Author: Bright Green PM
Short stories from 2005.Rated: Fiction M - English - Horror/Romance - Chapters: 10 - Words: 5,649 - Reviews: 12 - Favs: 1 - Updated: 06-22-05 - Published: 04-20-05 - Status: Complete - id: 1891658
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Movement X: Beauty of a Saint
"Oh my beautiful liar. Oh my precious whore. My disease, my infection. I am so impure." - Trent Reznor
If a story has one beautiful phrase, I consider it a success. If a painting has one beautiful color, I consider it a success. Since the world has one beautiful person, I consider it a success.
She was that beautiful person.
My mind had begun to deteriorate, I realised. I was warped and twisted and she was beautiful.
People were constantly changing and leaving and that was why you killed them. So they'd always stay. Stay with you and stay the same.
But she was beautiful and that would never change.
The exhaustion that washes over me softens even the brutality and the melancholy, leaving me with nothing. The sleep has stolen the very thing that kept me alive - my hatred. Now I am too tired to hate, too lethargic to be misanthropic. All I seem to do anymore is draw my body close to her, the girl, and drift into a world of hazy nightmares.
She is dead, of course, the girl. I don't mind, though; she is cold but she is still beautiful. She was cold in life, and she is cold in death. Some things, darling, are just meant to be.
It's been sixteen days since her cold mental state became a cold physical one, and she hasn't begun rotting yet. Does that make her a saint?
Even if it doesn't, I will pray to her anyway. I even found a candle and some of those little plastic stars that glow in the dark to decorate her resting place with.
I stroke her hair as I drift into sleep. My dreams are filled with raised demons and dead gods; but there is no evil in those dreams. I find comfort in the fact that God is finally dead, now I needn't fear him.
She is so beautiful. Every time I wake I expect to find her rotted and spoiled; instead I find her pale and golden, preserved in her beauty.
She props herself up on her elbow and recites poetry
in my dreams
She reaches out and touches my face
in my dreams
She remains the same
in my dreams
God, I hope she never changes; God, please don't let her decay. I've removed the rope, I've removed the bondage. Now there is nothing left to hold her soul in place.
Just please, God, don't let her decay.
She is beautiful, please God, let her stay that way.