"Thoughts and Nightmares"

She was in the church. She was surrounded.

They were leering at her ever so indulgently. She looked at the razor blade she was expected to take. She refused it.

Leers turned to frowns. She was surrounded.

A hundred zombies were closing in on her, waiting for her to do her part. Waiting for their turns with the blade.

She accepted it reluctantly.

...Why wasn't he objecting?

She looked to him and saw he had the same possessed look plastered on his face.

What was going on?

She looked for a way out. There was none.

She was surrounded. She had no choice.

Slowly, she brought the blade to her wrist.

"This is fucking wrong," she tried to say, but as she pressed it into her skin, her voice died away, and she was only vaguely aware of them chanting, "DEEPER! DEEPER!"

Did she push it deeper, or was it sucked into her flesh?


"Step into the darkness," said the voice.

She was happy to obey.

"They poisoned you."

She nodded shamefully.

"But you were never pure."

She wrapped herself in her only friend, the black that encircled her.

"And yet there is no beauty in your torment. Oh dear, you're hardly wearing any eyeliner."

The voice was hypnotizing.

"You must control it. You must stylize it."

And she felt herself becoming. It was nothing good, and it was nothing accepted.

But she was it.


"You are loathsome."

Her mirror spoke for itself.

She dragged the black pencil across her eyelid.

"It is perfect," she protested.

"It is incomplete," argued the figure in the glass.

She applied the black mascara.

"Why? Am I doing this wrong?" she said.

"No...it just doesn't work on you. It will get you nowhere."

Realization. There it was.



"What is it that makes you so hateful, my precious?"

She was being seduced by the voice once more.

"Everything," was her quiet response.

The darkness calmed her. She felt bitter in a good way.

"You never learned," said the voice. "And you will never be loved."

Why was she enjoying this?

"That is why you are beautiful."

She smiled.

The darkness curled around her.


He was tied to a chair with a knife to his throat.

She held the knife.

"You," she said dangerously. "Have you nothing against this?"

She thrust her wrist in front of him.

The scar from that day in church was the most visible. But there were more now.

"I've improved," she whispered.

And then she killed him.