Stories often begin with the introduction of a third unknown person into some definite setting. Many of you may read these stories in order to escape reality or experience the thrill of someone else’s life. Whatever your reason, the claim remains that it is never truly you who is the protagonist. You must always come back to reality when the book closes. How would you like to be the subject matter of story? Wherever you are? Whatever you do? You are the protagonist. How does that sound? If you have chosen to continue, to become a hero of sort, then empty your mind. Let every sense go numb besides the perception of these words on the page. Let each word written here enter your eyes, and become the only things you can sense, until this is done.
You sit there with these words running through your head. The only noises that surround you are the sounds of the vibration of the air conditioning. Slowly it seems to get louder without any stimulation. Yet, still you sit there for it isn’t uncommon for solace to be interrupted by some sort of noise. You are alone in this place. No one else exists during this time. There is only you and these words. Thoughts begin to wander into your empty mind. None of them have any specific shape, but you notice that there is something there that wasn’t there before. You register heat. A single flame rests on the candle that seemed to just spring to life, or had it always been lit. In your peripheral vision you see it grasping for air. You question whether someone else had lit it, or you had forgotten about it. You don’t know. Then arms wrap around you.
“Hey sweetie,” a soft voice whispers into your ear. It seems familiar in a way. It calms you from the idea of the magical flame. The cheek that rest upon the side of your face is warm and delicate. The thoughts that had swarmed your mind subsided into the depths of serenity. You aren’t sure who this is, but still the person holds a comforting embrace that makes your suspicions seem drain out of your ear. Soon soft lips caress your neck. You tilt your head in submission, awaiting more of them. You don’t understand why this person is kissing you, but you are too lost in the moment to care. Those lips press harder onto your skin, and the teeth nibble at your skin. The sensation of odd pleasure runs into your head from that nexus.
“I missed you,” the voice says; as the tender lips leave you neck. In a way, you long for them to return, but at the same time thoughts wander around asking who just kissed you. Why would this person miss you? You feel like asking, but no words leave your mouth. The person moves around you to come into visual range. You see a dark red shirt that hugs the cursive features of this stranger’s body. Still the person’s name escapes you. Not even the gender is evident because the only illumination in this room is a single candle. All you can do is to watch as he or she stands in front of you with only pink skin and the red shirt visible.
“Did you miss me?” The question is illusive. How can you miss someone you don’t know? Droplets of sadness enter your stream of consciousness. They say that you hurt. Hurt worse now that the person is here than away. It begins to drown you, and you gasp for air by pushing the vision aside. You think that only if he were to leave that you could breath. As though, she holds your throat in the soft hands that rest at his side. Then the eyes are seen.
They are an icy blue that pierce through your own sending a shiver of fear to accompany your sadness. “I see you remember me.” You want to say you don’t. You want to run. You want to push them aside. You can’t. You just sit there as the person inches closer and closer. Still all you see is the red shirt, blue eye, and pink skin. The face and gender are still lost. Something in the light glimmers. In his hand rests a knife. She grips it tightly as she closes in. You can’t move. Why would this stranger kill you? What did you do?
“I loved you.” Love? This scene seems to play on repeat in your mind as though it has happened before. Those same blue eyes. That same red shirt. That same fear. If it had happened before, how had you escaped? You don’t want to die. You don’t want to be afraid. You move. You jump out of your seat and run, yet now you have become the prey. Prey that is chained to the predator. You can feel the air of the swing of an arm behind you. Darkness envelops you as another candle is seen. No time can be spared to think of how it is lit. You run. The predator runs. You reach the light where it extinguishes at your arrival. Another light appears in the distance. You run. You follow the light. Your neck reconstructs the pleasure of the kiss, as though the stranger were still kissing you.
“You said you would love me.” The scream sounds guttural. The predator has become the beast that you dare not look at. You reach the light. It goes out. Another flame. You run again. You can’t breath. Your mind races. Only words enter your mind.
You pass the next light, except this one doesn’t go out. You look back. You trip. On your way to the ground, you watch the beast in the light. All you can see is the red shirt, blue eyes, and pink skin. The ground hits you as pain becomes present along with your fear and sorrow. The light falls to the ground, licking at the red shirt. The flame spread, eating at the shirt. You watch as the fiery beast steps slowly toward you. All you can see is the red shirt, blue eyes, and orange skin. Nothing else catches on fire. You watch as the knife descends.
“Love me.” A slow whine. The knife hits the floor. You watch. The light extinguishes. Another appears. You walk away from the ashes. You’re shivering. The light saved you. You follow. You are back to where you are except you are behind another person at the same table. Red shirt and pink skin. A mirror appears to your left. You look into it. Red shirt, blue eyes, pink skin. You don’t understand. You feel drawn to the person at the table. You wrap your arms around the stranger.
“Hey sweetie.”
I LOVE THIS.
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