auroras and sad prose. // getaway car, day 3

My hands tremble loaded with adrenaline. A sweet tremor coated with the blood from Carmen. A first kill and a first sacrifice. The moment I had been training for, everything in my life had been leading up to the day a weapon lying in my hand would slice open the throat of an unsuspecting person. A rite of passage dictated by society standards and family pressure.

Carmen’s death was just as much their fault as it was mine. The broken makers of a broken monster. Small and petite, taking in the form a little girl. It had been proven time and time again that girls can be just as deadly. My name officially making the list.

I should be happy.

Carmen’s blood danced along my skin, brushstrokes filled with agony melting into my complexion. My fingertips tracing the glass walls of the labyrinth leaving a trail of blood behind; a testament to what I have done…A warning of who roamed the halls.

I should be proud.

A squeeze on my shoulder causes me to jump at the touch of someone else. It called up a swarm of memories, buzzing the silent sounds of my brother. When he could no longer speak it was little touches like this to remind us all; he was still there. I had halfheartedly turned around wishing it would be Lore, his goofy smile would speak a million words. Instead, Sera’s face is bloodied and bruised greeted me, there is nothing inviting about her. It’s accusations she throws, it’s always accusations. Everyone around me accusing me of something, stuffing me into a box that fits their own world; I play the part time and time again. It’s the only way to survive in a world of expectations you will spend your whole life trying to meet. A broken marionette, strings still attached. A noose around my neck, ready for my maker to hang me as he pleases. The final curtain call, and I would never be allowed to take my bow.

All I had to do is continue to kill, dancing along to the rhythm chose for me. My body had gone numb, my eyes staring out into emptiness on the search for something where nothing was meant to be found.

I sighed before looking towards Sera with a false smile planted on my lips for the show must go on. Cameras were everywhere and appearance was everything. No one cared what went on behind the closed doors of a saint and no one cared for the devil’s excuses.

“I’m fine…it just was a little underwhelming”

That is what they would want to hear, right? A career out for blood, chasing after crimson red brutality. Nothing would ever be enough to satisfy whatever hunger I held in my heart. I would never be good enough for the puppet master to cut my strings loose. At the center of violence I had found comfort, learning to love my constraint as it become the one consistency I could count on.

“You owe me a story.” I switched the topic. “How does a girl from six have your strength.” The glass labyrinth too close to home, memories haunting my mind and manifesting in the echoes of our voice. In the moment I needed Sera to talk about anything else. Navigating away from the stormy waters wreaking havoc in a torn apart identity.

[attempts to scavange]

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