Status: One-shot
Cold
i cannot cry; i cannot even feel
One raindrop slides down the window, followed by another and another and another. I sit on the sill, my forehead against the cool glass, looking out at the miserable weather. Trees weep tears, their leaves drooping. The sky is grey, bland, and seems as though it’s weeping tears too. The whole world outside is weeping, crying in sorrow for the horrors humankind bring upon themselves. I close my eyes against the sadness, pure sadness showing in ways some people are too stupid to grasp.
I can feel her behind me, staring at me again, wondering when I will lose this woken slumber, this sleep I’ve slipped into since the day I lost everything. It doesn’t seem like I feel any emotions to my sister and she doesn’t enjoy my presence anymore. And I know I am the cause of the red lines on her arms but I’ve fallen so far away, it doesn’t even bother me.
She sighs and walks away but I stay, sitting and staring out the glass. I’m only wearing a light dress but I don’t feel the cold. I don’t shiver. How can I, when the only thing I feel now is disgust? Disgust at myself, mostly. I tore everything away from me with a flick of a finger; I think I tore everything away from a few other people as well. But I fight the disgust away as well, along with any other emotions that happen upon me.
I cannot cry here. A long time ago, my mother found me here, sobbing while a voice raged on inside my poor, young head; she made me promise that if I ever felt like crying, I would come here and this would be my place where I can’t cry. So no tears will fall from my eyes, at least while I’m here.
This is my shelter from the rain, both from the real rain falling outside onto the ground and the rain that might have fallen from my eyes.
My days are monotonous now; sitting and staring and sitting and staring. I can still hear the memories of screaming, and sometimes I wonder when the police will come to take me away. But then I remember there were no survivors, so no one will know it was me, that I am the killer who took the lives of thirty one people in the same room as me. No one knew I was at that party; no one can connect it to me.
That is what I tell myself to sooth any worries that are rare and few between.
There is only one person who knows I am the killer; my sister. And she will never reveal me, she’s my sister. She loves me, right? I trust her. It is just then, as she crosses my mind, she enters the room again. I don’t turn to look at her. I don’t wish to see what emotion she has in her eyes. Emotions are so fickle; I don’t understand why she doesn’t go down the same path as me and choose to ignore them. All they cause is disaster, just like all that murdering I’ve done recently. But I will not kill another person; not when I’m ignoring my emotions.
I can feel her approaching behind me and my forehead creases slightly before I whisk away the confusion. No emotions, remember?
But I freeze when I feel the cold blade against the tender skin of my neck, held by a pale white hand that doesn’t look like it should have a knife held within it. “I do not want to kill you.” Her voice is thick with the accent our mother had, that I never realised she had. “But you never felt any remorse, did you? And you know who you killed? You killed my fiancée! And you never regretted it.” Her voice is hissing now, her lips close to my ear.
Her other hand, the one not holding the deadly knife, reaches out and smashes the window, my window. Even though I’m not supposed to feel emotions anymore, despair rushes through me. My window, my mother’s window too, is now gone. The rain is starting to sprinkle inside.
“I don’t want to be a murderer like you,” she whispers, “so you’ll be the only person I kill. And no one will ever know.” With that, she whips the knife away and her hands, stronger than I ever thought, pushes me out over the broken shards of glass and into the air, the still air broken only by the diamonds of rain and glass and my flailing body.
I’m in the rain now. My shelter is gone, the only thing that kept me above is now gone. The glass is falling with me and together, we hit the ground to take a new path of a different life.
I can feel her behind me, staring at me again, wondering when I will lose this woken slumber, this sleep I’ve slipped into since the day I lost everything. It doesn’t seem like I feel any emotions to my sister and she doesn’t enjoy my presence anymore. And I know I am the cause of the red lines on her arms but I’ve fallen so far away, it doesn’t even bother me.
She sighs and walks away but I stay, sitting and staring out the glass. I’m only wearing a light dress but I don’t feel the cold. I don’t shiver. How can I, when the only thing I feel now is disgust? Disgust at myself, mostly. I tore everything away from me with a flick of a finger; I think I tore everything away from a few other people as well. But I fight the disgust away as well, along with any other emotions that happen upon me.
I cannot cry here. A long time ago, my mother found me here, sobbing while a voice raged on inside my poor, young head; she made me promise that if I ever felt like crying, I would come here and this would be my place where I can’t cry. So no tears will fall from my eyes, at least while I’m here.
This is my shelter from the rain, both from the real rain falling outside onto the ground and the rain that might have fallen from my eyes.
My days are monotonous now; sitting and staring and sitting and staring. I can still hear the memories of screaming, and sometimes I wonder when the police will come to take me away. But then I remember there were no survivors, so no one will know it was me, that I am the killer who took the lives of thirty one people in the same room as me. No one knew I was at that party; no one can connect it to me.
That is what I tell myself to sooth any worries that are rare and few between.
There is only one person who knows I am the killer; my sister. And she will never reveal me, she’s my sister. She loves me, right? I trust her. It is just then, as she crosses my mind, she enters the room again. I don’t turn to look at her. I don’t wish to see what emotion she has in her eyes. Emotions are so fickle; I don’t understand why she doesn’t go down the same path as me and choose to ignore them. All they cause is disaster, just like all that murdering I’ve done recently. But I will not kill another person; not when I’m ignoring my emotions.
I can feel her approaching behind me and my forehead creases slightly before I whisk away the confusion. No emotions, remember?
But I freeze when I feel the cold blade against the tender skin of my neck, held by a pale white hand that doesn’t look like it should have a knife held within it. “I do not want to kill you.” Her voice is thick with the accent our mother had, that I never realised she had. “But you never felt any remorse, did you? And you know who you killed? You killed my fiancée! And you never regretted it.” Her voice is hissing now, her lips close to my ear.
Her other hand, the one not holding the deadly knife, reaches out and smashes the window, my window. Even though I’m not supposed to feel emotions anymore, despair rushes through me. My window, my mother’s window too, is now gone. The rain is starting to sprinkle inside.
“I don’t want to be a murderer like you,” she whispers, “so you’ll be the only person I kill. And no one will ever know.” With that, she whips the knife away and her hands, stronger than I ever thought, pushes me out over the broken shards of glass and into the air, the still air broken only by the diamonds of rain and glass and my flailing body.
I’m in the rain now. My shelter is gone, the only thing that kept me above is now gone. The glass is falling with me and together, we hit the ground to take a new path of a different life.