Title: The Red Bead
Author: Harper Kingsley
Chapter: 002
Genre: Alternate Universe
Rating: teen+
Summary: The story of the Lothams as seen through the eyes of their faithful lackey Lee. From beginning to bloody end.
002–
I read every single message he sends me, and it hurts me every time. Just looking at the words he’s written and seeing his name at the bottom followed by the ever hopeful plea–“If it’s you, please write back. I miss you”–it makes something ache in my chest and my eyes want to burn.
It’s so stupid how people can just kind of squirm their way into the heart of you when you’re not looking. It’s been so many years, but whenever I look inside, there he is, waiting for me. And I seriously have to wonder why he just won’t give up already, why he has to keep coming around time after time.
Why won’t he just give up on me like everyone else has?
I sigh and do what I usually do and delete the message without saving his email address. And just like that he’s gone again, wiped from my life. But not from my memory.
I stared at the screen for a long while, not even seeing my various email accounts laid out in front of me. So many different names I go by, and for what? Maybe I really am as crazy as I sometimes think I am.
If I was normal, I’d be able to write back to Vlamindar. He’s owed something for all his years of caring about me when I can’t even be bothered to write him back. He’s just so tenacious.
Sighing softly, I X’d out my email and called up my copy of LibreOffice, opening an old Word document I hadn’t touched in forever. Not since I gave up all that Before crap and settled into my new life.
Shattered Mask;
Soul Cry
My soul cries out,
tears and tumbles,
a terrible symphony,
of disjointed mumbles,
cries and screams,
begged out words,
never louder than a murmur.
My soul cries out in misery,
begging for forgiveness and love,
it screams and yells,
yelps and moans,
begs and cries,
never louder than a mumble.
I can hear the words that are said,
the begged out pleas,
the unbased promises.
I can hear the teared up voices,
the terrible harmony-
of a soul in torment.
My soul cries out,
in the voice of the sun,
silent but visual-
to those that will see.
My soul cries out,
in unending,
unmerciless,
misery.
I couldn’t help snorting a little at my own melodrama. All of that teen angst practically had its own odor.
But this was also the poem that he’d first responded to when we met at that stupid poetry website.
It was a long time ago and it’s really hard to remember, but I can almost feel that same rush of pride, anxiety, and happiness I’d gotten when he’d commented on my poem. Then he’d followed me all over the rest of the site, chasing after me, and I’d been nearly a hundred percent certain that he was my soul mate and we were going to get married someday and have lots of biracial babies.
Except the thought of giving birth has always been one of my triggers and always brings up panicked images of a Aliens-type horror scene of blood, entrails, and a slow death.
Back then I was so uncomfortable in my own skin that I didn’t even know what I wanted or where I was going. So is it any wonder that I put together a “relationship” with him built on a tower of lies? Or maybe I was being as honest with him as I could manage, and I’ve changed over the years? I have no idea.
You seriously try to kill yourself, and when you get out of the hospital it’s kind of like being reborn. At least, that’s what I’d told myself when I tried to completely wipe him out of my world.
There was a faint sting in my eyes and I wiped my right cheek, surprised to find wetness, tears. I was crying, but I didn’t even feel a thing.
[table “6” not found /]