julian94
05-29-2011, 03:10 PM
One sweep of the blade and blood swooshes out of her left arm, splashing onto her wet silky blue dress and tainting the garment with its velvet red colour. The clear-blue water slowly becomes red for the crimson liquid, spreading like wildfire, engulfs everything it sees.
As velvet beads protrude from her pale white skin, laying Delilah writhes in agony. Her ice blocked eyes are cold and shallow because of this otherworldly pain. Her auburn hair is silent in the air; its luscious locks soaked in blood and water. The cold water is supposed to numb her down as she takes her life-blood out of her… to no avail.
On the other side of the door are the desperate screeches of her mother. Thin and short, her left eye is maliciously peeking in the keyhole of the wide-spaced bathroom, where her beautiful daughter relentlessly stabs herself in the golden, water-filled bathtub. Each stab would deliver sharp shouts from both sides of the door which abruptly end then start again, like a succession of staccatos. Her mother’s neck is filled with heavy, golden necklaces which are glinting wildly in the yellow light as she frantically jumps up and down. Her canary dress swooshes in the air as she moves. She does all of this while bending to watch her daughter kill herself. The Earth trembles from the woman’s wails and her dramatic presence— as well as her jumps—move the chandelier hanging on the ceiling with its bright light that could compete with the brightness of the night stars.
A stab here and there, with a wide smile, Delilah does not care anymore. This pain is growing on her and is rapidly becoming the best feeling. She makes a manic laugh and, slowly, her eyes begin to widen, expressing happiness and delight at this grotesque event. “This is more pleasurable than having your shadow followed or being stung with words,” she thought. Her humanity is now stripped away from her. As her head moves from all directions, her hair is flinging bright crimson water everywhere, covering the pearl-green floor and off-white walls with splashes of red like how painters would fill their canvas with wild strokes of their paintbrush.
“Please stop this nonsense Cordelia!” The mother does not even remember her name, confusing it with her bastard daughter “Why are you doing this?” She says this with a rather convincing tone of great sadness, becoming of a great actress. But Delilah doesn’t hear this because all her senses are blocked. Her eyes are only filled tears and Delilah only hears her own shrieks. She gazes emptily on the majestically painted ceiling of angels and demons, battling for the light and the dark. A final thought of disdain then she ends everything; with one last stab, she opens up her heart with firmness to slay the beast, turning the blade in a clockwise direction to ensure its death. Blood splashes everywhere, filling the whole room with its metallic odour.
As it all ends, there she is. The doll floats helplessly on the cold water; its slender body is empty and light. Delilah’s naked soul is freed from its vessel, rising into that gentle air. It swooshes into the dark, night sky.
On the other side, the man of the family arrives. Tall and handsome, his blue eyes reflect his calm and easygoing demeanor. Seeing his wife crying, with mascara spreading around her wrinkled skin, he rushes towards her; his footsteps are heavy and loud. The woman leans, helplessly on him, her eyes closed whilst flowing with tears, as he holds her like a fallen maiden. “Sweety pie, what happened?” He asks, worrying for her mental health.
“Oh, George it’s terrible, I tell ye, terrible.” She responds, choking from her tears. “I—I tried everything. I tried to stop her, I tried to remove the knife from her but she was too strong!” Then she points her finger towards the door in front of her as she weeps heavily on his arms.
The man forcefully forces pushes his wife and opens the door. She falls down, her head sharply hitting the wall.
There, he could not believe what he is seeing. His baby girl lay lifelessly in the bathtub, a knife on her chest. The marble floor is now filled with velvet red water and the room is filled with the foul odor of her corpse as blood continues to ooze from her mutilated body. Her once bright skin and fiery hair are now dull with the odour of death. Wide eyed, he turns towards the woman and he shouts “You *****!”
In this vast mansion, they all lay lifelessly on the blood-stained floor. Its high walls are filled with eternal cries and laughter.
As velvet beads protrude from her pale white skin, laying Delilah writhes in agony. Her ice blocked eyes are cold and shallow because of this otherworldly pain. Her auburn hair is silent in the air; its luscious locks soaked in blood and water. The cold water is supposed to numb her down as she takes her life-blood out of her… to no avail.
On the other side of the door are the desperate screeches of her mother. Thin and short, her left eye is maliciously peeking in the keyhole of the wide-spaced bathroom, where her beautiful daughter relentlessly stabs herself in the golden, water-filled bathtub. Each stab would deliver sharp shouts from both sides of the door which abruptly end then start again, like a succession of staccatos. Her mother’s neck is filled with heavy, golden necklaces which are glinting wildly in the yellow light as she frantically jumps up and down. Her canary dress swooshes in the air as she moves. She does all of this while bending to watch her daughter kill herself. The Earth trembles from the woman’s wails and her dramatic presence— as well as her jumps—move the chandelier hanging on the ceiling with its bright light that could compete with the brightness of the night stars.
A stab here and there, with a wide smile, Delilah does not care anymore. This pain is growing on her and is rapidly becoming the best feeling. She makes a manic laugh and, slowly, her eyes begin to widen, expressing happiness and delight at this grotesque event. “This is more pleasurable than having your shadow followed or being stung with words,” she thought. Her humanity is now stripped away from her. As her head moves from all directions, her hair is flinging bright crimson water everywhere, covering the pearl-green floor and off-white walls with splashes of red like how painters would fill their canvas with wild strokes of their paintbrush.
“Please stop this nonsense Cordelia!” The mother does not even remember her name, confusing it with her bastard daughter “Why are you doing this?” She says this with a rather convincing tone of great sadness, becoming of a great actress. But Delilah doesn’t hear this because all her senses are blocked. Her eyes are only filled tears and Delilah only hears her own shrieks. She gazes emptily on the majestically painted ceiling of angels and demons, battling for the light and the dark. A final thought of disdain then she ends everything; with one last stab, she opens up her heart with firmness to slay the beast, turning the blade in a clockwise direction to ensure its death. Blood splashes everywhere, filling the whole room with its metallic odour.
As it all ends, there she is. The doll floats helplessly on the cold water; its slender body is empty and light. Delilah’s naked soul is freed from its vessel, rising into that gentle air. It swooshes into the dark, night sky.
On the other side, the man of the family arrives. Tall and handsome, his blue eyes reflect his calm and easygoing demeanor. Seeing his wife crying, with mascara spreading around her wrinkled skin, he rushes towards her; his footsteps are heavy and loud. The woman leans, helplessly on him, her eyes closed whilst flowing with tears, as he holds her like a fallen maiden. “Sweety pie, what happened?” He asks, worrying for her mental health.
“Oh, George it’s terrible, I tell ye, terrible.” She responds, choking from her tears. “I—I tried everything. I tried to stop her, I tried to remove the knife from her but she was too strong!” Then she points her finger towards the door in front of her as she weeps heavily on his arms.
The man forcefully forces pushes his wife and opens the door. She falls down, her head sharply hitting the wall.
There, he could not believe what he is seeing. His baby girl lay lifelessly in the bathtub, a knife on her chest. The marble floor is now filled with velvet red water and the room is filled with the foul odor of her corpse as blood continues to ooze from her mutilated body. Her once bright skin and fiery hair are now dull with the odour of death. Wide eyed, he turns towards the woman and he shouts “You *****!”
In this vast mansion, they all lay lifelessly on the blood-stained floor. Its high walls are filled with eternal cries and laughter.