The Premier Theatre
Boise et Violette
Boise et Violette, it was in the air, Greg could smell it as he walked in the door to his apartment. A thick cloud of lilac had spread itself around him, he felt trapped in Kayla’s air, she had been there, and he knew it, no matter how much Helen denied it he knew; and it was killing him.
He saw a hair brush lying on the floor of Helen’s room; he picked it up to find Kayla’s hair twisted around the spokes. Greg burst in tears, how could he have missed her? He had been waiting for the moment she would come to his house and when it finally came he wasn’t there to greet her. Greg was happy to see that Helen had treated Kayla well, but he would not soon forgive himself. He walked into the bathroom and opened the cabinet across from the sink, where he had stored his grandmothers sewing box. He carefully opened the old box to find a set of razorblades that were thankfully not rusted. He examined the box carefully and opened it on the left side. Greg tilted the small box gently so one blade wrapped in silk paper slipped out. He closed the box and put it back into the sewing kit, and after that closed the cabinet door. He put the blade on top of the sink and looked in the cabinet under the sink for rubbing alcohol, which he found.
Greg made a large cut across his wrist, watching his thin blood trickle down to his elbow. He kept cutting, deeper and deeper until he could hear the blade ripping away at his tendons. He had no control over his poorly supplied hand, and it jumped and screamed for his attention, but he kept going, deeper and deeper until one tendon snapped, his arm was covered in blood along with his leg and other parts of his body, and he was sitting in a puddle of his most precious bodily fluid on the floor. Greg stopped cutting himself and realized that was as far as he could go with out loosing his hand completely, but he also knew he deserved more pain for his foolishness. He grabbed the alcohol and poured it into his flesh, letting it burn down deep into his bones. The pain was so extreme he had tears in his eyes, although he was never one to cry, but he kept pouring, every last bit of the bottle would go to good use, until his flesh was clean of bacteria and his body clean of guilt. But Greg did not make it to the last milliliter of the bottle, for he had fainted from the pain, his face slashing on the blood, making it drip with red
He saw a hair brush lying on the floor of Helen’s room; he picked it up to find Kayla’s hair twisted around the spokes. Greg burst in tears, how could he have missed her? He had been waiting for the moment she would come to his house and when it finally came he wasn’t there to greet her. Greg was happy to see that Helen had treated Kayla well, but he would not soon forgive himself. He walked into the bathroom and opened the cabinet across from the sink, where he had stored his grandmothers sewing box. He carefully opened the old box to find a set of razorblades that were thankfully not rusted. He examined the box carefully and opened it on the left side. Greg tilted the small box gently so one blade wrapped in silk paper slipped out. He closed the box and put it back into the sewing kit, and after that closed the cabinet door. He put the blade on top of the sink and looked in the cabinet under the sink for rubbing alcohol, which he found.
Greg made a large cut across his wrist, watching his thin blood trickle down to his elbow. He kept cutting, deeper and deeper until he could hear the blade ripping away at his tendons. He had no control over his poorly supplied hand, and it jumped and screamed for his attention, but he kept going, deeper and deeper until one tendon snapped, his arm was covered in blood along with his leg and other parts of his body, and he was sitting in a puddle of his most precious bodily fluid on the floor. Greg stopped cutting himself and realized that was as far as he could go with out loosing his hand completely, but he also knew he deserved more pain for his foolishness. He grabbed the alcohol and poured it into his flesh, letting it burn down deep into his bones. The pain was so extreme he had tears in his eyes, although he was never one to cry, but he kept pouring, every last bit of the bottle would go to good use, until his flesh was clean of bacteria and his body clean of guilt. But Greg did not make it to the last milliliter of the bottle, for he had fainted from the pain, his face slashing on the blood, making it drip with red