A Black Rose
My life didn't really have a beginning. I guess looking back, I don't know what happened in the big picture. It was probably because ever since puberty I was fighting them week to week. You see when I was a mere child I wasn't like others in my primary school. It was mainly because we didn't have anything in common and I was a very sensitive boy. They always swore, hit and harassed at each other and I just didn't. They did it to me too, with no bad intentions at first; just I couldn't laugh and enjoy it like them. I cried. Nevertheless after a while they tormented me because they liked watching me distressed. You see everyone is slightly sadistic inside. That is why we laugh when someone else slips and falls. What I didn't know was that prolonged exposure to it can create something extremely angry and violent inside you.
Eight years have passed and now I am in high school. With it came the sadism in the form of brutal and cruel sexual fantasies. They came slowly over a period of almost a year. It felt like having a rose growing up from inside me and out of my mouth. It hurt as it stabbed me inside at the core of my love and humility. However at the same time I couldn't help but adore the beauty of this black rose. For just as a black rose it is exceptional and I would, with no intention of doing so, lose myself in its whirlwind like nature. Now here I am, while everyone else seem to be laughing using sheared humor and talking about shared hobbies. While the world around me rises and falls, lives and dies. I sit here with my eyes open but unregistering, flinching occasionally despite the total lack of movement in this dark corner of the library. Whishing, prying, dear I say, hoping for a physical death to follow my emotional one.
I am fighting. I am fighting for their life and the call me "weirdo" and "loner". You may think I am also fighting for myself but the demons have bested my hope, determination and integrity on the day I realized that a part of me loves them. They want me to do beautifully, dreadful and terrible things. The more time they spent festering in my mind the more ideas they present to me: "use the bolt cutter for the limbs and the saw for her breasts." They would whisper. "What a little princess… you know you want to see her sob and wail on her stumps, unable to rise." I did want to. The rose was so enchanting.
To this day I do not know why she came to the loneliest, and thanks to me, darkest corner of the school but I really needed her there. The rumors didn't stop her, nor did the nowadays constant filching. She wanted to know my spirit and she did. Not the dark one. Together with her I discovered a personality that laughs, shares, cares, and after an especially emotional lunchtime, loves.
It was incredible. Somehow, without even trying the goddess Isabella made me happy. Isabella. What an enchanting name. It fitted her like wings do to an angle. She singlehandedly frightened them away. How did she do it? I never found out.
At 16 we made love after two years of intense closeness. The demons returned on that potentially magical night. Although she never knew about them before she let them into our bedroom (actually my parent's). She accepted both the good and the bad in me. I loved her for it.
We eagerly married and soon enough had a child. She wanted to call her Kate. I thought it is an insult to Isabella. Kate is such… an empty name with no personality. No personality. Just like the demon's women and girls.
She can't do this to you. We feel you hate the little twit for doing this to you. She can't make you choose! Get her for this. You could be satisfied. We are your friends and want to give you joy. Shut up! She is my daughter. She is just a little girl. Exiting right? You want her. It was exiting. I masturbated to the idea on a week Isabella left for work.
In the end it was a stalemate. I couldn't stop thinking about do it. Doing the girl that begs to me every night for "another story". On the other hand they couldn't make me do it to her. Isabella kept me smiling an untainted smile.
On a lazy Sunday afternoon Isabella died in a car crash while going to get some milk. Milk! I started flinching intensely again after that. I didn't have a funeral for her. After merely two days of grim struggle I gave up. They just want to place some joy in my miserable half life. That's right. I remembered after so long that I am dead inside. Bled out by a rose.
I got a massive boost of energy from a place inside I should have never resisted. I created a basement using the savings. Isabella always insisted on us having a healthily large savings account…She always cared… Enough moping! I want to embrace my passion with the guidance of my friends after years of hearing them haul at me.
I was surprised at how easy setting up the room was. But then again I had help from my good loyal friends. On a sunny Saturday I finished setting everything up.
My friends and I are becoming one as I lead the unsuspecting little girl dressed as a princess to the "playroom". (My friends thought of the name, they are so smart) I enjoyed ruining the tight dress and the petrified girl inside it beyond reason. I am so happy! So many fantasies and so little time to enjoy them all. I quit my job and would have pulled her out of school but was afraid of arousing suspicion. I loved confusing her by saying things like: "sweetie-pie, this is love and love hurts." And "your mother would be proud if she saw you now". What was her name? Who cares?
Year after year passed and it got better every day. More and more ideas. So satisfying. Like scratching a lifelong itch. I wanted to kill her but had just enough rationality to remember I couldn't revive her afterword like I do in my dreams. When I needed more money for… things I sold all the furniture in the house except for the ones in the "playroom". I died in that room with both blood and a smile on my lips. It was worth it. It was all worth it. The black rose was so, so beautiful.