[Orific] Redemption

A gasp left her lips. With trembling breath she tried to calm down, to ignore the piercing pain that just lodged in her chest. It almost felt like a plate of lead was hammered into her chest--heavy, painful. But when she peered into the giant mirror situated across the room, she only saw herself. Bleeding eyes, labored huffs of air, and sickly pale skin that hugged her limp body like a death call. Her clothes were still intact (though very messily strewn on her body) and not a piece of metal was on her chest.

It was just her imagination.

She begged to differ, though. The ache was definitely there, right in the core of her chest and lungs and heart. Her small fingers grasped blindly onto the fabric of her nightgown because the pain was almost unbearable. She choked, an ugly sound that bordered a sob. She couldn't even cry--the rivers had long dried form the drought she taught herself to make.

"Help me," she groaned, a broken holler--but who was she kidding? There was only her in that room, in that house, in that world. Everyone she could turn into had gone. Before she knew it, she was all alone to deal with her wounds and her imaginary plate of lead.

Another surge of pain shot into her own and she let out a guttural groan again. It hurts, she said. Who can offer consolation? What can offer consolation?

And then she the young lady started to scratch at her forearm. The long nails, well-groomed and colored in blood, drew fine line on the vulnerable skin. The lines were pinkish but they vanished quickly. The small action, however, gave comfort to her. It was something she learned way back, about a year or two; that the pain on her skin and flesh dulled the ache of her heart. She had been breathless at that time of discovery, both from delight and from utter fear.

Just what had she found? An inhuman part of human beings. She quickly labelled it as repulsive and hid the knowledge of little redemption in the farthest corner of her brain.

But now--now the pain had intensified and she couldn't help seeking that once found redemption again. She pressed her nails again, a little deeper and rougher this time, and dragged them along her forearm. It felt nice. She no longer felt as heavy. Another line, then another, and another.

She couldn't stop.

The books on the floor, on the shelves, on the tables; they stared sadly at the broken piece of being God named human. They watched as the girl started to show a twisted smile that didn't look very sane. They sung a heedless lullaby to their master, wishing she would stop hurting herself.

When her whole forearm were stained with red lines, and the pain had gone considerably, the girl was finally able to close her eyes and fell into the long-needed slumber.

But who knew if she would wake up in agony yet again, and started the foul deed to freed herself?