quincey auven | d1 | wip

Bruises blossom over my face in flowers of faint violet, dotting my tear-carved cheeks like daisies in a meadow.

I am, in the loosest sense of words, a person.

Hair falls and curls into a rough crown on my head, tangled and uneven. I cut it myself, so they don't have anything to grab. So they don't have another torture device. The ends tickle my weak jawline and the insides of my elfish, pointy ears. The strands used to be beautiful, they used to cascade down my back into a pool of bronze. Now a mop spills over my forehead and threatens to invade my eyebrows.

I am nothing but a shell of myself, the casing of a fleeting bullet I used to be.

My eyes are two buckets of tears, tipping and spilling whenever they like. When I look into the mirror, they're dull and blue, like my heart's beating, but I'm not really alive. Like the lights are on, but no one's home. They're shadowed by dark lashes and framed by strong brows. Many say that eyes are the windows to the soul, but mouthes are. They let out words and syllables, opinions and thoughts. Screams or curses. My lips are small and thin, laying under exercised and unmoved.

Talking is terrifying.

The faint galaxy of freckles over my face and my small frame are the only things that look remotely innocent about me. The rest of my features are unpleasant. I'll never grow into my round nose, or my weak chin. The only thing that has changed about me since I was twelve are my cheeks, which are no longer inflated balloons, and I've grown from an abysmal 4'10" to a slightly less abysmal 5'2". But otherwise, I look like a child who grew up too fast. I still have my bird bones that a person could snap with two fingers, and a neck that looks like it can barely hold my head. If only my mind was childish, like the restful my body.

The bliss of ignorance was an amazing thing. 

To be a diamond. To be something unbreakable and beautiful.

No one's a diamond. All of us are walking flaws that blemish the face of the Earth. Some of us wear our flaws like jewelry, to be cherished and worn. But many of is curse our flaws, the black holes that plague our own little universes. I lock mine away in the back of my mind and swallow the key. They nag at me, though. Like clothing snags on an unevenly clipped nail. I'll never be able to let my flaws go. They'll always be there, an echo in the back of my mind. They make me want to scream, to yell at my weaknesses because they're the things that clamp me to the floor and keep me there like a helpless animal. But fear plagues me, a disease in my bones. 

Bravery is a luxury I can't afford. 

Life is precious, and the only reason that is is because it ends. If we were immortal, life would just be extra change, something emptied from pockets and left to rot on the sidewalk. That's why it's beautiful, to kill. To show people life isn't just rainbows and sunshine. I've never killed anyone, though. I've hurt people, and that's worse. When you hurt people, they have to live with it. They have to survive through whatever pain you give them, and you have to survive through the guilt. Violence is never my first choice, but it's reasonable. It's necessatmry. Although the thought of killing has passed my mind, but I've never ended something so beautiful as a life. But I think the time will come when I will. 

Maybe it will be my own.

History Text here (3 paragraphs please