have a name like that. Now, come one, what’s your name, first and last?”
“Victoria. Victoria Volcapeach,” she said and Dr. Larson smiled. She didn’t know why, but she smiled back at him, and in less than a month, she went from Arnunfla Flores to Victoria Volcapeach to Victoria Larson.
Victoria spent the best year of her life living in a large mansion full of indoor plants and paintings of unknown people. Then, Victoria bore a child that she insisted should be named Arnunflo. Dr. Larson didn’t agree, so they settled with Ernie. Raising a child proved to be a difficult chore for Victoria, and she because increasingly fatiguied from the responsibilities of being a real person. She had to choose which action to take next, which color dress to wear to dinner, which show to watch on TV, which direction to walk: it was all so stressful that she practically went mad. She would spend long hours staring at the paintings, contemplating on how lucky they were to be still and unreal.
One day, Dr. Larson received a phone call from his brother. From then on, Victoria was required to take lessons from Dr. Larson’s friend, Mariah Jenkins, so that she could appear to be a decent “real” wife when Dr. Larson’s brother came to parade his flawless woman. Victoria was required to memorize an absurd system of order for spoons, forks, and knives. She had to know exactly what phrase to say and which shoes to wear with each dress. She had to know so many things that she began to contemplate suicide. However, she had gained the capacity of profound thought and realized that if she died, she would cease to exist unless Victor decided to begin using her as a tortured character in his paintings and stories. She agreed that being tortured sexually in the works of Victor was far better than dealing with the intricate responsibilities and stressful conditions of reality.
The night that Dr. Larson’s brother arrived, the house was adorned with completely new furniture. Victoria was walking back and forth in her bedroom, shuffling from the seemingly infinite amount of things that she had to memorize for dinner: walk straight, bow your head slightly, don’t let your handshake be firmer than a man’s, smile almost creepily, use the proper makeup, talk about dresses and shoes with women. It was enough to make a girl go crazy. However, Victoria managed to do everything that Mariah Jenkins had taught her and everything went according to plan. Dr. Larson’s brother introduced his 23-year old wife, Jeannine, and dinner was splendid. Everybody was having small talk when suddenly Jeannine took a hold of everyone’s attention and started to talk about a research project that she was working on. It was a psychology project that she was helping her professor with at the University of California, Santa Barbara.
“But seriously, the real challenge with this research project is having to work with Professor Santander. Typically, I don’t judge a book by its cover, but this man’s face is literally the subject of all of my recent nightmares. I feel sorry for the man, but I think I am going to tell him that I cannot continue with the project,” Jeannine said; Victoria’s eyes immediately shot open.
“Is he really that repulsive, dear?” Dr. Larson’s brother asked.
“Repulsive is quite possibly an understatement, honey. Oh my goodness, I almost forgot! I have to go and turn in the results from yesterday’s studies to him today!”
“Today? Isn’t it quite late already, dear?”
“I am so sorry, everyone. Honey, could you please drive me to Santa Barbara right now? If I don’t submit the results today, I can potentially fail my research class!”
Dr. Larson’s brother appeared bothered but eventually agreed to take his wife to Santa Barbara. Before they could dash through the door, Victoria stopped them. She asked if she could tag along; she did not specify why. The three of them embarked on a two-hour drive to Santa Barbara and Victoria could only think of seeing Victor once again and pleading him to continue writing of her once she has killed herself. When they arrive, Jeannine dashed out of car and entered the apartment. She came back within a few minutes. When Jeannine came back, Victoria opened the car door, and walked into Victor’s apartment. He was not surprised to see her.
“I am back, Victor. I want you to continue writing about me,” Victoria pleaded.
Victor responded with silence.
“Victor, promise me! Promise me that you will continue to write about me! Promise me!” Victoria cried, waiting for Victor to respond.
“Dearest, I may be crippled, monstrous, and alone, but as long as I have these this hand, I will always write about you,” he said.
Victoria looked at his desk and spotted a paper with the words, “Arnunfla and the Jamaican man…” She now felt confident that her suicide would not lead to the end of her existence; she would continue to exist as Victor’s dreadful creation – exactly what she wanted.
“Thank you,” Victoria said and she looked around and spotted an oversized pair of metallic scissors. She grabbed them, put them in front of her face to see her reflection one last time, and then firmly stabbed them with all her might into her heart. She fell dead to the floor in a pool of dark red blood. Her corpse looked beautiful even drowning in blood, and the bloody scissors lodged into Victoria’s chest showed the creepy reflection of Victor smiling. Now, Victor thought, is the time for my revenge.
Without hesitation, Victor crawled toward the corpse and used both hands to remove the scissors from Victoria’s chest. He smiled and he laughed wildly as he punished Victoria for having run away from him like all the others. He lifted his arms to the air, along with the scissors, and with a brief chopping sound, four fingers fell to the ground next to Victoria’s body.
WARNING: This story is rated PG 17 (lol)
And She Did Not Want to Be Real
By Oscar Gonzalez
Arnunfla Flores was sitting in a painting looking at the affectionate professor write page after page about her silk red dress, her perfectly-shaped lips, sumptuous and juicy breasts, and her bruised knees. Oh, how she hated the professor. Everyday he would pick up that darn pen and write about a new encounter that she would have with a man in Peru, a hermaphrodite in Phoenix, two koala bears in a Kyoto zoo, or an entire troop in Afghanistan. This professor was a total psychopath that forced Arnunfla into the most ghastly sexual mores that would enter the terrible dystopia of this thought. One night she would have her limbs tied and her naked body exposed for a French playwright to drop whipped cream, fruits, urine, and feces upon every inch of her body. The next night she would be taped to a wall and the morbidly obese legislator from Quito would forget whether he was pounding the tender frog lips of Arnunfla or the dry and cold wall of the abandoned motel. Arnunfla’s existence was a cycle of painful sex, and unfortunately, she never had a say in anything.
Arnunfla was the dreadful creation of Professor Victor Santander. Scared by his crippled body and monstrous face, Victor achieved to scare children in the streets and make people cross the street if they saw him approaching. When he was fifteen, Victor’s face happened to get in the way of a gallon of acid that his mother must have been trying to spill on the dead grass. At age nineteen, Victor’s dorm-room in college happened to be in the way of a drunk driver who crashed through the wall and left Victor’s lower body practically detached.
Now Victor teaches at the University of California, Santa Barbra where he stares ahead of himself with his eyes blurred to avoid seeing the mocking stares and occasional gestures of ridicule. His wheelchair crushes the putrid bugs and beautiful litter that dare to get in his way. Everyday at six o’clock, Victor arrives at his apartment where he sits on the floor of his living room, stabbing stuffed dolls that have an eerie resemblance to a lot of people in his life. When he finishes stabbing the dolls, he crawls to the bathtub and washes his unstained dagger, pretending that the dolls have bled. Then, he picks up the phone and orders a prostitute for eight o’clock. A prostitute comes at eight; she spends 30 seconds starring at Victor’s misfortune of a face, 20 seconds starring at his ragdoll body, and 9 seconds to turn around and run away as far as she possibly could. In less than a minute, Victor’s looks have saved him about $25.
Whenever Victor allows his mind to process the fact that she has fled, he crawls to his desk and begins to write another horrible story about Arnunfla where he manifests himself as a different man or creature that punishes Arnunfla for having ran away from him. Yes, Arnunfla was every prostitute that ran away after seeing Victor, she was every pretty colleague that rejected his offer to go see a movie with him, she was every fat woman online that said that even she could do better than that. Arnunfla was every woman that ever rejected Victor, and logically, she must be punished for being so cruel to a misfortunate soul. That is why she drowned every week in a mixture of urine and semen. That is why she was tied and taped and had her nipples nearly torn off.
One warm August night, Victor dared to draw his beautiful fictitious slave of sex. He drew her red dress and her perfect golden hair, her thick juicy breasts and her dainty white arms. He placed the masterpiece directly above his desk so that he could observe the beautiful emotionless villain while he created a new and unfortunate sex tale in which she would experience severe levels of pain. After every paragraph, he would look above and glance at her. He would go on and on until he fell asleep with his repulsive face pinned to the desk. He would dream of the woman in the painting living with him, walking around the apartment naked, cooking food for him, and lying in bed waiting for him. Of course, this was but a dream world for Victor. That is, it was a dream world until Christmas Eve of that year. The painting of Arnunfla Flores decided that she had become bored from sitting motionless and emotionless and that it was time to become real and simply walk out of the painting. The manner in which a fictitious woman stretches her legs out of a painting and steps into the real world is quite amazing, and I must admit that even I, an omniscient narrator, was incredibly shocked as I saw fictitious Arnunfla turn into flesh and bones.
Arnunfla tried to leave the apartment, but the doors were locked. She decided she would wait until Victor came back from the university to make a run for it. In the meantime, she walked into the different rooms and was amazed at all of the foreign objects that were completely new to her. She went into the kitchen and saw the stove. She contemplated the round knobs until her hand flew toward one of them and turned on the stove. Arnunfla heard a foreign noise coming from the stove and pulled her face and breasts closer to the sounds. Her face and breasts were directly on top of the stove when the fire poured out and burned the top of her beautiful red dress. She felt the burning pain of the fire; she recognized this pain from the time when a man pressed a lit cigarette butt upon her left thigh. She instantly ripped the dress to the sound of the flames beating at her ear drums and her shouting trying to quite them down, and in less than a minute, she was standing naked in the kitchen watching her red dress finish burning. She walked to Victor’s closet and put on an oversized bathrobe that some sympathetic fool gave to Victor three Christmases ago. She walked to the kitchen, grabbed a tub of ice cream that she found in the mysterious white box standing next to the stove that burned her dress. She sat on the couch, eating ice cream and waited for Victor.
She remembered her seemingly permanent sit inside the painting; she remembered that Victor was a cruel and monstrous man. He would definitely not allow Arnunfla to simply walk away. He would surely try to tie her limbs and urinate on her body or get some koala bears to to claw at her chest. No, she couldn’t just try to walk away. That would make him madder. She had to think, and think fast because it was almost six o’clock. She decided that she needed to get Victor to go to sleep somehow. She agreed that she would welcome Victor, tell him that she would do whatever sexual horror he wanted, and somehow get him to fall asleep so that she may run away. She browsed through the drawers and found a bottle of pills. She recognized the pills from the time that the man with a snake as a penis forced the pills into her mouth so that he could have sex with a sleeping body. It was perfect: she would feed the pills to Victor so that she could leave.
At six o’clock when Victor came in and saw his drawing in flesh and bones eating ice cream on his couch, he didn’t question it. He just looked at her and pressed the joystick on his chair to approach her. He stretched his hand to grasp her face to see if he wasn’t merely hallucinating. She lifted her arms and grabbed his hand and guided it toward her face. Victor’s eyes shot wide open. He waited a moment and used his arms to jump out of the chair and fall onto her body. He land on her body and moved his hands up and down her face, neck and breasts. He forced his face upon hers, and although she closed her eyes in disgust, Arnunfla knew she had to force her lips to accept the hideous and sloppy kiss. Gravity and Arnunfla’s slanted posture eventually led to Victor rolling off and hitting the ground. Arnunfla stood up and helped Victor back into his chair. Victor was about to say a word when he spotted Arnunfla’s eyes drift away from him and center on the open door. In a split second, he used his arms to jump toward the door. He fell on the floor and crawled as fast as he could to shut the door. He locked the door and hid the key in his coat.
“I wasn’t going to leave, Victor,” said Arnunfla who was surprised herself that she could pronounce words. Victor crawled back to his wheelchair, and once he was up, Arnunfla untied the strings to the oversized robe and let it fall to the ground. Victor could not believe that his painting was standing naked in front of him exactly the way that he had dreamed.
“You could do whatever you want to my body, Victor, but first let us eat,” Arnunfla pronounced still amazed at her vocal capacity. Victor starred and guarded the door as she walked naked to the kitchen and returned with a tray. On the tray there was a sandwich (that looked like it was made by a retarded child) sitting next to a cup of dark, pink juice. Victor didn’t question the sloppy meal, and pounded the sandwich into his mouth as quickly as he could so that he could finally do whatever he pleased to that perfect father. He grabbed the cup and swallowed the juice as if it were air. Arnunfla’s face became a large smile when she saw the last drop of juice enter Victor’s mouth. The smile worried Victor, and he tilted his head toward the kitchen table behind Arnunfla. He saw the empty bottle of sleeping pills and immediately realized what Arnunfla had done to him. He didn’t care; he wanted to jump on her and feel the realness of her naked body as long as he could before the pills took effect. Again, he jumped at her, but this time, she backed away and forced him to crawl all around the apartment to chase her until he tired himself and entered a deep, deep sleep. Arnunfla grabbed the bathrobe, put it on, grabbed the keys from Victor’s coat, and spent almost an hour trying to figure out how to work a key. Once she opened the door, she ran away as fast as she could into the streets where she kept running and running until she fell tired in the middle of the freeway. She was so tired that she too entered a deep sleep.
When she awoke, Arnunfla was in a hospital room. She laid on a soft, white bed until a young, handsome doctor walked in and began to talk to her.
“Hello, my name is Dr. Larson. What is your name, ma’am?” he pronounced.
Arnunfla thought for a bit and concluded that she couldn’t possibly use the abortion of a name that Victor gave to her. She tried to think of a name, and all she could come up with was random collection of sounds: Volcapeach.
“You didn’t have any I.D. when they brought you here, but I doubt you have a name like that. Now, come one, what’s your name, first and last?”
“Victoria. Victoria Volcapeach,” she said and Dr. Larson smiled. She didn’t know why, but she smiled back at him, and in less than a month, she went from Arnunfla Flores to Victoria Volcapeach to Victoria Larson.
Victoria spent the best year of her life living in a large mansion full of indoor plants and paintings of unknown people. Then, Victoria bore a child that she insisted should be named Arnunflo. Dr. Larson didn’t agree, so they settled with Ernie. Raising a child proved to be a difficult chore for Victoria, and she because increasingly fatiguied from the responsibilities of being a real person. She had to choose which action to take next, which color dress to wear to dinner, which show to watch on TV, which direction to walk: it was all so stressful that she practically went mad. She would spend long hours staring at the paintings, contemplating on how lucky they were to be still and unreal.
One day, Dr. Larson received a phone call from his brother. From then on, Victoria was required to take lessons from Dr. Larson’s friend, Mariah Jenkins, so that she could appear to be a decent “real” wife when Dr. Larson’s brother came to parade his flawless woman. Victoria was required to memorize an absurd system of order for spoons, forks, and knives. She had to know exactly what phrase to say and which shoes to wear with each dress. She had to know so many things that she began to contemplate suicide. However, she had gained the capacity of profound thought and realized that if she died, she would cease to exist unless Victor decided to begin using her as a tortured character in his paintings and stories. She agreed that being tortured sexually in the works of Victor was far better than dealing with the intricate responsibilities and stressful conditions of reality.
The night that Dr. Larson’s brother arrived, the house was adorned with completely new furniture. Victoria was walking back and forth in her bedroom, shuffling from the seemingly infinite amount of things that she had to memorize for dinner: walk straight, bow your head slightly, don’t let your handshake be firmer than a man’s, smile almost creepily, use the proper makeup, talk about dresses and shoes with women. It was enough to make a girl go crazy. However, Victoria managed to do everything that Mariah Jenkins had taught her and everything went according to plan. Dr. Larson’s brother introduced his 23-year old wife, Jeannine, and dinner was splendid. Everybody was having small talk when suddenly Jeannine took a hold of everyone’s attention and started to talk about a research project that she was working on. It was a psychology project that she was helping her professor with at the University of California, Santa Barbara.
“But seriously, the real challenge with this research project is having to work with Professor Santander. Typically, I don’t judge a book by its cover, but this man’s face is literally the subject of all of my recent nightmares. I feel sorry for the man, but I think I am going to tell him that I cannot continue with the project,” Jeannine said; Victoria’s eyes immediately shot open.
“Is he really that repulsive, dear?” Dr. Larson’s brother asked.
“Repulsive is quite possibly an understatement, honey. Oh my goodness, I almost forgot! I have to go and turn in the results from yesterday’s studies to him today!”
“Today? Isn’t it quite late already, dear?”
“I am so sorry, everyone. Honey, could you please drive me to Santa Barbara right now? If I don’t submit the results today, I can potentially fail my research class!”
Dr. Larson’s brother appeared bothered but eventually agreed to take his wife to Santa Barbara. Before they could dash through the door, Victoria stopped them. She asked if she could tag along; she did not specify why. The three of them embarked on a two-hour drive to Santa Barbara and Victoria could only think of seeing Victor once again and pleading him to continue writing of her once she has killed herself. When they arrive, Jeannine dashed out of car and entered the apartment. She came back within a few minutes. When Jeannine came back, Victoria opened the car door, and walked into Victor’s apartment. He was not surprised to see her.
“I am back, Victor. I want you to continue writing about me,” Victoria pleaded.
Victor responded with silence.
“Victor, promise me! Promise me that you will continue to write about me! Promise me!” Victoria cried, waiting for Victor to respond.
“Dearest, I may be crippled, monstrous, and alone, but as long as I have these this hand, I will always write about you,” he said.
Victoria looked at his desk and spotted a paper with the words, “Arnunfla and the Jamaican man…” She now felt confident that her suicide would not lead to the end of her existence; she would continue to exist as Victor’s dreadful creation – exactly what she wanted.
“Thank you,” Victoria said and she looked around and spotted an oversized pair of metallic scissors. She grabbed them, put them in front of her face to see her reflection one last time, and then firmly stabbed them with all her might into her heart. She fell dead to the floor in a pool of dark red blood. Her corpse looked beautiful even drowning in blood, and the bloody scissors lodged into Victoria’s chest showed the creepy reflection of Victor smiling. Now, Victor thought, is the time for my revenge.
Without hesitation, Victor crawled toward the corpse and used both hands to remove the scissors from Victoria’s chest. He smiled and he laughed wildly as he punished Victoria for having run away from him like all the others. He lifted his arms to the air, along with the scissors, and with a brief chopping sound, four fingers fell to the ground next to Victoria’s body.