sinfour

Pounding crashed against the door that seperated the looming, dark house from its own basement. The pounding repeated, followed by shouts and screams. Maybe crying. All she could think about was ballerinas with their slinder graceful bodies. The dead ballerinas, with their slimy decaying bodies and blistered faces and broken springs. The ballerinas that were born dead, laying on their sides, as the curtains danced around them.
The pounding stopped gradually, fading into its own oblivion. Slowly, Sin opened her eyes, barely letting the light and images seep through to her pupils. She was huddled against an old rusted washing machine, a wet cloth placed over her forehead. Her jacket hung over the side of the metal box, letting its furred edges sweep across the top of her head.
"Fuck you," she heard someone mutter. That someone turned out to be a male sitting on the staircase next to the washing machine, its wooden hand rail unsteady and leaning slightly.
She grunted and moved her head, causing the rag to fall, "Hey, fuck you too." She watched the colors of the room swirl together then die down, settling into their right order. Out of the corner of her glazed eye, she could see him looking over at her.
Sin grunted and curled each of her fingers seperately, trying to force the unwanted tingling away. The only finger that wasn�t quite successful was her thumb. She brought the flesh coated bone of her fattest finger up to her lips and bit it, before her half burnt brain could tell her not to. As the blood began pooling around the teeth marks, she pushed her lips together and scowled.
�Well, good morning, Mary Sunshine.�
She lifted her head up from her now lifeless, still tingling finger to find a female face staring her down in a cheerful demonic way. Brown hair shagged in layers around her pale cheeks and across the top of her shoulders. Her eyes screamed hatred, but at the same time made you feel loved and warmed. Sin burried her thumb into the rag, hiding the blood stained skin.
She glanced around the basement, or atleast what part was visible to where she was crouched and found it hard to see the windows. Besides the dark gloomy colored walls, the glass of the few windows had been painted heavily with black paint.
�Is it morning?� she asked and looked back up at the girl. She shrugged and flopped down near her.
Her eyes found their way to the male on the staircase, his eyes still fixed on her. Their cool warmth echoed against her throbbing temples and ran across her brain, soothing the nerves. The chilling raced down her back and into each of her fingertips, bringing the tingling back. She cursed at the little men that constantly poked at each fingertips with small needle points.
�My watch claims its morning,� he said, his voice just as deep as his smoothed appearance. �I doubt it will matter whether its morning or night for a while, though.�
�What?� Sin looked down at the rag that was loosely around her thumb, sucking in the little drips of blood to feed the bound threads. She climbed to her feet and stepped up on the staircase, looking up to the door.
�Its no use trying,� the girl called over to her and smirked wearily, �We�ve been trying for a few hours. You missed quite a bit.� The devil seeped in through her ears and slowly began to nibble at her mind, unfraying the sanity she had started to replace. She frowned at the boy at her feet. He handed her a crumbled piece of paper, and hesitantly, she pulled it out to where the little letters were visible.
�CORRUPTED CRIMSON BUBBLES,
WITH DISRUPTED EVEN FLOW,
STILL BLOW OVER THE RUBBLE,
UNBALANCING THE REPLACEMENT YOU SEW.
YOUR BLACK HEARTS DOUBLE,
DEAR AND SWEET TO EACH TOWERING ROW,
BUT WHILE YOU SLEEP YOU STUMBLE.
FEAR ME, FOR I KNOW.�
Sin pushed her eyes closed tightly and tried to refrain herself from screaming. It was as though the nagging voice in the back of her mind had jumped out of her ears when she passed out and written a poem for her. A melodic evil poem. One that ceased the waves and the thunder and dragged them backwards over time that no one missed.
In the past months, she had started to replace her sanity that she had lost. She had gained control of her sleeping habits. The voice and the urgency to scream and beat her fist against floors and walls had stopped. She could trace atleast a thread of happiness back through her fake smiles to something inside of her that was still alive.
But now, someone knew. Someone besides Jen, the peers, the doctors. Someone that lived with the monsters under her bed and in her closet. Someone that could destroy what she had started to create and could kill her so quickly the world wouldn�t miss her.
Sin walked off of the stairs and calmly sat down infront of them, her back towards the young man. Her eyes filled with dry, sugar-like tears, but thankfully they rained in an invisible down pour. The swirling rings in her ears beckoned her forward, to sleep and to forget. To die and to live again. There was a world she made whenever she closed her eyes. It was being torn, too, though. There were devils beside the angels, blood dripped from the nose of her high flying faeries, and the sound of the night was never ending hysterical laughter.
She tossed the crumbled ball to the floor next to her and let it roll away. Pushing her hair back behind her ears, she glanced over at the girl. They both nodded to each other, understanding and agreeing in a silent way.
�I�m Christina,� she said in her slightly husky, but gentle voice.
�I�m Sin.�
And she was Sin. She was against the rules and laws that Mother Nature declared. She had the power to strip the angels of their wings, leaving naked feathers behind to wring the necks of her dreams, along with others. If she wanted, she could seduce the devil, tease him and play him through his own game until he fell to his bloody knees and cried out Hail Mary�s.
Christina grined, winking at her with playfully disruptive eyes, �Great name. Is that what your mother seriously named you?�
Sin shrugged carelessly.
�You could say that.�
�I�m Benett,� the boy said, sending that slight chill beneath her skin and breaking the conversastion between her and the other girl.
�Are we the only ones being put through this shit?� she grunted toward them, chewing on the inside of her cheek.
�No. There are obviously two parts to this basement. There�s a single section in a corner that connects the two. We sent someone to see if there was anyone else, because we�ve heard crying through out the last few hours.� Alex pushed his hands into the pockets of his jacket and looked downward.
�Who did you send?� Sin asked, almost already knowing the answer.
�A guy named Lance.�
Ah, the same Lance that she had toyed with in the kitchen. The one that acted adorable when infuriated, and had indeed not slept with Jennifer.
Her face paled and she rubbed her palms against her knees. She missed Jen already, wishing to pester her atleast one last time. She wanted to hug her and tell her how much of a dick her boyfriend was, how they could just forget the world and one day run away together. But what happens, she would say with that dazed look in her eyes, when you�ve run so far away to forget your past that you forget the future, and all you have is the present emptiness? What if you�ve run so far, you fall off the side of the Earth?
She laid back slightly, resting her head on the second step of the staircase and closed her eyes.
�What�d you do?� Christina asked in a meek voice.
Sin raised her eyelids half-way and watched the other girl for a moment. �What do you mean?�
�This person knows something about every one of us. I, for one, am simply here because I have a passion for other things besides sex, drugs, and rock n�roll,�she hesitated, her lips pursing together. She smiled warmly and continued, �I guess its more of an obsession. I let it take over my life.�
Sin watched her for a moment, then tucked her hair behind her ears.
�So you have a kinky way of getting kicks, eh?�
Christina laughed under her breath, letting the soft murmuring giggle fade all too quickly, �Definitely. Lets just say the only things I have in my house are matches, lighters, gasoline, and candles.� She stopped once more and rested her back against the wall behind her. She reached into her purse, pulled out a cigarette, and placed it loosely between her top and bottom lips. After a moment of fumbling through her bag, she pulled out a small blue lighter and lit the end of the cigarette. Her chest heaved forward as she breathed inward against the stick of nicotine. She flicked her wrist and threw the lighter away, blowing out the smoke quickly, her eyes darting slightly once realizing the absence of the lighter from her hand.
�Wanna hear a story, chick?� she said calmly, though her fingers were trembling.
�Sure.�
�I loved this guy. I guess you could call him that� a lot of people thought he was just weird. Out of this world and such, living in a domain where no one could reach him. He was brilliant; he was pure darkness and lust and compassion. It was like being near something� a bubble, yes, a large glass bubble, when you talked to him. You could see through it, even tap against it, but you�re too afraid to break through to see whats on the inside because you�re afraid of losing the beauty concealing it. Well, he was my universe that I revolved around; he was my dream and my truth and my lies. I was his too, though, don�t get me wrong. It wasn�t a one sided sort of story. We�d lie awake at night after making love against icy sheets thrown messily on his apartment�s living room floor and smoke, just breathing in swirls of each other�s scent and being.
�After a while the sheets got a little icier, though. Ice was the only thing that rustled in me anymore. I felt alone and depressed, even when I was with him. I used to stay up late every night, imagining his arms around someone new. I told him, and I suppose I accidentally broke through that beautiful glass sphere. The rainbow covering, transperent and fantasy-filled, cracked. He began sneaking off late at night and all I did was lie with my head against his hardwood floor. It�s then that I started to become more angry and fucked up. I�d go out and find myself new lovers. I�d take them back to his apartment, to that same patch of messy sheets, and have the wildest sex possible until he�d come dragging back through his doorway at the break of dawn.
�He came in once, his eyes stained and his hands bloody. There was something in the air that night that wasn�t good or bad. It was just false and stiff and brittle against my breaths. He collapsed against the floor and cried. His tears rolled off his face and burned my lungs until the things around me caught on fire. Or� it felt like it. I didn�t have anyone with me that night, because I felt too dead and drained to move. He walked to my side and picked my naked body up from the sheets. I had never felt so whole.�
Sin raised an eyebrow once the words stopped. �That�s the end? All of that is the reason they put you in here?�
�Not exactly. After he picked me up, I was so whole I burst. It was like floating against the wind, trying to push everything you have in your body into one thing. I felt like a god damned basket case. Of course, I am, but that�s beside the point. I couldn�t take the pain there was to love. The stabbing hate and passion killed me. If I didn�t know any better, I could have sworn something had been shot into my veins. A devestating adrenaline kicked in, heavier and more sweet than cocaine. I pushed away from him and toppled against the ground.
�I guess from there it�s a blur. A lot of things are. I murdered him, though. With a knife, I cut his wrists and throat, then kissed him. It was the nicest kiss, I think. I could barely feel his gasp flutter over my mouth. I can remember standing there, bent over him, knife dropped against the pools of mirroring red, and thinking I wanted to burn something. Burn the evidence. Burn my pain. Burn my hatred and confusion. Burn him, maybe, so whenever I had a flame near me it would be his warmth. I�� she stopped, her throat squeezing visibly as she swallowed.
�I walked into the bathroom, dragging him behind me. His blood draped along the floor and left an unforgettable trail. After I laid him in the small bathtub, his body turned on its side as though he was sleeping, I ran out of the bathroom and skid into the kitchen. The only thing I could think of was gasoline. Its smell and slimy feel and its power. I grabbed one of the plastic bottles that was under his sink and walked cooly back into the bathroom. He was still there. For some reason I was expecting him not to be. Maybe I was hoping he wouldn�t be. I poured the gasoline into the tub until it was flowing over the sides. I could see his blood dripping onto the surface of the water, creating a beautiful display of grim colors.
�Then, something disturbed me. I kept thinking of how I sat alone in his room all day, smelling in his scent and missing him. I kept thinking of my tears as I saw him push those pillowed lips against someone else. I could hardly stand to imagine him filling someone new, releasing his love into them. I pulled open all of the drawers next to the sink in the bathroom and searched for a box of matches. It took me only a few moments to find them.
�There they were� my beautiful escape. I splashed some of the fire liquid across the floor to the door way. I stood there, now, outside the room where my ice was. My love, my fire, my death. I watched the gasoline drip from the edges of the bathtub. It was then that I struck the match against the side of the box and dropped it.
�I ran, then, out the door and down the stairs to the outside of the building. It was like I could still see him, burning. Oh, lord,� she stopped and groaned, pushing her hands over her face, her cigarette still between her fingers, �Lord, how I loved it. It�s wrong of me, oh, I know it is. I couldn�t help it though. He deserved it. I got into my car and drove away. I drove and drove until I collapsed behind the steering wheel. I changed my name, my hair, got colored contacts, had both a nose job and a boob job. I always hated my nose. I think he did, too.�
The room fell silent. It was silence that Sin was all too familiar with. It was the silence that followed after the truth all poured out. It was like you had drowned someone and they couldn�t think of anything to say, which only made the situation worse. She knew, because it had happened to her. Even when she was talking her shrink, he would pause, watching her to make sure she wouldn�t start racing around the room like a complete wacko. And she wasn�t wacko, only out-of-the-ordinary.
Shadows glittered across Christina�s face and she realized that she wasn�t the only one who had tried to forget who they were. Sometimes, while dancing the shining razor blade over her skin, she�d wonder if everyone felt the way she did. If they all wanted to curl up and die, not even putting up a fight.
The young man who was above her on the stairs let out a sigh and closed his eyes. They all three had the same problems, breathed the same way, felt the same way, and dreamed of that glorious death that no one else could ever understand. They all told different stories, but it all lead back to one remaining thought.
Their only wish was for the world to swallow and forget them.