(no subject)
The sun beat down on her in an intense dry heat. The flames from the sun reached down to her and forced their way down her throat; scorching her esophagus and mouth and teeth and lips and tongue. Her lips burned and her mouth burned and her face burned and all her pretty skin was gone.
Her teeth felt like boiling metal. Intense pain shot up straight to her head behind her pretty eyes. Those too, were sucked of their moisture and burned.
The sun found its way to her ribcage. The flames chewed her heart and swallowed. She heard the sun screaming at her. Screaming so loud that the paper-thin skin inside her ears popped and her ears began to bleed.
She tried to scream but couldn’t. She tried to cry but couldn’t. Her fists hit and hit and hit at the fire inside, the fire that destroyed her heart. She couldn’t breathe. She felt extreme. She felt numb. She felt everything but nothing. It was agony and enjoyment. It hurt.
She scratches at the skin wrapped taut around her ribcage. Scratches at it. Makes it bleed. The fire gets angry and rages inside. She digs deeper. She claws and digs. There is skin and blood underneath her nails. She tears into her flesh digging and bleeding, screaming yet not making a sound.
Her skin is like sandpaper. Her steel claws tap tap, scrape scrape, against bone. Her skin is like raw poultry. Her fingers dig into her ribs; her insides feel so dry despite the wet black blood. So dry despite the wet pink skin dangling from the bottom of her nails.
She tries to snatch the demon with her hand and take it out. Ask it politely to please stop. Please stop. It’s killing her. Her hand misses and she scratches open a lung. She reaches inside finding nothing but mucus and pink and red and black and brown. She tries again.
She claws her way around the inside of her ribs. There is no fire. The screaming stops. Time stops. The mental chaos calms down. But her body is still torn open. Her lungs are still destroyed. Her fingers still sticky with mucus and tissue and whatever else was inside that broken body of hers.
She looks at the sun, she looks straight at it, and asks:
why would it try to hurt her? Wasn’t it supposed to be keeping her alive? Helping her survive? She still loved it. Still needed it. She thanked it. But why reach down? It hurts. please don’t do it again. Please stop. Please go way. I’m sorry. No wait, come back. Don’t leave her. She’ll die.
Sorry please sorry please sorry please sorry please im so sorry im begging.
She gets up; gruesome and raw and broken. What’s left of her organs is exposed. She can see herself. She can see herself as if she were looking into a mirror. She examines herself at all angles. She would smile if she still had a face to smile with but all that left was a mess of torn muscle and wet clinging skin.
She can almost recognize that creature. With every step of destruction she comes closer. With every step of tearing and ripping apart. Every time that fire comes and rips muscle off her bones. Every time it tears off her skin, burns her blood, makes her suffer. Every single time it makes her as gruesome and grotesque and as broken as possible, she comes closer.
I come closer to finding myself in that mess. I take a deep breath with my torn lungs. I tilt my head back, breathe in the suns beautiful rays. I exhale as every atom in my body breaks apart and goes flying in every direction, leaving only quarts of my body’s sick muddy blood behind. I came closer. But not close enough. Not yet.