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Special by Pearl S - [1,338 words]
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The prelude to a story about an emotionally drained nymphomaniac with the soul of an angel. (I guess)
Jason Richard Mercer
|AUTHOR'S OTHER TITLES (1)
The Parallels (Short Stories) - [1,247 words]
Jason Richard Mercer
She puts her hands on the sink. Starring into the basin, she sighs in sadness. A single teardrop rolls down her face and plops into the white porcelain. She turns on the hot faucet, then the cold. When the water’s just right, she puts her hands under and splashes some on her face. Looks up into the mirror, slowly. The reflection shows her pretty, sullen face. It’s over, she thinks to herself. Her makeup has been washed off, no more smeared mascara and pretty pink lipstick. She’s tired of giving in. Feels used. Used all her life. Back into the mirror. Pretty sad doe eyes, brown, long lashes, smooth glowing pink skin, perfect little mouth, short brown hair pulled back from her head with little butterfly clips. She turns the faucet off. There’s no one around. Everything’s gonna be alright...Everything’s gonna be alright...
She hates being everyone’s whore. The emptiness cannot be replaced, not with false elation, not in meaningless sex. Can’t take away this low feeling.
The pink lady bic lies on the sink, behind the hot/cold knobs. Trying to control her heavy breathing she reaches for it.
She’s got a notebook, a notebook with the names of all the guys (and girls) she’s been with, or at least most of their names, some she can’t remember, some she never knew. So she’ll write “Boy with sideburns,” or “Boy with bleached hair and goatee.” But none of them matter, none of that matters now. And she’s not just a toy. But she’s empty and no one knows her. They don’t know her, they just want her body. No more.
The two of them are out there, what are their names? She can’t remember, she thinks one of them is Rob. And the other? Chris, maybe, or was it Carl? Or Steve?
Anyway, she went to town on both of em’. Did em good. They pulled her hair, smacked her ass, traded her off. There was a time when she liked certain things, but that time is long gone. She’s become impervious to it now, it’s all monotony. She never feels so alone as when she’s with another, unlovingly. She doesn’t know love. It’s only a concept to her.
So she runs in the bathroom, locks the door and cries.
She runs the water, looks into the mirror. Tears stain her face, washes them off with the warm water. The sound of the party downstairs, sounds of random people in the hall. Tries to drown them out.
“Where’s that girl?” she hears from down the hall.
“I dunno, think she took off,” someone replies.
She takes hold of the pink plastic razor and rolls back her sleeve. She has to stop for a second and control her breathing, she fears she will hyperventilate. She takes three deep breaths and closes her eyes. The blade is in her right hand. She gnashes her teeth and quickly slides it down her left wrist. Before the pain can rise to the surface, she does it again. The cold, burning feeling emerges, she opens her eyes to see the blood flowing down her forearm. She feels faint. Breathing heavily, she switches the razor to her other hand and slides it down her right wrist. Eyes closed, she clenches fists tight. One more time, she slashes below her elbow. She bites her lip, the blood is hot on her cold, pale arms.
Opens her eyes, looks down. Blood collects on the porcelain floor.
She starts to think, “I wish I never came to this...”
|READER'S REVIEWS (3)
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"Ouch - wonder how many of us guys used them - discarded them - without any thought of the scars we left behind. Powerful work Jason." -- Just A Guy.
"Good work. Been in that place, and I think you did a very good job of taking the reader there." -- Sylvia Browne.
"the story was good. at times the sentences were really short and made the piece read sort of choppy, but at other times the sentence length added to the story. the ending, "it's over" just didn't' seem like enough or appropriate. after the detailed description, it seemed out of place. but other than that good story and good description, gave a good sense of the protagonist's feelings and attitude." -- Elizabeth, Chicago, IL, USA.
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© 2003 Jason Richard Mercer
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