Thistle (Inspired by Joseph Fink’s Podcast, Alice Isn’t Dead.)

Oh god, why did I do that.

My lungs feel tight, and I struggle to push air in. Push in air, push out air. Push in air, push out guilt. Push in the blade. Push. Push.

No no no. I can’t lose myself. Not again. I try to focus on something to ground me, but all I can see is the red. Red. It’s such a warm color. It is full of fire and force. It coats my hands, splatters my shirt. Gleams against sleek silver. So pretty…

Oh god, I keep slipping. I don’t know who I am anymore. There is a face below me, the source of the red. I feel like I should know it but I can’t… I can’t remember. All I remember is the screaming and how easily the knife slid into the skin. Sp quick, so smooth. Such a nice feeling. I trace the tip of the blade along the arm, creating new lines of red. A giggle of joy bubbles up from my throat.

What is wrong with me? My body feels wrong. Old. Like a newspaper long forgotten on a park bench. My brain has been invaded, thoughts no longer my own.

“Daddy?” A girl appears in the doorway. I don’t know her. “What happened to Mommy?”

She steps towards me. The flesh of her throat looks soft. Inviting. “I don’t-” I try to say, but I can’t form a full sentence. My voice, like my thoughts, is slipping.

“Are you okay Daddy?” the girl quivers.

The red, so warm. The white skin, waiting to be broken. Lunge. The sweet, sweet taste of blood. Invigorating and metallic. A scream, short and delicious. My body, fulfilled, strengthened. A feral pleasure, a cat catching its first mouse. My teeth grab, my tongue pulls. I can’t get enough. Red. Red is good. No. Red is great.

I stumble back in shock as I see the mutilation before me. Who am I? Why am I so hungry? So. Hungry. Red. Yes. No. Must keep control I’m losing wait… fading.

Lurch. My awkward body forced through the doorway by my decaying mind. I know nothing but red. I crave it, it’s all I have now. Must find more. Must stop the hunger. Must- thoughts- fading- only-hunger.

Red. Only. Red.


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